Finally the hoop jumping paid off

I want to write a long post about this and maybe later I will or maybe this will turn into one. After all it took a bloody long time to get here. Twenty-one months of fighting cancer and 13 months fighting the medical system for the one immunotherapy drug in trial that ‘may’ have some hope for metastatic triple negative breast cancer.

Breast cancer is still one of the leading causes of death in women (despite it being and I quote an acquaintance ‘one of the best cancers to get’!!!) and despite many more people surviving breast cancer, there are still too many lives taken. Just this week another young mum in my support forum was taken too soon. Leaving 3 young children (below 5) and a husband in the wake and destruction of TNBC. A disease with no cure or targeted therapy to control it.

Due to this lack of treatment, finding a cure or even a treatment to control spread could be big bucks for big pharma. Only 15% of breast cancers are triple negative, but it’s still a decent segment for big pharma to make money from. As a result of this there are lots of different clinical trials for triple negative patients. On the surface this is good, but the reality is finding them, working out how to get on them and passing the eligibility criteria are complex tasks even for the most tenacious and energetic terminal cancer patients. Almost an oxymoron in itself. It’s a wonder anyone meets the trial equivalent of an algorithm. All this searching and hoop jumping just to be a lab rat for future triple negative patients and possibly buy yourself a few more months in the process.

The first trial I found was perfect and gave me immunotherapy as a given as it was the combo they were trialing. Partnerships were with old chemos or additional triple negative targeted therapies. Everyone got immunotherapy, Atezolizumab. An attempt to find Atezo’s killer combo (or survivor’s combo). Unfortunately this immunotherapy trial wasn’t available to me as my reoccurrence/secondary cancer had been discovered in less than 12 months after my primary diagnosis. In short my proactive nature which had insisted on the scan that found the tumour was 4 months too early to be eligible.

Other trials I found I wasn’t eligible for because my tumour wasn’t big enough yet! Frustrating doesn’t even cover it. Eventually I found a trial that I was eligible for by 1mm of tumour measurement. This trial involved months of travelling to the research hospital only to get disease progression and find out I was on the placebo.

The second clinical trial was another mission to get on. Loyal followers of this blog will remember that. This trial yielded another 4hr round journey to get the standard or care drug I could have got on my doorstep. A journey worth it for the chance of getting Atezolizumab. A money can’t buy drug. Those of you playing attention know that that time I was rewarded with the control. Atezolizumab missed again. I was the last person to get on this trial globally. There was a part 2 to this drug and if I met certain eligibility criteria the second part could be open to me. It was beginning to sound like the bonus schemes most of the consultancies I’ve worked for offered. Unlike those, stage 2 finally paid out. All the hard work, hoop jumping and waiting had delivered.

Today I am proud and frankly astounded to report that I have Atezolizumab running through my veins. Hopefully playing with it’s wingman chemo Eribulin to finally have some impact on this aggressive and relentless cancer. Let’s hope it buys me some more time and doesn’t make my quality of life too grim with the toxicity.

All glamour in my cold cap, but happy to finally be giving immuno a chance to work.

Who thought I’d be celebrating getting my 8th chemo agent and an off label drug. Funny where life takes you.

Bit like this journey, the post didn’t end up being short either. However, did beat Brexit to a different post.

30th January 2020

The Joy of the Magic Doorstep

“Not all of us can do great things.  But we can all do small things with great love”

Mother Teresa

In my experience of an advance cancer diagnosis people don’t really know what to say. Questions to understand it seem insensitive and risky as you have to be prepared for the answers.  Words of reassurance are tricky.  A lot of people opt for the head cocked and pitiful smile when they see you or just plain avoidance.   However, there are a pretty large and surprising number of people who opt for action.  

As an action junkie I relate to this as it is what I have done in similar situations. When you feel devoid of words, action speak volumes. Sometimes you just have to do something.

Back in May 2018 I was astonished with the direct and decisive action people from all areas of my life took. The night I got home from receiving the diagnosis one of my sister’s just turned up despite being told I was fine and didn’t need her to come.  Obviously, I was about as far away from fine as you can be, but I had to pick the kids up, feed them and get them to bed without falling apart. We didn’t tell them straight away. We didn’t know what to say. We hadn’t even told immediate family. We couldn’t find the words. We were in a trance like state. In fact we had a prior appointment with a will writer to do our LPAs and update our wills. So that is what we did on the evening of the day I was diagnosed with invasive advanced breast cancer. 

You can’t make these things up. 

