It’s a push button with a square on it crossed out.
Like this
I pressed it and nothing discernable happened.
Spooky eh?
I’ll have another go on the way home – if you never hear from me again please call the authorities.
Thank you
Saturday, September 19, 2015
one careful lady driver
I have had my car for 3 years and 3 months and whilst driving to work this morning I notice a switch I’ve never seen before.
It’s a push button with a square on it crossed out.
Like this
I pressed it and nothing discernable happened.
Spooky eh?
I’ll have another go on the way home – if you never hear from me again please call the authorities.
Thank you
It’s a push button with a square on it crossed out.
Like this
I pressed it and nothing discernable happened.
Spooky eh?
I’ll have another go on the way home – if you never hear from me again please call the authorities.
Thank you
2 posts in one day but needs must
I’m this close to knowing a real life famous person:
Text received from my oldest daughter (19) yesterday
“hope ur watchin the rugby (England v The All Blacks). my friend anthony allen in making his debut (for England) I’v kissed him!”
I'm so proud.
Watch this space for news of the wedding!
Text received from my oldest daughter (19) yesterday
“hope ur watchin the rugby (England v The All Blacks). my friend anthony allen in making his debut (for England) I’v kissed him!”
I'm so proud.
Watch this space for news of the wedding!
Monday, July 06, 2015
lingering
I have surprised everyone by not dying by now. It's been on the cards so often that I'm almost getting used to the idea. I started another six rounds of three weekly chemo last October, but after six miserable months and having only reached number five by then, I gave it up to concentrate on quality not quantity. I had a scan and it showed that the cancer had retreated a bit but was still looming large in my abdomen and there is nothing available yet that will eradicate it completely. My treatment, if any, is termed palliative and I'm not expected to reach the five year mark, Sept 2016.
Occasionally I am very ill and no-one knows why. This is always a surprise to me because I am convinced it's the ca making itself known, but it's always the last thing the professionals agree on.
On one of these occasions I had to stay in the hospice as an In Patient. The ratio of trained nurse to patients is one each unlike the poor old NHS where there can be one trained nurse to 30+ patients. There care there was exemplary, the bed was so comfortable and the sheets made of fine pressed cotton so delicious I almost felt like staying, even the food was good! I'm sure it's a fine place to die.
In fact I watched my friend H die there this year. She had the same ca as me and her gut was blocked by the ca becoming so large in her abdomen in stopped it working. When that happens there's generally nothing that can be done and I watch my dear friend take six weeks to starve to death. In the first two, she was very keen to impress on me that not eating wasn't a problem and I shouldn't worry about it when my time came, but the last four saw her change into a non recognisable skeleton living on fresh air and morphine. I can't remove that image from my head, I can't remember how she looked before, it's all I see and all I remember.
So after my stay there and seeing H die there I don't want to go there at the end. I want to be here in my own bed in my own house with my girls, my dogs and cats and with my ponies close by*.
I don't want them to bring in a hospital bed which they say I have to have if I want to die here (something to do with raising you up and down) they'd never get it up my stairs anyway and I'm certainly not having it in my living room! The palliative care team say that getting controlled drugs to a rural setting is too difficult, but I wonder why? I told my oncologist and she said make a decision when you're at that point which is far too sensible, but probably good advice. However, she wasn't so pleased that when I was in the hospice, feeling like death, they asked me to sign a DNR form which I did. She told me to rip it up. I haven't but I've put it somewhere so safe I've forgotten where it is. There's nothing wrong with my heart so it probably won't stop of it's own accord anyway.
So that decision made, I'm also awaiting an appointment for the Royal Marsden. They run lots of trials and If I'm lucky I may get on one that doesn't kill me in the first five minutes and isn't the placebo. Meanwhile I am lucky enough that my NHS area allows Avastin to be administered. It's a shockingly expensive drug (inflated by BigPharma, it's cheap to make) that wasn't available to me when I was first diagnosed (and where it would have been the most help), but was available to be on recurrence. I have that every 3 weeks as long as I'm not ill. I had a seven week break just now but had the treatment last Thursday. And do you know what? I feel fine. No really I do. I don't feel ill, nothing hurts too much, I'm getting fitter again. The Avastin is supposed to stop new blood vessels growing and can work for up to a year. It's a bizarre roundabout because my blood markers are shooting up which means the ca is growing and spreading but it must be doing it somewhere where it's not too uncomfortable at the moment. I'll have to have a scan before I head to the RM which will show the bad news but I have come to believe, eventually, that they really can't cure me so I'm prepared to live with it. It's compromise because I'm not going to die of it, I'm simply not brave enough. When I've had enough I'm going to go to sleep in my own bed and just not wake e up.
* forgot the tortoise!
Occasionally I am very ill and no-one knows why. This is always a surprise to me because I am convinced it's the ca making itself known, but it's always the last thing the professionals agree on.
