I've spent a wonderful week by the sea.
Literally by the sea - the breaking waves some 10 metres from the front door.
Pure sea air - filling our lungs.
Seals peeping out of the water - laughing at us as we try to photograph them.
Bliss.
My relaxing haven has now been interrupted by the call for more chemo tomorrow (Friday 28th).
How rude!
Leaving Lily by the sea with Granny-Mo & Grandad - Gary has just driven the 3 hours required to get me back to reality.
10.30am bloods to be taken & analysed. If my neutrophil count is up to an acceptable standard - the next stage can go ahead. We get to see another oncology consultant whom I shall call Martini - (Scratch-card is away). We'll discuss the side-effects of the last round, and a plan for another drug she wants to give me along-side the chemo to boost my immune system up to more acceptable levels. And something for the head & eye pain.
If all goes well - we'll be done by tea-time.
And then back to the sea....
Another 3 hours...
To my Lily...
And my Gang of Three..
Bliss....x
Thursday, 27 October 2011
Wednesday, 19 October 2011
Chemo's working well!
My chemo scheduled for tomorrow (Thursday) has been delayed.
Don't worry - the first dose has worked a bit too well! My bloods haven't recovered sufficiently to take another dose yet. My bone marrow should have kicked in by now & started producing nice new red and white blood cells & neutrophils - but it's in shock - I know how it feels, poor thing!
It does explain why I haven't really 'picked up' this week.
Infected glands.
Honestly - who gets infected glands?
Mind you I did have glandular fever some years ago - maybe that's how you get them?
Who knows....
I've taken the delay quite positively. I'd rather the chemo worked a bit too well - than not at all.
And I do know it's working...my hair
It's ALL gone.
After the pixie crop last week - clumps of hair, resembling rats tails - kept following me round the house yesterday. Every time I moved - there was another one.....and another.....and another. Shilling sized bald circles were forming on my head.
Time for action.
With Gary's hair clippers.
And a stern talking to myself.
And a deep breath.
I did it.
All off.
Every last bit.
I am officially bald.
Well..Sinead O'Conner-ish
Lily's not keen...but I do match the picture in her fabulous 'Mummy's Lump' book - provided by BreastCancerCare.
Gary 'ooohed' and laughed out loud, and with a twinkle in his eye told me it looked really great - but more Britney Spears on her meltdown.
Dad sang a jaunty number about a baldy sailor - (well what did you expect?)
Mum fought back the tears.
So - the consultant oncologist who rang me at home (I know - this is the NHS - in Devon - incredible) wants me to have a few days off. Plenty of rest & TLC has been prescribed. It's half-term, so Gary & Lily are off school/work. So I think we'll go further south to the Cornish seaside for a few days.
Time away with my gang of three
Fresh sea air.
Crab, prawns & fish galore.
Rest & recuperate.
Ready for round 2.
Must take a hat!
Don't worry - the first dose has worked a bit too well! My bloods haven't recovered sufficiently to take another dose yet. My bone marrow should have kicked in by now & started producing nice new red and white blood cells & neutrophils - but it's in shock - I know how it feels, poor thing!
It does explain why I haven't really 'picked up' this week.
Infected glands.
Honestly - who gets infected glands?
Mind you I did have glandular fever some years ago - maybe that's how you get them?
Who knows....
I've taken the delay quite positively. I'd rather the chemo worked a bit too well - than not at all.
And I do know it's working...my hair
It's ALL gone.
After the pixie crop last week - clumps of hair, resembling rats tails - kept following me round the house yesterday. Every time I moved - there was another one.....and another.....and another. Shilling sized bald circles were forming on my head.
Time for action.
With Gary's hair clippers.
And a stern talking to myself.
And a deep breath.
I did it.
All off.
Every last bit.
I am officially bald.
Well..Sinead O'Conner-ish
Lily's not keen...but I do match the picture in her fabulous 'Mummy's Lump' book - provided by BreastCancerCare.
Gary 'ooohed' and laughed out loud, and with a twinkle in his eye told me it looked really great - but more Britney Spears on her meltdown.
Dad sang a jaunty number about a baldy sailor - (well what did you expect?)
Mum fought back the tears.