In a film that would seem ridiculous, but in fact it was what we did that evening. It turned out to be a very practical thing to do. Having one of my sister’s there was a blessing as we were able to have difficult conversations about guardianship. Our original wills were no longer practical given the very real possibility that at least one of us would be taken too soon. 

My sister also took on the unenviable task of telling the rest of the family. After that, the wheels were in motion, everyone went into action mode. 

Within days of diagnosis, my sister said, ‘You’re going to need a big freezer’ I replied ‘what for?’ She said ‘all the meals’.  

She had inside knowledge from friends with a cancer diagnosis. It was a matter of days before my Dad turned up with a freezer and my extended family brought home cooked freezable food.  

But that wasn’t what my sister meant. 

Nothing could prepare me for the deluge of home cooked meals that would turn up on my doorstep as word got around. I’ve joked before about the number of lasagnes, but not one went to waste. Every casserole, spag bol, curry, cake, soup, biscuit, flapjack, crumble  and many more dishes of love were gratefully received.  They nourished us through those early trance-like days.  The blur of appointments and scans with news getting worse by the day.  We put one foot in front of the other and one home cooked meal in the oven and we got through it until we could think again.

We are still lucky enough to receive meals today and they are all a gift of time. Time that we don’t have to think about preparing a meal. Time we can spend with each other or on tasks that seem to take so much longer now.  It is not something we expect or always need, but it always makes us feel cared for and loved. One person in particular has never stopped giving us meals. She’s a wonderful cook and even has a drawer named after her in our freezer. There’s always something good in that drawer. We call her our ‘Cancer Angel’ and she is a very special woman who I have got to know in a deeper way since being diagnosed. 

As an aside, my then 6 year old, found all the meals confusing. She asked me if we were poor, now I had cancer. I was perplexed.  Where had this come from?  But soon I understood when she elaborated “but Mummy you always say ‘you have to go to school, Mummy and Daddy have to go to work to earn money to put food on the table and a roof over our heads’ and you haven’t been to work as much and people are already bringing us food”.

It all made sense from a 6 year old’s perspective.

All sorts of kindness poured onto our doorstep and through our letterbox. People and gifts showed up in all sorts of guises from all corners of our life and the world.  I was and continue to be truly humbled by peoples’s kindness. Amongst other things, we have been lucky enough to receive flowers, beautiful, honestly written cards, poetry books, magazines, books, Chemo kits,  fruit and veg, solid gold engraved lego brick, jewellery, good luck charms, bracelets, Christmas decorations, charms for good health, ice pillows (for night sweats), shawls (when my arm was too big for a coat) and just last night aloe vera socks for my peeling bleeding feet.

We also got several tomato plants and a courgette plant. One lot even arrived with its own grow bag. I loved planting these and enjoying the fruits of my labour all summer long. Reminding me of the thoughtfulness and kindness around me.  Feeling a sense of satisfaction when picking the fruit and making soup.  The simplicity of nourishment.  Overall we felt the power of kindness and community that can easily be forgotten or taken for granted in our busy and overly digital world. The simple gifts of kindness, the offers of help, lifts to appointments, walking companions, sourcing of outfits for school plays and childcare are invaluable. They also made me feel alive and that I mattered to lots of people. The outpouring of love and the genuine, real conversations I have with people I’ve known for years and other strangers has been humbling and a joy. I was never one for small talk.  I favour real conversations.

I have been toying with writing this post for a while. A sort of wide scale thank you note to everyone who has held us in their thoughts, sent us messages of encouragement, made us laugh and smile and held our hands through this unplanned and daunting journey. 

I am a strong person and I still favour helping over being helped. I am delighted that so many people ignored this and just stepped in. For the last couple of years we have donated to charity rather than sending Christmas cards. I also commit to phoning people who live further afield and have a proper chat with them, reconnecting rather than sending a card year after year. This year I haven’t phoned very many people. It is not because I haven’t got the energy, but it’s because I am more connected with the people that matter than ever before. This is one of cancer’s blessings. It cuts out the crap and brings families and friends closer together. Or it certainly has in my case.

This time of the year seems like a good time to celebrate and think about the importance of community and kindness. I’ve alway been a fan of and contributor to both. It matters and it makes a difference. Merry Christmas and thank you.

“It’s not how much we you do, but how much love we put into what you do that counts”

Mother Teresa

I am not religious in the traditional way and yet despite Mother Teresa’s catholic origins her words resonate with my beliefs. Her desire to put common humanity above religious divisions is something we should all strive to do. I do believe in spirituality and the sense of connection to something bigger than ourselves. Sometimes that belief and way of being is the only thing that keeps me going. We all need to look beyond ourselves.

