Changed forever.

The next part of my journey out of cancer looms large on the horizon. The double mastectomy and reconstruction operation. Even writing this feels other-worldly. I’m transported back to that Friday evening when I first felt the lump. Thank God I didn’t ignore it. 

As the calendar races along, our dear friends have taken matters into their own hands as to how to support us through this time. Tin foil boxes of food stack high in the freezer, boxes of chocolates wait in line for attention and offers of the most practical help flood in. I well up every time I think of it. One evening my WhatsApp began pinging, when I looked there was a waterfall of messages on my Canine Crew group. A ‘Walking Woody’ Rota had been set in motion! My amazing friends were even worrying about our boy! 

A week before my operation date and I still had no written confirmation it was going ahead. A little concerned I rung the hospital. Soon I was on the NHS Shuffle. Calling almost every extension & emailing most of the trust! I didn’t even have a pre op date with only 5 days to go. 

Eventually I got a call from the surgeons secretary “I’m sorry but we do not have you on our list?” I was dumbfounded. Now what? They said they would speak with the surgeon and ring me the next day. A migraine set in, leaving me in pain and exhausted from the stress of it all. I had to wait 24 hours before it was confirmed that I actually was to be operated on on the 20th. 

I was then booked in for my Pre op, ECG, bloods, MRSA swabs and Admin.  This was booked for the Thursday. I arrived at the hospital and was immediately sent for my Echo and ECG. Everything ran smoothly and 4 hours later I felt reassured that all was back on track! On the Friday morning I had to go to the hospital to complete a COVID test. 

Then all I had to do was get through the weekend. I began to feel real nerves. Fear was not far from the edge of my mind. I chewed my thumb nail so much it hurts. I was distracted and distant. I tried very hard to ensure the kids had a good weekend, so that if they felt scared at school all they had to do was think of our lovely weekend together. 

Unfortunately it didn’t work for me! I finally went to bed on Sunday evening feeling like the condemned woman. The alarm was set for 5:30am as I had to be at the hospital by 7am. I awoke unsure what the alarm was for? Then the dawning realisation that I had finally reached D Day hit me full in the chest. In the bathroom as I looked in the mirror, short, panting breaths, I fought to gain control. I needed to just get there and let the staff take control. 

I called a taxi at 6:30. Steve and Jess saw me off with sad waves. It was still dark which didn’t help with my nerves. I listened to Radio X as we drove in, aware life seemed to be going on as normal around me. I arrived at the hospital and headed into the surgical wing. A lady was waiting outside for the ward to open up. When we buzzed, the door was released and we walked into the ward. The door to the room facing us was open and the lights were on. At first I was unable to compute what I was seeing, a yellowish mannequin was lying prone in a bed, it was bald, it’s mouth hung open and for all the world I was unsure if it was real or not. I gasped and the lady with me exclaimed “oh my god” we both stumbled away from the room. My nerves were set jangling. I reeled round to the lady, “was that real?” I whispered. “I don’t know?” came the shocked response “I bloody hope not!” We both walked into the ward looking shocked. The staff didn’t notice and very quickly we realised they wouldn’t have cared anyway. 

We were told to go sit on a bed and the staff left the ward. A short while later a nurse came in and called my name. I got up and followed her, she took me to one of the private rooms, as she opened the door we peered in. The mattress was stood up leaning against the windows, box files cluttered the surfaces. The nurse turned and said “go back and sit down whilst I get your room ready” I went in and sat back on the bed, suddenly a loud voice hollered “get off that bed!” I looked round for who they were talking too and realised it was me! I stood up turned and hollered back “the nurse told me to come back and don’t talk to me like that!” We glared at each other I then turned and sat back on the bed. This nurse ignored me for the rest of my long and unpleasant day. The nurse came in and got me, taking me back to the room. The bed was made, the dim lights were on and the curtains were drawn. I looked round, the surfaces had been cleared. The nurse said “don’t open the curtains as the workmen stand outside.” Then she shut the door. I looked around, it was like an office someone had shoved a bed into. I walked to the window and opened the curtains, scaffolding was staged outside with a huge white sheeting blocking the natural light from the room. I closed the curtains and sat down. What now? Was I to get changed? Should I sit on the bed or would that nurse come yell at me again? I eventually got my iPad out and began watching tv. At 9am I thought I had better let the staff know I had an appointment at 9:45 in the Nuclear Medicine Department. I wandered out to the nurses station and showed a passing nurse my email with the appointment time. She said to go back to my room they would come get me when they were taking me down. Ok! I went reluctantly back into my cell. 

I sat there another hour listening to the workmen outside laughing uproariously. Wishing I could hear the joke. Some time after 10am a nurse came in and told me in an apologetic voice that they had lost my Covid test and as such my surgery may have to be cancelled! I stood still staring at her, trying to understand what she was talking about! She said that they would do another test now but it takes at least 2 hours to get the results. I wasn’t able to hold back my angry outburst. I began reeling off the catalogue of errors I had had to endure since I had been unfortunate enough to be referred to this hospital, I paced up and down the small room recounting the shocking standard of care, or lack of, that I had been subjected to, my voice climbed as tears threatened until I realised no one really cares. I ran out of steam, sat on the bed and awaited the second Covid test. “Can I just check your details you are Gillian Goodie yes?” “No” I said feeling worried now. What the hell was going on around here? The nurse peeled the sticker with Ms Goodie’s name on, off the test kit and proceeded to do my second test. I sat on the bed after wondering what Ms Goodie was having removed! 

Ten minutes later a male nurse wandered into my room with another COVID test kit. I said “I’ve just done that!” He said “we have misplaced it. Could we do another one?” I started to laugh, this was too funny, Steven Mulhern is hiding somewhere right? Wrong this was the balls up I endured. I was then told to go to the Nuclear Medicine Department. This reignited my positive energy. Something was happening. I trawled down to the basement and found the ☢️ department. They were expecting me which surprised me! I was called into a side room and a young male nurse told me he was going to be injecting a radioactive substance into me, which would then spread across my chest and then I would have an X-ray of the area. “Ok this will feel like a bee sting” he said as he injected into my areola. Flipping bee sting! I’ll inject it into his ball sack and see if he describes it like that then. It was like having burning fuel injected. I then had the embarrassing job of massaging my boob to help the even distribution 😳I was then sent to have the X-ray and told to return to the surgical ward. When I arrived I was directed back to my room. I was given my surgical clothes and told to put the paper knickers, 2 gowns, paper hat, support stockings and non slip socks on! Schexy.

Again the waiting game. I had no idea what was happening, I was confused and terrified. This is not a great combination when you are alone in a cell like room all day with no one to speak to. A while later my surgeon arrived I was so relieved I nearly cried. He said he was sorry for the delay. My COVID test was back and now I had to wait for a theatre as I had been bumped.

An hour later and the team all strolled into my room. I was told to remove my gown and my surgeon drew all over my chest, giving him and the team detailed information I was glad they would have! Then they told me there had been complications with the patient ahead of me so their surgery was taking longer than expected. He was hoping for a 5pm slot at the latest. This immediately worried me as my op was supposed to take 4-6 hours. Would the team be responsive, alert, awake? He said they do this all the time and I wasn’t to worry.

Again I sat. Finger tapping. Mind whirling. Then my surgeon came in and told me my surgery was cancelled. The patient ahead of me was in serious trouble, I would not get a slot today. I was offered 2 options, tomorrow with a brand new team and surgeon I have never met? Or reschedule for next Monday. What would you have chosen? 🤔 I chose option 2. So I got back in an Uber, when I got home and was enveloped by my family. I took a sleeping pill and slept from 8:30pm until 6:30am. I felt so much brighter and back on a positive footing. Ready to repeat the whole week. This time I wasn’t scared. I was prepared.

The sun shone all week, I had visits from my closest friends and walked woody in all our favourite haunts! This week felt a bit like a gift. I was outside and feeling well! Next week is forecast rain and autumnal temperatures whilst I hibernate in my bed! I didn’t have to go for the pre op again which was a relief! But I had to go for the Covid test again! On the morning of the test I also had a pupil going on her practical test! She was supposed to be with my colleague but was so relieved when I told her my op was delayed! So I spoke with the breast unit and requested their earliest slot. I arrived bright and early, the unit knew about my palaver last week and when I requested to walk with the nurse to the lab with the test she laughed good naturedly! But I wasn’t joking. Safely delivered I raced off to see my customer pass her test first try! With the euphoria of a pass under my belt I put my shoulders back and stepped into the weekend. I was shielding so didn’t go out except to walk Woody in the woods! As Sunday rolled round I was in a better frame of mind to last week. I was positive and focussed on the end result. Cancer free. 

Monday morning the alarm went off and I awoke with that strange feeling, what’s happening today? Why do I feel strange? Oh shiiit! I kissed the kids goodbye, as requested but this time they didn’t wake which was such a relief. Steve hugged me tight and told me to go kick cancers arse one last time! I got in the Uber turned out of my road and hit a petrol station queue which succeeded in making me 20 minutes late!

I walked into a fully lit, fully staffed surgical ward. The nurse whom had shouted at me last week said in a happy voice “welcome back!” Laughing merrily. I was initially unsure if she  was being sarcastic! But I realised she was being sincere! I was told to go to bay 4. A curtained bed area at the end of the ward. She told me this would be my bed! I was so happy! I was dreading being put into that cell again. 

The patient in the bed next to me was so smiley and friendly that it didn’t take long for us to bond. She was having a lumpectomy and was obviously nervous. We calmed each other. Soon we were sent to the Nuclear Medicine Department. When we arrived they informed us that the machine had broken down. Well I guess it can’t all be smooth sailing! I changed and awaited the nurse. A while later the nurse came and collected me. I was by now freezing, sitting in a draughty room in what is essentially a curtain is not comfortable. We walked to the X-ray room, I said “I haven’t had my injection yet”? The nurse said they would inject me on the table. Ok! This nurse was so gentle and injected me slowly, so slowly that I hardly felt a thing! I told her the guy last week had been of the ‘Wham Bam Thank You Mama’ variety! She laughed at this! I can now too 😬 I was then x-rayed and sent back to the waiting room. When my Bosom Pal came out we walked back over together. This whole day so far was so much less scary than last week. It was so much less lonely. 

When we arrived back on the ward, piles of surgical clothes were neatly piled on our beds. We changed and then stepped out of our cubicles to point and laugh at each other! I am acutely aware as I write this that I do not know this ladies name, I just know we helped each other through a life changing day and I thank her. 

A short time later as I sat listening to my book I was approached by a thin, small man who waved his hand in my face! I removed my earphones and he announced in a quiet voice “I’m the anaesthetist, I’ve checked your notes from last week. Have there been any changes?” “No I still have my boobs” I said waiting to see if he laughed or would be shocked, either would do. He didn’t miss a beat. “Ok see you in theatre.” Wow, Mr Personality. He then approached my pal “Gillian?” He enquired. “No! That’s still me!” I called out wondering what cocktail of drugs he was cooking up for me now! 

Although I have a surgeon I have met and discussed the operation with, he is being assisted by a female surgeon I was introduced to last week. This lady now walked onto the ward and headed for me with a huge smile in place. I smiled back. “Ah!” She said! “I’m so sorry about what you went through last week, I felt awful for you.” Wow! An apology from somebody! Amazing how that can take the sting out of anything, like a slow careful injection. Not difficult, just really important. 

She pulled the curtains round us and began drawing on my chest whilst chatting away. I felt calmer than last week, I knew I was ready now. Sure enough just moments later a young man came and called my name. I stood, smiled at my new pal and said “Good luck I wish you all the best.” And followed my chaperone out. The walk to the theatre was surreal, we walked through grey cold corridors, entered large lifts and if he had run away, I wouldn’t have known where to begin! Finally we arrived at a cavernous room filled with faces I recognised. I looked at the bed, large rectangle lights were arched over it, waiting. The thin man was sat on a stool disinterestedly playing on his phone, I was lead to the bed and told to lie down. I was feeling panic rising in my throat when I became aware of a male nurse who was talking kindly to me. “What do you do for a living?” He asked. I said I was a driving instructor he began to laugh loudly and said in a voice filled with giggles “one day I walked into theatre and upon the table lay my driving instructor! He told me I had better do a good job!” He continued to laugh as I drifted away from the world and into oblivion.

I remember waking up in a dark room with two nurses fussing round me, I remember asking if they could pass the Weetabix and the milk! I must have drifted away again. The next thing I remember is being wheeled into a ward. The lights were on, I looked around and saw 2 other beds opposite me. I then became aware of the tubes leading out of my body, the bandages, the inability to move. I explored my bed and this strange body that lay in it with my fingers. I was totally numb from my armpits to the top of my stomach. I could push flesh with my fingertips, yet felt nothing. The bedding was untidy, my feet felt trapped in sheets and blankets. My head was itchy, I raised my left arm up, my right arm was heavy, like when you have pins and needles. My hand reached up and found the paper hat skewed on my head. For some reason I felt the need to apologise to the ward “I’m sorry ladies, I need to remove my hat it’s itching so much. But I have to warn you I have a baldy bonce!” It was at this time I became aware of the bald woman in the bed #4 next to me. 🤦🏼‍♀️

I then spent the next few hours dosing on and off, bizarre dreams carried me away from the untidy bed. At 4am I awoke fully and felt refreshed. I got out of my bed, gingerly testing my legs. I then spent the next few minutes trying to work out which wires were mine and which belonged to the bed! I went out to the nurses station and asked the nurse if I could have a shower? She seemed surprised, which now in the cold light of day I understand! A bald woman, holding what looked like her entrails, at 4am was requesting a shower! She gently lead me to the bathroom and instructed me to only strip wash, I was not allowed to shower until I had spoken with the Dr’s! 

Moving slowly and with great care not to see myself in the metal reflective mirror above the sink, I slowly explored what was left of my body.

I find it difficult to express in words. I felt fear, repulsion, sadness and weakness. Not strength wise, but weakness of the spirit. What more could this disease do to me? I was now changed forever. 

Cleaner but less confident, I left the bathroom and sunk onto my bed. Loneliness enveloped me. I knew I had to get a grip. Hold onto something before I fell. I grabbed my iPad and began to write. 

Make it stand out

Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.

Ring My Bell 🔔

I didn’t sleep for three nights straight, following the seventh chemo. I was like a manic, wired robot. I was either talking fast, moving fast or in charging mode. Slumped in chairs, staring into the middle distance. I felt hung over, not the hung over from a heavy night, but the hung over after a weekend of partying hard and drinking home brew! 😵‍💫

During this phase we headed off to the eagerly awaited camping holiday in Dorset with 13 of our nearest and dearest. Jess and I were staying in a shepherds hut but drove the boys and their tent to the campsite first. Jan and Andy had already pitched in the far top corner of the field with views of the hills rolling down to the sea. A truly beautiful spot. But we also had a great view of the black clouds tumbling up hill towards us! As quickly as we could, we began to get the tent unpacked, Steve crawled in just as the cloud arrived and promptly dumped a small lakes worth of rain onto us! We all huddled under the central marque, watching the caterpillar form of Steve, trapped under canvas! So much rain fell that it took all of us to lift the flooded tent and release Steve, shockingly he hadn’t transformed into a butterfly! But the field had turned to mud, making driving more like sliding! Getting back up the hill became a sport! 