So - the consultant oncologist who rang me at home (I know - this is the NHS - in Devon - incredible) wants me to have a few days off. Plenty of rest & TLC has been prescribed. It's half-term, so Gary & Lily are off school/work. So I think we'll go further south to the Cornish seaside for a few days.
Time away with my gang of three
Fresh sea air.
Crab, prawns & fish galore.
Rest & recuperate.
Ready for round 2.
Must take a hat!
Tuesday, 18 October 2011
A ticket to ride?
Rollercoasters?
No - not keen on them.
The thought of being launched around, out of my control; the adrenalin rush of massive highs, and the G-force of the thundering lows - just doesn't appeal. Feeling dizzy, sick and elated all in one go. And queuing up for hours, waiting for a 2 minute thrill.
Nah - doesn't do it for me.
So the realisation that I'm on my own personal rollercoaster ride - thrill time = 12 months - has hit hard.
You see - I found two more lumps on Sunday.
Again.
Out of no-where.
Under my arm.
Same side.
I check with Gary. The horror and sadness in his eyes, gives his game away. We know what this means.
The cancer can't have just 'come back' can it? Because it's not officially gone yet. It's too soon.
But we were warned. This naughty triple negative cancer does just that. With no preventative drug back-up available for it - it does what it darn well likes.
And I've not had enough chemo to blast it yet.
I prepare myself & make the decision, that if it is more tumours - then I'll opt for radical surgery - a double mastectomy. After all. At 46. My boobs have done their primary job. From age 17 - they have been a talking point. Blessed with a great pair - inherited from my wonderful Mum - they have thrilled many a man (in their dreams!). Most male colleagues (and once a US female colleague) have admired them - vocally so - and it's never bothered me - I'm not too hung up on PC where it's not malicious/racist. Being blonde, decent boobs and an accountant - usually in a man's world - gives you a backbone of strength and resilience. They attracted my husband Gary - a great catch.
And they provided nourishment for my amazing baby daughter.
I can live without them.
And I know Gary would rather have me alive with a reconstructed pert pair, than in a coffin with my own.
His eyes told me that.
I leave a message for my BCN - for her to pick up on Monday morning. And then wait.
9.15 am - Monday.
BCN - Karen rings. Her voice is sad. An appointment has been made immediately - same day - 11.30am to see My Surgeon.
And this is the NHS.
Our wonderful NHS.
I'm glad I paid my Taxes/NI.
Mum & I arrive at the hospital.
We are literally shown straight in - they are waiting for me.
My Surgeon discusses & examines.
He can feel them too.
Infected glands.
That's all.
It happens on chemo.
My immune system has gone to pot. Deliberately so.
I'll be checked again on Thursday by Dr Scratch-card - my oncologist - antibiotics will do the trick.
I want to hug him
I dare not.
We leave the room.
Huge grins turn to choked back tears - both of us; Mum and me.
The relief.
I phone Gary.
I may as well told him we'd won the Lottery - the vocal elation was just the same.
On a high.
I try and drive out of the car park the wrong way - ooops - dumb blonde.
Want a ticket - to ride on my rollercoaster?
No.
I thought not.
Too extreme...........
No - not keen on them.
The thought of being launched around, out of my control; the adrenalin rush of massive highs, and the G-force of the thundering lows - just doesn't appeal. Feeling dizzy, sick and elated all in one go. And queuing up for hours, waiting for a 2 minute thrill.
Nah - doesn't do it for me.
So the realisation that I'm on my own personal rollercoaster ride - thrill time = 12 months - has hit hard.
You see - I found two more lumps on Sunday.
Again.
Out of no-where.
Under my arm.
Same side.
I check with Gary. The horror and sadness in his eyes, gives his game away. We know what this means.
The cancer can't have just 'come back' can it? Because it's not officially gone yet. It's too soon.
But we were warned. This naughty triple negative cancer does just that. With no preventative drug back-up available for it - it does what it darn well likes.
And I've not had enough chemo to blast it yet.
I prepare myself & make the decision, that if it is more tumours - then I'll opt for radical surgery - a double mastectomy. After all. At 46. My boobs have done their primary job. From age 17 - they have been a talking point. Blessed with a great pair - inherited from my wonderful Mum - they have thrilled many a man (in their dreams!). Most male colleagues (and once a US female colleague) have admired them - vocally so - and it's never bothered me - I'm not too hung up on PC where it's not malicious/racist. Being blonde, decent boobs and an accountant - usually in a man's world - gives you a backbone of strength and resilience. They attracted my husband Gary - a great catch.