On one of these occasions I had to stay in the hospice as an In Patient. The ratio of trained nurse to patients is one each unlike the poor old NHS where there can be one trained nurse to 30+ patients. There care there was exemplary, the bed was so comfortable and the sheets made of fine pressed cotton so delicious I almost felt like staying, even the food was good! I'm sure it's a fine place to die.
In fact I watched my friend H die there this year. She had the same ca as me and her gut was blocked by the ca becoming so large in her abdomen in stopped it working. When that happens there's generally nothing that can be done and I watch my dear friend take six weeks to starve to death. In the first two, she was very keen to impress on me that not eating wasn't a problem and I shouldn't worry about it when my time came, but the last four saw her change into a non recognisable skeleton living on fresh air and morphine. I can't remove that image from my head, I can't remember how she looked before, it's all I see and all I remember.
So after my stay there and seeing H die there I don't want to go there at the end. I want to be here in my own bed in my own house with my girls, my dogs and cats and with my ponies close by*.
I don't want them to bring in a hospital bed which they say I have to have if I want to die here (something to do with raising you up and down) they'd never get it up my stairs anyway and I'm certainly not having it in my living room! The palliative care team say that getting controlled drugs to a rural setting is too difficult, but I wonder why? I told my oncologist and she said make a decision when you're at that point which is far too sensible, but probably good advice. However, she wasn't so pleased that when I was in the hospice, feeling like death, they asked me to sign a DNR form which I did. She told me to rip it up. I haven't but I've put it somewhere so safe I've forgotten where it is. There's nothing wrong with my heart so it probably won't stop of it's own accord anyway.
So that decision made, I'm also awaiting an appointment for the Royal Marsden. They run lots of trials and If I'm lucky I may get on one that doesn't kill me in the first five minutes and isn't the placebo. Meanwhile I am lucky enough that my NHS area allows Avastin to be administered. It's a shockingly expensive drug (inflated by BigPharma, it's cheap to make) that wasn't available to me when I was first diagnosed (and where it would have been the most help), but was available to be on recurrence. I have that every 3 weeks as long as I'm not ill. I had a seven week break just now but had the treatment last Thursday. And do you know what? I feel fine. No really I do. I don't feel ill, nothing hurts too much, I'm getting fitter again. The Avastin is supposed to stop new blood vessels growing and can work for up to a year. It's a bizarre roundabout because my blood markers are shooting up which means the ca is growing and spreading but it must be doing it somewhere where it's not too uncomfortable at the moment. I'll have to have a scan before I head to the RM which will show the bad news but I have come to believe, eventually, that they really can't cure me so I'm prepared to live with it. It's compromise because I'm not going to die of it, I'm simply not brave enough. When I've had enough I'm going to go to sleep in my own bed and just not wake e up.
* forgot the tortoise!
H and me
Sunday, October 13, 2013
id ~ the set of uncoordinated instinctual trends
How do you prove you are really you when you are online?
I recently, as recently as Friday, bought an item from eBay. This is not a common occurrence, it's not my favourite shopping site, I find the whole thing makes me weary and usually, when I want to buy something, I want to buy it right there and then. Anyway this particular item was 'buy it now', so I did.
I don't have a paypal account so I paid with my credit card and this somehow went via paypal nevertheless. Paypal then asked me if I'd like this to be my paypal account, this being a much safer way to shop than just with a credit card (is it?). As many things have paypal now, I thought why not? And pressed the little yes ok if you insist button. I was a bit surprised to be presented with an account which had my first name down as the first half of my surname, and my surname as the same first half of my surname. Jon Jon so to speak. Although in this case it was actually Ray Ray. Interesting I thought, because that is not how I had filled out my details when I'd paid.
But no worries there's a little place on paypal where you can change your details so I added the missing bits and hey ho - rejected. Proof was required of my name. All manner of suitable proof was acceptable so I uploaded a copy of my photo id driving licence cos, smart thinking on my part I thought, it also had my address on it.
Just now I had a delightful little missive from paypal saying that the account was so much of a risk they were limiting it until I could provide copies of my credit card and bank statement to prove my id, then they would close it. Gee thanks.
So I rang them and I asked what can possibly be the problem? Apparently they were worried that Ray Ray and me are not one the same person! Shocking! Ray Ray, could be impersonating me and using my credit card fraudulently. Indeed I said in my Ray Ray voice, I could, but isn't it good that all the things I've bought I've sent to Mrs Ziggi at her address instead of defrauding her? And as I'm so cleverly living in her house with her credit card I might just have access to her bank and credit card statement too, couldn't I? How will sending you all these things prove I'm me not Ray Ray, who's also me and funnily enough has much of my name?
Paypal, you can't see me can you, to compare the photo id? You don't know to whom the fuck your talking do you?! Surely, or am I missing the point, if you steal someone's identity it's to use that identity, not then to set up an account with all the details but a ridiculous name. Why would you ffs?
So to cut an extremely irritating conversation short I agreed to upload the statements so then paypal can close this suspicious account, and then with the same details I can open another one!
In your dreams paypal.
