Deep recesses

I'm sure some of you reading this will have thought to yourself: "what would my mental state be if I was presented with that diagnosis?" Indeed some of you reading this know exactly what your mental state would be, because unhappily you've been there with me or you're still in treatment and know exactly how it feels. One of the things that unnerved me slightly when I got the diagnosis was the same thought. Would I retain my sanity?

Back in the late 70s I had acute clinical depression, just 18 months after our first daughter was born. It lasted in its acute state about 18 months and I had only just ceased to take anti-depressants when I discovered I was pregnant again. I suppose it was about 10 years before I really got back to normal. The depression took the form of OCD and also some agrophobia. I know, you can't imagine me in a situation where I was frightened to leave the house lest someone might talk to me.

Would that awful bottom-of-the-mixing-bowl dark hole be once again the sum of my waking hours? Well obviously not because I've been psychologically fine through all this. In fact if anything I've been happier since I started feeling better than I have for years. But there are times when my brain presents me with less-than-satisfactory thoughts. It's normally just before I get up - somewhere between that "goodness it's 5am and so light already, but far too early to get up" moment and the "crikey is that the time? - I'd better get up" moment. These waking dreams are confused and usually provide an insoluable dilemma. Don't ask me to recount any of them because they're so odd that they flit from my mind the moment I fire up the electric toothbrush.

But the point about them is that as I come too and realise that they're not real, I am filled with a wonderful sense of relief and relaxation - joy I suppose. I don't wake with a jolt to find out I've got lung cancer - quite the opposite. I wake from the mayhem to be glad to find out who and what I am.

This is the complete opposite of how it was back in the 70s when I would sleep in order to gain relief from what was going on inside my head. Once hubby was home and my childcare responsibilities could be handed to him, I used to place myself in a strange sort of half-wake-half-sleep state in order to give my poor tortured brain a chance to rest. (Yes, my brother can do it too!) Waking from that I'd find a world of misery. It's the complete opposite of how things are now. But the bizarre thing is that back then I really didn't have anything to worry about, life should have been brilliantly happy - while now, when I do have something that I could worry about, I don't.

Made my day

My visit to the dental hygienist was postponed because it would have fallen in the middle of the chemo cycles. This far on I felt I was sufficiently recovered to see her again, as I did today. She's lovely, with a wonderful smile (well you would expect that wouldn't you) and she made me feel as if she really knew me, although we'd only ever met once before as we've changed dental practice.

For safety's sake I explained about my condition and the chemo and my vow that, if spared, I'd be spending a vast amount of money on a crown and some tooth whitening. You see I did promise when I last saw the dentist that I'd let him replace my missing crown - and it does look increasingly as if he'll be getting the job.

Anyway, upon leaving, the charming dental hygienist's nurse - who had been in prime position not only to see my stained and worn teeth close-up but also my ageing complexion, my scraggy neck and chicken wing arms - volunteered: "I can't get over the fact you've over 60 - you look like someone in the forties." Well I came very close to hugging her as that just made my day.

Dead toes

One of the side-effects of my chemo is damage to the nerves in my extremities - toes (and also now it seems soles of the feet) and fingers. It's not painful, it's not debilitating, it's just annoying. So today I got onto the internet to find out what I could do about it. As ever, I'm confused by who is in charge of my care just at this precise moment - when I'm in limbo suspended between the consultant oncologist and the surgeon. The solution is therefore to take charge myself.

I've been taking bionutrients for my gut and a supplement for my liver plus in recent days a high dose of vitamin C in preparation for surgery. But what about these fingers and toes. A quick trawl of the usual advice sites just says it might happen and that it might get better. A bit more in depth study of some US cancer-survivor chat rooms shows that (as I rather suspect it's doing) it's possible it gets even worse before it gets better (if it does). And the cause? Well something to do with B vitamins.

