Sail away

Good evening lovely friends! 

It’s been a while, I am sorry. I usually blog at about 9pm on a weekday, but at the moment, that’s three hours after I’ve gone to bed, which makes typing a bit challenging given my secretary/carer is busy watching literally any sport going, while preparing my healthy Bircher museli and organic beetroot juice for the following day (bahahaha!) 

It’s a bit of a pain at home just now – not because the carer does not actually make said museli or juice – but that our washing machine is broken and so is our heating. The latter is not too bad for me, given that I’m a walking radio-iator. – anything needs cooking, just shove it up my jumper and – PING! – done in 30 seconds. As for the washing machine – all I can say is never, ever, buy a Hotpoint. I’m a walking hotpoint at the mo, but my drum is still thumping,  my motor is on full throttle and my belt… well, it probably just needs loosening. #awks

Speaking of which, all well at Zap central. I’ve done 17 of 30 sessions; the old skin is blistering and bleeding, and I’m a bit knackered, but honestly, nothing to complain about. It’s quite interesting, this treatment lark. For lung cancer,.  you get your surgery through your back; chemo through your arm, and radiotherapy through your chest and back. My legs are feeling a bit hard done by to be honest. 

Radiotherapy for my breast cancer four years ago was on the opposite side of my chest. I’m all for neatness and symmetry, so having two sets of burnt skin across the same meridian is bloody ideal! All I have to do is Hinch my boobs (her bespoke cushion treatment, even evident in the Zap waiting room) then I reckon I could put it all on Instagram and set a new trend – Hinch my Heffalumps, – with a #, obvs). 

Speaking of the old Lady Lumps, January always signals the first of the two bi-annual mammograms I have, to keep an eye on that little (completely unrelated) tinker. In fact, I was lying prostate on the CT scanner bed waiting for my radiotherapy planning scan for lung cancer, when someone marched in from next door saying:

“Ms Austin! I see you are here!” (I’ve never changed my name at the NHS, nor my marital status, so I do bother to reply).

“Your mammogram is due; do you want to come into the department after this and get it done?”

Unfortunately I can’t, I need to go to the radiotherapy department straight after the planning scan. She is NOT impressed. 

“Fine. Next Wednesday, 9am.”

This, I discover, is not negotiable. I attend. 

The upshot is, of course, that I need to go and get a follow up physical examination from my breast cancer consultant. It’s the same hospital, but different buildings. I need to arrange it so that I’m not late for my fixed appointment under the zapper,  but doesn’t mean I have to wait hours, as I’m a bit knackered at the moment and I wouldn’t trust myself to drive home.

I tell you what, it’s a bloody nuisance running two separate cancers! It’s like working two jobs; it’s necessary, but in this case, with none of the financial advantages. I’m getting my physical exam on Wednesday next week, but given everything is a bit sore and, er, moist, 🤢it’s not going to be ideal. Two readers of this blog will know what an absolute joy it is even to be looked at by this particular genius – swoon – but hey ho, he can prod, squeeze and stroke away…I will do my best to get through it 😂😂

Meanwhile, back in the microwave, we’ve been having enormous fun. The radiographers are fantastic- super cheerful, energetic, professional – and we laugh out loud every single day. I mean, Janka did get locked in the loo yesterday, just as my appointment started (wonder why? 🙄🧐) but she was laughing about it afterwards, and I took her tulips for her trauma. 

A few weeks ago, we (I!) had the delight of a trainee, Kwasi, for the week. (Not that one; he’s one of the few of the cohort who probably doesn’t need to look for another job at the moment!) My radiotherapy unit is a training hospital, and I’ve been so inspired by the way the radiographers teach, on the job. More to follow. 

Each day (for lung cancer, and, importantly, where mine is), you get strapped down on the table, naked from the waist up, arms over your head, holding a gripper thingy. The vast majority of the appointment time is taken up by checking and cross-checking your alignment under the lasers, just to make sure that when the zapping starts, they’re not doing the wrong bit. In my case, that means the heart and the oesophagus, so, best be careful. 

They do a practice run with all the kit first. It’s like lying under, or perhaps at the centre cog, of a windmill. On each fin or sail of the windmill, a different bit of kit is attached, with gaps in between. So, there you are, looking up to the ceiling (which they’ve turned into photographic light panels with a blue sky and the odd cloud; thoughtful); then the machine whirrs into action. Up comes the main zapper; passes over. Next, a CT scanner; whoosh! Is it time for the X-ray? I do believe it is! I’m not sure what the Asda shopping trolley or the wheelie bin were doing there, but hey, it breaks up the monotony! 

Then of course the  girls leg it to a safe room, press some buttons and leave me at the mercy of the windmill. 

Along with the ambient sunny sky pictures, they also have music playing. It’s of variable quality, although I’ve got to give it to them for Radio Gaga 😂😂

Back to the lovely Kwasi. We’d got to Friday and this was his last day. As a treat, the girls let him choose that popular new release, Music to Microwave By (not available on Spotify). So they all leg it to the safe room, and I’m there with my windmill floating by. 

Up comes funk and soul, by the deep, disco bucketful. I’m not allowed to move, of course; very difficult, and very annoying! The big shouty horn noise sounds, to signal that the microwave has pinged. The music is still blasting. In they all come, dancing, and I’m dancing while lying down on the table, with my arms up and strapped into the gripper over my head. All of us are in fits of laughter. I mean, I don’t know if Kwasi passed the training – the fact he’s probably been administering radiotherapy to my left leg for the last five days is irrelevant- but my goodness, there’s a silver lining to every cloud, and I am having SO much fun. 

We had a lovely moment yesterday. My radio chum J had her last of 30. Protocol among us cancoids says you do not ask ’what one’ you’ve got, (she wore a dressing gown, me a tunic: it denotes what half of your body needs zapping) but we are all hugely empathetic to one another. There’s been days when I’ve seen her crying in the waiting room. She is a much younger woman than me, so I feel especially sad to see her like that. We can’t hug but we’ve always wished eachother well.

Anyway, yesterday, all the staff gathered in the corridor, with flowers, chocolates and a card, and filmed her ringing the bell three times, to say that her treatment was done. I wish her all the love and the luck in the world.

Thank you for your company this evening! I’ve missed you ❤️

Pip pip xxx