Job done, Jess and I headed off to hunt our hut. Jess was the navigator and was in peels of laughter as she turned us into Butt Lane 🙄 the van literally just fitted between the hedgerows.  I was just getting nervous, hearing the far off sounds of banjo’s, when suddenly we arrived in Venn Farm! As we turned into our parking space, our mouths fell open! A charming little wagon sat on wheels greeted us, with flowers climbing the sides and wooden steps leading to the door. Jess and I raced each other out of the van and to the steps! Charging up, squealing in excitement with visions of a drenched, muddy campsite fading! The inside was as charming as the outside, with a Welsh dresser and small table with a kettle and breakfast paraphernalia on and at the far end stood a huge double bed! Horses were in the field next to us, chickens wandered round freely, and the staccato bleat of sheep cut through the peace. 

Jess and I were in our kind of heaven! Suddenly Dave the farmer appeared at the door and said in a strong Dorset accent, “calm down girls, you’ll upset the chooks!” He then showed us round the farm, we had a play room, with a running machine, piano, ride on toys, a football table, ping-pong, darts board and more. Every morning Jess was on the running machine! Playing ‘Chop Sticks’ following the chickens round for their eggs and riding round the barn on the trikes! It was magical and I highly recommend it! 

During the days we spent our time with the family, either on day trips out to towns and the surrounding villages, ‘Beer’ being a favourite! Or on the beach, where paddle boards and a canoe appeared out of bags and everyone raced into the sea! I was feeling exhausted and spaced out on this day, it was particularly hot and I sat in my tub chair, not able to connect with my surroundings. The kids and dog were being entertained, so I was able to zone out. I get an allergic reaction to this chemo and develop an angry rash across my face, with the sun beating down on my skin I became extremely distracted, I had an overwhelming urge to scrape my skin off. Anything to stop the crawling ant-like feeling I was being tormented by. I decided to take a walk to the shop. One of those campsite Spar places that doubles the price of every item. I spent a mortgage on lunch and strolled back out into the sun. Everyone around me was beaming, enjoying this gift of a day. I felt cheated out of it. Slumped back in my chair I just stared.

In the evenings Jess or myself made our excuses early and bolted back to the hut! Face packs on, the iPad playing a Disney movie and hot chocolate were just what the doctor ordered! James and Steve were in their kind of heaven, sleeping under the tent carpet as Steve forgot to pack their sleeping bags! (Day 2 we replaced them obviously!) 😂

One day after an excursion we returned to discover another pesky cloud had rolled over the campsite, this time joined by strong winds which blew the rain straight into Steve’s tent. I was bailing the water out with a frying pan and everyone was untethering the tent. On a count of ‘3’ we all grabbed canvas and moved in a clockwise direction. The tent landed with the door facing uphill and we all applauded our efforts. Effort being the main word here. I felt myself getting dizzy and my heart was beating very fast. I felt the colour drain from my face. I was worried I was going to faint and didn’t want to scare the kids so headed for the van. Steve spotted me and followed, “shall I take you back to the hut for a rest?” He wisely suggested. I got back and lay down, the next real memory I have was waking up the next morning with jess snuggled up beside me. I had more or less slept 15 hours straight. And I felt loads better for it! 

That day we headed to Weymouth and I was feeling much more present. I loved every minute of that day. In the evening we all sat round the camp fire playing trivial pursuit. Jess and I didn’t leave until it was dark and we drove wearily out of the packed camp site, watching out for guide ropes and children! As we drove along the narrow lane to head to the hut, a fallow fawn jumped out of the hedgerow! The lights of the van caused it to stand still, locked on our approach. Jess was squealing with delight. I stopped the van and dipped the lights, the spell was broken but instead of jumping back into safety the bloody thing trotted along in front of us! I was becoming convinced we would be sharing the hot chocolate and our bed with Bambi! I decided to park up and switch the engine and lights off completely to allow it to gain its bearings. Jess was begging me to let her keep it. 😳 Finally it jumped up into the hedge and was gone. A charming moment! 

Not so charming was the phone call I received at 2:30am from Steve asking me to come get James and him, as the tent had been destroyed by storm Evert. Winds of 75mph had swept through the campsite which had hardly a spare inch between tents. When we arrived, I was shocked to see the site was now only half full, most tents that remained, were flat or twisted awkwardly out of shape. Rubbish and debris was flying round the site and it was a hive of activity as the remaining campers scrambled to save their belongings! When we reached our lot, 2 of the 5 tents were packed away, 1 was mid way through being dismantled but was badly damaged, 1 stood proudly upright and its occupants, Richard and Tracey were attempting to go back to sleep! Our tent was like something out of the Wizard of Oz! Most of the contents had been either blown out or soaked! Steve was subdued, James was like a kite, dancing around excitedly recounting the nights events. I had to put Jess back in the van as she was nearly blown away! We decided to leave the tent to the elements, go back to the hut and come back in the morning when it was light and calmer. We didn’t even get to say goodbye to our family as everything was so manic and the wind so violent. A cramped and uncomfortable night then ensued…. For me. Steve put his camp mattress down on the floor, climbed into his sleeping bag and passed out. James, Jess & the dog starfished across my bed, leaving me with 3” on the edge. I gave up sleep and watched a movie! Gone with the Wind! 💨 

In the morning we headed back to the camp site to survey the damage. It was extensive. Almost every tent had gone. Either destroyed or packed up and heading to their shed for another year. Our tent, which we have had for 7 years, was in a very sorry state. The inside was soaked, the hooks connecting the outer tent to the inner tent were either torn apart or hanging by a thread. The carbon fibre poles were so badly splintered that they stuck through the canvas like a porcupine had stampeded through it. It was obvious it needed to be binned, Steve was distraught! Rolling round on the canvas pretending to cry, screaming “Nooooo” the kids and I were laughing! Sadly the bin won and we drove home a lot lighter! 

The following week I saw my final clients through their tests and closed Woody’s School of Motoring down until after my operation. I was both relieved to finish and sad to stop. My customers and the job itself, had kept me sane through this turbulent time. But I need to rest. 

The following weekend two of my closest friends took me away to Norfolk. Sadly the weather was still not behaving itself! But we loved village hopping, cafe trying, shopping and just being together. Something we realised we actually never do. Usually we try to meet for dinner one evening every month or so, this is a few snatched hours between family life or work. We all relaxed quickly into the weekend, Rupa has taken up crocheting since becoming a Gran 3x! And spent every spare moment bent over her needles, giggling away listening to Kerry and I recounting memories of our first meeting or conferences long ago! One evening we were all exhausted, following a day of driving round Norfolk trying to stay ahead of the clouds! So we decided to get a take away and watch a movie in Kerry’s room. The hotel was deserted in the evening, with just a lamp on, on the front desk and a sign saying ‘Call these numbers if your require assistance’ we needed crockery and cutlery, so Rupa and I with iPhone torches held aloft, crept into the hotel kitchen. The whole place was stainless steel and I had strong flashbacks of the kitchen scene in Jurassic Park! After slamming my fingers in a sliding cupboard door we finally gave up, called the number and they talked us through the maze and to our quarry! Plates and cutlery sourced, we headed up and watched a scary movie whilst we ate Chinese. Poor Rupa looked like she was gonna drop a stitch! I loved our time together and hope we carve out more of these going forwards. 

Reality crashed over me on Monday as I headed to Barts for my last Oncologist appointment! I was in denial as I sat down in the waiting room following the receptionist informing me “we are running on time today.” I popped my head phones on, thinking ‘my eye you are’ just as the oncologist walked out and said with a big grin “Gill?” She was the Oncologist Steve and I had first meet all those months ago before my chemo begun. She asked how I had coped and we discussed the side effects I was battling; oral thrush, the facial rash, the extreme exhaustion. I said I had gained weight, even my eyelids were fat! One of my neighbours thought I had been punched in the face, I said “No I bleeding wish!” Sadly she said there was nothing she could do to alleviate the symptoms but luckily this was my last round so I would only have to suffer one more time 🤞🏻I can handle that! 😁Wednesday I headed off to Whipps for my last blood test! Everything felt celebratory! Whilst I was out an Igloo was being erected in our back garden! No the weather hadn’t continued the downward spiral, this was an igloo experience my Dad and Sisters had bought me for my 50th back in April! But we had spoken with the company and asked if we could delay it to coincide with my final chemo! A double whammy of celebrations begun! The igloo came with 4 memory foam mattresses, a 4K projector, 100” screen and a fire stick! We had organised for Jess to have a play date on the Thursday and James on the Friday. I say we, I had organised them but poor Steve was left holding the baby or 6 and 10 year olds as I had appointments both days!

Thursday, Kerry (who is a font of knowledge about cancer and the operations I am to undergo) came with me to Whipps X hospital to meet my surgeon. He was a kind faced, middle aged man. Softly spoken and with a ready smile and laugh! He discussed my chemo and then looked at my mammograms. He said the cancer in the right breast was extensive and there was still concerns about the left breast. He then talked about his own career and experiences. And then this lead to the ‘Tit Flicks’ oh my goodness. This was a show I would not pay to see! Before and after shots of his patients, some operations carried out because of cancer, some via the plastic surgery route. Some of the before pictures he showed us were terrifying! Kerry and I both jumped and physically backed away from the desk! Some of the after pictures made me think of a saying my Dad used to use for boss-eyed people, “He’s got Football eyes” he would say, waiting a beat before continuing “one home, one away” I wondered this aloud, “is it normal for them to look, odd?” I tentatively ventured. He laughed and said “these pictures are taken following first surgeries, many times I go back in and tweak the work until I and the patient are happy.” I think some tweaking was definitely in order in a few of these cases! Different options were discussed, I was given different types of silicone to feel, the plasticky shell was unpleasant to touch and the nurse saw me recoil. She explained that the shell can be covered by fat removed from my stomach or bum. I brightened up! Then she got a chocolate box down off a shelf. Kerry and I both leant forward eagerly thinking, well this is more like it. When suddenly she flipped open the lid revealing a layer not of strawberry creams but rubber stick on nipples 🤢 I’ll never think of the Milk Tray man in the same way. I have a few weeks to think my options through but I really think my mind was made up easily. I liked the surgeon and felt he was interested and bothered about my life after this operation. He wants to do his best by me and that was a reassuring feeling to leave the meeting with.

Then Friday as Steve welcomed 8, ten year old boys into the igloo, I begun my 8th and final chemo session! I had been told tale of the bell I am to ring at the end of this gruelling period and mentioned it to my oncologist, “oh no, Barts don’t have a bell. No one has sorted it out!” What? No one has sorted a simple bloody bell out for us to ring and signify we did it! We made it through some of the scariest medicines you’ll encounter? We are bald, puffy and exhausted! And we don’t get to ring a friggin bell? Well! I was straight onto Amazon and when I walked into the ward on Friday I handed the nurses a box. They all peered inside and burst out laughing as one extracted an old hand held school bell! I said “I’m first to ring that bastard!” And so I was!

I headed home to my family and the igloo! We spent the night in the igloo watching ‘The Shining’ (the kids picked this ok!🤦🏼‍♀️) now Jess is walking round with a face drawn on her finger and insists it’s called Bobby, she even talks in that croaky voice for him! And she is now planning to con her mate into going ‘Trick or Treating’ this year as the twins…. What have we done to this poor child! 

Sunday we got up at 6am and headed to Blackpool! We stayed in an hotel overlooking the beach. I had booked afternoon tea at the ballroom in the tower! We were all wowed as we entered the ballroom, Strictly Come Dancing came alive for us! Tea was served with the kids bug eyed at the cakes, meanwhile elderly people spun each other round the bouncy ballroom to the Wurlitzer on the stage! A surreal and very fun afternoon! What better way to follow it than to take the kids to the Pleasure Beach? Big Dippers, roller coasters and carousels tried to get us all to throw up but we are made of stronger stuff than that! I think the mental hurdle of knowing this was my final chemo helped me battle the side effects for those first few days. By Monday they all came tumbling down onto me. But we are now ensconced in the caravan, nestled in the Lake District so I am able to let the side effects crash over me without feeling cheated out of anything again.

I’m proud of myself looking back over these past 7 months. I am glad I continued to work, I know the kids and Steve dragged me through the worst days with their ready fun and hugs aplenty. I hope the operation is a success and I do not have to undergo more chemo after as although I survived, I bloody well don’t want to go toe to toe with that ever again. 

So now I look forward. Forward to the operation, recovery and hopefully clean bill of health. To getting a pixie cut, eyebrows and shaving my legs again, (ok maybe not the last bit!) But most of all, I look forward to never looking back. 

Thank you for following my journey! I hope I have made you laugh along the way, but I also hope you have gained an insight into something I hope none of you have to face in the future.

Keep checking those boobs girls, it may just save your life.

Penultimate Party!

The second set of chemo drugs are more punishing on me, than the first. They have more and varied side effects which last for upto 10 days. This means the gaps between the chemo feels very short. By the time I’m upright and fully functioning I’m back in the hot seat! But I try to keep a semblance of normal to my days, walking Woody still being one of my highlights. Although I’m not able to take him to our favourite destination, Wanstead Park, as it’s too far to walk round for me. So imagine my dismay when I took him for our short walk one Monday morning and he began limping. Now imagine how my dismay grew when I realised it was his front right foot, the one which this time last year had a cancerous tumour removed meaning he lost his middle toe! When we got home I checked his foot with my iPhone light and a microscope, searching for any sign. I couldn’t find anything obvious so contacted the vet. They asked me to bring him in and were as relieved as me to diagnose a sprained middle toe, the vet said that maybe the bike antics had had a part to play as he would now have to shift power through his (in our terms) ring finger! I felt very guilty driving my ‘mush mush’ dog home. Sorry Woods back to short strolls mate! And a weeks worth of anti inflammatory drugs set to restore peace of mind!

I’ve mentioned many acts of kindness I have received since my diagnosis. From close friends to a random charity, I have been humbled. One afternoon I received a message from a school Mum I know. Her son was at nursery with Jessica and our paths have crossed on a few occasions, one last year just before lock down. I had pulled up to the school gates early to collect the kids and suddenly became unwell. I was rescued by this lovely lady who bravely drove my car to help me collect the kids. Her message simply said ‘I wanted to do something nice for you so have booked you a Reiki session. Enjoy’ I was again humbled. I had no real idea what Reiki was! Even when I looked it up I still struggled with the full concept but this new chemo was kicking my arse, so I felt anything had to help, surely? We booked the session in for the week after my rubbish week. I went along to the lady’s house and when she opened the door was pleasantly surprised to recognise her face! I had attended some of her Zumba classes following Jessica’s birth in a desperate attempt to see my knees again. She led me up to her ‘room’ and after I took pictures of a space saving desk for Shelley. (Gawd I’m weird) She took some notes. She didn’t ask me specifics about my cancer, I just said I had cancer and was on chemo. She then told me that she would be lightly touching me and hoped I would feel the benefit of relaxing for an hour. I layback expecting to feel nothing but daft and try to figure out how to say I felt great after so as not to hurt her feelings. Within a few seconds I felt my body get heavy, my eyelids began to droop and I did that weird falling off a step drop! Instantly my eyes flew open, I felt my heart racing and thought well that’s that! The next thing I knew she was gently calling my name and touching my shoulder. I was genuinely confused. Where was I? What had happened? She was smiling at me and said I had fallen into a peaceful sleep. I sat up and tried to get my bearings! Then she said ‘Can I ask , do you have a lady close to you, with long blond hair, red nails and a huge smile?’ I laughed and said “you have just described the lady I took the pictures of your desk for!” She burst out laughing then said “I felt her guiding me to your right breast throughout the treatment and she insisted I concentrate there.” I don’t know whether it was because I had just woken up but I felt very emotional! I had not mentioned Shelley before the treatment, just said my friend, and had not told her I had breast cancer or that I had a huge tumour in my right breast. She was as emotional as me and said she had felt the pull so strongly with the image of Shelley right there in her minds eye. When I came out I called Shelley and she was as emotional as the rest of us! Reiki. Who knew! Thank you Ruhena, truly. I spent the rest of that day feeling relaxed, reflective and ready for bed!