Now that's interesting. I can't remember if I told you that I was slightly concerned that due to the delay in my last chemo treatment I queried if I should be given another vitamin B12 injection. I asked about this several times and was assured that it wasn't necessary. I wonder if I'd be in this stage now if I'd been given another. Their argument against lacked any logic at the time, and still does.

Anyway, no use crying over spilt milk. Today I've started to take a vitamin B complex - much like the one that I started to take many years ago when I suffered very briefly from carpal tunnel syndrome. Vitamin B certainly sorted that out and perhaps that's my problem. We'll wait and see.

Blowing bubbles

We went to a wedding celebration a week ago - a wonderfully informal occasion held in a large garden with parking in the adjacent field. Two large tipis had been erected. They'd thought of everything; there were toys for children - several of us tried (unsuccessfully) hula hooping! And there was a bubble machine.

It's something I've always wanted so last week I ordered a small bubble machine. It arrived very quickly and I took it to the wood. The bubbles were quite amazing. I just couldn't quite get over how some were shades of gold and others were an amazing turquoise with pink edges. Is it the amount of liquid in each bubble that determines its colour or is it the size? Whatever, it was a very small investment for a great deal of pleasure.

Phew!

'Tis hot but we're home after a lovely weekend in the woods with friends. Amongst trees was definitely the best place to be today. Now having supper in the garden as the sun finally sinks below the horizon and temperatures return to acceptable levels.

To the woods

Off to the woods today for a few days, camping and cooking lots of sausages. The only difficulty in woodland dwelling is drinking water. Yesterday I invested in a water filter system so I've bottled what I hope is enough filtered water to last me the weekend. I've become increasingly concerned about the effect of chlorine. Apparently the thyroid gland doesn't like it - it doesn't much like fluoride either. When I hear the fluoride and teeth debate I do wonder if thyroid defficiency, of which there seems to be a great amount, might be due to fluoride in drinking water and toothpaste. I wonder if anyone has done research into that.

I'll be attempting not to inhale too much woodsmoke - which is quite difficult - but there's something very comforting about woodsmoke. I guess it's probably one of the most common smells that mankind has encountered over our evolution.

New and not so new

Yesterday was a bumper day for the local hospice - I spent a total of £16. I visited one of their shops in the morning where I found a nice silk blouse which I thought one of my daughters might like and a blouse for myself. In the afternoon I attended a hospice fashion show where a relative was modelling some of the hospice's clothes. I picked up an outfit which I think would be ideal for a wedding, plus a pair of white jeans which will go with the not-completely-white-but-a-little-on-the-cream-side jacket. That means that I can sell my so-white-they're-blue pair on ebay.

I've stopped taking clothes to the local hospice shop because of the way they sort and manage their business. It's interesting to note that they do sometimes run out of clothes and have to make appeals for more and I do wonder if this is because they are just too picky. You can no longer go in their shops and pick out something that looks as if it's been worn. No, they strive for everything to look completely new and appear to be trying to compete with other clothes retailers in terms of quality.

The hospice is not alone. Other charity shops are following the same line now I find. Of course what doesn't get put on the rails goes to a rag merchant and when challenged the charity will point out how much it gets for rag per bag. I just think it's a terrible shame that my garments which I have not been outworn but just out-shrunk have to end up as rag when they could very well be worn for years to come by someone else.

So if I have an item of clothing that I want to donate but which, though not worn out, shows some signs of having been worn, I take it to the nearest animal charity shop. I've found these are far less picky - and consequently you can get better bargains there too. There's something about animal charity shops which is different. They are usually smellier - I guess because there's more worn clothing on the rails - and they are usually cheaper. But if you can wade through the other characteristic which is simply too many clothes on too few rails, you can sometimes find the most amazing bargains, like my leather coat the other week.

We're going to have to start wearing clothes until they fall to bits - we can't carry on with this Primark-led 'wear today, bin tomorrow' lifestyle. It's unsustainable. So perhaps charity shops will eventually all have bargain rails with the lesser-quality-than-we-would-wish items for a pound or so. I hope so.