Tag Archives: side effects

Therapy?

This weekend we were supposed to be off to Croyde (in Devon), to spend the week in a cottage with Sally’s family, and partake in a bit of (attempted) surfing.

When I was diagnosed as ‘relapsed’ a couple of months ago, and began suffering with my back, I adjusted my expectations to the fact I might not be able to do much surfing – but decided instead that I’d spend the time trying my hand at surf photography instead.

Only my ‘brain situation’ has put paid to all that. We’re not in Devon – I am sat in my usual spot (living room, right-hand sofa – with no surf or surfers to photograph). Which is a shame, but unfortunately representative of how hard it is for us to plan anything with any confidence at the moment. But that’s life for now – we just have to roll with it.

So anyway, moving on…

I had my third radiotherapy session yesterday. The last two sessions (since my last post) have gone well, and I haven’t been feeling too many side effects – prior to today just the odd twinge in my head, and I did struggle to stay awake through a film yesterday evening, but that was about it.

Today I have felt a little tired, and had a bit of pressure in my head this afternoon, which seems to be subsiding now – my vision remains unchanged. I have been advised that the radiotherapy itself can make things worse before they get better – so in light of that, I’m relatively happy with my progress so far (when I first drafted this paragraph this morning it read ‘very happy’ – this afternoon’s headache has forced me to edit to remove some of the gloss).

Regarding the actual treatment, I was planning on writing a little about the whole experience, and was hoping I might sneak a photo for the blog. Obviously there are strict rules about what can and can’t be photographed in hospitals, so I thought I might just about get a photo of a ‘radiation on’ sign if I was lucky. However the hospital staff were very obliging, and helped out with the photos (within the rules obviously) – so a big thank you to them for that.

The first session then (Wednesday) was preceded by a chat in the ‘quiet room’ with one of the doctors, covering the procedure, potential side effects, answering my questions, etc. Following this, I was called into a fairly big room, containing a large machine called a ‘linear accelerator’ (shown in the photo below – and described by my sister as looking like an enormous food mixer), and asked to lie on the bench, with my head in the clear plastic headrest. No pillow unfortunately – it seems with radiotherapy comfort is a secondary consideration to accuracy (probably a good thing!).

My latest ally, ‘Mr. Linear Accelerator’

Once lying down, the bench was moved into position under what I am going to call, accurately or not, the head of the machine (the big round bit at the top). What then followed was lots of measuring, prodding, and very precise lining up of my head – the three staff quoting various measurements and medical terms for bits of my head and brain. I knew at the time there were lasers aiding this process, but it wasn’t until afterwards when I saw the photo below that I realised just how ‘Star Wars’ it looked. Once in position my head was taped into place to keep it still, and two black dots marked on my face so that they could see if I moved out of alignment with the lasers.

At this point, with all their measurements taken, the staff had to go away for a while to calculate the dose of radiation required. My understanding is that the dose is predetermined, but they have to calculate how much effort the machine has to put in to deliver that dose, based on the measurements of your head. So I was left alone for ten minutes or so, staring at the same dimly lit ceiling tile, trying to keep my head as still as possible. After a while I felt like I was beginning to hallucinate, seeing various patterns coming towards me out of the ceiling tile – which was interesting.

‘Ben And The Machine’

Eventually the staff returned, checked I hadn’t moved, and explained they were ready to begin the treatment. At this point they left the room, and the head of the machine rotated round to the left side of my head. There was some beeping, followed by a buzz while the radiation fired for what seemed like twenty or thirty seconds. After which the head of the machine rotated round to the right side of my head, and repeated the beeping and buzzing as the radiation fired from the other side.

I’m not really sure if I feel any genuine sensation when the radiation actually fires – each time I have had a vague perception of a pink light, and smelt a hint of a sterile, cleaning fluid type smell in the top of my nose. Whether these sensations are genuine, or imagined, I really have no idea – with my head taped in place I can’t tell if there is actually a pink light in the room or not!

The sign outside the room, just as the ‘magic’ was happening…

Once both sides were done, the machine returned to its normal position above my head, the staff returned, and I was free to leave. As I left the hospital I really couldn’t decide whether I felt ‘normal’ or not – I don’t really feel ‘normal’ at all at the moment given my vision, etc, so it is difficult to distinguish any immediate effects of the radiotherapy from my current feeling of being out of sorts generally.

