Keep taking the tablets...

Hello everyone, how have you all been.  Long time no speak, as they say.

Just a short one for you. I though this might be a good time to update you all as it was a year ago today that I was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer.  A whole year ago, where on earth did that year go?

I remember clearly, as if it was yesterday, sitting in the Surgeons office with Tall Kevin as she explained the diagnoses and the treatment plan, all the while drawing little diagrams and making lists to help me understand.  I didn’t understand a word.  I still don’t understand a lot of it, and am in awe of the whole process but I still have those drawings, and they make a bit more sense now.  And also, I’m very happy that that year is behind me and not ahead of me.

I was supposed to finish this last lot of chemotherapy drugs on 19th September but unfortunately, in his wisdom, the grumpy man in the suit decided to add on a couple more rounds to the end, so now I don’t finish until 31st October.  Needless to say, when he told me, I was VERY annoyed.  This was the second time he had sprung ‘extra’ treatment on me and I don’t think I was very polite when he told me ( I was very rude!) but he took it on the chin and commended me on my attitude.  Ha!  Anyway, October 31st is a good day to finish as (because its Halloween) there will be fireworks and I can claim that they are all for me.  I won’t be sorry to see the fireworks, as I’m sick and tired of being sick and tired!  But I’m not going to complain.  Instead I’m going to be grateful for all the help and support (and flowers and sweets and chocolate and cake) that I received from my family and friends over the year, and just give them a gentle reminder that they’re not finished listening to me complaining yet!

But not long to go and I’ll update you again when I’m finished! So for now, I’ll just keep taking the tablets.... (and there's an awful lot of them!)

Another box ticked.

Hello again.

It’s July! How did that happen? The first six months of this year have gone by in a blur for me and I see I haven’t posted anything here since May. I’m sure loads of things have happened in your life since then and a few things have happened in mine too.

Since the last post I’ve done two rounds (of six!) of this new adjuvant (also known as additional) chemotherapy, but I’ll tell you about that later.  More importantly I’ve also completed my course of Radiotherapy, also known as radiation oncology.  So that’s another box, in this long line of boxes, ticked.

As usual, Nurse Mary had me well prepared and informed as to the process and requirements etc. for my course of therapy.  I had 19 sessions to do.  They are done Monday to Friday, no weekends or bank holidays, so that meant just about 4 weeks of treatment for me.  Well that’s no so bad.  Or so I thought...

Of course there were rules that go with with therapy, you can’t use perfume, or anything that has perfume in it.  You have to wash with a special soap, funnily enough one with no soap in it, and you have to moisturize the treated area day and night to avoid burning and to help reduce the risk of damaging your skin.  This was no problem, especially as a very kind friend from Germany sent me some special cream that a friend of hers has used for the same therapy.  And luckily, having rigorously stuck to the regime, I had no damage or burning to my skin.  NM also talked about the fatigue that goes with a course of radiotherapy, nobody in the medical profession can explain why you get so tired, but you do.  I’ve been constantly tired for the last eight months so how bad can this be?  Well it was so bad that after three sessions I couldn’t drive myself to and from the hospital as I found myself falling asleep at the wheel.  So once again my very good family and friends helped out with lifts.  One good thing about this was that we got to have coffee and cake afterwards, or lunch on a few occasions.

Well you deserve a treat after lying on a bed, that you had to climb up onto, in a darkened room, surrounded by very big very scary machines, with what looked like far too young people who couldn’t possibly know what they were doing, calling out numbers and coordinates to line up your body with the virtual image they had taken of you at the start of this process, and then they leave the room leaving you alone so that the machine can rotate round you and you can have your body zapped with very high density X-Rays for all of 15 seconds. Repeat by 19 and your done!

Well the fatigue hit home hard.  It was like somebody put a lead coat on me and I had to drag it round with me wherever I went.  Try getting up of the couch with a lead coat on you, it’s impossible!  Try going upstairs, takes forever!  I never felt tiredness like it.  It was a struggle to stay awake long enough to make dinner.  My brother had a cat once that they found asleep with it’s face in it’s dinner (after a trip to the vet and an anesthetic, but that’s another story).  Well I now know how that cat felt, although luckily nobody found me asleep with my head in the spaghetti.  (By the way, just because nobody found me, doesn’t meant that it didn’t happen!!)

Two weeks on and I'm still dragging that damned lead coat around with me.  Will I ever shake it off? 

