8am I was awake before the alarm but I still set it to snooze as I had a look at Facebook and read a few pages of my Viz annual. I kept an eager eye on the time because I had to brown the stewing steak and add an onion to my pot of vegetables which were waiting to be turned into a beef stew in the crock pot. After having some breakfast (buttered toast), I hot footed it upstairs to wash and dress so that I was out of the door by 9:30am.
10:30am was the time of my appointment. I parked at the park and ride and I was in the clinic for good time. However, I was kept waiting. There were patients before me who needed more time. I probably also took up more time than I was allotted, so I won’t complain. I finally got seen at gone 11:30. My only complaint was that I was sat under the television having to listen to Homes Under the Hammer and whatever drivel followed that. It could have been worse. It could have been Jeremy Kyle. Consultant was happy with what she saw, but that entailed me going onto do another mission…
12:45pm I was getting a bit anxious that I needed to be home for the afternoon, so quickly ditched my retail therapy plan and made a beeline for the pharmacy where I collected my single 150mg dose of Fluconazole for the thrush that the consultant has seen. I have to return tomorrow (or today because this blog post is being published tomorrow) to collect HRT patches. I also purchased some paracetamol as it’s clear that I really do still need them. While waiting for my prescription to be dispensed, I went across the road to the bakery and spent £2.70 on a current slice and a Cornish pasty. I then went home, ate my lunch and browsed Pinterest while I waited for the Avon lady to come with my new lipsticks, etc.
5:45pm I’m home and waiting for someone (else) to call in. During the afternoon, I have been to Lidl (I bought a birthday present), The Range (I bought some personal stationary for myself and browsed kitchen stuff) and to Tesco where I bought what I set out to buy – a ‘gate’ clothes airer for £7. I then called into see the Recycled Teens where we had a catch up of their weekend away and my week away.
6:30pm I have had my guest call round and leave. I have hoovered upstairs and dusted. I haven’t done any real housework in a few weeks and I live under a quarry. Things get dusty and Flossie is coming on the week of the 23rd of October. I don’t want her to be moaning about my “dust” and her asthma. I think it’s tea time now…
8pm It’s time to settle down on the sofa and watch TV. My dinner is eaten, my washing up is done and I have a French Fancy and a cup of tea waiting for me.
I might end up falling asleep on the sofa, or I might actually make it up the stairs.
It’s been quite a dull and unadventurous day, really, hasn’t it? Tomorrow (today) is even duller, with not a plan in sight…
Admittedly, this is an odd title to use to give a big update to the people I know. I thought now was time to confess what I’ve been up to during the British summer that we’ve just experienced. I have (I hope) succeeded in keeping my private life off Facebook. Now that my summer has come to an end, I would like to be honest and share what’s been going on in my life.
Before I open my heart and confess all, I would like you to respect the fact that some people don’t know that this blog exists so the status sharing this link has been hidden from them and I would like it to remain that way…
Some of you already know where this blog post is headed for. If I haven’t told you, please don’t be offended. Maybe we’re not that close. Maybe we haven’t spoken in a very long time. Maybe this isn’t something that I could put in an e-mail. Maybe I didn’t want the sympathy. Maybe I wanted to be left alone to deal with this on my own terms and in my own way without worrying about my privacy and being harassed with unneeded and unwanted sympathy. Please don’t forget that I’ve been here before. I’ve lived through a period where everyone knew my business, and I didn’t really know who knew what. Whatever the reason you don’t know, it doesn’t matter; please don’t be offended because no one really had a right to know anything in the first place.
There’s nothing anyone could have done for me anyway. It’s not like someone else could have taken my place or dealt with the problems that I’ve had. If I have needed practical help, I’ve known who to ask.
You see, my summer hasn’t been all as exciting as I let Facebook believe. And that’s ok!! I have deliberately kept this off Facebook because I haven’t wanted sympathy and I didn’t want to feel obliged to update people. I’m not public property. When I’ve been liking your statuses and giving you an LOL, and posting pictures about my garden and liking your pictures, I’ve actually been dealing with an incredibly serious situation. I have had an incredibly painful bladder. I’ve had diarrhoea something bad. My lady bits have felt as though I’ve been scrubbing them with sandpaper before drying them with a blow torch. My entire pelvic area has ached. I’ve felt so, so tired. Some days I’ve really felt quite sick.
Most importantly throughout the summer of 2017, my blood counts have been very good and I have not needed any transfusions.
No, I haven’t had a bad holiday… I have remained firmly within the confines of the United Kingdom…
At the end of May, I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. At first we hoped that it could just be chopped out like a disused pocket. I really hoped that it could be chopped out because then it was out. One doctor and I had already discussed the possibility of preventative surgery but I didn’t realise that it was so bad. Unfortunately, the cancer was too ‘progressed’ for me to have surgery, so I have been receiving radiotherapy. Because of my bone marrow transplant in March 2009, I wasn’t allowed chemotherapy, but I have been allowed radiotherapy. I’ve had 25 treatments of external radiotherapy and then I have had three treatments of internal radiotherapy (brachytherapy – not at all pleasant; linked to a Macmillan web page). In fact, one of these brachytherapy treatments fell on my birthday – but I still got my day out. Instead of a good drink, I had good drugs. But, most importantly, I still had birthday cake! I’ll take myself for a proper day out when I feel a bit less dependent on needing to empty my bladder continuously.