The subsequent two treatments were an altogether quicker affair, as there was no need for the pre-treatment chat, measurements or dose calculations. It’s just turn up, get in the machine, get zapped, and go. I do find it a strange form of treatment — I’m used to hospital visits involving being more actively ‘interfered’ with (blood tests, operations, taking medications, having cameras inserted into places you don’t want cameras inserted, etc). It seems odd to just turn up, get in a large machine which buzzes at you, and then leave – but there you go, life recently has been full of new experiences.

We even took Saskia with us on Thursday – she proved a hit in the waiting room, brightening the place up, raising plenty of smiles, and playing some tunes for the other patients on her ‘My Baby Piano’ app on my phone.

After the treatment we managed to go into Canterbury for a few bits and a bite to eat in Tiny Tim’s cafe. While in town we saw my Macmillan Nurse Specialist (who has been an immense support since my initial diagnosis with stage one melanoma five years ago) manning a stand in the local shopping centre.┬áThis week happened to be ‘Sun Awareness Week‘, and as a result she had the unenviable (but incredibly important) task of trying to hand out suntan lotion and educate passers by on the dangers of sun exposure – while standing in the rain. I salute her commitment.

Although she did liken my current appearance to that of a ‘hamster’, so maybe I’ll reserve judgement… (I say that in jest – to be fair it was an entirely justifiable comparison, and I am rapidly progressing along the well known ‘animal / obesity’ scale towards ‘hippo’).

So there we go – that’s my take on radiotherapy. I think I will leave it there and post this now, as this post has been in draft form for about three days, and each day I have to go back and amend ‘today’ to ‘yesterday’, ‘no headache’ to ‘headache’, etc. So I am going to hit post quickly before anything else changes… now.

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Up and Atom!

Just a quick update to let you know that we heard from Canterbury Hospital yesterday afternoon – my radiotherapy has been brought forward, and I start tomorrow afternoon. The treatment will consist of five appointments, ending next Wednesday (I get a nice three day break due to the bank holiday).

On balance I am pleased to be going in sooner rather than later (although with a touch of trepidation). This morning was spent nursing another headache (not too severe, but there nonetheless) so it feels good to be getting on with something.

I’m not entirely sure what to expect in terms of side effects from the treatment – I’ve been told everything from “you’ll be completely wiped out” to “you’ll tolerate it fairly well”. I’m going to be positive and expect to lean towards the latter – I don’t usually suffer too much with side effects. In fact I tend to think they can be psychosomatic as much as anything – if you expect to get them you probably will (if I’m a withering wreck by Friday you can all enjoy me publicly eating those words!).

Either way, I have set Sally up as an author on the blog, so if I am not feeling up to posting she can keep you all updated on my behalf. Obviously her prose won’t be as glittering or flowing as mine (I have always been the artistically gifted one in the relationship*) – but she is fairly adept with basic sentences, so you should all be fine in her hands.

Right then – I’m still planning a Saskia post before I go in for treatment tomorrow, but wanted to get this news out there first.

[* Just for the record, this is a complete lie]

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Treatment Update, Update

Just another quick update to let you all know what happened yesterday.

So we went to see the consultant at Canterbury Hospital, who had a look at my scans and did a few physical checks to test brain function – stand on tip-toes, with your arms out, twirling your fingers, kind of thing (like you might see police asking suspected drugged drivers to do on ‘Police, Camera, Acton’, should you be into that).

The conclusion seemed to be that yes, my vision is certainly impaired, but beyond that everything else in there seems to be working pretty much as normal – which is good to hear.

They also advised that I reduce my dose of steroids, to just enough to keep the symptoms under control – which will be a bit nerve-wracking at first. On the plus side, it should hopefully reduce the desire to eat everything in sight (increased appetite being a side effect of steroids). Although I must admit to having very much enjoyed eating everything in sight.

The actual radiotherapy itself is pencilled in to begin on the 10th May – which is later than I expected to be honest. However, there are as yet unknown variables in there, such as whether or not I have the third cycle of chemo next week, which will depend on CT scan results. If no chemo, then radiotherapy could be brought forward.

So it’s still a bit up in the air. I will have to get in touch with the Marsden anyway to let them know I can still make my scan appointment next week, so will see what they say about the chemo, and go from there.

A good thing is that Canterbury seem fairly relaxed about overlapping the chemo and radiotherapy. Which I am pleased about – I seem to have been tolerating the chemo pretty well, so am happy to go for both.