And they provided nourishment for my amazing baby daughter.
I can live without them.
And I know Gary would rather have me alive with a reconstructed pert pair, than in a coffin with my own.
His eyes told me that.
I leave a message for my BCN - for her to pick up on Monday morning. And then wait.
9.15 am - Monday.
BCN - Karen rings. Her voice is sad. An appointment has been made immediately - same day - 11.30am to see My Surgeon.
And this is the NHS.
Our wonderful NHS.
I'm glad I paid my Taxes/NI.
Mum & I arrive at the hospital.
We are literally shown straight in - they are waiting for me.
My Surgeon discusses & examines.
He can feel them too.
Infected glands.
That's all.
It happens on chemo.
My immune system has gone to pot. Deliberately so.
I'll be checked again on Thursday by Dr Scratch-card - my oncologist - antibiotics will do the trick.
I want to hug him
I dare not.
We leave the room.
Huge grins turn to choked back tears - both of us; Mum and me.
The relief.
I phone Gary.
I may as well told him we'd won the Lottery - the vocal elation was just the same.
On a high.
I try and drive out of the car park the wrong way - ooops - dumb blonde.
Want a ticket - to ride on my rollercoaster?
No.
I thought not.
Too extreme...........
Thursday, 13 October 2011
Hair-raising...
Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha.......
I've just seen me in the mirror
Well I say me.
More Eddie Izzard......minus the high heels.....
It's the hair.
My long fair locks have gone.
Deliberately so.
I've been moulting since day one of chemo. Exactly as the blurb pertaining to one of the drugs told me I would. I am then to expect all of it to fall out. In one go. But not sure when. I had planned for this and was intent on just shearing the whole lot off with hair clippers - grade 1.
But I hadn't planned for this in-between stage. And the pain. The weight of my beautiful hair was actually pulling at the weakened follicles. It hurt, and sores were appearing.
My lovely hairdresser had been expecting this.
"I'm ready" I tell her.
I've always loved my hair. One of my best features. Born blonde with big blue eyes into a family of black or auburn hair (with brown/green/hazel eyes) - I always stood out. A few dodgy hairstyles in the late 60's/early 70's led to a life-long appreciation of my hair. I was lucky - because Mum worked (Senior nurse in children's SCBU/ICU) - she could afford and always went to, a top notch salon when I was growing up. And I went with her. Soon to be having top-notch treatment on my own hair. I was the first in school to have the obligatory 70's Charlie's Angel perm. I was the first in school to have my hair hi-lighted - causing a stir in the PE changing rooms. When Lady Di came on the scene - she copied my heavy fringed hi-lighted bob (!). I once got mistaken for her at the theatre when I was 16. Cool. I copied her style once. She died the next day. Not so cool.
When I was a student, the salon used me to practice on, and I was a willing volunteer. All the New Romantic styles went my way. Wacky one-sided Human League do's. Pink high-lights. Perms. Big Perms. 80's perms. I was frequently nicknamed 'Blondie'. As I started my accountancy training - I tried to expel the myth of 'dumb blonde'. I smartened up for work & my hair always came first. As I rose on the career ladder - my hair followed suit. Smart sleek hair. Always tidy. Always in place. Always blonde. And when I became a Mummy to Lily - blonde with big blue eyes - I still went to a high-end hairdressers.
And I always had perfect hair.
Until now.
My perfect hair was causing me pain.
And it had to go.
And I did shed tears.
Not because I'm vain.
Because my hair now screams 'CANCER'.
Well you can bugger off cancer.
Cos I ain't beaten yet.
My hair will grow back.
And you won't.
You lose.
I've just seen me in the mirror
Well I say me.
More Eddie Izzard......minus the high heels.....
It's the hair.
My long fair locks have gone.
Deliberately so.
I've been moulting since day one of chemo. Exactly as the blurb pertaining to one of the drugs told me I would. I am then to expect all of it to fall out. In one go. But not sure when. I had planned for this and was intent on just shearing the whole lot off with hair clippers - grade 1.