24th December 2019

Learn from the Poppies (Poem 18)

Learn from the Poppies

Like poppies, life is beautiful, fragile and fleeting,
Remember you don’t have to be killed at war,
To lose your life,
Cancer doesn’t have to be rife,
You can float through life striving for more,
Rather than making the most of every chance meeting

We should be silent at 11 O’Clock
Remembering those that gave us liberty,
Stillness and quiet, is a dying art,
Real conversations, swept away as we dart,
About playing at being happy and busy,
Losing your real life of simple pleasures that rock


11th November 2019

Time for some cheer

I know the weekend’s post was a bit hard going. I lived it and reading it back was tough enough for me. So time for some cheer.

That’s the thing about cancer treatment; one minute you are crawling on your bathroom floor, the next you are whizzing around London having a fine time. Then you’re shattered again. ‘This too will pass’ has become regular self talk for me and many other cancer thrivers.

Today I made the trip for 10 vials of blood to be taken and tested to make sure all my organs are behaving themselves and have managed to process the 10 of the 14 days drugs I poisoned myself and hopefully the cancer with earlier this month.

Good news is, my liver and kidney function and my red, white and platelet cell factories seem in fighting spirit. And so too am I.

I’m still adjusting to the peaks and troughs of this new medication, but hopefully with a reduced dose and three lots of anti sickness drugs by my side I will navigate cycle 2 (and half term (!)) with a bit more grace.

I was lucky enough to get the prime viewing seat for my bloods today. The rain stayed away too.

Today involved, being weighed (1 min incl. lace up shoes) taking some bloods (10 mins), seeing an oncologist (which was less than 5 mins as I’ve been in and out with bad reactions so they are up to speed with my side effects), making an appointment for 3 weeks time (1 min), filing a prescription (2 mins) collecting two lots of drugs from two different places (5 mins) total to collect and walk between two places. So 24 active patient minutes. I left my house at 8.30 and got back to my town in time for a work meeting at 5pm. Granted the travel time is a big chunk of that, but I still spent over 5.5hrs waiting at various places or travelling between parts of the same building.

There has got to be some efficiencies to make there surely. I even transported my own bloods and handed them to a nurse to hand deliver to the lab, because the porter system can add another hour at least. No wonder we have a productivity problem in this country – all those people not working, but waiting, or waiting with someone who’s waiting.

They even have a poster to help manage your expectation

I’m an impatient patient. You may have picked that up! I hate inefficiency. If I can see a quicker, better, different path I like to take it or find it.

That said, Knowing that today would be a waiting day, I planned some jobs and some cheer. In between sorting my annual accounts, finishing a poem, drafting this and picking up some presents I managed a bit of cheer. I stumbled upon a cafe behind the hospital and decamped for some non-vending lunch. I then met Jimmy of ‘London Hearts’ fame for a coffee and to pick up my commission of our very own ‘Cosmic Heart’.

As I had expected he was a lovely bloke and very humble about his talents. I started to shake his hand, but that felt odd, so I gave him a big hug, which felt right. We chatted a while about his work, my blog, legacy, reaching out and connecting to your loved ones and inspiring communities of people to do the same. I am so glad I stumbled upon those hearts, pressed send on what seemed like a slightly unusual email and met the heart behind some of the world’s street art.

Despite the waiting, today was a good day. I feel good.

Sometimes that’s enough.

You don’t have to wear pink (Poem 16)

You don’t have to wear pink

You don’t have to wear pink,
To be aware of breast cancer,
It’s become so big, people don’t think
It will happen to them.

If you do one thing today,
Make sure you know how to check,
I know you don’t think you have cancer in your deck.
In Britain 31 women will die of breast cancer everyday
.

Real sisters, mothers, daughters, aunts, wives,
Lose their lives.
Everyday.
Why not me? And why not you?
Don’t be passive, there are things you can do;
Real conversations, commit to checking.
Because
Real lives, cancer is wrecking.

18th October 2019 Breast Cancer Awareness Day

Street Art Update

Amidst all the trial and randomisation anxiety of last week, you may recall I promised you I’d get in contact with Jimmy C of ‘London Hearts’  and ‘Shakespeare’ portrait fame. 