When I think back over the year on the run up to finding out about the cancer, I remember 3 sudden health issues. The first was the one in which Ruhena came to my aid, all were sudden, debilitating and similar in presentation. I suddenly became ill: light headed, blinding headaches, fatigued, literally unable to move from the bed or sofa for up to a week. I contacted the GP on the third spell, concerned. They suggested long COVID but I tested negative. So was sent for a full list of blood tests. When the GP called me with the results, she said that I had a complete clean bill of health. I was so relieved, I still had a niggling voice in the back of my head saying “but what was that?” I’m not sure and nor are the Dr’s that either have anything to do with each other but can I just say now….

If you have unexplained fatigue or bouts of illness, go and get checked out. I’m not saying they will diagnose cancer don’t worry!

Steve has been amazing through this whole experience, I guess all husbands are amazing and probably most double their amazing when their wives are diagnosed with such a scary illness! My sister’s husband was her total rock I know. Steve has taken on cooking for the family. Not the biggest of tasks you may say but Steve has always been ‘domestically scientifically challenged’ shall we say? Still he is trying his best and has only poisoned us once since February. Christmas dinner on you Steve? One of the other things he is doing to show his pants should be outside his jeans, is booking random trips away to coincide with my best days! This round saw us heading to Southampton! We picked the right weather for it too! We stayed in a hotel with suicide windows, you know the ones, they only open 1 inch, & no air-con. The room obviously got the afternoon sun as it was like a furnace! This saw us all fighting each other for the cold shower! The next morning we were up and out the door by 9! Heading to the beach for some breeze! We went to Calshot beach. When we arrived the tide was out about half a mile so we all walked to little sand islands looking at the jellyfish and crabs eagerly awaiting the next tide. After a while we headed back in and as we got back to the beach, turned and saw the tide had already tiptoed up behind us, swallowing two of the little islands and about 1 million jellyfish! Steve lay down and promptly fell asleep I covered his back with his shirt. The kids played in the surf and Woody chased about enjoying the hydrotherapy on his foot! Calshot is a pretty beach, with a gaily painted row of beach huts at the end of the pebbly beach and the Isle of Wight ferry sailing along out in the Solent. Although I had covered the kids in suntan lotion I could see their skin colouring as they played and so decided it was time to head off somewhere cooler. It was at this point I realised Steve’s legs had not been sun lotion sprayed! With blood red thighs and calf’s he hobbled to the ice cream van to sate the kids, us and the dog! Bless him! We stayed in the car for the hottest part of the day, touring around the area, when we came to Lymington, a pretty town with a harbour. We parked up and heading off. Discovering they have a sea water pool! Unfortunately like everything else you had to book your slot in April! The kids were crest fallen so we walked along the footpath that runs between land and Solent. Eventually coming to a beach head with a bench. Steve, the kids and Woody, well not Woody, stripped off and raced down the slope into the cool water! I was by now feeling extremely tired and glad to have a bench to collapse onto for a while. When their teeth began to chatter they all came racing up and we set back for the pub we had passed. A cold beer and packet of crisps revived Steve, who was by now feeling the back of his legs stiffening up! Then we headed back to the hotel. I noted Woody again favouring his left leg and worried we had over done it. We left him in the hotel and headed to TGI Fridays. The kids had never been here and loved it! Mocktails and hotdogs consumed, they played word searches on the kids menu and coloured in the maps! Not enough restaurants have these kids menu’s we concluded! It kept them busy all meal! Then I worried us all back to the room, with images of a whining Woody, foot held up. In fact he was upside down on the double bed, snoring and farting in our airless room and didn’t hear us come in.

A night of no sleep faced me and it was bloody awful. I was so exhausted but just too hot and over tired too sleep. I listened to my new Audible ‘Beekeeper of Aleppo’. This was traumatising enough to keep me awake on its own! 15 games of sudoku, Facebook scrolling back to 2009 and random web searches ‘if I was a tortoise would I dream?’ ‘How do you sex a tarantula?’ And then it was morning! We headed to shade and the New Forest. Our initial plan was to go for a walk but Jessica flagged the moment we got out of the car and Woody limped dramatically. So we headed for the river. One section in particular with a wide bank, shade and swim deep water. Woody raced into the water and searched out his weakest link. A small boy of about 2 who was picking up and throwing stones into the water, Woodys favourite game. The Mother said they had a dog and her child was happy to play with Woody, but I know Woody is an idiot so stood close by ready to grab him….. I was not expecting what happened to happen though. The child picked up a stone, Woody stood on 3 legs with his paw bent up and his head cocked to one side, waiting, the child then threw the stone and Woody attempted to retrieve it. This happened maybe 3 times without incident. On the 4th go the child held the stone for a second too long, Woody believing he was offering him the stone opened his big fat gob and swallowed the stone, the child’s hand, forearm and elbow, then stood there with the lot in his mouth! The Mother shrieked and grabbed her son, I squealed and grabbed Woodys collar, he opened his mouth and out came an unharmed arm still grasping the stone! The child, god love him was giggling his head off and Woodys tail was wagging so fast that the Mother instantly calmed down and laughed too. I didn’t. On went the lead and he was dragged back to the towels on the bank. Bloody dog.

But we had such a lovely weekend it was one of those weekends that feels like a week! Until we got home and realised Woodys foot was worse. I rung the vet explaining that we are going on holiday this weekend and it’s on the Dorset coast so Woodys will be getting plenty of hydrotherapy and I’ll keep him on the lead the rest of the time. She suggested another weeks course of anti inflammatories and an X-ray when we get home. This is shaping up to be be a worrying week.

Today was my penultimate chemo! I walked into the unit fully expecting a problem and was worried when there wasn’t one. Take a seat? Well they haven’t said that to me before! As I sat there going over the past week’s appointments Oncologist on Monday, blood test Wednesday Steroids Thursday. bugger!!! I had forgotten to take my steroids! I’m supposed to start them the day before chemo! When I was called through I told the nurse, she went very quiet and then said “I’ll have to call the Dr.” Oh no! “Why?” I asked. “Because the steroids stop you reacting to the chemo” oh that’s alright then because I bloody well am! But I guess if I don’t take the steroids it could be a bum-hole lot more right? Ok call the Dr! So I had to wait another hour to hear from the Dr that I was to have intravenous steroids, which also needed a precursor product to stop my stomach from reacting to the steroids…it’s like one step forward 3 steps back here. Then the steroids were administered this all delayed the chemo by almost 2 hours! Totally my fault! I won’t forget again. Then I came home and had to pack cases for holiday! During the evening my stomach began to bloat and I was getting cramps, I read the patient leaflet for the drugs I had been given and discovered these are the side effects. Blimey they all like getting in on the act don’t they. Now I’m sat here at 3am without the merest hint of sleep and a 4 hour road trip in the morning. Fecking cancer.

The Rat Packer

I bounced back from the awful side effects of the new drug. But this episode caused psychological damage, I DREADED the next round. What if this was my summer? Flipping heck. Once I felt stronger, Steve had to go to Newcastle for a few days. His Mum was very poorly and he wanted to be near his Dad for support, although all I seemed to hear when I called was Steve and Phil out on the tiles! Still it must have worked some magic as Joan slowly recovered enough strength to escape the hospice and get home! She is one tough lady!
My next chemo week rolled around faster than I liked. On the Monday I had a face to face appointment at Barts with an oncologist I had never met before. I have to speak with an oncologist before every chemo round. She brought me into her office and then read from her notes on the screen. “It looks like you had a tough time with the new regime? How are you feeling now?” We discussed the side effects I had encountered and how I had responded to the rescue medication. Then I told her I was dreading the next round. She was so understanding, She explained that they were going to be giving me drugs this time to stop the side effects from occurring. Steroids, anti-histamines, anti-inflammatories, anti-sickness, anti-Maureen. Just checking you were awake! I had so many drugs that I needed to set alarms on my phone to remind me to take the right ones. I was like some old girl in the home “What time is it? Has the alarm gone yet? Was it one blue one or two red ones at 7pm?” Shoot me now. 🤦🏼‍♀️
The oncologist also talked about the operation. This is the first time it has been mentioned since the initial appointments. I felt intrigued but scared. This was becoming real. She examined me to see if the lump had shrunk. I could tell her that! Yes! Yes it had! Noticeably so. It no longer jutted out of my breast into my armpit like a Richmond sausage! She told me my surgeon would be Mr Dhooma… I have no idea how this is spelt and have had crack investigators (my sisters) on the case too! Is he like Dr Who and travels here when called? It’s too much to hope for Dr McDreamy I suppose? But this now set my brain on to a new path. Mastectomy scars. I remember back at the beginning of this nightmare, my sister saying “Whatever you do don’t go on the moors.” No hold on she didn’t say that. “Whatever you do don’t google.”
Oops! Oh my giddy aunt. Do not google mastectomy scars if you are about to eat your dinner. I hid away from the family with my iPad, a clandestine peep show of butchered torso’s played out in front of me. Leaving me with visions of me being hacked by a mad man in a bloody apron…. Welcome to my brain at the moment. Wipe your feet when you leave. By the way, do you know why Surgeons are called Mr and not Dr? Well many years ago (thank God) Dr’s would treat patients, but when it came to operations they called butchers in to open the patient up for the best access to the internal area. Thus the surgeon became known as Mr as time went on. You are welcome.

I have continued to work through out and have been attempting to close the business in time for the operation in September. My customers have been so supportive, many taking the COVID rapid test before our lessons, all wearing masks and some even texting me the day before telling me they want me to cancel if I feel poorly… I have been blessed with these wonderful people in my life at this stage. I’ll miss all of them. But they must all go through their tests and fly the BMW nest! I was very touched by one customers very kind review on my Facebook page and knew I had done the right thing working through this crappy time in my life. I’ll remember them not this cancer shit. Saying that these damn chemo-week appointments play havoc with my lesson plans. Wednesday saw me racing from a lesson to my blood test appointment. I was already running late but then I got to the hospital and spent 20 minutes trying to find a parking spot! By the time I fell through the blood test doors I was almost 40 minutes late. Anyone that knows me, knows this is my private hell! I was sweating, flustered and worried sick this would impact on my chemo on Friday. As I staggered in an elderly lady followed me in, the unit was completely empty. I turned and looked at her. “Mary Celeste!” She laughed and we walked round to the blood test bays calling a horror movie esk ‘Helloooo?’ A nurse burst out of the plastic curtain covering the doorway! The elderly lady and I both jumped and started laughing! I explained my dilemma and she said “oh don’t worry about that we will always squeeze you in! Go and register as a walk-in now and we will call you through.” That simple 🙄 the elderly lady followed me back to an iPad stuck to the wall. I registered and stepped aside, she said in a proper cockney accent “Ere love do me a favour, I can’t be doing with these new fangled things! Could you register me please?” “Of course” I said. “What’s your name?” “Margaret Parker” she said, I was very distracted as I typed, I was still trying to calm down, I was worried they would call me whilst I was in the middle of this! I did notice that as my fingers touched some of the letters they didn’t always leap up but thought it would be fine. Registration for Margaret complete we took our seats. I was called almost instantly. As I sat with my arm bared, fist clenched, face turned, I heard another nurse call out “Rat Packer” the nurse stabbing me burst out laughing as did I and then I heard a cockney voice calling out “Silly cow couldn’t use that bloody thing either!” A good deed never goes unpunished!

Thursday I received a call from Barts (because they missed me?) the guy said “you have to come for an urgent echocardiogram tomorrow.” I said “Oh I can’t I have chemo tomorrow!” (Damn!) He said “is chemo here?” “ Yes! At 10:30.” “Ok then, that’s fine, you can come after at 3:40!” Me slumped, “ok, fine.” (Damn) Thursday night I hardly slept, knowing that tomorrow I was going to be entering that strange week of zombiefication, feeling unwell and disconnected from everything around me. Sleep did not come until the early hours and was filled with disturbed dreams. I woke feeling worse than before I went to bed.
Yet Friday arrived like an unwanted guest, you have to be polite but you drop subtle hints for them to sod off. I arrived promptly at Barts floor 7 and attempted my nonchalant saunter to the receptionist, “Gill here for my spa day” her eyes didn’t even flick in my direction, she just continued to scan the computer screen. I’m not sure why but I instantly knew something was wrong. She looked up at me for the first time and simply said “Your appointment has been cancelled.” I mumbled “WTF? (Then out loud) What?” She flicked her eyes back to the screen, “Your appointment was cancelled as you have not had an echocardiogram.” Eyes flicking back to me. My mouth fell open like a fish. “Are you kidding me? You guys called me yesterday and arranged it for today after chemo!” She didn’t even bother looking at me this time “I’ve requested a nurse come speak to you, please take a seat.” I looked around for a chair, to throw through the receptionist’s window. But sat down on it instead. I was furious! My whole week has been spent racing round to these appointments and now because of the scheduling error AGAIN, I was being punished! A male nurse called me out of the waiting room and apologetically explained the echocardiogram should have been done before I was allowed to have chemo. I was aware this poor nurse did not do this, but I needed to shout at someone, he got it. “What the hell is going on in this hospital that you are able to muck up every chemo appointment in some where or another ? I have spent my week……… blah blah blah” of course my rant was as useless as my spa day joke. Why do I bother? So I went down to the echocardiogram department and begged for an earlier appointment. They were very understanding and squeezed me in. I had to lie on my side as the radiologist used an ultrasound wand to roll cold jelly over my chest. I can honestly say I have very little in the way of untried fetishes left. Thankfully the scan showed my heart is undamaged by the current chemo drugs. Yay!

