Not More Complaining

May 17th, 2010

Would you credit it, I’ve got a new mystery illness.

Once the major lurgy was banished I was hoping for a little time off. Not so m’dears. Instead I have been visited by the weirdest of incapacities, something that has my GP totally confused.

I will present you with my symptoms and await your diagnosis.

All day long I have acute pins and needles in both my hands. Periodically I get dreadful electric shocks through one or other of them. Typing or writing aggravates them so I will pay for this later. At night, the pain levels in both hands become so fierce that I have to get up and wave my arms about until the pain backs off. When the pain is at its height I cannot touch anything as my hands are hypersensitive and the pain then becomes unbearable.

Hands up those people who think I have trapped a nerve. Thank you for trying, but the computer says no. I have been to the physioterrorist who has stretched and pummeled me to no avail. Apparently I have very good flexibility in my neck which is good, considering I have damn all anywhere else. If called upon to enter “Britain’s Got Talent” my speciality will be “looking playfully over my left shoulder”.

In a final attempt to establish the cause of the pain, small Paul the pocket sized physio stood on the bed behind me, grabbed my head in a lock and attempted to remove it from my spine. I last saw this manouvre on a Saturday afternoon when Mick McManus rearranged the joints of Big Daddy. After two falls and a submission, small Paul accepted defeat like a man and confirmed he could not find any nerves, trapped or otherwise. We parted as friends.

I am now on a happy cocktail of 75mg amatrypthingy,100 mg tramadoodah (3 times a day), 40 mg Gabapenwhatsit and my lovely Tamoxoojit. On average I have a 20 minute window each day when I make some kind of sense. And I still get up each night to do an impression of a windmill – what fun!

To occupy me, my GP has referred me for a bone scan. I feel this is unnecessary as I am fairly confident that I do indeed have bones. There must be more to this than simple stocktaking.

In other news I have an appointment with a genetic counsellor to establish whether Grandma Mort has endowed me with the special gift of a recessive gene which caused my cancer. From my father I inherited my big nose and dislike of social occasions. From my mother, a non-PC cookie jar and this.

Sister 2 has already been confirmed as a carrier and is to have a double mastectomy, reconstruction and removal of her ovaries.Her daughters will then be tested. Sisters 1 and 4 get their results on Friday. I have my appointment in June.

I have come to the conclusion that the pins and needles have appeared as a distraction from the rest of my life.

The Grand Moguls of Old People R Us have decided to move my job 20 miles away up the M54. They told me this on the day I came back to work after my diagnosis. Timing is all. However, I have declined to go with the work for two good reasons. Firstly, Grandpa Mort is taking more looking after, so I need to be close. Secondly, I DON’T WANT TO.

Instead, I am staying put and returning to my previous job where I hunt pensioners down across the county. It’s a superb job – tea in a cup and saucer and all the biscuits you can eat. My only concern is the difficulties I have getting up from a comfy chair. I have warned my family that if I’m not home by teatime, I’m probably marooned on a settee somewhere, doing my best impression of an upended tortoise whilst glancing playfully over my left shoulder.

Toodle pip and keep checking your jiggly bits.

Happy New Year

April 14th, 2010

Well, that was that. All treatment is over and done with apart from a tablet everyday to keep the bogeyman away.

A quick summary. Chemotherapy was foul and painful and 100 kinds of horrible. Being bald was cold and sad and miserable. Having my hair grow back was 100 kinds of wonderful.
Radiotherapy was a long, tiring drudge, leaving me worn out and feeling very old.

I am weary, but I don’t have cancer. So that is good. My hair has grown back in a curly pepper and salt fashion which I fully intend to keep.

What to do next is the big question. Those who know us also know that it would be most unusual for much time to elapse before at least one of us throws ourselves on the mercy of the NHS. Mr Mort jumped the queue by having a hernia repair last month. This probably means that it’s my turn again and quite frankly, I’m running out of superfluous body parts.

Whilst I ponder this, did you know that Morty has been head hunted and is now a Conservation and Learning Assistant at not one but two National Trust properties.The world is beginning to recognise the awesomeness of my daughter.

I am v. proud of my girl.

In other news, Grandpa Mort has been stuck in his electric chair again, but this time at 6 o’clock in the morning when he had managed to recline himself onto the handset for the chair. Thank you number 1 sister for sorting that one out. Grandpa has also taught the parrot to burp. Loudly.

So dear Internets I thank you. I thank you for the kind thoughts, the oddly shaped hats, the messages you have sent. My neighbours have been wonderful, my nearest and dearest more so. A special commendation goes to Ferris the dog for keeping me company.

So, as previously stated, that was that. I feel as if I have missed an entire year, my recollection of events is so hazy. This is not a bad thing, as it makes me 52, not 53.

Now all I have to get used to is NOT having cancer. Weird.

Huzzah

January 28th, 2010

Only two attempts needed to get a line in and the nurse from the Chemo Unit says “no”. In other words, no Herceptin for me, so after next week’s blood test and Chemo NO MORE NEEDLES.

I feel as if I’ve won the lottery.