Anyway, unfortunately for me I had the double whammy of the chemotherapy with the radiotherapy, so the fatigue was doubled!  As I said earlier, I’ve done two rounds of this chemo (a round is where I take tablets twice a day for 14 days, then I have 7 days off during which I have my bloods checked etc. to see if I’m able for the next round), and I start the next today, Friday.  I hate taking these tablets, even tho I know they are for my own good, they really are a bitter pill to swallow.  Literally, actually and metaphorically!  I wont be finished with this lot of treatment until the 26th September.  I know I shouldn’t be wishing my life away, but I’m counting the days.  And as Tall Kevin will be in Las Vegas on that date, and another friend will be in Perth, Australia, and most of my family are not in this country, the celebrations will be have to global!  I’ll write to you the day before so that you can all join in whoever you are in the world (any excuse!).

In other, very good, news, I’ve managed to grow some hair! And in every better news, much to all my friends who have to color their hair’s annoyance, there’s no grey in it!! Small mercies...

And here's me and Rusty both looking happy, but only one of us needs a hair cut!

Lastly, I’m not sure if this is good or bad news, but I’m starting back to work on Monday.  I’m only going to do a few hours a day until my treatment is finished (on 26th September, did I mention that?) so it’s not so bad.  It will also get me back to normal as I have been living somewhat in the twilight zone since January when I stopped working.

To do something with my brain to get it back into ‘work’ mode, I thought I’d start to play the piano again.  To do this I had to have it tuned as it was so out of tune it sounded horrible and some of the keys were sticking.  A quick Google found a very nice young man who came along armed with a bag of tools and software on his iPhone (how did anyone tune a piano before we had phones?) to sort out the sound.  To my dismay, horror, shame and downright disgust, when he took the cover off the front to get at the strings, the piano was full of, wait for it, and if you’re anyway squeamish look away now, eh... mice droppings. OMG!!!  Needless to say I was horrified.  He on the other hand wasn’t a bit concerned and assured me that this wasn’t the worst he had seen and on several occasions he has had to remove mice carcasses from very old pianos. OMG again!!!  Thank god there were none of those in my piano.  The very thought.  Apparently pianos are the perfect hiding place for mice, so here's some very good advice from the tuner for anyone out there that has a piano: Get a cat!!

After (a lot of hovering and) several hours of tuning I now have a very pleasant sounding piano on which I can, after several hours of practice, play the first eight bars of a tune without it sounding like next doors cat is being strangled, although Tall Kevin might have a different opinion on that.

And while I’m on the subject of things that invade your house, as it’s the summer and every time I open the back door a fly comes in, I’m going to share with you a poem (what I wrote!) about those pesky yokes that buzz around my kitchen like they own the place and end up dead on all my window ledges.

Ode to a fly!

Could somebody please tell me why,
at the end of the short life of a fly,
when they can go here or there
or in fact anywhere,
that they land on my window ledge when they die?

They really are such a pest,
when on my ledges they get laid to rest.
And they bring all their friends
the procession never ends,
and they really put my nerves to the test!

So a solution to this problem I must find.
And, I already have something in mind!
I'll try employing a spider,
to make my ledges tidier,
then my problem will be an eight legged kind....

See you on the 26th September!!

Every cloud...

Well, a lot has happened since I’ve been here last, I had to read over the last blog I posted to see what news was in it and what I'd updated you with.  So, since then, I’ve had (and not necessarily in this order):

5 weeks of recovery from surgery

4 radioactive injections

3 hospital visits

2 lymph nodes removed

I lumpectomy

And a Partridge in a Pear tree!

4 Radioactive injections I hear you say?  Yes, one of the two delightful procedures that preempted surgery.  The other one was to have a piece of wire inserted into the tumor, under local anesthetic, through my flesh while I watched!  Honestly, I’m not making this up.

Having the wire inserted is to aid the surgeon when she is removing the tumor.  It guides her straight to the tumor site which makes the whole process of cutting it out easier.  Obviously, I was well prepared and knew this was all going to happen, but it still hurt!  I had a discussion (bet) with the surgeon as to how many cuts she would have to make to remove the offending article plus a couple of lymph nodes.  Naturally my preference was just one, but she said she couldn’t tell me beforehand and I’d just have to wait and see how good she was, and it also depended on where exactly the wire was inserted and where it led her.