They had moved my chemo to Saturday afternoon. I woke early on Saturday feeling anxious and unsettled. Another poor nights sleep was really not a great way to go into this. Jess has gymnastics on a Saturday morning, I usually drive her and Woody round and take the dog for a good walk to clear my head. The only down side of this is that the dog gets soaked and filthy and ruins my car, leaving me to have to clean it. But I have found that I am not able to walk the 15 minute route, then walk the dog for an hour and then the 15 minute route back again. I’m too tired for all that! So I came up with a new plan! Woody could pull me on my bike! Now this is not without jeopardy, Woody is at times a clumsy pillock, when he was a pup at training classes, we were waiting our turn for the ‘recall’ lesson. As the other owners excitedly called their bundles of fun, Woody became increasingly agitated. I hunkered down onto my haunches to calm him and he, being a clumsy pillock attempted to jump onto my lap pushing me backwards. What I was unaware of until this point, was that I had stopped with my back to the cellar door which was unlocked, so as Woody jumped on my lap we both fell backwards through the doorway and down the flight of stairs, Woody riding on my lap with his great tongue lolling out, ears flapping. As we landed in a pile on the floor I looked up to see the doorway crowded with the faces of our fellow trainers and their furry trainee’s….. we never returned for the ‘Stop jumping up’ lesson. But he did great with the bike ride! I think he actually loved every second of it! He ran perfectly beside my bike not once veering near the wheel or darting across the street for a cat! This is now our new ‘normal’!
I felt in a better place as I boarded the tube heading for St Paul’s later that day. The chemo unit on a Saturday is much more relaxed, the patients and staff seem to have a weekend vibe! The sandwich lady was laughing and throwing sandwiches and yogurts around like confetti! I listened to music supplied by the talented DJ Marf my whole 4 hours and the time flew! I was transported particularly by Stevie Nicks and Bill Withers. The nurse even commented that I had been tapping my foot the whole time! Thanks Marf 😘 I felt good as I left the unit and boarded the tube. England were playing Ukraine that evening in the Quarter finals of the Euro’s. I stopped off to buy supplies and headed home. Within an hour of getting home I felt the effects creeping over me like a shadow. I slumped into the armchair and watched the game like a zombie. No sleep for me for a third night, I mooched around the quiet, dark house as my family slept. Trying to find somewhere my body could relax. The chemo robs you of sleep but leaves you so exhausted you are barely able to speak. I developed the headache and sore throat almost straight away. I don’t suffer any more though so take as many painkillers and soothing agents as possible! Again this was a horrible few days but my family and friends cajoled me through it, visits from best mates and hugs from Steve and the kids when I was unable to move further than the sofa, helped enormously!

And now I’m out the other side! Today I had to go back to Barts (I bought a nice little one bed flat over the road, it was cheaper than the tube and taxi fares.) 🙄 This visit was for the Ultrasound to check the size of the lump. I was a bit nervous about this visit. Please let the chemo have worked! The Radiologist was lovely, she explained what she was looking for, unfortunately the ultrasound wasn’t able to give her a detailed enough picture. I knew what she was going to say before she said it. That bloody mammogram machine is gonna rear it’s ugly head again isn’t it?! So there I was being shunted and shoved all over again. With watering eyes and jelly legs I staggered back into the radiologist’s office and fell into the chair! She used the previous scan pictures to show me the lump then and now! I was gutted to see the tumour looked the same size. But then she explained that they were more interested in the calcification, this was where the new cancer cells were laid down. This had shrunk! The lymph nodes had also returned to almost normal size which was a good sign! “This,” she said in an upbeat voice, “Is good news!” Well about time!

So I’ll be celebrating as Gareth brings it home for more than one reason! C’on England 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿

Conscientious or Contentious?

The new drugs coursed their way through my system. I felt great! ‘Rude with health’ epitomised how I felt. “How are you Gill?” “I feel great!” 🤷🏼‍♀️ I cautiously moved through my days, packing the children’s school bags, stopping to check I was still feeling great? Yep. Having a coffee & eating pastries with my dog walking pals, pausing to confirm I was still feeling great? Sure was. Out on driving lessons with customers, nervously heading for their tests, interrupting their flow to ensure I still felt great? Bloody hell! I did. I was finding it all very worrying! When was it gonna hit? Maybe I was one of the lucky ones and I would ‘get away with it’?

Saturday we all headed out to Fairlop Waters to begin the celebrations for Steve’s brothers birthday. The children and I were just making guest appearances as the night was going to be long, loud and lashed up! Everyone asked “How are you Gill” yep, still great! Saturday evening the kids and I had our own BBQ. Burgers, sausages and the obligatory chips! As I sat munching through my burger, I noticed I was having a little difficulty swallowing, my throat felt dry and constricted. Oh no, not a pesky summer cold, I thought. That night I woke feeling hot and uncomfortable, but then so was the whole of the UK, it was 25 Degrees! My throat hurt and my head was banging. I slept fitfully the rest of the night unable to swallow without wincing. Sunday I woke feeling pretty grotty. Gradually as the day wore on so I felt worse. Stomach cramps began, tiredness crept over me like a heavy blanket, leadening my legs. The symptoms gathered pace. By Tuesday I was feeling wretched. I developed a weird tingling sensation, like I was holding a plasma ball, arcing electricity was tickling the palms of my hands and soles of my feet. I began to feel breathless and weak, climbing to our bedroom in the loft had to be done in two stages. I felt light headed and dizzy if I exerted myself. By now I was almost completely unable to swallow even drops of water. I guess another call to the Chemo Hotline was inevitable. Again it was answered by the caped super-nurse. Drugs were to be couriered to me over night. I felt better in anticipation! That’s until I woke on Wednesday. A full week after these new drugs had been administered. I woke feeling worse, I staggered to the bathroom, looked in the mirror and nearly fell of the loo! My face was swollen and an angry, red rash had spread across my cheeks and jawline like the kids had gone to town with red felt tips! I had a lesson that morning and for the first time, thanked God for face masks! Before the lesson I rung the hotline again to update them.
“OK Gill, you need to come in” “Sure, I have a lesson so will come after that.” Silence. Then a more insistent voice “Gill I think you need to cancel the lesson and come now, you may have to stay.” I thought of my customer, heading for their test, nope I knew I needed to do the lesson then go in, “You see, I’m a driving instructor and have a lesson with a customer who is heading for their test, I can’t ditch them, they will worry. I will do the lesson then come straight in, it’s only one and a half hours.” Silence. “Right. So you are going to take your customer out, whilst you feel rubbish and we have said to come in now?” Less confident “Yes???” “Ok! See you as soon as that finishes” I picked my customer up with these words ringing round my battered head. Conscientious or irresponsible? I hoped the first.

When the lesson ended, I called Steve, “Can you help? I need my roll-along packed with my PJ’s, toothbrush and pants, and can you make me a SlimFast shake as I won’t have time for lunch, or the nurse will shoot me!” I rushed indoors to find the blender had exploded vacating my shake over the kitchen, then I checked my bag and was struck dumb. Inside was a straw hat with my pants neatly rolled up inside? I looked at Steve, my face must have said exactly what my brain was trying to gather momentum to pass along to my mouth “Why?” Steve stared back at me and said simply “I panicked” Right! I clambered up the stairs with my straw titfer and exchanged it for a boring old nightdress and toothbrush. Back down stairs I looked at the 3oz of slimfast left in the blender and decided I wasn’t able to deal with this. I headed for Barts. Stopping at Tesco nearby for a Yazoo! I had been told to go straight to Ward 6D on floor 6. I was met by a nurse at the doors. “Hi I’m Gill I was told to..” “Ah! Driving Instructor Gill!” I laughed “yes!” “We have been talking about you.” I felt uneasy, “oh?” “Yes. We think you are coping with this exactly as you should. Cancer is not your life, it’s just an interruption and should be put in its place, well done!” I felt a lump rise into my already constricted throat, I thought they were going to tell me off for not coming straight to hospital when told too. I was so glad they understood my priorities. I was shown into a private room and spent the next 6 hours undergoing tests. I was dehydrated and suffering the side effects of the new chemo. Dr’s came to see me and prescribed a ton more drugs to try to straighten me out. I asked if this was to be my new normal with this chemo, the Dr said it could be my body in shock mode and struggling to cope with the accumulative effects of the last chemo and this new drug, or it could very well be, my new normal. Thanks! I was put on a saline intravenous drip to help get me hydrated again. The nurse popping in to care for me brought me a cup of coffee, Madeira cake and bags of crunchy salted crisps. I said there’s no way I can eat those! She told me they would help, like after having your tonsils removed. I said I’d rather have my tonsils removed but I don’t think she heard me. So I sat wincing and crunching my way through the crisps as the saline drip slowly revived me. Then the Dr came back and said “Your bloods have come back with nothing to worry about so I think we can send you home!” I was so relieved, I had a lesson in the morning!

I hoped I would wake the next day feeling back to Gill normal. I didn’t. In fact I didn’t for another 2 days. Staggering through the day feeling like something on the bottom of your shoe is hard enough, but I had driving tests to get my students through. The lessons are great for taking your mind off of it for a while, that is until the stomach cramps kick in. I was over half way through a lesson with a young customer, just attempting our tenth reverse bay park , when the cramps began. I started to sweat, concentrating on the reference point and her clutch control, she was busy concentrating so didn’t see me turning red, purple then blue in an attempt to hold my breath and stave off the cramps and their desire to shame me in my own car! I managed a near normal “ok let’s head off” and pointed the customer in the general direction of home. Praying silently that my clenched position didn’t translate as a nervous passenger! ‘Emergency Vacation’ averted and the lesson ended with no loss of face (or upholstery.)

As I have mentioned my hair loss has been a difficult side effect to reconcile with, along with the hair on my head I have lost my eyelashes & eyebrows. I am not a preened, perfect human, with the latest trend in eyebrow art, arching across my brow, but not having any, to me, looks odd. I see my brow and it looks undressed without my small untidy pelmets sitting in place. I have tried drawing them on, this is never hugely successful. One is always better than the other, I accidentally rub one off before I’ve finished breakfast, forget to replace it and spend the rest of the day looking like a stag weekend prank. So when I heard tell of ‘Transfer Brows’ I was intrigued! These are transfers, like the sort we used to get in sweet cigarette packets, the square picture cards you would place on your arm, wet with a cloth and then peel away to reveal half a Superman shield stuck upside down on your forearm for the next 5 days. I bought 87 pairs for £7! Bargain! Saturday they arrived in the post and I was excited to try them out. By happenstance, Antonella my colleague popped in between lessons for a cuppa. I excitedly told her of my project and she told me her heavy Italian accent, to go sling my hook if I thought she was going to get dragged into this lunacy. Unperturbed, I gathered all the things needed for the beauty make over. Bowl of boiled water, lots of tissues, scissors, a ruler! Under duress Antonella caved and Jess watched on with a mix of interest, glee and fear! The first one went on. Now. I hadn’t really paid that much attention when buying them, but when it was stuck to my boat, I realised these were black, not just black but BLACK! Ok don’t panic, I haven’t got any hair for them to clash with, let’s just see what they look like finished. The second one proved harder than we had thought, Antonella remonstrated that she was a driving instructor not a beautician, I felt this was her just trying to give disclaimer for her shoddy work. As when the cloth was removed Jessica let out a belly laugh not heard since James had his head stuck in a fast food restaurants, chair back. Antonella ducked as if to avoid a swipe. I grabbed the phone. Bloody lucky she ducked! The second brow was at a jaunty, ‘So what’s all this?’ Angle. It was easily half an inch higher up my forehead than the first. I stared at Antonella and Jess in turn as both laughed and pointed at me. Right. How do these come off? Antonella redeemed herself somewhat by solving this dilemma quickly and then we restarted. When they were finished I looked in the phone camera. I was trying to think who I reminded me of? Oh yeah…. Frida Kahlo!

And with this image firmly stashed in the ‘Remember the time….’ Bank, I bid you all a farewell until next time!

Note to self: Don’t read the side effects.

The black hole of chemo #4 was deep and dark. I felt myself disappearing, the grey fog of chemo enveloping my brain. I honestly do not trust myself during these bouts. I worry I’ll leave the cooker on, forget to lock the door, loose a child. It’s a very traumatic time for us all! Especially the kids. I see them watching me, worrying. I hear them asking me to play with them but just cannot summon the energy. I have difficulty describing the exact symptoms, as if during these days I know exactly what they are but as I climb out, I leave them and their description behind. I know I have a strange headache which makes me hide from light, movement and noise. My body feels 10 times heavier then usual, my legs, in particular, seem to be filled with sand. Hot flushes and teeth chattering cold fight for dominance. This round the nausea and headache rooted in, I was still struggling with these symptoms 10 days later so had to call the ‘Chemo Hotline’ for the first time. I imagined a light shining up into the sky with a caped superhero nurse answering the phone! I wasn’t far wrong. She listened sympathetically to my woes, “The chemo effect is accumulative and this round can be the hardest to combat” she said. Then she gave me the magic formula to fight it off. 2 days later I was feeling much better. I really should use these services more and earlier 🙄

The week improved, Woody had a long overdue haircut. Which he accepted with dignified grace…. We stood watching him. His head was hung low, his tail tucked under and he walked alone to the back of the house, turned, looked pitifully at me and then disappeared into the saloon…. Michelle and I were stood by the front door trying not to laugh out loud! Honestly what a drama queen, he gets massaged and preened for an hour then I pick him up. Dope. This time I collected him with his favourite person in tow, Aunty Shelley! His eyes lit up as we fussed over him, smelling his perfumed top knot! Then we took him for a well earned Luppolo lunch! It was wonderful to sit with Shelley, my bestie since we were 4 years old! Our mums, both since departed, used to tell us of our first meeting, sharing a toy pram handle in nursery! We have shared a lot more since. We are that pair where, one starts a story, half way through the other is already guffawing in anticipation of the punchline, the other starts to crack and can’t finish the story, so they both end up bent over hanging off each other trying not to pee their pants at what is essentially half a joke! Love her.

The bank holiday weekend arrived with sunshine bursting through the clouds and the cold, late spring, like a surprise birthday party! This was perfect timing as we all headed to Newcastle to see the whole family for the first time together since February 2020! This is such a long absence for our family, whom usually spend spring half term and a week in the summer together, with a sprinkling of weekends North and South in between. We dropped our luggage and the spruced up Woody to Jan and Andy’s as they were driving and we were taking the train. The train from Kings X to Newcastle is 3 hours with just 3 stops and is a pure joy! Racing past beautiful scenery, a blur of greens, towns and villages. Then a taxi ride to our hotel. We were all amazed by our view from our hotel window. The iconic Tyne Bridge stretching across the Tyne and the beautiful sleek Sage glistening away in the sun like a dropped disco ball, not a cloud in the sky. That evening we all met up in an Italian restaurant, I sported Rosie for the event! Gareth’s girlfriend Michelle did us all proud, she bought 3 different cakes with themed decorations for James’s 10th, Chloe’s 21st and my 50th! Then they all sang us happy birthday which was a cacophony of names and tunes! Joan, Steve’s Mum looked frail and had sadly had a fall the evening before so was sporting a huge purple cheek which looked so sore. I was able to spend a lot of the weekend sitting with Joan, which I relished, I wasn’t able to sit outside as it got dark, I found it too cold. The rest wore their beer coats, I sadly, am still not drinking. Please don’t mourn for me, I’ll rectify this after September! But I was more than happy to stay with Joan as flashes of her naughty sense of humour sneaked out! Then Sunday saw 17 People ranging from 78 to 6 and 3 dogs bumbling through Morpeth. The River Wansbeck is a shallow, babbling, wide river. There is a fabulous weir and wild life live right there bedside the footpath, herons & egrets just hunkered down, fishing, whilst humans stroll by with an ice cream. Then you come to the bit everyone loves, the stepping stones. Large flat stones stretch from one bank to the other. But their spacing is just far enough apart to make it exhilarating for the younger members of the family! The dogs and kids jumped into the river whilst the rest of us sat on the grassy bank, faces turned upwards to the long awaited sun. The evening was spent together in a gorgeous Indian restaurant called Simla, the owner called Shelley (not guffawing Shelley) told us the restaurant was named by her father, after the honeymoon region of India a place he longed to visit but after spending every Friday and Saturday in the Toon serving the pub and club fallouts, had died never realising his dream. I found this so sad. Anyway Steve and I thought we would toast the lovely couple Gareth and Michelle as they are about to move to a new house together with their big blended family. So we bought a couple of bottles of sparkly and Steve stood up “Excuse me everyone,” our families eyes swivelled toward him, as did the rest of the restaurants. “Gill and I wanted to say, we are so happy to see you all after such a long time and to share our wonderful news, Gill, is pregnant!” Screams of WHAT! And the faces of confusion of our family spun to look at me, I shrunk under the table calling Steve every name I could, baring in mind I was sat with his parents. After what seemed like 5 minutes Steve, fighting to speak said “only joking we wanted to say best of luck and all the love in the world to Gareth and Michelle as they embark on their future lives together.” Bloody idiot. I’ll never trust him to make a speech again. And with just a few more hours together, this was our Toon experience. Far too short but as the saying goes, very sweet. The train journey home was a bit more hectic as this time we had the added bonus of luggage and Woody. Although Woody went under the table and didn’t move until we got to Kings X. When the train pulled in I bent under the table to wake him, for a split second I thought he had passed over the rainbow bridge! He was so still and didn’t move as I touched him and called his name. Slightly alarmed I roughly rocked him and he sprung up banging his head off the seats, stumbling over the rucksacks and jumping into the aisle. The dude sitting across the aisle nearly fell out of his seat! “Blimey, I didn’t know you had a dog!” We laughed as Woody stood trying to gather himself. We think the culmination of the long car journey, sleeping in a strange place and the long walks must have exhausted him and the rocking motion of the train lulled him into a deep sleep. Our band then made its way to the underground to be met with boards informing us that the underground was basically shut. So began a 2 hour trudge across a hot, sticky, agitated London. Not the best end to a fabulous weekend. Half term week settled down and work ramped up, as I readied my next batch of customers for test.