But I hadn't planned for this in-between stage. And the pain. The weight of my beautiful hair was actually pulling at the weakened follicles. It hurt, and sores were appearing.
My lovely hairdresser had been expecting this.
"I'm ready" I tell her.
I've always loved my hair. One of my best features. Born blonde with big blue eyes into a family of black or auburn hair (with brown/green/hazel eyes) - I always stood out. A few dodgy hairstyles in the late 60's/early 70's led to a life-long appreciation of my hair. I was lucky - because Mum worked (Senior nurse in children's SCBU/ICU) - she could afford and always went to, a top notch salon when I was growing up. And I went with her. Soon to be having top-notch treatment on my own hair. I was the first in school to have the obligatory 70's Charlie's Angel perm. I was the first in school to have my hair hi-lighted - causing a stir in the PE changing rooms. When Lady Di came on the scene - she copied my heavy fringed hi-lighted bob (!). I once got mistaken for her at the theatre when I was 16. Cool. I copied her style once. She died the next day. Not so cool.
When I was a student, the salon used me to practice on, and I was a willing volunteer. All the New Romantic styles went my way. Wacky one-sided Human League do's. Pink high-lights. Perms. Big Perms. 80's perms. I was frequently nicknamed 'Blondie'. As I started my accountancy training - I tried to expel the myth of 'dumb blonde'. I smartened up for work & my hair always came first. As I rose on the career ladder - my hair followed suit. Smart sleek hair. Always tidy. Always in place. Always blonde. And when I became a Mummy to Lily - blonde with big blue eyes - I still went to a high-end hairdressers.
And I always had perfect hair.
Until now.
My perfect hair was causing me pain.
And it had to go.
And I did shed tears.
Not because I'm vain.
Because my hair now screams 'CANCER'.
Well you can bugger off cancer.
Cos I ain't beaten yet.
My hair will grow back.
And you won't.
You lose.
Tuesday, 11 October 2011
Dare I say it......
...I feel almost human.
Yes. It's true.
Eleven days post chemo and I can remember my own name, the Prime Minister is a Cameron/Clegg combo, and it's 2011.
I cooked, and ate a proper Sunday lunch complete with home-made apple pie - on Sunday.
I ate some caramel chocolates yesterday (for the first time)..and they were delicious.
I read my kindle with more clarity.
I dusted the lounge.
I set RoboMaid on the wooden floors.
And I didn't let my amazing Mum do my ironing - not this week! Mind you - I haven't done it yet tho..
So, in the 'almost' section..how does it feel?
There's a permanently odd taste in my mouth - especially in the morning. A 'few beers the night before 2/10' type hangover & headache. Waves of nausea - but I've only succumbed to additional anti-sickness drugs once. My personal temperature gauge has gone on the blink. On Friday I just couldn't get warm. Layers upon layers of clothes went on - but I was chilled to the bone. Halfway through cooking the evening meal (whole fresh plaice, mash & broad beans) - I had a funny turn - and passed out in the bedroom. I overheated - me thinks. Gary & Lily said dinner was delicious...never mind me!
And severe lazy-itis.
I get bursts of energy....maybe put some laundry on or make the bed...and then have a sit down.
And I do have to keep some energy for my delightful Lily.
I get up in the morning with her (no...hang on...she jumps into bed with us...kicks Gary out...and we have a lovely cuddle while Gary showers...then we get up!)..and get her ready and off to school.
Just like a regular Mum.
But then have to rest for an hour or two.....just like a regular Mum?? Ha! Only kidding!
At home time..we've been assisted by some lovely mums/friends of Lily who have collected her from school for tea/play and Gary has picked her up en-route from the office. Big thanks all round x.
Just time then for catching up with school dramas, reading, spellings, some play-time, bath, supper & bed.
And another lie down for me!
Quality time with Gary.
And bed. Glorious bed....zzzzzz
Yes. It's true.
Eleven days post chemo and I can remember my own name, the Prime Minister is a Cameron/Clegg combo, and it's 2011.
I cooked, and ate a proper Sunday lunch complete with home-made apple pie - on Sunday.
I ate some caramel chocolates yesterday (for the first time)..and they were delicious.
I read my kindle with more clarity.
I dusted the lounge.
I set RoboMaid on the wooden floors.
And I didn't let my amazing Mum do my ironing - not this week! Mind you - I haven't done it yet tho..
