Well done Kate

It is tough talking about cancer. When I was a child people never used the word, as if the very mention of it might bring on the dreaded disease. I assumed anyone unfortunate enough to have that diagnosis, would inevitably die in the near future. Talking about it the other day with a friend, I recalled my aunt, who apparently - though I doubt I knew at the time because I was a young teenager and they didn't tell me things like that - had breast cancer in her fifties.  She had a mastectomy, and lived on to her later eighties, accumulating many prostheses and a new husband too.  It was my job to remove them, the prostheses that is, (one in every drawer it seemed) when I cleared out her cottage upon her demise. 

Everyone now knows someone with cancer or who has had cancer. What they probably don't know are the people who have had cancer about which no-one knows; or everyone but their close relatives had forgotten had cancer. I often think we should have a "living with cancer/I've had cancer" day when we all identify ourselves.  It's all around us - a veritable epidemic. 

So well done Kate for telling us your story and well done Your Majesty for starting the ball rolling by admitting to yours. I'm rooting for you and I know millions of people will be praying for you both to recover and to lead a long a happy life. When I was on my journey, I'm not sure if it was the knowledge that people were praying for me, sending me positive vibes, just wishing for my wellbeing, or what, but I did feel as if I was being carried along on a tide of good wishes. So for both of you, I wish you that feeling and the reality of total healing too. 

19th July 2023

I knew there was something familiar about 19 July, yet when I looked in my diary today there was nothing scheduled.  Then onto my Facebook page came a memory from last year, when I'd posted a post-surgery x-ray image of my lungs. Ah - it's that anniversary again. The x-ray is on this blog somewhere, showing how my thorax had rearranged itself with everything below the diaphragm vying for additional space. I can't recall if I told you last year, but I have the distinct impression that my oesophagus is now slightly angled towards the right, which would make sense if my stomach has wangled itself a bit more room.

As far as I know, and how do we ever know, I am cancer free. Life in those intervening 12 years has been eventful with the loss of my second parent and a couple of years ago a house move to nearer our family and all that comes with that.  Yes, it was stressful and I strongly recommend nobody over 70 years moves house. You're just not physically and mentally quite so adjustable at that age as you were in your 30s. 

It is lovely here, seeing grandchildren every day - we now have 9 in total. Looking back I see we were in the grip of a heatwave this time last year but I do recall just how hot it was in July 2011 when Vladimir gave me my life back. Not only had I survived the grim reaper I was several stone lighter. I only wish I could find it easy to return to the austere diet that gave me a size 14 bottom that summer. I was stupid to let weight pile on again and maybe, just maybe, when I update you again next July (or maybe sooner) I'll have achieved that size 14 bottom once more. 

In the meantime, dear reader, thanks for getting this far through my ramble here. I metaphorically and maybe actually this evening, raise my glass to my wonderful consultant and surgeon and all those other folk who cared for me during my treatment in a toast of gratitude. Here's to you all you fabulous NHS people!

Another year and another big thank you to Vladimir who removed the remaining cancer and two of my lung lobes eleven years ago to the day.  What an auspicious day too. The day that temperature records were broken - in the days since records have been kept of course. Commentators keep forgetting to make that distinction and I do wonder about the Romans and why they would have bothered to hang around if the weather hadn't been suitable for growing vines.

It was a fraction under 40 degrees in the shade here (pretty well the centre of the country) this afternoon and I thought it might be good to record for posterity what it was like living under that plume of hot air which has shot up from Africa. Of course things have changed since the 1970s when measurement was in Fahrenheit and I have done some conversions in the last few hours, just to get my head around what we were talking about to compare with the 70s.

The heat seemed bad yesterday and I have to admit to being sceptical about the doomsayers' proclamations for today, but the forecasters were entirely right. The heat built from early morning and thank goodness I put my pot plants into the shade a couple of days ago. Some leaves on other shrubs have literally been fried today.

So how did we manage? We are lucky to have blinds in this house so we shut those against the sun, and closed curtains over them in one case, and lived in semi darkness not doing much for the day. Windows all remained closed because it was far cooler inside; just opening the front door you met a wall of heat. 

Psychologically the whole thing was unnerving especially when we watched lunchtime TV and saw the terrible sights of fields on fire with flames running with the wind into housing. People clearly were losing their homes. London emergency services have been having a terrible time, as has pretty well every other region.

I know when I've got three jumpers on and am complaining that the house just isn't warm enough in the middle of the winter to come, it will be difficult to recall today again. It was hotter than anything I've ever encountered before - even when camping during the summer of 1976. The big question now is, if that is going to become the norm, do we order the external shutters and paint the house white now, or do we wait for the next time to see if the prophesies are correct?