As for the radioactive injections. Well!  The hospital I attend doesn’t have a ‘Nuclear Medicine’ department, so I had to go to the adjoining main hospital for this.  Myself and two other ladies who were having the same procedure, were rounded up, send down to the basement in a service lift, put into a golf buggy, driven through a maze of tunnels, put into another service lift and sent up to the NM department (funny how the Nuclear Medicine department and Nurse Mary have the same initials!).  On the journey over, despite being like three convicted criminals on our way to prison, we made small talk about the weather etc. I did say at one point to the driver of the golf buggy that if he stopped in one of the tunnels and let me off, I’d be lost forever as I’d never find my way out (if I'd realized what was ahead of me I'd have jumped!!).  On the way back however, it was a completely different story.  We were like Brothers in Arms returning from a Tour of Duty suffering from PTSD!  Not a word was said.  Also, by now it was lunchtime and having been fasting since 6.30am, we were all very hungry, which didn’t help.

Anyway, the NM department  was a barrel of laughs, as you would expect. When I was called in for my turn in the torture chamber I was met by a young male nurse holding a lead box with that ‘radioactive materials’ sign on it.  Jeez!

It had in it the four injections (yes 4) containing radioactive dye that were to be administered.  The purpose of all this is to highlight the Sentinel lymph node, which has to be removed at the same time as the tumor.  So, the nurse filled me in on what was going to happen, the Consultant would be along shortly to administer the injections, (I’ll spare you the details of where exactly they were administered) and I wasn’t to worry as he was an expert now at this and had the whole procedure down to 20 seconds.  20 seconds!  I wasn’t sure if I should be delighted by his proficiency or cry at his proficiency.  The nurse also pointed out to me that this hospital was a teaching hospital and would I mind if a student nurse observed (she had appeared as if by magic and was standing there smiling shyly).  No, I didn’t mind, sure we all have to learn, an I'm learning a lot here!  After a short time filled with awkward silences and me making bad jokes about being radioactive, the Consultant of Pain arrived, with another Doctor in tow.  He also explained that this was a teaching hospital and this Doctor had never seen this procedure done and she would like to watch and would I mind?  What could I say?

I deserved an Oscar for my stoic performance that day, and I was very upset that I didn’t get a standing ovation from my very quiet, wide eyed audience, when it was all over.

After the injections, I had to wait 40 minutes for the radioactive dye to reach the Sentinel (first) lymph node, this highlighted it for the surgeon so she knows which one to remove.  Then some photographs were taken of the 'green glowing node' by a very high tech machine. Apparently my photos turned out great, although I never got to see them.

When it was all over we were delivered back to our respective wards in the smaller hospital and we never saw each other again.  I did however see the catering staff, as they brought lunch to the other patient in my room.

2pm. I’m now in bed waiting to be brought to theater.

3pm. I’m still waiting. The catering staff had already made their second round offering tea/coffee etc.

4pm. I was still waiting.

5pm. I was still waiting, but a nurse had come in and told me that she had heard from the surgeon and it wouldn’t be much longer.  By this stage I was starving and dehydrated.  I was like that lion in the children's movie Madagascar who was so hungry that he began having hallucinations and saw all his friends as food.  To me now the nurses were looking increasingly like ice-cream cones in their white uniforms, the catering staff were looking like mars bars in their black and red uniforms and the porters were looking like pints of Guinness in their white tops and black trousers.  I was very cranky...

6pm. I was brought to theater, where I was rewarded for my long wait with an intravenous bag of warm fluids.  My cup runneth over!

7pm. I was in my drug induced sleep, dreaming of food, while the surgeon worked her magic.

9.30pm. I was back in the ward, where to my delight I was promised tea and toast in a couple of hours.  That never happened as I promptly fell asleep and slept right through till the next morning.

After a light post-op breakfast and some after care instructions I was on my way home, and while I’m not much of a meat eater, I’d have eaten the partridge and the pear tree if they’d been there waiting for me.

Here I am now 5 weeks later, recovering as well as can be expected.  I’ve had some problems with the wound, but it is healing well now. The three hospital visits I mentioned included a post op visit to the surgeon who was delighted to inform me that I was now cancer free and that there was no cancer either in the lymph nodes that were removed and tested.  A silver lining indeed!

The second hospital visit was to the Radiotherapy Oncologist who informed me that I would be having 19 sessions of radiotherapy with him and his team. This is also good news as I was expecting it to be a lot more sessions than that.  I’ll let you know how that goes when it starts.

And last but not least I went to see my favorite grumpy man in a suit, the Oncologist.  I’ve come to realize lately, that for every silver lining there is also a cloud, and the professor sent me home with a huge black one hanging over my head.  While he too was very pleased with all the results, he explained that they (whoever they are!) have had very good results with the form of cancer I had by administering further doses of chemotherapy as it reduces the risk of recurrence.  As you can imagine, I was pretty upset by this.