That’s about it for yesterday’s news – will write more soon.

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About library books then…

Firstly, sorry it’s taken me a couple of days to write – things have been a little up and down since my last post.

So yesterday morning I woke up with no improvement in my vision, but thankfully no head pain. I spent most of the morning in bed, dozing and watching the F1 practice sessions. The vision problems made being up and about so awkward and disorientating, that it just seemed easier to stay lying down in one place. Dosing myself up to the maximum on codeine also probably played a part in my inertia.

Then mid-afternoon we got the call from the Marsden with my scan results. As has been fairly typical of my recent ‘result getting’, they weren’t what we would have wanted to hear – which would have been something like this…

“Good news, the cancer’s gone!! Your headache was just cancer withdrawal symptoms. You’ll be over that in a few days, then back to work with you on Monday. Hurrah!!”

Instead, the scan showed that the disease in the brain had unfortunately progressed.

While not great news, we knew this would probably be coming at some point – the reason being something known as the blood-brain barrier. Now I won’t pretend to have a detailed understanding of how this works, but essentially it seems to be there to protect the brain from certain things in the blood (bacterial infections for example). So obviously it evolved for a reason, and has a useful purpose. However, in my case I would be grateful if it would take a little mini-break, and just sod off for a few months – because it also happens to be preventing my chemotherapy treatment from reaching the brain metastases.

This is one of the reasons that the news that the cancer had spread to the brain was such a blow. It meant fighting the battle on two fronts – the brain, and the rest of me. Each front requires a different treatment, each with its own side effects – and usually these treatments are not given at the same time, so as to spare the patient the cumulative side effects of both treatments together. Now I’m not a military strategist (except on the Xbox now and then) but it seemed to me that by fighting on two fronts, and only allowing yourself to fight one front at a time, you are putting yourself at a disadvantage.

But again, this is what the Marsden do – and they have their reasons (like always, based on evidence and logic). And I’m sure that to compare fighting cancer to playing a game of ‘Command and Conquer’ is a gross oversimplification on my part!

So anyway, back when the brain mets were discovered, as I was asymptomatic the doctors decided to focus on treating the rest of the disease, and to just keep an eye on the brain for the time being. In two weeks time from now (at the end of my second chemo cycle) I was due to have another scan, and they would weigh up what was going on where, and what to do next.

The events of the last few days have changed all that. The plan now is that next week I begin a course of brain radiotherapy. Unfortunately due to the spread and position of the brain mets, targeted radiotherapy is not currently an option. So I am going in for ‘whole brain’ radiotherapy – which is a prospect I find a little daunting to be honest. Most of my life I have become familiar with the idea that radiation and brains are best kept separate (primarily based on a passion for submarine films, usually involving nuclear reactor leaks of some sort). So I am a little nervous.

It sounds like the treatment is likely to be given over a course of five days, and will come with side effects including feeling wiped out, nausea, skin problems, and hair loss. Which will be interesting – I guess I will finally start to look like a cancer patient (at least I might then feel able to sit in the ‘priority for people who can’t stand’ seat on the tube without people thinking I am a fraud).

So that news came as a bit of a blow yesterday – although more due to timing than anything. I had been hoping to make it through the next couple of weeks until the next scan before we started having to think about all this. But it seems cancer was not paying attention to the schedule (I think I’ll have to have a quiet word).

Getting back to yesterday afternoon then – almost exactly as I got that news, I felt the pressure in my head coming on again – perhaps psychosomatic, perhaps coincidence, or perhaps because I had got all cocky and halved my dose of codeine. It wasn’t the crushing headache of the day before, but I feared that was where it was headed – so I spent most of the remainder of the day trying to lie as still and quietly as possible, to try and keep it under control (not helped by a screaming, teething baby who didn’t want to go to sleep).

And that is exactly how I have spent most of today – lying in bed resting, watching F1 again, and willing the pressure in my head to subside. Which, around mid-afternoon, it finally did – and I felt well enough to come downstairs, eat dinner, and write this post.

I’m currently still on a whole cocktail of drugs – steroids to reduce inflammation in the brain, paracetamol, codeine, etc. There is still no real improvement in my vision, which was starting to worry me. Although we spoke to our local hospice today (who specialise in pain management and symptom control), and they advised that it could be Sunday or Monday before the steroids really start to kick in. Hopefully the subsidence in pressure this afternoon is the start of that, and my vision will return soon. They also gave me some liquid morphine, in case I get more pain that the codeine won’t control. It makes me feel safer to know I have the next step in pain control in the house ready, just in case I need it – rather than needing it in the middle of the night and not being able to get it.