Before you could say “St Bartholomew” I was back there. I attempted the spa joke again, you never know right? It fell as flat as it had the last time. I then took my seat to wait and see what would happen this time! This being round #5 meant I was to start a whole new drug regime. Herceptin & Docetaxel. Sitting here now, I thought for research purposes I would read the symptoms….I wish I had not!

Bruising and bleeding…of what? Anaemia, feeling sick, der! Diarrhoea (why can’t I spell that?) constipation (make your mind up) sore mouth, loss of appetite (chance would be a fine thing) feeling tired, hahahaha! Headaches, skin changes (into what 😱) redness of palms or soles of feet. Nail changes, delightful! Effect on the heart. Hold on What?!!! Muscle and joint pain, prolonged numbness or tingling of the hands or feet, hair loss, too late! Build up of fluid, schexy!
I just read *Alcohol. This medicine contains alcohol, your blood alcohol level will be above the legal limit to drive after treatment. Thank god for Uber! (Why does Uber auto correct to capital yet god doesn’t? 🤔)

Crickey! 🤢 Because these are new drugs I was given them over a six hour session, the nurses stopped and started the IV, watching me like hawks, waiting for me to self combust or for a limb to clatter to the floor? I had thought myself smart when I was first through the doors and selected the window seat. Unfortunately this was to be the hottest day of the year so far and as I and my IV bag heated up the beady eyed nurse suddenly bustled over and swished the curtains shut, I was glad of the shade but sadly missed the entire day. When I finally stumbled out into the sunshine, the shadows of London towns tall buildings stretched across the roads. The Uber driver arrived in the typical Prius with Magic FM blaring away. At first I popped my head phones on thinking to listen to my current pod cast. But the lure of Luther Vandross tore me away and I then spent the next 40 minutes reminiscing with the driver about concerts we had attended in our yuff! He got a huge tip after that journey as I had truly forgotten the last six hours!

Now I start the unknown week. What will this drug do to me? Will I escape the skin changes and nail dropping symptoms? Will my bowels make their mind up? It’s with a nervous wave I bid you farewell until next time! Thanks for sticking with me. I appreciate everyone of your messages, smiles, elbow bumps and tin foiled offerings! The prayers and good wishes must be working as I truly feel blessed.
See you on the other side! 😬

What’s The Halfway Point?

It actually took me over two weeks to get better following the biopsies and chemo. So in the end I only had one ‘good’ week this cycle! 🙄 During those two weeks James turned double digits! We now have a 10 year old! I remember when I had him in Abu Dhabi, it was my 40th birthday and I had always said I would climb Mount Kilimanjaro for my 40th! Instead I was strapped to a hospital bed pushing an angry red rugby ball out my floo in 50 degree heat! Fast forward 10 years and I’m strapped to a IV pole trying to shrink a lump the size of a baseball. I’m too scared to plan my 60th !🤣

A dear friend offered us her house in Folkestone for James’ birthday weekend. In reality I was not well enough to stay over night but we spent the day running round fields and beaches wearing the kids, dog and me out! We set a fire pit up on the beach in the evening and James braved the freezing sea for a dip…. well a paddle, he is 10, not stupid! All in all it was a lovely day and James told me as I dropped him to school on Monday morning “thanks for the best birthday ever Mum!” 😍 This made my week as I worry so much that this bloody cancer is affecting them deeply. James tells me at least 50 times a day that he loves me, Jess then feels she should say it too so I spend my days saying “Do you have your PE kit? I love you too!” Or “I love you too, did you make your bed?”

The Oncologist rung me a week after the biopsy, “How are you?” “Oh you know, traumatised, in soul crunching agony, black and blue with an egg shaped haematoma jutting out the side. how are you?” “Er, em ok thanks!” “Good.” “We have the results of your last biopsy, this is benign.” I slumped inwardly. “What does this mean for me now?” I worried that they would now not remove this ‘healthy’ breast leaving me to a future of ‘fake cancer scares’ every time I felt a lump, bump, ache or pain. “We have discussed your case and decided that you are considered high risk for this cancer returning so we would recommend a double mastectomy . How do you feel about this?” Relief was flooding through me like chemo, but without the nausea. “I just want them off me!” I said in an overly excited voice. The oncologist laughed and said that they generally have to explain their decision to patients and allow them time to digest the information. I seemed to have made my decision already! I had actually made this decision back in March when a Consultant told me to expect the worst.
So 5 or 6, I’ve lost count? Painful Procedures later and I am now considered high risk, so the double mastectomy is going ahead in September. (Leaving me to wonder why I was put through that amount of trauma? Then guilty as hey, at least they cared enough to be diligent.)

During all this I’m still teaching and had a couple of customers go through their tests. Because of stoopid COVID the test centre waiting rooms aren’t open, meaning I have to sit outside for 45 minutes. Because I am feeling exhausted all the time, I decided to take my own stool to sit on, I pulled it out of the boot with layers of clothing (we all know this weather is having a mental breakdown at the moment.) I had my ear phones and a drink. The examiner approached the car and said “we are not going on holiday, it’s just a test!” I laughed and said “look around, every instructor is so jealous of me right now!” I then spent the next 45 minutes sat wrapped up, listening to my audible. God I love my audible app. On the 13th of every month I get my free book. It spend days researching and reviewing. Then spend the next week or so grabbing any free moment to try to catch a chapter! ‘It’s ok I’ll walk the dog, do the shopping, drive the long way to a customers house!’ I’m still wearing my wigs during lessons. When I get home I race up the stairs and grab a hat, whipping the cap, double-sided sticky tape and wig of the day off, flinging them into a drawer…. Woody still haunts the top floor in hope of a snaffle of Rosie or Penelope! James hates the wigs and prefers me in hats, Jess loves the wigs and likes to choose which one I should wear. Not that I have much of a choice, Ringo is, well Ringo, Penelope or Rosie. I am enrolled on a scarf wrapping course. Fuck me I actually just wrote that and had to stop to laugh. Yes I am attending a course on how to tie a scarf round my bloody head. Wow I never saw this coming.

Round 4 of the chemo train arrived way too quickly. I had two appointments scheduled that day, 9:30 was 2.5hours chemo and at 4:40 I was to receive a telephone call from my oncologist. I got to Barts bang on 9:30 and rode up in the lift with a lady I was 99% sure was Jo Brand until we got to the COVID guard dogs and she gave her name. I went into the reception area and approached the receptionist, “Morning! Gill for my spa day. No I’m only joking it’s chemo.” She didn’t look amused. I took my seat and looked around the room. I was struck by the number of women sporting the Fryer Tuck look. They wore bandana scarves round their hairline but at the back were large bald spots with tufts of hair jutting out at different lengths. This wasn’t one woman. This was 3! I was amazed at their confidence. They were so….. comfortable, relaxed, unaffected. I wish I could feel this way. Of everything I have gone through since this all started, it’s still, sadly, my hair that affects me the most. I am unable to look at myself without a wig or hat on, even now. I feel ugly, old and diseased when I catch site of myself accidentally. These women couldn’t give a hoot. Good on them, shame on me.

I sat waiting for about 20 minutes when a nurse approached me, “Gillian?” “Yes” (ish it’s Gill but I won’t go on!) “I’m sorry but we cannot give you the chemo until you speak with the oncologist.” “But that appointment isn’t until 4:40!” I exclaimed in confusion. “Yes we have asked the oncologist to call you ASAP and then we can begin the chemo. Please go and wait in Maggie’s, it is more comfortable, the oncologist will call you.” I left and headed to Maggie’s, wondering how come every time I came here there was some kind of debacle? Maggie’s is the charity that has beautiful, architecturally built spaces within the hospital grounds, allowing you to step away from treatment and find respite. Comfy squashy chairs, free WiFi, tea and coffee with friendly staff ready to listen and support. I sat down, spilled the contents of my trusty roll-along across the table and settled in for the wait. My stomach began to rumble at some point which lead to me checking my watch. It was 12 O’Clock! I still had had no call and was still waiting for 2.5 hours of chemo to be pumped in. I rung the ward and asked what was happening? “Oh! The oncologist has been and gone now.” “WHAT?” I screeched down the phone! “You told me they would call me and sent me to Maggie’s, where I have been sat waiting.!” The receptionist stuttered and told me she would find out what was going on and call me straight back. When she called she told me to go straight to the oncologist office and she would see me. I gathered up my contents and rushed over to the offices, calling out a grateful “Thank you! Bye bye!” To the Maggie’s staff. I then sat in a stiff wooden,I socially distance chair for 2 more hours until the lady oncologist Steve and I had met a long time ago in this fiasco, called my name. By now I had approached the receptionist’s desk twice asking what was happening, had taught myself to tutt loudly and was checking my watch every 3 minutes. I was fuming! I let rip at the oncologist when she said sorry for the wait! “Sorry for the wait?” I steamed! “I’ve been here since 9:30!” To her credit, she spun round and stopped in front of me, “what? I was told you got here at 12?” I explained in a strangled voice, barely off shouting, what I had endured so far (leaving out the squishy chair and free WiFi!) she allowed me to vent and then was very apologetic, describing the ongoing problems the hospital departments were having with the scheduling department. I was calmed and jollied into a better mood. Ooo she was good! I then trotted back to where I had started for the chemo. As I walked into the reception the canteen lady was pushing her sad, empty trolley out of the doors. I stopped her and begged for a sandwich. At first she looked protective, a little worried that I was trying to trick her out of a cheese roll. I must have looked pathetic enough to pass her test as a few minutes later 2 tuna sandwiches and a yogurt landed on my tray! Gawd bless her! And so finally the 4th round of chemo was administered. This is my half way mark. I am to have 4 more chemo’s (this time a different drug) leading up to the operation in September. Half way feels good. Soon I will have more behind me than ahead. Soon I’ll have the new boobies Jess keeps enquiring about. Soon my head will be sprouting tufts of hair! Soon this will be over. 🤞🏻I finally called an Uber and crawled out of Barts at 5:30. 8 hours after I had arrived. I climbed into the cab and said to the unexpectant driver, “get me the fuck out of here!” He laughed and pulled away from the kerb, straight into rush hour traffic. I could have cared less, as least I was out!

And here I sit on Thursday of chemo week, with the black hole opening up in front of me, I feel the tendrils of a headache, the fatigue creeping over me like a blanket, I’m aware there is movement around me I just can’t seem to grasp it, to interact. I will fall down this hole and hopefully climb out again on Saturday as we have another birthday to celebrate. Like I have said before ‘Shit don’t stop for cancer!’ See you on the other side!

Everybody hurts!

Chemo, the third time round, was simple. Turn up on time, sit in the waiting room playing the ‘Is that a wig?’ game. Then go pick a chair. This was the hardest bit! The nurse said to me “you are first in, you can pick a chair.” Waving her hand around the empty ward. I headed for the window seat. I then began the arduous task of emptying my roll-along, as my chemo buddies arrived filling up the remaining seats. When I eventually sat down I realised I’d picked the ‘dodgy’ chair. The seat back was in the furthest relaxed position before horizontal. The feet were raised up so I looked like an astronaut mid launch! I took the remote and tried to bring the back of the chair forward, aware that the grinding noise wasn’t coming from my teeth. I was now stuck, leaving Earths atmosphere for the next 2.5 hours 🤦🏻‍♀️ The nurses found my position very amusing and in fact spent most of the next 2.5 hours making crackling sounds and saying ‘Houston we have a problem”. During their comedy side show they also introduced a young woman to me who was a trainee pharmacist and was familiarising herself with the different chemo drugs. We got chatting, which was in itself a strange, new experience, as up until now no one seemed to speak in these wards! She told me she suffered with a prematurely -reseeding hairline. I thought her very brave to talk about this, but then she was talking to a woman with a flammable carpet on her swede. We then got talking about Microblading. A while ago this strange term and I crossed paths. I mentioned to Steve that Kerry knew someone that did microblading and I was considering it. Steve looked appalled and said “I don’t think you should be skating at the moment Gill, you are sick”! In fact microblading is not the latest inline-skate but a tattooed eyebrow. Lots of tiny needles delicately draw hair strokes whilst depositing pigment under the skin. The pharmacist told me she uses a special eyebrow pen to define her brows. So, after chemo I felt well enough to pop to Stratford and purchase said pen. I decided I had better do it sooner rather than later as I was fully expecting my eyebrow hair and eyelashes to fall out this go around. I headed straight for Boots, bought the pen and went for a good old mooch. Unfortunately at this point a massively intense headache descended and as I attempted to get back to the tube I felt as though I were walking through treacle. I was shocked at the suddenness of the onset of symptoms this time round. Usually I felt well until Thursday of chemo week. This did not bode well. When I got home I lay on the sofa trying to gather myself. My phone rang. No Caller ID displayed. No longer did I instantly think “Bloody PPI” I knew this was a hospital call. “Hello this is Barts here. You have an appointment tomorrow with us. Please come to the West Wing Ground Floor at 3:30. Please don’t eat for 4 hours prior to the appointment.” I dropped my head into my hands. On Friday I had received this same call but it had gone like this…. “Hello this is Barts here. You have an appointment with us on Tuesday. Please come to the George V building second floor at 2:30. Only eat a light meal before you arrive.” I explained my dilemma. Her response was simple “well you can’t be in two places at once. Come here.”