So, in the 'almost' section..how does it feel?
There's a permanently odd taste in my mouth - especially in the morning. A 'few beers the night before 2/10' type hangover & headache. Waves of nausea - but I've only succumbed to additional anti-sickness drugs once. My personal temperature gauge has gone on the blink. On Friday I just couldn't get warm. Layers upon layers of clothes went on - but I was chilled to the bone. Halfway through cooking the evening meal (whole fresh plaice, mash & broad beans) - I had a funny turn - and passed out in the bedroom. I overheated - me thinks. Gary & Lily said dinner was delicious...never mind me!
And severe lazy-itis.
I get bursts of energy....maybe put some laundry on or make the bed...and then have a sit down.
And I do have to keep some energy for my delightful Lily.
I get up in the morning with her (no...hang on...she jumps into bed with us...kicks Gary out...and we have a lovely cuddle while Gary showers...then we get up!)..and get her ready and off to school.
Just like a regular Mum.
But then have to rest for an hour or two.....just like a regular Mum?? Ha! Only kidding!
At home time..we've been assisted by some lovely mums/friends of Lily who have collected her from school for tea/play and Gary has picked her up en-route from the office. Big thanks all round x.
Just time then for catching up with school dramas, reading, spellings, some play-time, bath, supper & bed.
And another lie down for me!
Quality time with Gary.
And bed. Glorious bed....zzzzzz
Thursday, 6 October 2011
Don't panic Mr Mainwaring!
Thanks for all your concern guys.
Panic over.
Just a sore throat........
I didn't feel at all well yesterday, so this morning, following the specific instructions given to me last Friday which I ignored yesterday, I rang the special chemo HELP number. We discuss my symptoms. I get a gentle telling off by one of the Sisters on duty - I really should have rung yesterday. But I didn't want to make a fuss.
So a GP from my local surgery arranges a home visit. No fuss. No pleading. No interrogation.
I know.
A home visit.
For a sore throat.
See - I told you cancer would have it's perks!
And a very nice perk too...when the hunkiest young Doctor, whom I've not had the pleasure of meeting before - arrives at my door.
I say! Wish I'd put some make-up on. Or my magenta bra.
He can tickle my tonsils anytime.
Of course in ordinary circumstances I wouldn't dream of going to the GP with a sore throat - but I'm now what's called 'neutropenic' or 'immunocompromised'. Basically I haven't got a functioning immune system at the moment, thanks to the clever work of chemo, and a sore throat normally = sucking a lozenge - but for me - could lead to severe infection & compromise my place on earth. Didn't fancy that option - not yet. And Dr Dishy didn't mind one bit. I can call him anytime - apparently.
More excitement (!) tomorrow. The District Nurse - Nurse Gladys Emmanuel is coming. She'll be here to check, clean & flush the PICC line & change the dressings. This is the piece of plumbing that permanently lives on my right forearm. It's got taps and connections to it, which I hide in an old sock taped to my arm. It's not a great look...I'll need to design some bejewelled sleeves to keep this thing in.
And this thing needs a name. My niece had one in her chest & she named it Mr Wiggley.
Answers on a post-card please!
And I think it's time for my hair to go.....
Boooo.....
What I didn't know or hadn't anticipated - was that where it's falling out - I'm getting small sores. A bit like the pox in your hair. It's not nice. And it hurts. Perhaps that's why I was advised to have it cut short - but no-one actually said the 'why' of this to me.
So wish me luck.
I might have a full-on chemo look tomorrow.
Ooo-er missus.
Don't panic Mr Mainwaring!
Panic over.
Just a sore throat........
I didn't feel at all well yesterday, so this morning, following the specific instructions given to me last Friday which I ignored yesterday, I rang the special chemo HELP number. We discuss my symptoms. I get a gentle telling off by one of the Sisters on duty - I really should have rung yesterday. But I didn't want to make a fuss.
So a GP from my local surgery arranges a home visit. No fuss. No pleading. No interrogation.
I know.
A home visit.
For a sore throat.
See - I told you cancer would have it's perks!
And a very nice perk too...when the hunkiest young Doctor, whom I've not had the pleasure of meeting before - arrives at my door.
I say! Wish I'd put some make-up on. Or my magenta bra.