So there we go. I also want to say a massive thank you for all the messages I have received over the last few days – via the blog, e-mail, text, Facebook, etc. I am sorry I haven’t been replying, but the headaches and vision problems have left me limited for time, energy and typing accuracy (especially on a smartphone keypad!). But the messages I received all meant a lot, so thank you. I will try to reply soon.

Wow – I just realised that after writing the title of this post with the best of intentions, I got distracted by all this cancer stuff, and haven’t written anything at all about library book filing systems. It’s pretty late, and I’m quite tired now, so I think I will have to give it a miss. A big sorry to anyone who waded through all this cancer stuff, only to feel misled and disappointed by the content of this post.

I’ll try and make it up to you tomorrow.

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The day after…

In ‘the chair’

So I thought I’d just give a short update after my treatment yesterday, and include a little photo too (just to show I’m not making all this up!). That’s me (obviously) sat in the chemo chair there with, my temporary friend, the chemo pump attached to my arm.

Anyhow, in summary all went well, although as predicted it was a long day.

We had to wait around for quite a while in the morning for all my various tests and results, but eventually they all came through. Apparently my blood results were ‘beautiful’ – which means that my white blood cell count had recovered very well from the last cycle. So after a quick chat with the doctor, we were given the go ahead for the second cycle.

However, there was still a couple of hours before I was actually due to receive my treatment (apparently my drug has to be made up on the day, so they wait until they have my test results and know we are going ahead before starting the process). So Sally and I managed to get out of the hospital and treat ourselves to a nice lunch at the Builders Arms (a ‘gastro pub’ nearby – thanks Kate for the recommendation).

After which it was back to the hospital for a bit more waiting around, before finally taking my seat in the chemo chair. One advantage of being treated late in the day is that there is hardly anyone else there. So it’s a nice calm environment, I get to choose where I want to sit, and the nurses have a bit more time to spend with you – we met a lovely nurse who organised my treatment, and spent ages chatting to us about anything and everything.

The treatment itself was fairly uneventful. First of all they give you a dose of intravenous steroids, which caused a bit of tingling in my fingers. After that it’s onto the chemotherapy itself – that’s what’s in the blue bag above me in the picture. The drug itself comes in a clear bag, but has that blue cover put over it. I was intrigued to know why the blue cover – apparently the drug is very sensitive to light, hence also the orange tube through which the drug is delivered into my arm. That pump thing under the blue bag controls the amount and rate of the drug infused. Fascinating stuff (or at least I thought so!).

So once it was all done I was unhooked from the pump, and we were free to go. Fortunately we arrived at Victoria Station just as the platform for our train was announced, so were only just behind the main stampede of commuters (like charging wildebeest) from the station concourse to the platform, and managed to get a a table quite easily. I didn’t feel too many physical effects on the way home – a few hot flushes, much like last time, but that was about it.

Once finally back at home we treated ourselves to a pizza, and some rest.

So today has mainly involved more rest, although I’m not feeling too bad. They give you anti-sickness meds and steroids to take for the first three days. The nurse explained that the steroids can lull you into a false sense of security for those few days, keeping most of the side effects of the chemo at bay, after which you can come down with a bump. Which would explain the wall of tiredness I hit last time around the weekend after the treatment.

I did however go to Whitstable today to watch Saskia in her swimming lesson again, followed by lunch in a nice little cafe. Which was all very pleasant.

Thanks very much to all those who posted and sent good luck messages yesterday. I had intended to post a reply while on the train home, but my phone battery was dead by about 2pm. Need to think about getting a spare battery for those long days.

Thanks also to my Mum and Sister for looking after Saskia – it sounds like she didn’t give them too much trouble!

Right, that’s about it for now I think – will write again soon.

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That difficult third post…

Hi,

(ok, so I know the phrase is supposed to be ‘that difficult second album’ – but I’ve already written my second post, so it’s too late for that. And under the circumstances, I think I will allow myself the small pleasure of misappropriating the odd phrase for my own purposes)

So it’s been just over a week since my treatment. In terms of side effects, a few more came on over the weekend. Started to feel a little grotty Friday evening, and felt dead tired Saturday (and a little ‘not with it’ – not dissimilar to being hungover).