I did this last Tuesday and both himself and the guy who commissioned the piece at Network Rail got in touch overnight.  A great example of how we should all reach out to others, especially if they have inspired us and even if we don’t know each other.  We are after all, all humans with an inate need to be connected, noticed and appreciated.  They were both pleased to hear the positive impact the work had had on me (and my family). I have agreed to credit the work where possible and of course I am not about to make or sell products that depict Jimmy’s or any other street artists work. So all good.  

While researching Jimmy’s art I also noticed that the Shakespeare piece has had an update (see below) since earlier in the summer. 

Latest image of Shakespeare at Bankside by James Cochran (AKAJimmyC)

Nothing stands still, it all evolves.  In the same way that the recent rain has bought its own iteration of the drip painting under the arches. 

On speaking to Jimmy I also learnt that the Shakespeare piece is available as a print for £60 from The Globe. He didn’t ask me to promote this, I just thought I would. 

I’ve also commissioned a canvas of the cosmic hearts to hang in our home and remind us all that love is the best response in dark times.

12th October 2019. 
(Posted 16th October after a brief respite from chemo induced vomiting etc.)

Street Art, Life, Love and Death

London Hearts – Borough Market, 2018

Who owns the images on the street? On our urban walls? When does graffiti become street art or art? Earlier this year whilst in London with the children we stumbled upon an uplifting piece that I immediately connected to. I think this is street art; apparently graffiti is done for other graffiti artists whereas street art is for a wider audience. Like many others we were compelled to have our photos taken with this happy mural. A bright and hopeful backdrop for many a picture of loved ones. Past and present.

Later when looking through my phone shots for suitable images for my blog, the above street art image popped out at me. It made me instantly smile. It felt right for the start of the blog. I don’t want all the chat about cancer to be depressing and melancholy. I want it to connect to you and others. There is a genuine out pouring of real love that happens with a serious cancer diagnosis. Or at least that has been the experience I have been lucky enough to have.

“I want people to be closer, more expressive and have real conversations with each other rather than a life masked or filtered through social media and conformity. “

I appreciate the irony as I write this on a blog and refer to it on social media, but what I try to do is to be honest and unvarnished. Sometimes this isn’t possible as I have to keep something for myself, sometimes it is unfair on my children, family or close friends to share everything, often it is just so raw I can’t even go there in my head, never mind on paper or in conversation. But I try to be as real as possible, and when I am, great things happen; to me and others. People around me are making life changing decisions, they are saying f**k it and embracing or planning for changes. What I love about this, is people talk to me about it in a way they didn’t always before.

A plethora of people have contributed to the creative process of this blog. From the small bits of encouragement with off the cuff comments about the style of my text messages or whatsApps, sharing of poems and the site, with significant and time consuming gifts like pro-bono executive coaching, logo design, help and confidence with publishing the blog. In the beginning, when I was toying with the idea, I hadn’t realised it was live. At least not until I started getting comments and followers from sincere and real people that I had never met! I then had to take the plunge and not look back.

So I am left with the dilemma of whether I should contact the artist, I’m not sure if I’m asking for permission, because I don’t know if I need it. But I’d like to thank him for his inspiration and mood changing role of his work. It’s a manners thing.

I went to a talk on writing at The Guardian a couple of months ago and met this great woman who was going to start a blog about street art. A weird coincidence. I asked her what she thought. Her view was that the artists liked the publicity and as I took the picture it was OK to use it. I described the art to see if she knew the artist, she thought it might be an artist from New York. He’s apparently fond of hearts and travels the world spray painting them. I looked him up – I didn’t think it was his.

With some light google effort I relatively easily found out who’s work it was. I also found that other works I had photographed and been inspired by were also his. Another weird coincidence. I also saw on closer examination that the work was signed and like many things in life, hiding in plain sight!

Portrait of Shakespeare, Bankside, London 2016

The work above was created by James Cochran (aka Jimmy C). The ‘London Hearts’ is one of his ‘drip paintings’ or ‘aerosol pointillism’. It is dedicated to the 8 people who lost their lives in the London Bridge terror attack in June 2017. James talks about the response of love in dark times. It was painted in Spring 2018, when I got my cancer diagnosis. This made it even more poignant and I was glad I’d included it. Those people didn’t invite terrorism into their lives in the same way that I hadn’t invited metastatic breast cancer into mine. I decided to write to the artist and let him know that he was part of a growing tribe of people who encouraged me to keep going, to keep telling my story and to hope that it will be longer than the Triple Negative Breast Cancer prognosis stats suggest.

I’ll let you know what he says…

I do believe that art shifts you, heals you, makes you think in different ways. There is a lot of it in and around the hospitals I visit and it definitely triggers something different. Not least that the people walking these corridors are worthy of some break from the monotony and blandness of endless hospital corridors and appointments.