Tuesday arrived. Not any old Tuesday but the MRI guided biopsy Tuesday. I had lessons during the day and although the chemo had struck me early I felt well enough to work. It also took my mind off what awaited me later. I had decided to get to Barts at 2:30 just in case. Minus lunch. As the last lesson ended my stomach dropped, the next part of my day had arrived. I took the tube in, just 8 stops. Too easy. I presented my self at the Ground Floor and a confused lady told me I was not on their list. I hot footed it to the George V. (Here I had to almost tuck and roll to get by the Wig Woman’s shop, trying to not be seen wearing a black Bob from Amazon. The last thing I needed today was for her to pop her head out enquiring after Sarsha’s health.) Sure enough I was on their list. But I had to go back to the other department after their tests for my MRI. 🤷🏼‍♀️ I was completely confused now.

The first round of tests were conducted by two lovely, young nurses. I had a cannula inserted into my right arm for a contrast dye to be administered. As the nurse put the cannula in, a fountain of blood began pumping out of my arm arcing upwards and across her head. At first I looked round expecting to see a clown with a water gun behind me, but no it was my arm, my blood. The nurse jumped back then both began grappling with the cannula trying to insert a ‘bung’ to stem the flow. This only slowed it and lessened the arc. I watched all this, detached, as if watching it happen on some farce show. I even found it slightly amusing. The nurses were able to get the contrast bag connected and this stopped the horror show in its tracks. “Sorry about that. The bung wasn’t working correctly” no shit… I was then invited to feel the contrast flowing up my vein, a strange sensation, I put my fingers to my upper arm and felt a cool trickle of fluid tracing its way under my skin, like a hose pipe when you feel the force of the water flowing.
I was then escorted to the good old mammogram RoboDoc. I was a little upset to be told I was to have 4 mammograms, 2 of each breast. “But you know I have cancer in the right breast, I’m being checked on the left side today?” They were unbending in their orders so I found myself being pushed, squashed and shunted all over again. Finally when they had ummed and ahhed over whether the pictures were good enough, honestly without tearing my boobs off and popping them on the trays for them I was unable to do better. My stupid skeleton kept getting in the way 🙄 they said right let’s get you to the MRI department now. As they unhooked the contrast bag, my ‘Blood Bellagio’ show began again. The nurses were ready this time though! And they grabbed a sanitary towel and a crepe bandage. I was escorted to the MRI department and there we were told that my appointment had been cancelled as I had not arrived. Luckily I was still in a bit of shock at the memory of the murder scene I had just left behind and the nurses fought this battle. They won and I was taken to a waiting room for the MRI. Still completely unsure what I was about to face. A man in scrubs with a clipboard came bumbling along the corridor and stopped in front of me. “Are you Gill?” Yes! “Why aren’t you changed? What’s wrong with your arm?” I showed him my makeshift tourniquet and he went red as the ceiling in my last room! “We can’t use that!” “Well you ain’t putting another hole in me, so you had better work out how you will use it.” I said staring into his beetroot face. He bumbled off in another direction. I was then joined by a lady who informed me she was the Radiologist about to perform my biopsy. She told me she had been involved in my case from the beginning and in fact it was her ordering all these tests. She said “I’ve got a whiff of cancer in that left breast. I know it’s there.” Like an old time gold miner in the Wild West! This strangely settled me. She was trying to help me. I was taken into the MRI room and a nurse unbound my arm. The sanitary towel and bandage were ruined. I flinched expecting the arc to begin again but this nurse simply popped a new bung in. Job done. I know this isn’t a big deal in the scheme of things but it’s fairly traumatic watching your life juice firing off in all directions only to discover they just used the wrong size bung.

Now I was hooked up to a new contrast dye bag. Then I had to lie face down on the MRI tray with my left breast trapped in a cage like contraption. My arms were positioned forwards in front of me and my black Bob fell across my face shielding me from seeing what was about to be wheeled in. I was trundled backwards into the mouth of the machine and it’s mad popping, banging and whizzing took up. I had ear phones in which were as useful as a wrong sized bung. Finally I was trundled out again. “OK Gill, we have seen the area light up on the pictures so now we are going to perform the biopsy.” I turned my head slightly as a recognisable sound pinged. “Hold on!” I called out in genuine confusion. “Is that a vacc biopsy machine?” Yes came the reply. I was stunned, I thought this was gonna be a simple needle biopsy. I groaned and felt my heart rate quicken. I decided to go back under my hair and sing a song to myself, all I could think of was REM Everybody Hurts!
The Radiologist put 3 anaesthetic injections into the area, which quite frankly, need a blooming anaesthetic injection. “Sharp scratch and a sting!” Crickey. When the area was numb the vacc biopsy began. I yelped as the first cut began, the nurses all ‘Oooo’d’ with me as they were unable to stop the blade mid cut. A fourth anaesthetic was injected. Then the machine began again. I tried to grit my teeth, I clenched some poor nurses hand so tight I worried she would need the MRI after me. Then suddenly I felt the blade cutting, I screamed out in surprise and pain. The Radiologist said “nearly there then I’ll stop it!” My whole body spasmed and bucked. I was not able to control the need my body had to pull away from this torture. “How many cuts did you get?” I asked, hoping it was enough. “9. That’ll do us” Thank Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the wee donkey.

I was helped from the tray and lead to a chair. As I turned I gasped! The amount of blood dripping off the MRI trolley, the floor was puddled. I heard the technician next door say “Unit 3 is shut we need the cleaners in.” I imagined the SOCO unit turning up in white CSI coveralls and yellow tape! I had to sit on that chair for 10 minutes before I trusted my legs to carry me. I had the cannula removed and was lead out to the changing room. I dressed slowly, my body rebelling against me, I had allowed this to happen AGAIN. I felt dreadful. I called an UBER and went home. I sat with silent tears rolling down my face. I think I was in a bit of shock as well as good old fashion, feeling sorry for myself!

It’s taken me over a week to feel any semblance of normal. With chemo symptoms crashing over me and recuperating from yet another assault on my boobs, I have felt like I have been hit by that truck everyone talks about. This week I have lived on paracetamol and ‘Away’! Which made me think of my chemo chair… I’ll check next time.

Sorry this one has been gruesome. I’ll try not to let this happen again.

Some you win, some you loose.

As I sat in the car, following a lesson, writing up my notes, my phone rang. “Hello my name is (Dr..mumble mumble🤷🏼‍♀️) I’m in the Genetics Department at Great Ormond St. Hospital. You have been referred to us following your diagnosis.” I had expected this call and was pleased to receive it. But following her detailed explanation of what her department does and what happens following a simple blood test, I became more uncomfortable. Never have I ever wanted to fail a test so much in my life.

My blood test can have 3 outcomes:

1. No further action. The blood test proves negative for any genetic modifications.

2. Genetic modification. I have a mutated gene that predisposed me to this cancer and puts me in the high risk bracket for ovarian cancer too. This also has huge ramifications for my family. Sisters, nieces, nephews, my children and grandchildren. A truly horrible outcome. 🙏🏼

3. Mutation, no evidence at this time. This is where future research will hopefully help.

So now the genetics wait starts, which is 2 to 3 months. 🤦🏻‍♀️ 

A few days later I attended Whipps X hospital for my guided biopsy under MRI. I was very nervous about this. Firstly this is an unknown procedure to me. How does this work? And also obviously, this was gonna leave me black and blue and in pain for a few days. I strolled into the MRI Department in good time. “Hello, Gill for a biopsy under MRI?” The lady looked at her list. Then blankly looked at me “here?” My stomach immediately dropped, here we go. “I thought so?” I was directed to the breast clinic where the admin staff made a phone call and then told me I was suppose to be a Barts hospital for this procedure. (Hmm then why didn’t you tell me?) I left feeling weirdly disappointed but also frustrated at this ‘left hand, right hand’ bureaucracy. I had had to cancel lessons for this crap.  

The next day I headed to Barts 🙄 for an Oncologist appointment. I was not exactly sure what this was for? I’m sure the Dr’s or Breast Care Nurse (BCN) told me at some foggy time but this like most of the past 3 months has disappeared into a file in my brain marked ‘WTF HAPPENED’ 

I arrived early so thought I’d pop into the MacMillan office. A kind lady was in the chair when I arrived. I said “I don’t know if you can help me but I’m told I can claim the travel expenses I am incurring?” “Oh yes! We can help with all of this. Are you self employed? How do you get to your appointments? Do you have dependants?...” She asked a series of questions I thought would probably lead to the inevitable, ‘Sorry you do not qualify’ letter. I then headed up the ornate, sweeping staircase to the waiting room, where I sat on a plastic chair for the next one and a half hours in a mildly nervous state. What was I here for? 

Finally I was called into the office. A young man announced he was an oncologist, and wanted to discuss how I was coping with the chemo. During our ‘chat’ he casually remarked that I was to have a ‘Right breast mastectomy’. “No, a double you mean?” I said assuming the meerkat pose of any patient on high alert. He scrolled through copious notes on his screen. “No. Right breast only.” My jaw tightened. I felt anger surge. “I’m sorry (I wasn’t) but why have I been told by two different oncologists that I’m to have a double mastectomy and recon? One of the Dr’s even went into detail about the operation saying it usually takes 6 hours?” My second blank look in as many days was aimed at me. He said this is the reason for this MRI guided biopsy. Evidently the Radiologist’s in the team meetings are convinced I have cancer in my left breast as there was a suspicious shadow on the previous MRI. If the biopsy finds these pesky cells then a double mastectomy will be fait accompli. If not then I will have to see a psychiatrist to discuss my reasons for wanting healthy tissue removed.... reckon I’ll win that one. 

So in the last week I have discovered I want to fail a genetics test but pass an MRI Guided biopsy. I’m literally hoping I have cancer. What’s happened? This is madness. 

During all this madness I went out on yet another birthday jolly! This one with my girlfriends. In preparation I bought a number of wigs from Amazon and snuck them into my handbag, giggling madly to myself. Shelley collected me and Sarsha, then we collected Bev on route to Southend. Where we met Kerry, Rupa and Noreen. The restaurant is beautifully positioned, facing the seafront. With a patio heater and numerous blankets we happily spent the next 2 hours catching up. After the starters I nipped off to the toilet, replacing Sarsha with a candy-floss bob and returned to the table, as if nothing were amiss. A few seconds later 5 gasps and snorts of laughter erupted. Following our mains I again excused myself returning as Uma Thurman ala Pulp Fiction! Sarsha was not the most popular lady atop my bonce that night!

I spent the next week fighting the loosing battle of, working a reduced list of customers and bone weary exhaustion. These are my ‘good two weeks’ post chemo. I try to cram normality into these two weeks, knowing full well that chemo week is my Alice in Blunderland week. I’ll disappear down the chemo rabbit hole. ‘Normality’ is stretching it. I can manage 2 lessons if I get a break between customers and then I’m good for nothing. Assuming the slumped position staring at the tv through my ‘resting eyelids’. 

I have, on the whole, worn Sarsha on my lessons. Most of my customers have either not noticed or said a morale boosting,  ‘Oooo! Like your hair!’ The other day I had a few hours between lessons so I came home and raced up to my room, whipping Sarsha off and throwing her, relieved, onto the dressing table. I then popped into my bathroom. I was sat, minding my own business when I heard the soft pad and pant of Woody mounting my staircase. He stopped outside the door and stood looking at me with his stupid spaniel smile. I then spotted his eyes darting sideways at the discarded Sarsha. I swear he waited for my point of no return, then quick as a flash grabbed Sarsha and ran down the stairs. Steve was on the floor below on a team meeting, causing me to have to shout-whisper “Woody get back here! Drop! Drop it!” All to no avail. As soon as I was able (😳) I jumped up and raced after him. As I got to the patio doors he was happily bouncing round the garden, throwing his prize up in the air, upon seeing me he dropped Sarsha, put his front paw on her and pulled as hard as he could with his teeth. I heard the ripping sound and knew. Sarsha was no more. There was a ruddy great hole in the side, over my ear, the hair was stood on end almost in shock at its appalling treatment. Sarsha was now, Rod Steward. Bloody dog.

The next day I got back from lessons and found a letter for me. I opened it fully expecting of another hospital appointment but no! It was from The Rahere Association? They had been sent my case by the kind lady in the Macmillan office and had decided I should be awarded a lump sum from the charity towards my travel expenses. I stared open mouthed at the letter. I was shocked! 

Firstly I didn’t think for a second think that I would be receiving money from a charity. Me? Why? And secondly, I felt a complete fraud. I didn’t need this money! I was then struck by the awful realisation that my friends had clubbed together to help with Uber rides. My head dropped into my hands. Oh God, I’d be on the news for taking people for a charity ride! I immediately set too. Calling and texting my friends updating them with my change of circumstance. Offering their money back! Obviously these are those wonderful humans I have talked about before and there was a resounding....

“Buy yourself a decent wig” chorus!

Humbled and slightly emotional, I sat down and wrote a ‘thank you’ card to the Rahere Association. Promising that, following this rubbish period in my life, I would raise the money they sent me and some, in anyway possible. Look out for me sat in a bath of custard or on a sponsored fancy, dress dog walk in a year or so! If the dog makes it that is 🤔

And now.... I’m sat on a train returning from a magical weekend in Penzance with my family, a final hurrah to my recent 50th! This has really helped take my mind off of tomorrow, my third round of chemo looms large. I’ll see you all on the other side! 

Give me an ice cream scoop.

Where did I leave you? Oh yes, waiting for the results of the 19 Vacuum Biopsies. During this wait, our lockdown world began to open up! I also found myself turning 50. I’m not entirely sure how this happened! (Inside every 50 year old, is someone scratching their head wondering what happened to their 30’s?) I guess if you are going to have a big birthday whilst having ‘The Cancer’ you might as well celebrate in style! And I did! With a family food-fest party on the Sunday and then on the day, an early morning  dog walkers Prosecco Party in the park. It was absolutely freezing, but I was very emotional as a ton of my friends dragged their dogs out to help warm up my frozen heart, hands and feet!

Kerry arrived after the party and whisked me off too Stratford, where we avoided the madness outside Primark, wth is that all about? And raced around M&S on a bra shopping spree. Currently their changing rooms are closed so we hatched a cunning plan. I bought 6 bras all in different styles and sizes. We then popped off to the toilets and I tried them on in the loo! I could hear my neighbours coming and going as I struggled in and out of the Lacy Flopper Stoppers! My elbows banging against the partition walls and my grunting and growling must have caused a few to flee before completing their business! I made my selection and returned the ones I didn’t want. Kerry also made me throw my ‘old faithful’ in the bin, as she decided it probably had been through enough and deserved a burial at sea. The sea wasn’t nearby so it was tossed in a Westfield bin.