Apparently this drug Capecitabine or Xeloda as it's commonly known, my new choice of poison, is administered orally and I can take it myself at home, and great news, it won’t make my hair fall out. This is actually good news as after five months my hair eyelashes and eyebrows have just begun to make an appearance again and it would be just cruel for them to all fall out again.  This new dose can also run concurrently with the radiotherapy so I don’t have to wait till one is over to start the other.  I don’t know yet when this extra treatment will start but it will take 18 weeks to complete.

So there you go, just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water, when I could see light at the end of the tunnel, when I could see the finish line, when I had only one more hurdle to jump, (insert your own analogy here) I’m right back to the beginning again.  It's very frustrating, and I know it for my own good (insert your own encouraging words here) but it still stinks!!  Don’t worry, I won’t bring you back to the start with me.  I’ll just drop in here from time to time to let you know how I’m getting on.  I’m sure there will be a tale or two to tell and you’ll be wanting to know how Nurse Mary is I’m sure!

But its not all bad news.  Despite the fact that I’m still open to infection and still injecting myself every day with blood thinners and still have to have my wound (scar from the operation) dressed every couple of days, I managed to get away to London for a few days to visit my Family.  Not only did I catch up with my brothers, sisters-in-law, cousins, nieces and nephews, drank some champagne ate nice food and had some laughs, I also met the newest addition to the Brennan family, Teddy!

And what a silver lining he is.  He’s as soft as you would imagine a cloud would be and you couldn’t help but be cheered up by that little face (don’t tell Rusty I said that).  

The Fat Lady Sings!

Well I haven’t been here for a couple of weeks, that’s because surprise surprise, I’ve been on the couch recovering from the 3rd round of chemo two weeks ago.  Whilst being infused that time I noticed that one of the bags of drugs was kept covered by an opaque purple bag while it hung on the drip stand.  The nurse explained that that particular drug was sensitive to the light and exposure to it caused this particular drug to do funny things, she said the nurses nickname for it is the ‘Red Devil’.  Really?!  Well that explains the week of hell that I spend after it’s been shot through my veins.

But it wasn’t all all bad days.  There were some good one’s and yesterday was definitely one of them.  I made the most of it while I was feeling good and here I am sitting in a friends garden, having coffee (and cake) in the sunshine.

Yes, the sun was shining, and we were sitting out in it, and it’s still February, can you believe that?  This time last year we had a snow storm.  (I believe it’s snowing in Arizona!)

Today is another great day, and I’m not talking about the weather, and you may have noticed that the title of my blog this week is not very PC, but you know what, I don’t care!  I don’t care and I hope that Lady sings at the top of her voice, I might even join her, because today is my last day to have my bloods taken, my last day to have to sit in this chair, my last day to be on this ward, my last time to answer all the nurses questions, my last time to have the poison administered, my last time to have to listen to the endless clicking of the pump on the drip, my last time to visit the grumpy man in the suit, and my last time to see NM.  I might miss her a little bit, but despite the expert care, attention, advice, encouragement and support that I received on the Oncology Ward, I certainly won’t miss anything else about this place. Tall Kevin says he won’t miss having to drive through the traffic to get me here for 9am.

Actually, I might miss the poached eggs that they have in the canteen downstairs.

So, after that last session two weeks ago, I was re-scanned as promised with every possible machine from every possible angle and perspective, to see how the tumor reducing process was coming along.  After a week on the couch, getting over the poison, being expertly cared for again by my sister-in-law and my sister, I was just about well enough to go to visit the surgeon, Ruth.  She apologized for the horrible process that they had put me through but was delighted to tell me that even though it seemed cruel, it worked, as she was very pleased by the results of the scans.  I’m now the (not-so) proud owner of a reduced in density tumor, hurrah, and a surgery date, towards the end of March, to have what’s left of it removed.  

And I won’t be one bit sorry to see it go!

In the grand scheme of things, this is all very good news.  But the bad news that goes with that is that I still had to have one last dose of poison today.   Just one more bad week to get through now.  One more week of wondering will I need the vomit basin, one more week of coming in and out of conciseness, one more week of having no energy and struggling to do the smallest of tasks, and then I’ll be finished with all this chemotherapy stuff.  Oh yes, and one more injection to be administered.  I managed to do that all by myself without the aid of a nurse the last time.  I’m still waiting for my superhero cape to arrive in the post.

