Sorry, my blogging has been slightly held up by my discovery of about a thousand other breast cancer blogs online. I love them. Some are very sad. Often you become so absorbed in the story of a wonderfully feisty funny woman and you suddenly realise that she just isn’t going to make it. You start to worry when people are peppering their posts with references to ‘my mets’ which you soon find out means cancer which has metastasized to lungs or liver.
Everyone always is keen to know the prognosis though. That’s the key thing. Are we talking ‘on the way out’ or not? I guess all cancer is dangerous on that front. But, if the worst comes to the worst, there are alternative ways to look at life where length of life is not being hailed as the most important thing.
Reminds me of a story. JeanDavidJimmyKayMegBobbyLinty’s mother Peggy used to buy pegs every year from the gypsies who would pass by. One year a girl of about twelve was bouncing a baby on her hip as she sold the pegs. ‘Can you spare a wee bit o butter for the baby’s bottom?’ she asked.
The next year the girl came by again. Peggy asked her ‘And how is the wee baby?’
‘Oh’, said the girl, ”E was a piner, so me faither slew ‘im.’
Make what you will of that.
All symptoms have disappeared since I took Carcinosen 200 one last time at 10pm last night as oncoming foot pains were starting to make me writhe around. Even as the remedy was still under my tongue the pains wilted away and died. I’m impressed.
The upshot of this is I am free to talk about other things, wahey.
In the same way that the youf find it a steep learning curve to use snail mail, the older generation find it a big shift to use email. Love the way my mum puts ‘the man over the way has terrible piles. LOL.’ (How does she know, we ask ourselves? Don’t know, it must be in the way he walks.) (And she doesn’t mean LOL you understand, it’s just that she uses WTF, ATM and TBH quite randomly as well.) Now, I have been studying communication a lot recently. The Macmillan cancer information site is throbbing with people blogging away asking each other everything, sharing experiences, supporting each other. Post a question and you can have six or so replies in your inbox from people with the same diagnosis, the same op, the same stage, within about an hour. It’s an organic speedy interchange.
However if you prefer a slower but seriously satisfying type of message-relaying, you could try this one: one day a few years back I had struggled through getting everyone up, breakfast, the school run, two different schools, dog walk and had just got in, put the kettle on and sat down with a piece of toast and peanut butter, when one of the parrots, Torro, looked at me and said ‘Time to Tidy Up.’
I choked on my toast. ‘What?’ I spluttered.
‘Time to Tidy Up,’ he said.
Rather ambitious of Fred to imagine he had sussed a way to wield control at home even whilst away in the big city. I had to admit I was impressed at his vision. The beauty of it was that I had not heard Fred training the parrots to say this, and I know it takes a couple of weeks to train them to say a new phrase. He must have been conducting secret sessions in the early morning when he made the tea.
In scenes reminiscent of Roald Dalh’s The Twits, I was already formulating my revenge. Fred never suspected anything when I started getting up early to make the tea because he had coincidentally just stopped work for the first time in fifteen or so years, to take a few months off between jobs. One morning a couple of weeks later he sat down with the crossword, a nice cup of tea and a sigh of satisfaction. The parrot fixed him with one baleful eye and said ‘Get a Joooob, Fred, Get a Joooooob.’
Our other parrot, Kiki, an altogether more tender creature, put the nail in the coffin with her little chuckle and pitying echo, ‘Just Get a Job, Fred.’
Haha, big LOLS.
Now the parrots have got us both back. One of them does the phone noise. The other answers: ‘Yes, Hello?’ in Fred’s voice and carries on, ‘Yes..Hi… OK, I’ll just get her….HESTER!’
The other one screeches ‘WOT? WOT?’
We once got back from holiday and said goodbye to Granny and Grampa who had been looking after the house, sat down to have a cup of tea, and the parrots started up, didn’t they. ‘Och, Grampa, look at this! Disgusting!….Och, Grampa…och, disgusting.’ Turned out Granny had cleaned out the cupboards opposite their cage. They were on a loop for about a week.
Ahhh, we do laugh.
More news: I have a new wig/hair thing. My friend Mary beat me to the Hair to Ware shop and turned up with it. It’s highly wacky, makes me look like Tim Minchin.
Hooray. Now I am well placed to take him on. I have wanted to do this ever since I saw ‘Storm’. It is very funny and he is a genius but I find him just a bit too rude and smug about homeopathy. You should probably have a little look at Storm if you don’t know it. Just type Tim Minchin Storm into Youtube. (It’s eight minutes long but you will probably enjoy it!)
Tim is like Fred in that he likes to rely on science. However even Fred has learnt from experience of other worlds. For example, one summer when the kiddies were babies Fred put his foot into a wellie boot with a bumble bee in it, and got stung. He was hopping about in agony when a French friend staying with us promptly got out his homeopathic kit and gave Fred Apis. The pain stopped. Er, no Tim, normally the Pain Does Not Stop. Fred has experienced bee-boot (and even mouse-boot) scenarios many times before and after where the Pain Does Not Stop. (BTW please don’t ask Fred about the terrifying mouse-bollock scenario, it will do his head in and The Pain Never Stops.)
Now with this cancer thing so far, I have learnt that the only thing that reliably stops the foot pain, shivers, joint pain and fever (apart from above the recommended dose of codeine along with forbidden neurofen) has been a homeopathic remedy. And I’m blowed if I’m going to let some scientific chap, however funny and good at songs he is, tell me that I am having the placebo effect, when I don’t believe he has ever tried a homeopathic remedy. And I believe that if you have not tried it, you can’t comment. I think that a true scientific approach would involve trying it lots of times, Tim. And documenting your results. I am doing just that. And I’m not knocking chemo either, before you slag me off as some Storm-type of girl who won’t give allopathic medicines their due. So anyway, I’m going to do a song next as a response to Storm. Come on everyone, in the style of Tim Minchin and for Tim Minchin, a song starting off with how we were all chilling round a fire at a festival one night and met a strange allopathic man from Scienceworld, leading on to the wonders of homeopathy and how it Jolly Well Takes The Pain Away and how if we had lots of money to run real trials we would just to prove it to certain stubborn peeps who refuse to try things because they anally require proof first. God, I probably am ‘so open-minded my brain will fall out’, (one of Tim’s jokes) but at least I won’t suffer pain while it happens for I will have had my Carcinosen.