The spring has certainly sprung here in the UK and as I look out of the window of what I still consider to be our "new" house - although we've been here a year - I'm looking at a tree burdened by white blossom. It's wonderful too that it's been unseasonally warm and we've had wall-to-wall blue skies on several days and just a few fluffy clouds on others. The plan to gather vitamin D post-winter is going well.

To the best of my ability I believe I am still well although I am aware that Easter and chocolate have taken some toll. I really do need to avoid sugar completely for a few months to regain my post-surgery sylph-like figure. I wonder if that will happen? Hm.

Anyway, I'm just writing this to tell you that all is well.

So that was 2021

I can't quite believe that it was well over a year since I last posted and the only reason that I am doing so today is that I know that some will stumble on my tale and wonder what happened to me and probably make wrong assumptions.

I'm still here and I'm still hale and hearty. We moved to be nearer the children - so that we could walk to them and they to us, in March of this year. The stress of so doing was incredible; I cannot begin to tell you what it's like leaving a community in which you've been heavily involved for 50 years and a house that you've lived in for 46. But we did it and we're now more or less sorted. The re-assembling your life after a move doesn't stop when you unpack the last box. No, there are all the firsts to navigate: the first summer and the first Christmas. There are all sorts of traditions and habits that you had down to a fine art which require re-designing. The anniversary of the move comes in the spring.

Being minus two lung lobes made me reluctant to make the acquaintance of the virus but it's now very near us and we believe we have been exposed so it's lateral flow each morning. I'm not as worried now and I'm learning to live with the whole thing but it's been hard, harder I think than facing my illness. Yes, that's over ten years ago now and I'm still here. 

So to whomsoever is reading this, my apologies for not updating sooner, but I'm alive and well as far as I'm aware and looking forward to the sun shining a lot more in 2022, both literally and metaphorically. May you be blessed with happiness, contentment and peace in the new year.

Thank you Vladimir!

Well, it's nine years ago today since Vladimir successfully extracted my two lower lung lobes and once again I salute his expertise. On such an auspicious day I thought it appropriate that I should once again write a post.

We three are effectively still in lockdown and likely to remain so. I experienced a slight psychological wobble after carrying out an online study - I seem to be doing a lot of these questionnaires at the moment - about my mental health.  It was only when trying to answer honestly I realised that I wasn't really OK.  But it seems to have been a mere wobble, lasting just a few days,  and now the sun's out and everything seems so much happier.

We haven't touched our children or our children's children since the middle of March. The lack of cuddles and close proximity is hard; having a large family means that we can't bubble with one to the exclusion of others. When the children go back to school in September, the risk will increase so distancing will be the norm for a long time I fear.

I am about to toast Vladimir, and I think I must once again write to him to tell him I'm OK and so very very grateful. No amount of thanks ever seems enough. :)

Life's settling down

It's very strange this new life. For me, it has changed very little. I was quite house-centric in the first place. I have never been one of those people who has to go out and about all the time. I like my firm and solid base.

Today is the first day that I've thought "what shall I do today?" because so far I've had a never-ending list of things that had various degrees of urgency attached to them. Those tasks have been interspersed with Zoom (it's a communication platform where you can talk to several people at once) meetings, song circles, virtual ceilidhs, chats with the children and grandchildren. I've put down the job I've been doing every time the sun has comes out; Vitamin D is so important to protect against bronchial viral and bacterial infections I gather. Here's an interesting video on the topic.

Those people who are super vulnerable have received letters from their GPs and I can only presume that I'm not, as I haven't had that letter. Despite that, I'm keeping clear of anyone and everyone who doesn't live with me.

For those who are reading this and not resident in the UK, we have a regime here which has basically locked-down all but essential workers. We're advised to take exercise once a day, but unnecessary journeys are discouraged. Put it this way, if you drive up to the Peak District to have a nice day out and a picnic, you're likely to be asked to account for your actions by the local police force. There is legislation available should the authorities need to take enforcement action, and it's being used in extreme cases. For instance, one chap decided to walk into and around a hospital for no good reason. Her Majesty has very generously made him her guest for a period. Very sensibly in my opinion.

A neighbour here has been shopping for us but I really don't want her to be taking risks so I stayed up late and managed to book a delivery slot with one of the online retailers last night. With deliveries of things beside milk from the milkman, we should soon be self-reliant, which I would prefer.

The worst thing for me about all this is the constant and unremitting media coverage and the biased stories and uninformed comment. I keep myself pretty well up-to-date with news direct from the news source and really resent re-hashed and  inaccurate stories from the major players. You would think wouldn't you, that in the circumstances, they would be more responsible - but no.

One thing that has surprised me is that I'm sleeping so soundly. I had a few bad nights at the start, before we were locked down, but since the imposition of rules I've found sleep easy to come by. Strange but true.