I told the nurses looking after me today, that when that last drop of the Red Devil was infused and they were finished doing their checks and when they finally disconnect me from that annoying pump, for the very last time, I was going to dance out of here with my arms outstretched turning around in circles singing like Julie Andrews on the top of that mountain in the Sound of Music.  They did laugh, because we all know that in reality walking out of the ward, I will actually look more like Bruce Willis in Die Hard when he had to walk across that room full of glass without his shoes....

In other news.  

I’m not the only one under the weather round here as my poor little doggo and couch companion is also not the best.  He has conjunctivitis and a bad cough.  Unfortunately, he also has cataracts.  They are in the early stage, but according to the Vet, he will eventually go blind.  Poor Rusty.  He is 13 so I suppose we can’t complain, and he certainly doesn’t!  Tall Kevin has been saying for a while that he thought Rusty had trouble seeing in the dark, because for example, he had to put the light on so that Rusty could see the bed before jumping onto it in the middle of the night.  Imagine the inconvenience of that!  So to help him out, Tall Kevin has has installed motion sensor lights all over the upstairs of the house.  So now, in the middle of the night when Rusty decides that the might like to change beds, on making his approach to his bed of choice, his pathway is lit up like a runway and it ensures that he makes a perfect landing every time.  What can I say?   

Don’t worry, none of Rusty’s ailments will hinder him from joining me on the couch, which is where I am heading now.  

There were a few sequels to the Die Hard movie, so as I’m the hero in this film and as I beat the bad guys (the poison and the tumor) I’m sure there’ll be a sequel to the ‘Chemotherapy and Me’ blockbuster, so watch out for ‘Surgery, the Musical’ and ‘Making Waves with Radiotherapy’, coming to a blog near you soon.

The Fat Lady is on stage now.

I'm still here!

In case you're wondering, I'm still here, although there's not much of me left as I've now lost the rest of my hair, part of my eyebrows and I have no eyelashes on my lower lids.  If I had seams, I be falling apart at them!

This will be a short one as I don't have the energy or brain power now to write too much, or in fact to do anything much at all.

I had dose number 2 of the double poison last week as scheduled, all went well, they are very pleased with my progress, so much so that they want to keep going with this heavy duty stuff for another 2 sessions.  Next week, as well as a good dose of poison, I'll be re-scanned, MRI'd (god help me, is there no end to the torture!) ultra-sounded and CT'd.  All in a good cause, to see how the tumor has responded to this horrible treatment.  Let's hope it has responded well.

So, aside from sleeping my way through afternoon TV, I am now adept at giving myself injections!  I managed to get over my fear of sticking a needle into myself and was able to do the necessary jabbing and plunging to get the immune system boosting drug into me.  When I was finished, the supervising nurse said "Congratulations! You've done an injection, you're now a fully qualified nurse!"  Wait till I tell Nurse Mary....

Once again I haven't been outside since I was at the hospital, but I haven't missed it yet, and the weather is horrible, so who wants to go outside anyway?

While I was confined to the couch, I was in the expert hands of two of my sister-in-laws Michele and Suzanne, who very kindly took it in turns to look after me.  The food was great, but they need to brush up on their bedside manner.  I never realized they were so bossy!  They've obviously been hanging round my brothers for too long.  I had to ask permission to get off the couch to go to the bathroom!  And I couldn't deviate on my return route either, or there would be questions.  One of them even pretended to have no shoes so that she couldn't leave the house and leave me alone in case I got off the couch.  (There was some story about a boot with a broken zip, replacement boots being purchased, which subsequently also had a broken zip, and no replacement for those pair to be found!  Several phone calls were made, a third pair were sourced, Tall Kevin was dispatched for them, only to have to pay over the odds, more phone calls then strongly worded letters of complaint were sent to the store.  All that just to make sure I stayed on the couch!!??  Exactly, I don't believe a word of it either!)

That's about all I can manage today.  So it's back to the couch for me.  Unfortunately, I never seem to be able to have it all to myself, I always have to share...

 

Undercover.

I’m back! And it’s not Tuesday.

Apologies for my short absence but I was actually undercover.  Either under the cover of my duvet, or under the cover of a blanket on my couch.