I was worried for a while I was developing a chest infection / fever – which would have been bad. I have a little yellow ‘this patient is on chemotherapy’ card from the hospital, which lists the circumstances under which I immediately have to go to A&E, including high temperature, flu like symptoms, etc, etc. I didn’t really want to go to A&E, not on my first cycle at least! But fortunately with some early nights and resting, it didn’t materialise into anything significant.

My back has been giving me grief over the last few days – as mentioned in my first post the lesion on my spine is giving me sciatic pains down both legs. Not sure what’s made it worse the past few days – I think I slept awkwardly Friday night due to not feeling well; or maybe it just seems worse as a result of being a bit more sensitive to pain in general the last few days (a chemo side effect I assume).

Sally has been amazing (as ever), doing the vast majority of the Saskia work (entertaining, changing, bathing, feeding of porridge, removing of porridge from nose, ears, eyes, hair, etc) while I rest to help my back recover. Hopefully it will improve soon and we can share the load a little more evenly.

All that makes it sound like the last few days have been terrible – which I should stress isn’t the case. On Friday the three of us had a lovely sunny alfresco lunch at ASK (courtesy of our Tesco Clubcard vouchers – guilt free lunch tastes even better). And I’ve even begun venturing back into social situations – met with some NCT (ante-natal) friends Friday afternoon, and spent some very enjoyable time with friends Saturday and Sunday.

The last few days have also brought more acts of kindness and generosity. We’ve had a hamper full of goodies, offers of financial support, been treated to lunch, and plenty more messages of support and goodwill. I also received a collection of Daniel Kitson (stand up comedian) material to watch – which is good and very timely, as over the last month I have exhausted Stewart Lee’s (another stand up comedian) entire back catalogue. My recent routine has been something like this…

Go to hospital, get told you have cancer… go home, watch a Stewart Lee DVD to take your mind off it…

Go to hospital again, get told your cancer is worse… go home, watch another Stewart Lee DVD to take your mind off it…

And so on…

I wonder what will happen if (or thinking positively, ‘when‘) I go to hospital and get good news? Perhaps I’ll feel the need to come home and watch a documentary about cancer, just to keep myself on an even keel psychologically.

Right, I think I will leave it there for now – thanks to all those who have viewed the blog so far, and sent feedback and messages of support as a result – it’s been very encouraging.

I think I will try to make the next post about Saskia, for a bit of a change / light relief. Going swimming with her this morning – should be fun.

P.S. If any of you want to receive blog updates automatically, there is a button near the top right called ‘follow’. Click here, enter your e-mail address, and it should e-mail you whenever I make a new post, to save you checking back and finding nothing new.

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The beginning of a journey…

Welcome.

I never really thought of myself as someone who would keep a blog – to be honest I couldn’t think that my life or opinions were interesting enough to warrant documenting for the world to read. I could have ranted endlessly about the Daily Mail, but that would have got boring after a while (for you I imagine, probably not for me).

But in the last month or so things have suddenly got a lot more interesting, but unfortunately not in a good way – I have been diagnosed again with cancer.

Some of you may know my history – almost 5 years ago I was found to have a malignant melanoma (a form of skin cancer) on my left shoulder. I was 27 years old, otherwise generally healthy, and had never been near a sunbed in my life. The odd bit of sunburn as a teenager while prancing round Cornwall trying to become a surfer, but nothing major.

It was surgically removed, and after a lot of debate (for about six months) between doctors as to whether it had spread, I was given the ‘all clear’ and sent home.

Two years later it was detected in a single lymph node under my left arm. I was promptly back in for surgery, and had all the lymph nodes from my left armpit removed. Some more scans later, and I was again given the ‘all clear’ (albeit qualified with ‘as far as we can tell’).

The three years since then have been characterised by worries about recurrence, trips to various hospitals for scans and biopsies on various innocent lumps and bumps, and wondering whether I was becoming paranoid and beginning to annoy the doctors with questions about lumps on my testicles.

So in January this year, when I started to develop some lower back pain, I worried about cancer. But I told myself I was being paranoid, and put it down to having a new baby – lifting her up, hauling prams in and out of cars, bending over doing her bath and changing nappies, etc. So much so that I nearly didn’t mention it at my six monthly check up at the Royal Marsden (for those who don’t know, generally ace cancer hospital in London – one of the best places in the country).

