Tag Archives: cancer

happy mondays

16 Monday Jul 2012

Posted by in cancer, death & dying, friends, life stuff, love

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Awhile ago I created a #happymondays Twitter hashtag to greet people with on Monday mornings, since so many people seem to really hate Mondays. But not me. I always see Monday as a fresh start to a new week full of possibilities. I reckon it’s probably 50/50 the number of people I either annoy or cheer up with my whole Happy Monday thing, but what the heck, it’s fun.

Then this morning I woke up and, as usual, had a look through my emails on the iPhone while still in bed. And I got the news I’ve been dreading for some time now, though it still hit me like a ton of bricks, that my friend Pat is in hospital and “fading fast”, heavily sedated due to being in so much pain. In a flash I went from not wanting to lose her to wishing she would let go soon so that she wouldn’t be suffering anymore. And then I decided I would have a Happy Monday anyhow, or as much as I could manage through my tears, because I knew Pat would like that. Going out for a walk now…

How’s your Monday been so far?

port cleaning queue

05 Tuesday Jun 2012

Posted by in cancer, chemo, hospitals

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So most of you know by now that just over four years ago I was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer with metastasis to the liver, blah blah blah…

The second time I had to go on chemo (April 2009) I was saved from frying what was left of my hand veins by having a chemo port surgically installed. Actually in a bit of an awkward place, right between “the girls” (most diagrams I’ve seen of ports show them higher up and to one side).

Anyhow, as I am still considered high risk for recurrence the port will probably stay in place for about five years and it requires monthly maintenance – a flushing out and then an injection of an anti-coagulant so that the tube doesn’t get blocked up with gunk and end up killing me. And so yesterday I headed over to the hospital for the monthly port cleaning.

Sometime last year they moved port cleanings over to the blood lab building, which at first I though was a pain because I could only go between 12- 1pm. But after going a couple of times I realised that it was way better than going to the chemo room and waiting sometimes up to an hour and having to see all the others undergoing treatment while I had the port cleaning done.  At the blood lab there is normally nobody there when I arrive and I am in and out in a flash, and am even on a first name basis with the nurses.

But today there was a queue. Not a huge one, just four other people ahead of me. So no problem. Except that all of them were obviously so much younger than me, perhaps in their early thirties. And that made me so sad…

pat in sevilla

12 Saturday May 2012

Posted by in cancer, friends, hope, sevilla, spain, tapas, travel, trips, video

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Dearest Pat,

The other day after reading your very moving post No More Room in the Bucket I kind of fell apart. Even though you had told me that you’d stopped treatment – and although I knew exactly what that meant – I guess a part of me just couldn’t accept it. It was only after reading your blog post (published on the same day I wrote here about still being NED) that it finally struck home. Especially when I read this bit…

“There is no more room in the bucket for big dreams like cross-country train trips. I feel a pang watching tv shows set in NYC, knowing that I’ll likely never visit my favorite city again. It aches to see puppies and kittens and know I’ll never own another one. I’ve never tasted foie gras, or truffles, or uni. I never got to visit the Food Network. I’ll never meet my friend Shawn in person or visit her in Seville, Spain.”

And well, I knew straight away that I had to take you out for tapas!

This video was made on the fly on Thursday with my poky pocket video cam and so my clips turned out pretty rough (one clip showing us having some grilled foie and tuna belly at La Azotea was unsalvageable, but oh well…). Luckily my friend Juan Tarquini not only offered to invite us for tapas at his fabulous Vineria San Telmo, he also very generously edited and polished all my rough cuts into something quite wonderful that I could never have done on my own. I hope it will make you smile.

Everyone really enjoyed meeting you and plying you with fabulous food and drink. It was actually quite an amazing day and I know you touched a lot of hearts here during your brief visit in Sevilla. You will always live in mine.

te quiero Amiga,
Shawn xx

For those of you who don’t already know, I met Pat Steer on the Colon Club forum just after being diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer, when all this was new to me and I was scared and looking for helpful information. Pat had been diagnosed four years before me. She became my sister, my friend, my hero. I love her with all my heart.

no tengo cancer

07 Monday May 2012

Posted by in cancer, change, death & dying, diet & nutrition, friends, health & happiness, hospitals

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Four years ago today I wrote this blog post about doubling over in pain and ending up at the hospital, only to be told I had gas and be sent home again. Well, most of you know the story by now. After two more emergency hospital visits they finally admitted me for testing and then raced me over to the general hospital for a life-saving operation that involved removing an obstruction and about half my colon.

And that wasn’t the end of the story as I ended up having two more operations and being on chemo twice, finishing at the end of July 2009. Since then I have been miraculously cancer-free according to the PET scans I’ve been having twice a year. The next one is due in September. And for the most part I feel good, though I still get abdominal discomfort from time to time. Oh, and there was also that freak emergency op last summer, which thankfully didn’t end up being cancer-related.

And so I wonder why I am still okay while my friends Pat and Jed are not. And I wonder how long I’ll be okay. Four years ago I’d gone to the Feria in Jerez the weekend before all this started and saw this graffiti on a wall near the train station that said “I have cancer”. I don’t know what moved me to take a photo of it, but here it is again, slightly – but importantly – modified. I hope I never have to remove the “no”.

a sad day

21 Saturday Apr 2012

Posted by in cancer, cats, death & dying, health & happiness, love

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Yesterday was a very sad day. I’m still taking it in a bit at a time because I can’t actually “go there” yet…

Remember I mentioned on Azar’s birthday post that I’d found a couple of small lumps on his shoulder? Well, on Thursday he scratched off a big scab along with a clump of fur and I realised that there was actually a wound there and that it was infected (bad smell!). And so yesterday I took Azar to see Yolanda. At first she said that it might be a scratch or bite from one of the other cats that got infected, but upon closer inspection she confirmed my worst fear. That it was mostly likely a tumour, and cancerous. I asked her if it might be a vaccine associated sarcoma and she said she couldn’t be sure. But I remember clear as day that she gave Azar his one and only vaccination injection just above his shoulder, the one we gave him to prevent him from catching anything potentially fatal from Loki just over two years ago.

In any case, there is nothing to be done. Yolanda said flat out that at Azar’s age and with his kidney problems, he would not likely survive an operation to remove the tumour, which she said was quite an invasive procedure and required a general anaesthetic. She said the important thing was to ensure his quality of life as long as possible until it was time to “let go of a full and happy life”.  And I stood there calm as can be asking what symptoms I should look out for. But I can’t write them here now because it will make me cry, like I did most of yesterday afternoon.

And I am trying hard not to go through the hellish “what ifs” that are racing through my brain. What if I hadn’t opted for that vaccination, what if Yolanda has given it in a different place (as is recommended these days), what if I’d taken Azar in sooner when I first noticed the lump…

Anyhow, here is a photo of my darling boy (taken five minutes ago) curled up next to me on his favourite stool with the balcony doors open, enjoying a lovely warm spring breeze and lots of cuddles and carresses from his Human. Quality of life still okey-dokey so far.