He can tickle my tonsils anytime.
Of course in ordinary circumstances I wouldn't dream of going to the GP with a sore throat - but I'm now what's called 'neutropenic' or 'immunocompromised'. Basically I haven't got a functioning immune system at the moment, thanks to the clever work of chemo, and a sore throat normally = sucking a lozenge - but for me - could lead to severe infection & compromise my place on earth. Didn't fancy that option - not yet. And Dr Dishy didn't mind one bit. I can call him anytime - apparently.
More excitement (!) tomorrow. The District Nurse - Nurse Gladys Emmanuel is coming. She'll be here to check, clean & flush the PICC line & change the dressings. This is the piece of plumbing that permanently lives on my right forearm. It's got taps and connections to it, which I hide in an old sock taped to my arm. It's not a great look...I'll need to design some bejewelled sleeves to keep this thing in.
And this thing needs a name. My niece had one in her chest & she named it Mr Wiggley.
Answers on a post-card please!
And I think it's time for my hair to go.....
Boooo.....
What I didn't know or hadn't anticipated - was that where it's falling out - I'm getting small sores. A bit like the pox in your hair. It's not nice. And it hurts. Perhaps that's why I was advised to have it cut short - but no-one actually said the 'why' of this to me.
So wish me luck.
I might have a full-on chemo look tomorrow.
Ooo-er missus.
Don't panic Mr Mainwaring!
Wednesday, 5 October 2011
Morning Miranda!
Had my first day in bed today...
Feeling a bit pathetic, unwell and very tired. A bit like when you are coming down with a cold with a hint of radioactivity thrown in.
Is it OK to stay in bed - I challenged myself?
Well - I've got up every day since Friday - with the help of super steroids - and tried to act 'normal' for the sake of Lily & Gary...I know, I know...there's nothing 'normal' about me! But no - as predicted - the SuperHero powers of steroids have worn off and I'm a little jaded.
I've slept through 'Homes Under the Hammer', 'Bargain Hunt' and decided not to make myself feel any worse by watching Cameron's speech (although the 'squirm factor' would have been amusing to watch!).
I can only face drinking tea & soup.
I'm glowing in patches on my face & various parts of my body (wonder if I glow in the night too?) - and I'm moulting. Oh yes....I'm definitely shedding hair. I was advised to go for a short pixie cut now - to save the distress of my long tresses falling out. But I can't see the point. The plan is - when I wake one morning and sheaves of the golden stuff are fanned on my pillow (Disney style) - I'll get Gary's hair clippers and take the whole lot off - grade 1. I've asked Gary if he would do it for me & he says no...he doesn't think he can...but that's OK - it's only because he's afraid of hurting me.....a baldy with half an ear, wouldn't be a good look!
And the commedienne Miranda Hart popped in this morning...
Via the Royal Mail
Via my VBF's
To put a smile on my face....
Thanks guys x
Such fun!
Feeling a bit pathetic, unwell and very tired. A bit like when you are coming down with a cold with a hint of radioactivity thrown in.
Is it OK to stay in bed - I challenged myself?
Well - I've got up every day since Friday - with the help of super steroids - and tried to act 'normal' for the sake of Lily & Gary...I know, I know...there's nothing 'normal' about me! But no - as predicted - the SuperHero powers of steroids have worn off and I'm a little jaded.
I've slept through 'Homes Under the Hammer', 'Bargain Hunt' and decided not to make myself feel any worse by watching Cameron's speech (although the 'squirm factor' would have been amusing to watch!).
I can only face drinking tea & soup.
I'm glowing in patches on my face & various parts of my body (wonder if I glow in the night too?) - and I'm moulting. Oh yes....I'm definitely shedding hair. I was advised to go for a short pixie cut now - to save the distress of my long tresses falling out. But I can't see the point. The plan is - when I wake one morning and sheaves of the golden stuff are fanned on my pillow (Disney style) - I'll get Gary's hair clippers and take the whole lot off - grade 1. I've asked Gary if he would do it for me & he says no...he doesn't think he can...but that's OK - it's only because he's afraid of hurting me.....a baldy with half an ear, wouldn't be a good look!
And the commedienne Miranda Hart popped in this morning...
Via the Royal Mail
Via my VBF's
To put a smile on my face....