I recently, as recently as Friday, bought an item from eBay. This is not a common occurrence, it's not my favourite shopping site, I find the whole thing makes me weary and usually, when I want to buy something, I want to buy it right there and then. Anyway this particular item was 'buy it now', so I did.
I don't have a paypal account so I paid with my credit card and this somehow went via paypal nevertheless. Paypal then asked me if I'd like this to be my paypal account, this being a much safer way to shop than just with a credit card (is it?). As many things have paypal now, I thought why not? And pressed the little yes ok if you insist button. I was a bit surprised to be presented with an account which had my first name down as the first half of my surname, and my surname as the same first half of my surname. Jon Jon so to speak. Although in this case it was actually Ray Ray. Interesting I thought, because that is not how I had filled out my details when I'd paid.
But no worries there's a little place on paypal where you can change your details so I added the missing bits and hey ho - rejected. Proof was required of my name. All manner of suitable proof was acceptable so I uploaded a copy of my photo id driving licence cos, smart thinking on my part I thought, it also had my address on it.
Just now I had a delightful little missive from paypal saying that the account was so much of a risk they were limiting it until I could provide copies of my credit card and bank statement to prove my id, then they would close it. Gee thanks.
So I rang them and I asked what can possibly be the problem? Apparently they were worried that Ray Ray and me are not one the same person! Shocking! Ray Ray, could be impersonating me and using my credit card fraudulently. Indeed I said in my Ray Ray voice, I could, but isn't it good that all the things I've bought I've sent to Mrs Ziggi at her address instead of defrauding her? And as I'm so cleverly living in her house with her credit card I might just have access to her bank and credit card statement too, couldn't I? How will sending you all these things prove I'm me not Ray Ray, who's also me and funnily enough has much of my name?
Paypal, you can't see me can you, to compare the photo id? You don't know to whom the fuck your talking do you?! Surely, or am I missing the point, if you steal someone's identity it's to use that identity, not then to set up an account with all the details but a ridiculous name. Why would you ffs?
So to cut an extremely irritating conversation short I agreed to upload the statements so then paypal can close this suspicious account, and then with the same details I can open another one!
In your dreams paypal.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
BLACK as your hat
I write a
lot of things down but rarely post because it's usually self-indulgent bollocks about dying and how scared I am. Which is as boring for me as it is for
you.
Usually I
keep the fear bottled pretty well and don't dwell on it too often; like my fear of spiders, but
when a bloody big one has the audacity to take over the kitchen and won't fit
down the end of the Dyson hose, one has to face one's fear head on. Yikes.
I was forced so to do, this month, when the reality of my situation hit home because the two
people to whom I had grown especially close during our weekly art therapy
sessions at the hospice, had the temerity to up and die during the summer,
and without checking it was ok with me first. We had become a bonded unit of
individual concentration and mutual support and now it’s as if they never were,
except in my head. I know their
families must be grieving, but at the hospice it’s a very every-day
occurrence and life goes on, for
those of us left, as normal.
Except I can’t seem to find the normal.
I can
only find screaming and beating of my fists against the inside of my head, and
a total denial that this is happening to me, even though I know it is. I’m just not prepared to let myself
actually believe it.
It’s been
two years exactly since I was diagnosed and I spent the first year being too
ill to worry about dying. This
last year I have not felt particularly unwell because I’m not having chemo
again, yet. The cancer is
different now. Originally it was mainly a large tumour with some little friends
but they were cut away and the chemo was meant to prevent any recurrence. I had
a chance of beating it, but I didn’t, and now instead of a tumour it’s a whole
reef of cancer cells spread all over the inside of my abdomen. They will
eventually grow so large they will prevent my gut from working. Most women with
recurrent ovarian cancer die of a blocked gut. It’s horrible and I’m not brave
enough.
And I
don’t want chemo again. I didn’t like it and it didn’t like me. It will give me
a few more months (maybe) but at
what cost? I will do it though because my daughters want me to and I want to do
every thing I can for them, I can’t bear putting them through this.
Some
clever dick told me there are five stages one has to go through before you
accept the reality of your situation, it’s the same as grieving I’m told. First
there’s disbelief, then anger, then bargaining, then sorrow and finally
acceptance. I haven’t travelled far in the two years I’ve been living with
this. I don’t really understand
the bargaining one. Is it just for people who believe in a loving god that
(presumably) dropped them in the shit in the first place? I’m probably stuck somewhere between Miss
Disbelief and Mrs Angry, with a good side portion of extremely easily
irritated, hypersensitivity and a dollop of self-pity thrown in for good measure.
I am so completely fed up with being me I want to throw myself on my sword but
I only have a small Swiss army knife.
And of course I would never do such a thing, I’m not so dim that I don’t
realise the damage this would do.
I did
have the most wonderful holiday in Canada this August with my two brilliant
daughters. I can hardly believe
how lucky I am to have them. Just thinking about them makes me smile. Coming home to my dead friends and
reality has probably taken a wee bit of a toll on my usually sunny disposition
(ha) - let's blame it on that shall we?
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