I was returned home in time for Helen the Hairdresser to pop in to sort that bloody Sandra out. I had not been able to bring myself to wear Sandra the wig for a few days now. I felt frumpy and old fashioned in my ‘Mum Do.’ Luckily one of my buddy’s had spotted Helen on Facebook advertising her ‘wig personalisation services’ (oooo get her!) I had asked if I needed to be present whilst she whipped Sandra into shape, I now imagine that millisecond pause on the phone was a ‘🙄’ moment for Helen. “Yes Gill, you need to be there.” 🤦🏽‍♀️ So there I was sat in a gown having my syrup trimmed. (My worlds gone effing mad.) Copious amounts of synthetic hair was flying round the conservatory as Helen tackled the Mum Do. Kerry had stayed as I don’t think she trusted Helen, me or Sandra to behave. Eventually Helen said “right go and look” I was amazed. Sandra had been transformed. Sarsha was born! Helen left as swiftly as she had arrived, leaving me wonder if that had really just happened? What a surreal time. Then along with half of Britain we dragged the kids and 8 friends to a freezing cold beer garden to finish off the celebrations and kick start our world again!  I just want to thank everyone for their kind messages of love and support. I’m a lucky lady! 💕

The next day saw the return of my Driving School! I was super excited to see my pupils again and to help them regain their driving confidence! I had warned them all of Sandra but still felt the need to point out my head was sporting an imposter! Sarsha! I don’t know why I can’t just ignore the elephant in the room. But even in shops I find myself tempted to lift it up a centimetre to show the checkout girl my baldy bonce. Almost as if to stop them saying, after I’ve gone, “who does she think she’s fooling?” I have found 2 moles on the side of my head that to my mind are big enough to replicate gun shot wounds. One day I was in the Greggs queue (don’t judge)  a kid was staring at my head. For just a moment I considered lifting Sarsha and giving the kid a fright! It was a passing moment. But it would have stopped him staring at anyone for the rest of his life. My customers on the other hand were extremely complimentary about Sarsha. But within seconds I had forgotten she was there, as the lessons consumed me. It was pure joy to be out of my head for the hour and half. During one of my lessons my phone rang. I never would answer my phone during a lesson obviously, but my gut instinct told me this was the hospital. I asked my customer to park up and if they didn’t mind me taking this call? “Hello Gill, Dr here from Whipps. I’m afraid we didn’t get enough cells from your last biopsies and we need you to attend the hospital for an MRI guided Biopsy.” Because my pupil was sat next to me I was unable to explode in the car, screaming “19 biopsies and you didn’t get enough? Give me an ice cream scoop I’ll do it for you.” Instead I simply had to say “when?” So this Tuesday will see me return to the scene of the previous 3 crimes for another craic. I spent the rest of the lesson trying to push the lump in my throat down.  

My energy levels continue to dip. I manage two lessons then slip into a funk, unable to move or think. I’m always surprised by this, deep down I haven’t admitted I’m sick. I feel on the whole unchanged. (Except for the Dr Evil impersonation every time I see my reflection!) but I am suddenly aware I have boundaries. If I want to go shopping I need to drop some other activity in the day. If the bathroom needs cleaning, you can forget the ironing etc. It’s become a scheduling nightmare. I need to do certain things every day and these deplete my energy levels leaving my sprawled on the sofa watching whatever was left on the tv before anyone left the room.

Now I must go get ready to see my Oncologist for what my sister assures me is just a ‘How are you doing?’ Rather than a ‘Strip off we need to stab you.’ Fingers crossed she is right!

Getting to know the new me.

As part of my new drug regime, I was to inject myself daily with an immune boosting serum, G-CSF. This would increase certain types of blood cells produced in my bone marrow to help fight any infections I come into contact with during chemo. I remember after I had Jessica, I had to have a daily injection to prevent blood clotting. I was too squeamish to do this myself so enlisted the help of Bev, my brave friend, (or maybe she was just a woman with a grudge?) Anyway she would turn up, demand tea and then gleefully stab me. When I was informed I was going to have to self inject, I thought of calling Blood-Thirsty-Bev, but stoopid COVID put pay to that. So I had to woman up. I am supposed to do this at the same time each day for 5 days after chemo. I set my phone alarm to go off at 6pm. My first attempt was a painful & bloody experience. I dreaded 6pm every day. But I taught myself a little trick. If I held an ice cube against my skin for a few seconds the skin would be numbed enough that I would not feel the needle go in. No pain and no blood either! The only other alarming thing about this exercise was my 6yo daughters fascination. She loved to watch! I hated seeing needles go in. Her, well I had to ask her to back up so I could see what I was doing. Freak.

Finally 5 days were up and on the 6th I settled onto the sofa to watch TV. As the evening wore on so pain in my backside and spine began to increase. Initially I thought it was my existing back injury metaphorically sticking its hand in the air ‘Please Miss! Don’t forget me!’ But the pain continued to build to a crescendo. By the time I crawled to bed and lay on the mattress, it was like I was laying on a concrete slab. Steve was reading as I tried to get comfy. Finally I said in a pitiful voice, ‘Steve, do you remember the oncologist saying anything about bone pain?’ The amount of stuff thrown at you from the moment you are diagnosed , means that most of it is just white noise. Steve said ‘I think it’s the injection stuff Gill. Let me get you some heat pads’. Steve keeps a stock of these strange stick on heat pads that you stick to an injured area and they generate their own deep tissue heat. I had so many areas of pain that by the time he’d fixed them to me I looked like a bloody armadillo. I downed 4 paracetamol and thankfully passed out. The next day I contacted the hospital to ask them about the pain. The pain I am feeling is my bone marrow making the excess blood cells to fight infections. 🤢 Really looking forward to this for the next 6 months 🤥

Being told you are on chemo, induces a certain amount of expectation. I expected to feel unwell, look crap and things to drop off. Sure shit dropped off 🙄 but I kind of felt alright? When people asked ‘how are you?’ I almost felt like I should lie! But other than a slight nauseous feeling, I was back on form. Walking the dog, shopping, chasing the kids and cleaning the house. I am a driving instructor in my ‘real life’ but this has obviously been on hold for some time. So I had to make a decision as to whether I would return to work after lock down lifts or not. The thought of cancer being my only ‘thing’ was so claustrophobic that there really wasn’t a choice. But I knew I would not be able to cope with the amount of customers I had on my books pre lock down. I decided to release the customers that were on a longer journey and whose test I might jeopardise with surgery dates etc. Then I called my customers I wanted to keep to inform them of my diagnosis and give them the opportunity of looking for another instructor if they so wished. Of course, all of them being bloody marvellous humans, said they wanted to stay with me. So to ease the tension, I said that we had to avoid emergency stops as this could dislodge the wig and in a worst case scenario may cause other road users to think we had hit a cat. I think it’s safe to say they won’t be starting training with any apprehensions!

The hospital rung to tell me the results for the 19 biopsies were not back yet. Probably caused a backlog in the bloody lab! I’m now waiting for those next week. You have gotta love the cancer waiting room. Grab a magazine and seat, you’ll be here a while.

Soon the second round of chemo loomed. This fell on Easter Monday. Fucking Yay! Under threat of violence I took an Uber to the hospital this time. My appt was 9:30am and when I arrived the ward was empty. I was told to pick my chair. I chose the window seat. The view over London’s St. Barts was distorted by flurries of springtime snow. This brought much excitement to the ward with the nurses (mainly from the Philippines) all rushing to the windows cooing loudly. Then the flurries were gone and so were the nurses, melted back into the monotony of beeping machines and cannulas. 2.5hours later and I was freed into the wild. I raced out of the hospital calling the Uber before I left the lift and stepping into the back of the sleek Mercedes van before the revolving door had slowed! When I got home it was a bright sun shining day. The fug of chocolate eggs hung heavy over the kids and the dog! I suggested a walk to MacDonalds for lunch and was nearly stampeded. The walk there was full of chatter and games of ‘I Spy’ then as the return walk began I noticed my legs grow heavy, my mind sluggish and my eyelids drooping. I needed to lie down pronto. As soon as we got in I fell on the sofa and drifted off into an exhausted sleep. When I woke up I was confused to see my dog lying there in pink ankle socks, multi-coloured knickers and a green sequinned skirt. Was this yet another side effect, hallucinations? No it was a bored 6yo at work. God bless that dog, as he sat there looking rather comfortable in his Easter get up!

The week rolled on, I knew the side effects were gonna get me, like the scary movies I love. I could hear the dark music intensifying as the week wore on and eventually on Thursday I felt it’s cold breath on the back of my neck. I went from being fine, to being sick in a flick of a switch. A strange misty headache descended lowering my eyelids over what was 1 second before alert eyes. I became instantly exhausted, every muscle screaming for my bed. Heat surged through my body as my immune system went into overdrive. I was aware of my family around me but I can’t remember anything of what was happening. Then on Saturday morning I woke up, Gill again. The ironing awaited, the house waited patiently for me to get over myself and then said ‘clean me!’ Cancer doesn’t stop shit happening. Shit happens with or without cancer!

“I can’t say THAT word”

Finally I was called into a different room. This one had pictures of my boob skeletons on the computer screen. I could see fireworks of bright lights, streaking across one breast. Almost pretty? Two ladies greeted me happily. Then they matter of factly pointed to the pictures saying there were a few areas of concern and that biopsies were needed to ascertain what these were. Before they even bought me a drink, I was on the bed with one arm in the air having needles shoved into both boobs. Evidently, I also discovered, I’m a bleeder! Blood poured out of me at an alarming rate. At one point both ladies were trying to stop the flow like some disaster movie set in a dam. The next thing I tangibly remember is sitting in another waiting room, waiting to see the consultant.
Because of stoopid COVID, I was alone. I don’t think I felt panic, fear or nerves. Just a sense of sadness. Our family Is young, energetic and happily snuggled up just us and the dog. I had a foreboding I was about to monumentally fuck this up.
I was called into the consultants room, a big, bright, airy room. But I felt an undercurrent of tension. My desire to make people feel at ease helped me through this whole experience. As the consultant examined me, took detailed family history (a shit storm of cancer carcasses!) I tried to smile, reassure and hold myself upright and ready for action. I don’t remember much of what the consultant said but I remember this, “I can’t say THAT word as we await the biopsy results but be prepared for chemo and a double mastectomy.” This sentence echoed round my numb skull for 10 days.

Steve was collecting me from the hospital. As I stood waiting for him I called my sister. “I have some bad news.” “Oh no! Is it Joan?” My long suffering wonderful mother in law who was diagnosed with bowel cancer 10 years ago and has died slowly before our sad eyes ever since. “No, I’m afraid it’s me, it appears I have double breast cancer.” “What! What? Where are, when did, how is this happening?” My poor sister has been blighted by this bastard disease twice and she has had a rough trot though the process, who doesn’t eh? I immediately felt guilty and wished I had waited for the results before traumatising her. But I needed to know her grade for my consultant.

Steve pulled up and I said my goodbyes to my sister. I got in the car and asked Steve to park up a minute. Then I said “Steve I’m sorry but I think I have double breast cancer.” I watched the colour drain from his face, starting at his hair roots and rushing greyly down over his lips draining all life colour and replacing fear. I have seen Steve cry, when our son died at birth, when his mum was diagnosed but never for me. Guilt again surged through me. I dreaded what would happen when we had to finally break this to our children.

Over the next 10 days we numbly moved through our day to day actions. I called the school and spoke with the head teacher. She was marvellous, “Send the children straight back, we will look after them, you look after you. We are here for you.” I couldn’t ever thank her for this kindness as these next few weeks were full of hospital appointments I would have been unable to hide from the kids had they been home. My 9 yo son would have become suspicious and we did not want to outright lie to them. The next appointments were as much fun as the first. First up, Vac biopsies, a new experience I would highly recommend for the next Bond movie. ‘Ah Mr Bond, tell us the secret code or we will Vac biopsy you.’ ‘No problem: 32-56-78!’ I had 1 on each boob and that was 2 more than I ever wanted again. After the biopsy was taken the radiologist took me into her room to show me the scan pictures again and said “you know it’s cancer right?” Well I definitely do now. I was actually scheduled to get the results the next day! An MRI Scan followed this, this entailed lying face down on the narrow table with my boobs dangled into what are essentially buckets for 45 minutes. Numerous blood tests. A CT scan of my chest. Then I had the bone Scan with the radioactive dye injected into me like some Russian spy thriller. This again had me laid on a narrow table with the worlds slowest camera floating an inch above my nose working it’s way down my body. I found myself having to control my breathing at one stage as it was so close to my face for so long, I felt the tendrils of claustrophobia setting in. Surreal how life can change on a dime.

The consultant unaware I now knew this was cancer saw me during all these tests. He confirmed the confirmation! I have a 12.3cm DCIS in the right breast some of which has broken out of the ducts and is in the breast tissue. The biopsy from the left breast is benign! It had not spread to the lymph’s either! The MDI will decide when all test results are in as to which way round my treatment will proceed, chemo or bi-lat first. I almost floated out of the room. I had spent 10 days imagining everything from double mastectomy to my funeral. No hair and no boobs seemed to be a win!

As I had become radioactive during these tests and was told I was not allowed to be within 1M of the kids for 24 hours we felt we needed to level with them. So one Friday evening, when our family normally ‘parties’, we sat our young children down and broke the news that mummy had a disease. This meant that I was going to have to take some strong medicine which might make me poorly. I might loose my hair, and that in a few months I would have an operation meaning I would be in hospital for a night, but they could have MacDonalds then! Our son asked straight out “are you going to be alright?” I said “yes.” He said “ok. Can I go on my iPad?” 🙄 our daughter very cleverly asked “what’s this disease called?” “Cancer” I said. She then got upset saying she didn’t want me to loose my hair. At this point my hair was half way down my back and like all little girls she loved playing with my hair. I told her she could help me pick a short style she liked to help get her ready for the inevitable hair loss. This had the immediate effect of cheering her up and she raced off to get my iPad and look for styles! They have both continued to make us proud, coping beautifully with all the changes this fucking disease has brought to our life in this short time.y

I decided for many reasons to cut my hair short. To beat the inevitable, to make the loss less traumatic for the kids and us, and to donated it to The Little Princess Trust so some little kid could have their own hair. This simple act went on to raise £1600 for the LPT as I broke the news of my diagnosis on Facebook to my family and friends around the world. These wonderful humans donated their hard earned money in a show of strength and love I’ll never get over 💖

Now with my new pixie cut I was ready to face the challenge. St Barts called me to attend the Oncology Department and meet one of the consultants. Steve came with me. We took the tube and in a pre-chemo Brain moment I took us to The Royal London 🤦🏼‍♀️ Realising my mistake as we arrived at Whitechapel we jumped off the train and into a black cab. I was fretting that I would be late and the whole process would be delayed. We raced into the George the V building only to discover this place NEVER runs on time! We then sat in the waiting room for an hour! We were finally called in to meet our oncologist a gorgeous lady in her 40’s with a fabulous sense of humour and oodles of compassion. Steve and I both felt for the first time since this nightmare began that we had a fighting chance. The wonderful NHS was in our corner!

The Onc discussed what was going to happen to me going forwards, 8 rounds of chemo, then a double mastectomy and then 9 months of more chemo. Fuck me!

Breaking the scary stuff down to clinical names:

Doxorubicin and Cyclophosphamide (confusingly called AC.) Will be administered via intravenous drip every 3 weeks. These drugs interrupt the development of the cancer cells. They also interrupt any other fast growing cells in the body. I.e.: hair, nails etc.

Then the operation. Followed by more chemo Herceptin and Docetaxel. Evidently out of all this shit it seems I’m lucky? I’m HER2+ and Oestrogen + so I can be given Herceptin which will act on the receptor on the cancer cell. And the combined chemo drug moping up any stray cells should see me through this safely.

So I’m being cured, not fighting to survive. I can handle that. Shit, I can handle anything but that.