In the end I did mention it, just in passing I hoped…

“Bad back? No, that won’t be cancer, probably something like a new baby or something”.

“Great, thanks Doc, see you in another six months”.

Unfortunately the conversation didn’t go quite like that. An MRI on my back and a CT of the rest of me later, and in late February I was told it was back, and had brought friends to play this time – on my spine, in my liver, lungs and spleen (what does a spleen actually even do?).

This news obviously came as a massive blow, and the weeks since then have been a real roller-coaster (and I don’t like roller-coasters!). I won’t bore you with all the details, but in short I had just picked myself up from the knock of the initial news, when I got more bad news – I couldn’t go on a clinical trial of a promising new drug as my melanoma didn’t have the right gene mutation.

Ok, pick myself up and get positive again, there’s another trial I can go on. Except that a week later (last week) I was the told I can’t go on that one either due to the location of my cancer – another blow to pick myself up from. The only treatment option available to me (at present) is the standard chemotherapy treatment for melanoma.

So that’s where we are. I started chemotherapy treatment Monday (two days ago). One silver lining of being on the standard treatment is that it is apparently relatively well tolerated. The infusion of the chemo only took about an hour, into a cannula in my arm. And other than a slightly foggy feeling and a few hot flushes on the train home, since then I have felt fine. No nausea, tiredness, sickness (they give you anti-sickness meds). There might be other side effects to come later in the cycle (each infusion and the following weeks leading up to the next infusion is known as a ‘cycle’), but so far so good.

Then in three weeks I am back in for my second infusion of chemo . Three weeks on from then I have another scan. If the chemo is working then I carry on for another four cycles – if not then I come off it and we try something else.

To be honest after all the trips I have had to London in the last month or so for scans and results it’s just nice to know that I don’t have to go back for three weeks.

So there we are – cancer has motivated me to become a ‘blogger’. Why?

Well in all the turmoil and upheaval of the last month it’s been difficult just keeping on top of everyday life – Saskia, the house, etc (fortunately I am currently signed off work). In the course of all that I have been relaying the news to various people – but I knew there were many good friends who I had not come across in day-to-day life who had no idea what was going on. Hence, the ‘blog. I figured this would be a great way to disseminate news and keep people up to date, without me having to say / type the same thing again and again – and for people to follow my progress, leave messages of support, etc (or abuse if you feel that way inclined).

Don’t worry, I’ll try not to make it all about cancer. I’ll put in nice stuff as well – news and photos of Saskia, other photos, and just general news of what we have been up to. The cancer is the motivator for starting this blog, but will not be the sole focus. It’s important to focus on the positive as well.

Speaking of positive – despite all the recent bad news and stress of the last month I am remaining fully positive that I will beat this. As far as I can see that’s the only way to fight this battle. Not long after the first set of bad news, I came down with a chest infection. Then a few days after the bad news about not being able to go on the first trial, I had several attacks (spread over four days) days of an excruciating stomach pain, lasting hours at a time – so bad that the first time I ended up going to A&E in an ambulance at 4am in the morning. The doctor in A&E, my GP and my gastro nurse put these stomach pains down to excess stress due to the cancer diagnosis.

While horrible at the time, these experiences were a clear demonstration and reminder of the effect that the mind and mental state can have on physical well being. If I get down and depressed my body will give me even more crap to deal with. So I figure I can turn this to my advantage – by keeping a positive attitude I minimise both mental and physical stress, hopefully minimise chemo side effects, and put myself in the best possible state of mind to beat this.

There is every reason to stay positive – there seems to be nothing to be gained by sinking into negative thoughts.

Right, I think I will end this post here. I have (believe it or not!) more to write. I haven’t yet touched on the amazing support and generosity we have received from family and friends in the last month.

But it’s late, and I’ve written a lot today, so I will continue tomorrow.

Bye for now.

P.S. This blog is also heavily inspired by a similar blog kept by a guy called Ezra in New York, who has been fighting colon cancer (hopefully, it looks successfully). It would be wrong of me not to credit him for his inspiration, so for anyone who wants to take a look, I have copied the link below. It’s a great read, and he is a wonderfully honest and funny writer (as well as good photographer, bike builder, and cook). So I would fully recommend it. You might also pick up some decent recipes! Thanks to Dan Morse for directing me to his blog.

Link > http://www.fastboycycles.com/teachingcancertocry/

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