Cornelia Parker – Still Life with Reflection, 2004

I am not sure what this ceiling installation is trying to tell you? Each piece of silver, or likely silver plate, is reflected in a flattered version of itself. Is this the juxtaposition between the multi dimensional us and the one dimensional us? Or was it more tongue in cheek? As the owner of one boob and one flat chest I couldn’t help but think it was ironic in a clinic with people who’d had breast surgery. It gave me something to think and laugh inside about whilst waiting for yet another consultant.

Again I looked this piece up and the artist, Cornelia Parker was interested in the captive audience of waiting rooms where ‘time and reality are suspended’ (so true) and was influenced by tromp l’oeil. This is a technique often used on ceilings to ‘deceive the eye’ into seeing something three dimensional. She has done some similar pieces, more recently, one of a series of ‘alter ego’ works in 2010.

So just goes to show we draw our own meaning from art and our experiences regardless of the artists intent. For me art does trigger or jolt me to think in different ways, to make connections and uncover insights that I wouldn’t have done if I hadn’t seen it or created it. I am grateful for the rich and vibrant art scene we have in this country and am delighted that I can stumble upon it on the street and in hospitals.

Look out for it on your travels this week. Let us know if you find any interesting bits?

Written on 26th September 2019 (to post later because I knew these last few days would be tough, and they are).
If you are reading this in an email or link. Feel free to visit www.thecancergap.com to enjoy and share other posts and poems.

The meaning of a logo

Have you ever noticed that when a news item becomes a bit more serious or drawn out it gets a logo on the BBC? The global economic downturn had one, the US Elections, the referendum etc. Brexit has had several, a made up name and it even got a dictionary entry!  I’m clearly not that newsworthy, but as I am now about to enter into my 18th month of cancer treatment I thought it was time The Cancer Gap got a logo.  So here it is.

The beady eyed of you will have noticed it at the top of the search bar or on social media.

I could have asked or paid one of my design colleagues or contacts to do this, but I thought I’d ask my friend who is teaching herself design.  She loved working on something real.  Or so she told me.  She explored a few options and together we came up with this.  She even dragged her IT husband into the task.  This is just one of many examples I have of people in my community going above and beyond to help and to contribute somehow.

I thought I’d do this update now as its pretty slow getting all the eligibility scans in place for the trial protocol.  It is only when I’m through this that they can confirm that I will be put on the trial.  

Distinct marque

For those of your following previous posts, the tiny maggot sized and coloured piece of me that was extracted with a punch biopsy a week or so ago turned out to be malignant.  So that distinct shape, wasn’t scar tissue, fat necrosis or my paranoia, it was a mass of cancer cells that have grown from some microscopic cancer being left behind. This is why you always want clear margins, the bigger the better.  Mine weren’t clear. Ever. So this is not a surprise. 

I first felt the lump as a pin head (that’s when they thought I was a bit hyper vigilant or even paranoid) and now its the size of a sweetcorn kernel and is a adenocarcinoma (a cancer tumour made of glandular cells).  They’ve sliced this little tiny maggot up into slithers like a cucumber into tiny rounds and put it on slides.  They have tested it for hormone receptors.  It has none.  No targets for treatment.  So as well as being a grade 3 tumour, it has 2 out of the 3 markers it needs to be classed as ‘triple negative’.  The HER2 status (the third marker) takes another week or so and I’m sure it will be negative again.  So it is the same Triple Negative Breast Cancer.  This cancer can sometimes mutate to be HER2 positive, so we have to go through this motion.  Once my tumour has finished its little trip around the labs of the south west of the UK, it (or another piece from one of the other tumours) will be put in some formalin and flown to the US or Switzerland.  Whilst my body is pretty much grounded, little chopped off bits of me are able to travel passport and insurance free.

Invasive breast cancer is tricky.  It starts small and undetectable and then eventually the cells join up to cause a lump you can actually feel.  A lot of breast cancers are ‘ductal carcinomas in situ’ or DCIS and never become invasive.  These are more like a boiled egg still in its shell, easier to cut around and remove. Whereas invasive cancer is more like scrambled or powdered war time egg or a Jackson Pollock painting. 