Preparing yourself for chemo is a strange thing. A group of my wonderful friends put together a ‘ChemoPack’ which consisted of a cuddly dressing gown, silk pillow cases, herbal teas and a million other things I would never normally pamper myself with. I have used every damn one of them! Bliss. Then my 2 sisters arrived at my door step with another ‘ChemoPack’ wtf? This must be a ‘thing’? This pack contained lip balms, a fan, glass straws and about a years supply of handyhankies! We sat in our coats on chairs in my car park! I don’t feel alone going into battle. I’ve got this and everyone else has got me. I have been reduced to tears on more than one occasion during all this crap by acts of kindness. When my wonderful friend Rupa arrived with food and an envelope containing cash my oldest & dearest friends had collected for hospital Uber rides! Another was when my friend Linda turned up on ChemoEve with her husbands lasagna he made us in a show of solidarity. These little acts carry Steve, the kids and I through this, dampening the friction allowing us to walk into the unknown with courage.

I thought long and hard about my trip to St Barts for my first round of Chemo. I was offered a lift by Kerry and wrestled with feelings of guilt, why did I need a lift, at this precise moment I was still just Gill. I had not had any treatment. I could get the tube and Uber home. Kerry would have to travel from Southend all this way. I don’t know how long I’ll be as this is my first rodeo and I’d worry myself sick she was getting parking tickets or propositions I would not be witness too! So on Sunday afternoon I finally made my decision. I’ll tube there and Uber home. Simple.

I packed a suitcase, I shit you not. All these ‘chemo packs’ were seriously causing FOMO what if I needed something and I hadn’t taken it? So a fluffy blanket, lip balms, hand creme’s, sweets, iPad, headphones, note pad, pen, 15 packs of tissues and a cuddly toy were dragged behind me as I headed to Snaresbrook. It had been raining but was now trying to brighten up, a bit like me. I stepped onto the platform just as the train pulled up, that was my first bit of luck. As I stepped from the damp platform onto the Lino of the tube, my lead foot slipped out from under me and my trailing leg dropped down the GAP between the train and platform. I have no idea how I managed to drag my Hogwarts ready suitcase onto the train before the doors closed on my leg. With Herculean effort I pushed the door open enough to drag my bloody leg (and slip on shoe much to my amazement) into the carriage. I sat on the floor stunned and bleeding profusely. I remember looking at my fellow passengers, raising my eyes to the fluorescent lighting and say “fuck me” but this didn’t seem to initiate any human reaction. Be it COVID, London or just those bunch of buggers. They all just sat there staring at me. I managed to drag myself up and hop, limp to a seat. My leg was pouring with blood when I realised I had half of Kleenex in my bag. Whilst mopping I noticed there was a teenage boy sat opposite me, I’m convinced he used me to increase his TikTok views. I’m viral somewhere.

When we pulled into St Paul’s I hopped, dragged myself off the train and limped to the escalators. As I stepped out of the station I saw a black cab with that fabulous little orange light, lit! I stuck my hand out and said “could you take me to St Barts please?” He laughed and said “it’s only a 2 minute walk love!” To which I stepped back and flashed him my leg. He winced and said “jump in!” I told him my tale of woe and the kindly gent took me as close as he could and wouldn’t accept the £25 fare..! Joking! I then hopped/limped/swore my way into the hospital. At the doors was the COVID gate keeper. As soon as he took one look at me and my gammy leg I was whisked up to the 7th floor (chemocentral) before you could say Anastrozole, I had a glass of water and a blue glove filled with ice on my leg! When I was eventually called into the unit it was discussed as to whether I could actually have the chemo with the injury. I was made to sit with my leg raised for an hour to see if it swelled. If it did I was to go for an X-ray. It didn’t. Thank goodness. Who the hell says thank goodness it’s not broken, now I can have poison pumped into my body? The unit was a sad place. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting? A party like atmosphere? Egg and spoon races up and down the corridor? But it was, sad. A man was hidden away in his cubicle behind a curtain vomiting, the woman in the cubicle next to him was eating fruit. I decided not to look in that direction again and hastily popped my headphones on. When they realised I was only a clumsy idiot not a broken bi-ped twit, the chemo started. As the nurse put the cannula into my wrist I struggled with a fight or flight emotion. The difference between knowing this stuff will save you and that it will make you wish you were dead is a fine line. I chose to look at the woman opposite me who was wrapping and rewrapping her head in a flowery scarf. Each time ending up with annoying long unwanted tail. When I looked back the line into my wrist was running red with the first drug. This, the nurse said would colour my pee, don’t be shocked. 2.5 hours later, I had forgotten this warning and when I went to the loo nearly let out a Yelp. So with a body full of poison, a leg full of plasters and a head full of a banging migraine, I called an Uber and got the hell out of there.

When I got home the emotion of the day caught up with me and I dissolved into tears in Steve’s arms. A day I won’t forget as much as I wish I could.

I was fully expecting to feel awful and not be able to get out of my bed. In fact I felt fine. I was nauseous definitely but had so much energy poor Woody was dragged out on 2.5/3 hour marches! Dog Walker mates saved my sanity many times in this first round, standing in muddy cold fields making me laugh. Introducing me to a ginger smoothie that abated the nauseous feelings for a while. One day I was stood there discussing the benefits of a NutriBullet… my life is truly that exciting. Upon returning home I opened the door and saw a brand new boxed NutriBullet. My jaw dropped, Steve came into the kitchen and said “some lady with a dog called Fred dropped this off for you?” I was completely dumbfounded. I text one of my fellow dog walkers and asked if they knew anything about it. She said that one of the ladies stood with us on the field that day said she felt compelled to buy it for me as this was the anniversary of the death of one of her dear friends from bc. I balled like a baby.
The side effects began to gather pace, leaving me with a constant dread I was going to throw up, constipation that lead to horrible stomach aches and a lead footed lethargy, I simply couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. Come school home time I was up and moving round, I’m resolved to not letting the children see me as fragile. It took monumental effort to smile, listen, play and shove someone’s loving cooked meal in the oven for us all…. these people all get a special place in heaven. But when week 1 was over.I sprung back to myself.I suddenly got the urge to do the Mount Vesuvius of ironing. Ok not completely back to myself then!

The following week, I was walking Woody round Wanstead Park, it was an overcast, chilly morning but I was loving my audible book and head space. Then, the phone rang. “Hello I’m a Consultant from Whipps X.” My peaceful day shattered. “We have the results of your biopsy on the left breast and the MRI scan results.” I knew this was gonna be another ‘moment’ I just wanted him to say it all quickly. “We have found areas of concern under the left armpit and in the left breast.” My breath caught in my throat. “What does this mean?” He took a deep breath and said “I’m afraid you are going to have to come in for more vacuum biopsies.” Noooooooo my head screamed “ok, when?” My mouth betrayed me. “Why is this needed if I’m having chemo and a mastectomy?” I asked. He replied “we are concerned it may be a different type of cancer than the one we are treating as the biopsy previously taken is reacting to different markers.” Fuck “right.” When the call ended I plonked onto the grass and cried. I allowed myself dread and fear. Then I rung Shelley and we found reasons to laugh. Fecking Jekyll & Hyde. Shell said “I’ll take you there and walk woody whilst you are in” she won’t know how much strength this gave me and I was almost looking forward to it just so I could see my effervescent friend again. Stoopid COVID.

Nnnnnineteen…..

shelley arrived at my house on a gorgeous hot sunny day and I asked her to walk with me to the hospital across Hollow Ponds. I would leave her and Woody at the tea hut and rejoin her there when the Vacuum Biopsy torture was over. Just strolling along chatting to my upbeat mate made this an easier day. Woody chased about like a loon and we laughed at our lives misadventures together. Then all too soon, I had to leave them at the hut. Off I went. As usual the Breast Clinic staff were happy and welcoming. I looked around at my fellow waitee’s, all at different stages of the journey. I was now in a hat.
I knew my hair would fall out. I just wasn’t expecting it to be so horrifying and for me to have a knarly old swede. I was stood in the shower on day 16 post chemo. I was already nervous of shampooing my hair for the fear of pulling it out. Suddenly my face was covered in my dark, short hair. My hands were covered and I couldn’t shake it off, I looked down and the shower tray was black. I felt panic rising as I tried to get the hair off me, conscious that I might be blocking the drain. I bent and scooped the mass of my hair up in my hands and threw it down the toilet. Shuddering breaths warning me to get control. I knew this would be a scary time, but I was still unprepared. I couldn’t look in the mirror. I was appalled at the thought of Steve or the the kids seeing me. I now have copious amounts of hats stuffed in the bathroom and my bedside drawers. Eugh gross.
Anyway back to the clinic. I was called into the same room with the same radiologist and nurses I had seen my first time round and this made me feel confident. I stripped down and assumed the position. A female consultant came in and they looked at the screen, split with a scan picture from the MRI and the live shot now with the ultrasound wand. The cons. Pointed to a faint white line running along the bottom of my left breast. She explained that as it was so fine they would need to take a lot of biopsies, would I be able to manage 9. 9? Are you bloody mental? I nearly passed out at 3! “Sure, if that’s what you need?” My treacherous mouth spewed before I could clamp a handover it. Again I felt the need to regale the room with stories of my life gaffs whilst they vacuumed my boob, literally. I watched the machine as the cutting blade rotated, slicing my breast from within,I could feel the blade bumping my rib cage, most unpleasant but not painful in the slightest. Then the machine passed 9. Then 10? The next time I looked we were on 12. The radiologist must have seen me clock the number and said “look you are as tough as old boots, can we carry on? I just want to get enough that you don’t have to go through this again.” My, she would make a great saleswoman. So I carried on boring the bejesus out of them as they bored into me. The machine was finally statisfied at 19! This the radiologist informed me, was her career record. She had never taken 19 biopsies from one patient, or one boob….. yay I’m a record breaker 😩 God did I pay for that for the next 3 days. Results due later this week. I’ll keep you posted. If they say they didn’t get enough, I’ll vac biopsy them. Anyway, they bandaged me up and I strolled back to the tea hut. A coffee awaited me and a happy spaniel. What could have been a bad day was again made right by simple acts of love and friendship.

Steve and I had another appointment, a first for both of us. A wig fitting. I was not filled with excitement at this appointment, but had to accept I was not pulling the Blackadder series 1 look off. I made Steve stay outside whilst I tried the first wig on. I looked like my mother. I went out to model her. Steve stared at me and said “sorry is that your hair or am I looking at a wig?” Confusingly for Steve he had gone from seeing me with hair to hats and no in-between. I laughed and said this is a wig. “Oh! I like that! It looks like your own hair!” I knew I was going to train it home with this bad boy then. I also knew I needed to brave the shave and get rid of the remaining hair. I asked the kindest of souls Sam to help me. She was so kind and understanding. I felt ugly and uncomfortable in my own skin. I wanted to run away from this bald, bruised unrecognisable Gill. I have to say of all the side effects the hair loss has been the toughest of rides. But now it’s done. It can’t happen again. Thank God. I walked to the school to collect Jess. It was the last day before Easter holidays and the teacher had given them all Kindereggs so to be fair, Jess didn’t look at me for the first 100m of the walk! The school mums were laughing, waiting for her to look up. Finally with screwed up, squinting from the sun eyes, Jess looked at my head and said simply “I like the colour.” Then she carried on eating her egg! James on the other hand was not impressed and asked if I would wear my hats again. Poor kid. I know he is trying but it’s just so much change so quickly.

The One Stop Breast Shop

On the 5th of February I attended the ‘One Stop Squash Your Bangers, Shop.’ I had never had the pleasure of a mammogram before this and was not sorry I had missed out. As I sat in the waiting room, I felt uncomfortable I had the feeling I was making a fuss. A mountain out of a mole hill. They would be annoyed when they realised it was just a cyst. I would be embarrassed.

When I was called into the room, a huge white Robo-Doc was stood bang in the middle of the room taking up all the space. Nurses and patients, politely manoeuvring round the preening, gleaming oversized whisk. Even the aircon blowing freezing air onto my tits was for ‘it’s’ comfort! The nurse busily positioned my boob onto a tray, rotated the machine then clamped my boob flat. I mean FLAT! I had no idea it could spread like that? The lump within my right boob was being squashed and this, I can tell you, brought a tear to my eye! I’m a tough bird, I have endured many an injury as a serving police officer, wife to a previous, violent husband and mum to 2 kids that I breast fed! But I was unprepared. I am the least likely person to say ‘ouch’ in a game of ‘Bloody Knuckles’. So I smiled at the nurse reassuringly as she said “sorry! Not long now!” “It’s fine really!” I grinned at her, trying to ease her concerns. Finally it was over! “Ok the left breast now!” Agghhh!

I finally staggered out of the torture chamber and slid into a plastic socially distanced chair. The waiting room had filled with single ladies, all pensively waiting their turn in the fun factory. I was unsure what was to happen next, so sat reeling and in some discomfort. Then the torture chamber door opened again and the nurse stuck her head out “Mrs Waterhouse?” I turned and said somewhat nervously, “No, you’ve had me!” “Yes, could you pop back in please?” I got up and staggered back in. “The Dr said I need to just check another area, could you take your top off again please?” I doubt I would have been more reluctant if Harvey Weinstein had made the request! So it all happened again. This time I was pushed from behind like some old cart horse, fighting to go in his stable! Robo-Doc did his thing and I redressed, somewhat hastily! Again staggering out to the waiting area. Meanwhile others went into the other rooms and I heard groans and yelps aplenty. Then the door opened again, a sympathetic look in my direction was all I needed to make me get up and stroll back into the room resigned. “I’m so sorry, Dr wants one more shot of the area under your armpit.” Something in the way she gently helped me into position this time, asking what I did for a living and if I had kids, made me cautious. This is not a cyst, I thought.

If you don’t laugh…

On the 22nd January 2021, I was a busy mum of 2 locked-down kids and a working from home husband! Friday evening, as I got into my pj’s, I reached my right arm above my head and felt an uncomfortable pain. I put my left hand up to my breast and found a huge lump jutting out of my breast and into my arm pit. Instantly I thought of my sister. She had had 2 cancer diagnosis in the past. “No. It can’t be, that wouldn’t fair. It’s a cyst.” And this, I managed to convince myself, was all it was. I didn’t give it another thought that weekend as I watched family movies, made dinner, washed school kit and ironed my mount Versuvius equivalent. Not even as I felt the lump bump my arm as I brushed my 6yo daughter's hair, wet from her mermaid bath. Or as the pain shot across my boob, it’s cyst. It is a cyst……

Monday morning, I hesitated to call the Dr. Stoopid COVID, I shouldn’t take up the Dr’s time with a cyst! My husband Steve, said “I think you should just go double check it’s a cyst.” And with this sage advice I called my Dr. She asked if I could pop into the surgery straight away. Hmm well I was going to B&Q, but I guess I could go after.

My Dr, a kind young lady, asked me to hop on the bed. She did a quick exam and said it a surprised voice, “ohh it’s big isn’t it, and quite mobile! I think you had better go to the One Stop Breast Clinic at Whipps.” I felt a little uneasy now. Why wasn’t she saying “yes that’s just a cyst!”? I had to wait the full, 2 week government guideline wait for my appt. I had managed, on the whole, to put it to the back of my mind. Why worry? What’s that gonna do. The lump stayed. I was amazed at the sudden appearance and it’s stubbornness not to fuck off tbh. Most cyst’s only last a few days, why was this still there nagging away at me?