It’s been nine days since I had my last chemo session (sounds like I’m at an AA meeting!) and I haven’t been outside the house since.  Imagine!  I had round one, of four, of a new cocktail of poison called A/C, the abbreviated name for Adriamycin and Cyclophosphamide.  Who makes up these names, and do they make them so difficult to spell on purpose?  I have chemo brain (according to my nurse it's well documented so I'll be using it as an excuse for everything now!), so it’s a challenge to spell my own name, never mind one of those far too long drug names.  One lot was bright orange color and one was the usual clear color, I don’t know which was which, but I do know, that unlike the Taxol, I felt the after effects as soon as I got home.  They knocked me for six. I did ask those in the know what do these drugs do to the tumor/cancer that the Taxol didn’t and the only answer I got was that they do the same thing but they work in a different way.  So I’m none the wiser. I can only equate it to what I know, an engine perhaps, you can have a diesel one or a petrol one, they both do the same thing, but work in different ways.

I had been warned that I’ll be very unwell after receiving these drugs but it still took me by surprise, and along with the surprise, I also have a whole new regime of anti sicknesses drugs and steroids to take.  Plus, on top of all that, I have to inject myself with an immune boosting drug 24 hours after receiving the chemo. Yikes!!  No rest for the wicked! I must have been very wicked....

So, this injection, the day after the chemo the hospital sent a nurse out to show me how to administer it. Apparently it’s easy to do and I should be able to manage it myself.  (NM told me she only ever had one patient who couldn’t manage to do it and she had no intention of having that number go to two!)  Yikes.  No pressure. The nurse was great, she had a ‘dummy’ needle kit which we practiced with and I was able to manage with no trouble.  I had to practice with the sharpsafe box also and I was able to manage that too.  But, of course, when it came to actually sticking the real shiny pointed very long menacing looking needle into myself, I just couldn’t do it. Epic failure.  Don’t tell NM, my name will be mud!!  Just as well I’m not really one of those investigative reporters that has to do all this sort of stuff, I’d definitely be sacked.  Anyway, the nurse did it for me and she has to come back next week and go through the whole process again.  Fingers crossed I’ll be braver the next time. I’ll have to be, 'cos she won’t come back a third time.

It’s not all bad news though, I’ve finished work for the foreseeable future, so I’m a full time patient now and I have an army of carers lined up to look after me over the next few weeks.  Just so they know in advance, I got one of NM’s score cards and I’ll be marking them on their performance, for example, who makes the best coffee, who makes the best soup, who makes the best dinner, who makes the best cake, who picks the best stuff to watch on TV and of course who entertains me with the best gossip.

My big sister, Deirdre, headed up the first delegation of carers aided and abetted by a visiting from London brother, Ciaran.  A big thank you to them.  Between them they were able to cater to my every demand, which were many and insistent. Score cards have been updated and the next lot of carers be warned, the bar is set very high for your shift.  Although Deirdre said she wasn’t coming back again unless I stayed where I was supposed to, as in, on the couch! 

Rusty would like to thank Patrick, my nephew also visiting from London, for taking him round the park every hour.

In other good news I managed not to have to use the vomit (too much information, sorry!) basin that was my best friend for the first few days.  It was a very good friend and followed me from the couch to my bed and waited patiently by my side, even though I ignored it and then casually tossed it aside when I knew I didn’t need it anymore.

And speaking of being cared for, I am the recipient of yet another lovely care package.  This one came all the way from the Black Forest in Germany (thanks Gabrielle!), I only hope I’m not too sick to eat all the goodies inside.  I wont be cold either with the also enclosed Dr Who Tom Baker style scarf! I think you have a challenger for the knitter of the year title Deirdre.

There’s no denying it was a tough few days, so tough that I hadn’t the strength to write, but I got through them, I’m here to tell the tale and I’m still in good form.  Hopefully my immune system will have recovered enough to go thought the whole process again next week! I know that sounds mad, wishing to be well enough to be poisoned all over again, but it’s one step closer to the finish line, so fingers, legs, eye, wires crossed for good blood results on Tuesday.

It’s hard to believe that I’ve been so undercover that I haven’t been outside for over a week, I’m really looking forward to going outside again, even if it is only for a trip to the hospital, but until Tuesday, I'm staying undercover(s).

Rogue reporter.

Good evening.

This is the editor of the Toxic Times.  Our normal Toxic Tuesday reporter hasn’t arrived at work today, so there will be no piece by her in todays publication.

No need to panic, we did get a garbled message from her, something to do with a rogue nurse, a double dose, a couch and a basin at the ready.  As she is on an undercover assignment we’re not fully up to speed on all the details and not quite sure what she means, so we can’t comment, but she did assure us she was OK and would be back at her desk next week.

We’d like to thank you on her behalf for your continued readership.

The Editor