A pathology slide showing different types of breast cancer
(Image from Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Centre)

One of those little microscopic bits has grown into something that is still not traceable on a ultrasound. I even sharpie-ed up the spot beforehand.  The sonographer felt it with her hand, but the scan didn’t show it.  The PET-CT and CT scans didn’t show it either as there is so much other activity going on around this place from the surgery, scar tissue and radioactivity damage.  My surgeon said he always prefers physical examination for this kind of local reoccurrence.  

‘Once again, the grope test wins over tech then, but I guess you can’t say that’. 

My response to the surgeon.

Well, that got a little side tracked from talking about logos, but at least you are up to speed.

Tune into your intuition

If I could sign off with one thing it is this: don’t delay if you have symptoms or lumps you are not sure of.  Don’t be paranoid, but get to know your body.  You are so often the best judge of any changes or suspicious activity.  Tune into your intuition. 

I already have the mastectomy scars branding me a ‘breast cancer victim’.  However, a little lump, like a logo could be a recognisable symbol of early cancer or re-occurrence.  Its distinctive design, this time of cells, the malignant or benign deciding factor.  

Either way, for me, it is always better to know and to act.

A magic cure for cancer

(Image borrowed from the article below and credited above)

1 in 2 of us will get cancer.  

Cancer effects communities, not just individuals.  It is my family, friends and wider community who have held me upright or put me back upright.  

It is a harrowing and relentless journey, so I need this support group. In their bid to help some of these ‘cures’ have been offered by my community and in my own sometimes desperate search to stop the spread I have looked into lots of these ‘cures’ myself.  

Social media, tabloid media and forums are continually peddling these conspiracy theories and magic bullets. As a cancer patient it is exhausting and disconcerting to constantly have to fend these suggestions off, research them or question your own traditional yet barbaric medical choices.  

In the end we don’t know what will or won’t work because there is so much unknown about cancer and it is a catch all phrase for so many different types of cancer. 

What I do know is that I am donating my body and life to helping pharmaceutical companies, the medical profession and top teaching hospitals search for a cure or at least something that elongates the life of people with Triple Negative Breast Cancer. It might not help me, but it will help others. This is not how they research whether turmeric or kale (and those are sane suggestions of things I like) cures cancer. 

Only 15% of breast cancers are Triple Negative. Even this is a catch all bucket for aggressive, invasive breast cancers they don’t understand or can’t easily predict. We do not have any targeted therapies for this kind of breast cancer. The prognosis is grim. We are not the same as your Mum’s neighbour’s best friend who had breast cancer and a magic potion bought on line will not save my life. 

There is a place for complementary therapies in self and palliative care (another post I’m sure) but not in curing cancer.  

I know you don’t know what to say or do, but a good place to start would be checking out or reading around a claim before you pass it on to someone as the answer to every cancer. Something you read on Facebook or in The Daily Mail is unlikely to be something that the oncologists and pharmaceutical companies have missed. 

This article from earlier in the summer articulates this beautifully. This was shared in one of the forums I belong to. They have moderators who give their time free to keep the forum clear from people pretending to have cancer and then peddling hope for profit. Seriously.

https://www.theguardian.com/science/2019/jul/14/cancer-fake-news-clinics-suppressing-disease-cure

Welcome to My Blog

Ever since being diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer my friends and family have said I should write a blog or a journal. Trouble is I didn’t feel like writing. Updating everyone, answering and writing texts and WhatsApps was writing enough. Especially on the first lots of chemo that made my eyes go blurry and meant I had to wear dark glasses (even inside). Turns out one of the chemotherapy drugs I had in my first 18 weeks of treatment (Cyclophosphamide) is derived from mustard gas, so I guess that’s why.

I’m back on chemo again, but its more manageable this time. Throughout this experience I’ve been scribbling down odd thoughts in notebooks, scraps of paper and WhatsApps. The wonderful and growing number of people who are supporting me and my family are keen to hear how I am doing, so with some encouragement and an experimental attitude I thought I’d give this blogging lark a go.

I hope it makes you stop for a minute and embrace your life right now. I’d love you to have real conversations with the people who matter about the stuff that matters to them and you. Maybe you’ll look at the wonder of the natural world or be compelled to do what you’ve always wanted to do.

Maybe it won’t be for you, that’s fine too. If you don’t enjoy reading a piece move on to another or come back another day, don’t endure it. If you do get something from it I’d love your feedback. Feel free to follow and share the the blog and/or my twitter and instagram pages.

Click on the links for more information about why ‘The Cancer Gap”? or how I started writing poetry or my poems. Alternatively, just scroll down to the beginning of the blog or look in the menu on the top left of the screen. Have a nosey around, you’ll work it out.

Follow me here.

July 2019