Thanks guys x
Such fun!
Sunday, 2 October 2011
Obliteration
By virtue of it being 3.56 am on Sunday morning - you'll guess I can't sleep.
Bloody steroids...side effect..insomnia.
But I am alive though and grateful for that. And yesterday wasn't as bad as it could have been! Like a bad hangover without good memories!
Think of your worst hangover ever - c'mon we've all been there. My first 10/10 hangover came after seeing the New Year of 1984 in. I was 18 and working behind a bar at the best nightclub in town 'Romeo & Juliets', which became 'The Pink Coconut' (and heaven knows what it is now - does it exist at all?). And yes - for those of you who remember - I did wear a skin-tight pink all in one leotard aka 'Fame' & danced on stage - lol! After all the punters had departed - the staff party began at 3am in one of the bars. To get in the party mood - I decided to go straight on to the 'in' drink of the time Cherry B and cider. Yes, cherry brandy with a dash of cider..except clever old me - drank it in pint measures....it didn't take long to be driven home by a safe friend. After several stops on journey to say hello to the grass verge - he kindly escorted me back to my parents house (I know - the shame of it) where my darling Daddy found me collapsed halfway up the stairs. New year's Day? Obliterated...never again.
Hangovers after that? Yes there were a few...but I'd just think of Cherry B & cider - and they never got to more than a 9/10. Until this year...seeing in 2011. A dozen of us, including 3 seasoned serving army boys (& wives). Having a fab time. Me keeping up with new army hard drinking games.....New Years day...obliterated....never again...
Not a good role model, Mummy.....
Hangover...10/10.
So yesterday, I'd describe as a hangover 6/10...see...not so bad. Except that it didn't & hasn't worn off. Still giddy, tingly, monster headache, eye ache, extremely tired but wide awake. No sickness thanks to the fabulously expensive Emend (bless you NHS)...but not hungry either. Gone off chocolate (I KNOW - SEND FOR THE DOCTOR - QUICK) and my luxury coffees...but tea & ginger nuts are going down ok.
Hey, this reminds me of being pregnant.
If I start demanding jars of baby pickled beetroot by the case-load (absolutely true!) - someone send me a Clearblue..
And a resuscitation kit for Gary....
LOL x
Bloody steroids...side effect..insomnia.
But I am alive though and grateful for that. And yesterday wasn't as bad as it could have been! Like a bad hangover without good memories!
Think of your worst hangover ever - c'mon we've all been there. My first 10/10 hangover came after seeing the New Year of 1984 in. I was 18 and working behind a bar at the best nightclub in town 'Romeo & Juliets', which became 'The Pink Coconut' (and heaven knows what it is now - does it exist at all?). And yes - for those of you who remember - I did wear a skin-tight pink all in one leotard aka 'Fame' & danced on stage - lol! After all the punters had departed - the staff party began at 3am in one of the bars. To get in the party mood - I decided to go straight on to the 'in' drink of the time Cherry B and cider. Yes, cherry brandy with a dash of cider..except clever old me - drank it in pint measures....it didn't take long to be driven home by a safe friend. After several stops on journey to say hello to the grass verge - he kindly escorted me back to my parents house (I know - the shame of it) where my darling Daddy found me collapsed halfway up the stairs. New year's Day? Obliterated...never again.
Hangovers after that? Yes there were a few...but I'd just think of Cherry B & cider - and they never got to more than a 9/10. Until this year...seeing in 2011. A dozen of us, including 3 seasoned serving army boys (& wives). Having a fab time. Me keeping up with new army hard drinking games.....New Years day...obliterated....never again...
Not a good role model, Mummy.....
Hangover...10/10.
So yesterday, I'd describe as a hangover 6/10...see...not so bad. Except that it didn't & hasn't worn off. Still giddy, tingly, monster headache, eye ache, extremely tired but wide awake. No sickness thanks to the fabulously expensive Emend (bless you NHS)...but not hungry either. Gone off chocolate (I KNOW - SEND FOR THE DOCTOR - QUICK) and my luxury coffees...but tea & ginger nuts are going down ok.
Hey, this reminds me of being pregnant.
If I start demanding jars of baby pickled beetroot by the case-load (absolutely true!) - someone send me a Clearblue..
And a resuscitation kit for Gary....
LOL x
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