Bank holiday blues

It's festival season in Nottingham and the city council has laid on free music and entertainment across town throughout the weekend. This afternoon there was blues in the Square and we took in a bit of Dr Feelgood while passing through. Later we stopped to watch an excellent gypsy/jazz/ska fusion band called Baghdaddies - pictured here. They were great fun and if it hadn't been Nottingham in broad daylight I might have danced!

Some people have asked for a progress report on recovery/treatment etc so here goes:

Wednesday will be six weeks post op (recovery takes up to three months) and I'm steadily gaining strength. I can now do most things except run, go to the gym, or hoover. Apart from the odd twinge in the parts that have been operated on, I'm hardly in any pain and am off all medication. I still get more tired than usual and have taken up siestas.

I start chemotherapy on 18 June. Treatment consists of six sessions of a regime called FEC T administered through a drip at three week intervals. Apart from hair loss, immediate side effects are likely to be nausea, tiredness and generally feeling unwell for a few days after treatment. People tend to lose their sense of taste too. More serious is the effect on white blood cells. The critical time comes 7-14 days after treatment when blood count gets so low you can't fight infection. If daily temperature readings go above 38 degrees you have to phone the hospital. You should also phone if you feel 'unwell', and if certain symptoms occur, you phone 999. During this danger period, you should stay away from bugs. If you do get infected, they admit you to hospital and give you intravenous antibiotics. During week three of the cycle you feel more or less normal, then it's time to go back for more. Chemo also makes people much more sensitive to UV so you should stay out of the sun or douse yourself with factor 50. I shall have to catch as many rays as possible before June 18.

Emotionally I'm feeling upbeat. Learning that I needed chemo was a set-back but now I'm over that and back in my bubble. I shall just get on with it and live that old cliche 'a day at a time'. I've spoken to people who had a dreadful time on chemo and kept having to be hospitalised, and others who felt ok throughout. I am doing various holistic mind and body therapies such as yoga, hypnosis and acupuncture, which all help the healing process. Summer is a nice time to be recuperating, and JP and I are planning a winter holiday for when I'm better. Meanwhile he and his brother are doing up the boat. I'm looking forward to it being ship-shape.

The bright side

Recently I spoke to Margaret, who is someone I knew in Manchester. She has had terminal ovarian cancer for three years. After six lots of chemo they've now finished all treatment.

Margaret has been taking part in a Sky documentary about cancer patients at Christie's hospital, so she's had a camera crew following her around. They filmed her having treatment and interviewed her at home. They came to the party she had for friends and family to celebrate her life. And when she planned her funeral, they were there too.

Now this may all sound a bit Jade Goody, but if you know Margaret, you'll know that nothing could be further from the truth. She'll be doing this to raise publicity for the hospital and to encourage others in a similar situation.

And it will help because Margaret is remarkable. She has a deep spirituality so in facing death she has a destination in mind; this is just a preview, what comes next is the main event. It must be comforting to be that sure.

Psychologists say most of us live in a state of existential denial most of the time. We think we will go on for ever - even though we know we won't. Having cancer - no matter how good the prognosis - brings you up against your own mortality. And that is terrifying. Unless you're Margaret.

She is approaching death like she approaches life, with courage, faith and good humour, looking on the bright side.

She told me about her phone conversation with the undertaker.

Undertaker: 'Can we do your hair for you when you're in the coffin?'

Margaret: 'I've had chemotherapy and I haven't got any hair!'

Undertaker: 'Well will you let us put some makeup on you? A little mascara perhaps?'

Margaret: 'I haven't got any eyelashes!'

Undertaker: 'Some rouge?'

Margaret: 'You do whatever makes you happy. I won't care. I won't be there!'

Things to do in Sherwood when you're sick

1. Visit the tropical house in Woodthorpe Park. Good place to go if it's cold as they keep it at a constant (tropical) temperature. Wander among the lemon and banana trees and watch big South African fish. This place is a real hidden gem. There's hardly ever anyone else in there, apart from the odd nutter (mostly harmless).
2. Go for a smoothie in mm deli. Sit in the window, read the papers and watch the world.
3. Have a beauty treatment at one of the many salons. I've just been for reflexology (feet). Don't go to the nail bar though because it smells.
4. Report some Anti Social Behaviour (ASB) to the local neighbourhood police. The Mansfield Road Police Station is manned these days! If you need some ASB to witness try Burnham Street.
5. If you've got the energy, take a walk over to Mapperley and do some chocolate tasting. (If you eat enough of them you will be sick).
6. Call in at Craft Worskhop and learn some needlework - kind of like occupational therapy.
7. Head down to the Forest and visit the outdoor gym. Actually you need to be feeling quite well to do this.
8. Browse round the charity shops, you might pick up a bargain. They're full of wedding frocks at the moment. A year late for some.
9. Stroll round Woodthorpe Park and chat to friendly dog walkers - legendary for their sense of community. Helps if you've got a dog but you can always pretend.
10. Go for lunch at Yianni's, afternoon tea at Le Mistral and if you're still out by evening time and you're very, very hungry, check out Ania's - especially if you like free vodka.

Open day at the chemo clinic

Joy came with me to meet the chemo people - because two heads are better than one.

Our 'chat' turned out to be a half-day information session for me and some other chemo hopefuls and included a presentation, Q&A, blood tests and a one-to-one with a nurse.

I came away with lots of scary facts and a wig prescription.

Debbie - the nurse - also threw in a tour of the ward so I could view people having their treatment, which involves sitting there for an hour or more while the drugs drip into you. The patients looked, well, patient!

And I got to try on a cold cap, which is a sort of gel-based swimming hat taken straight from the freezer. It prevents hair-loss by freezing the follicles. It felt like slabs of ice pressing around my head. Not for the nesh!

Debbie said because my hair is fine it'll probably fall out, cap or no cap. She said if it was Joy's hair, which is thick, it would be different. That's why two heads are better than one.

Later this week I'm off to check out wig shops.

Meanwhile it is JP's turn to come out in sympathy. He's hurt his leg and went to work on crutches. I suspect the division of labour may be shifting back to previous arrangements ...

Here comes the sun

Emma told me to make something creative out of pebbles and put it on the blog - but there were no pebbles, just miles and miles of sand, so she will have to make do with a picture of feet.

Funny how summer has suddenly arrived. As recently as last week I was still wearing my winter coat (the operation made me even more nesh* than usual) but with the appearance of the sun all sorts of things kept under wraps through the winter have now emerged. Like feet.

We've been to the Norfolk coast to celebrate our anniversary. We found this near deserted beach. The water was warm. I wanted to stay there.

* NB for the uninitiated nesh is a Nottingham word which means 'feels the cold'.

Back to back

The tissue in my boob, which was taken from my back, still thinks it's back muscle.

When I do certain dorsal stretches, it flexes and contracts. Like it's still trying to work.

Far out!

So muscle has memory.

Today I've had a one-to-one Iyengar Yoga session, courtesy of a friend who teaches it. She showed me some nice healing postures. And for the first time in ages I felt as though my body was my own, not some contortion of its former self.

Which is good because I had begun to worry that when they said the surgeon was 'an artist' they meant Picasso.

Reasons to be tearful

1. My Dad died a year ago today.

2. He died three days before our wedding.

3. My Mum died six months earlier.

ROLLER-COASTER!

Our wedding was gorgeous. We all piled into a routemaster bus that took us from the oldest church in Nottingham to a riverside reception.

Good job when JP said: "In sickness and in health" he meant it.

Moment of melancholy over. Visitors are arriving. And later I am going for a swim in a friend's pool. It's a wonderful life.