I go and see my oncology doctor next month – and I get another MRI after that – and then we’ll know what’s going on. Hopefully my summer of ’17 has done the job and that I can go back to living my life. The last brachytherapy had a very positive outcome – that my oncology consultant couldn’t see the cancer… Now, though, I’m starting to feel the effects of the menopause (hot flushes, more than anything) so I’ll be popping the HRT pills sooner than I hoped.
If anything, this experience has taught me a couple of things:
I am ok on my own.
Life really isn’t fair. I don’t deserve cancer after having to have a bone marrow transplant. No one does. It’s really not fair.
I don’t just hate sympathy – I despise it. It does me no good and it makes me feel worse. It really can turn a good day into an incredibly crappy one because I know I wouldn’t be getting this sympathy and/or attention if it weren’t for the fact I’m in the situation I’m in.
I am now determined to do my utmost to not be working minimum wage jobs on zero-hour contracts which involve unsociable hours (where possible) by my next birthday! When I lay it out, all I am is a glorified slave making someone above me richer who gets to do less work and enjoy life more than me. It’s time that I make all my own dreams come true and live off the profit from that. As Bridget Jones says in the last move: #letsdothis
I am currently requiring pain relief on a daily basis. Some days I need stronger stuff than other days. I have gotten myself a routine – I have been getting all my errands done that involve using my car, done in the morning when I’m only needing paracetamol. I really can’t do anything that requires adult supervision once I’ve taken the co-codamol – definitely need the adult supervision when I have had the oramorph!
I don’t really make a habit of sharing my blog via my Facebook page, but if it’s something that you would like to read, you can subscribe to it or follow me Twitter (@beckysefton) where it’s automatically shared. Relating to this blog post, I have (in recent weeks) written other posts which kind of tie into this:
31 today – I wasn’t exactly celebrating. I was receiving brachytherapy!
When buying a house, I think that you should be entitled to a weeks’ stay at the property before you commit to signing the contracts. If you think about it, you go and lie on a bed when shopping for new beds and mattresses. You go and sit on sofas and chairs before splashing your cash. Yet, something as big as buying a house, you have a couple of views and that’s it. You don’t know how comfortable you’ll be once you’re there – not really.
I loved my house when I first viewed it. My dad liked it. My friends have all liked it. My grandparents like it. I like it. I just wish I knew about the neighbours before I signed any contracts.
I know that wherever you live, there might be some unsavoury characters. At the moment though, I have three. And they’re all doing my effing head in.
This post should not be construed as I regret buying my house, because I don’t.
I’ve personally given up on calling the Police every time one of my two neighbours are wailing like banshee’s in the street. There’s not much point in complaining to the Police about the illegal drugs as I highly doubt they’ll care that I have to keep rewashing my laundry… But, this morning (I wrote this blog post a few days ago, so it’s old news), I could have gotten angry.
I was messaging one of my nice neighbours because I saw the Police at the property where the commotion was last night. I don’t know who has called the Police, but I am grateful that they have. My nice neighbour informed me that the smashing I heard last night was actually a vase of flowers on the pavement! Right by my car!!
I immediately moved my car but before I did so, I had to remove bits of smashed vase from the road – I highly doubt that the wailing banshee would replace my tyres if I got a puncture from her smashed vase. And, then, all afternoon I was watching for the flowers and smashed up vase to be cleaned up. I don’t know who eventually cleared up the mess, but it wasn’t until late afternoon when the pavement was cleared of the smashed vase and flowers.
I wonder – do these morons have no shame? Do they have no self-respect? Most importantly (to me), do the landlords have no moral compass? Would they tolerate their tennant’s behaviour if it were occurring on their doorstep? Is it because these people (the offenders) move so frequently that they don’t think they need to bother to even pretend to be a half-decent citizen and instead annoy the foxtrot out of their respectful neighbours?
I’m getting a bit sick and tired of it. At night time, I want to sleep – I need to sleep. Instead, on a regular basis, I’m being woken by one of two neighbours who think that it’s acceptable to allow their personal lives to spill out into the street. They scream. They shout. There’s nothing feminine or dignified by their behaviour, yet I’m supposed to tolerate it because the landlords are no where to be seen, the council don’t care and it doesn’t matter how many times you call the Police, they can’t do anything!
If you do any of the following, I reckon that you might be a nightmare neighbour that I’m writing about:
You smoke your illegal cigarettes outside and make your neighbours laundry smell of your illegal drugs.
You scream blue murder all night long.
You throw your vase of flowers out of your living room window so that it smashes on the pavement right beside my car.
You scream in the street because a neighbour has called the Police.
If you are any of the above, you have zero respect from me.
You’d think that it might be all about snuggling up with a cup of hot chocolate and a good book. You might think that I would have a man to curl up to. You might think I am so tired I just pass out as soon as my head touches the pillow.
This week I have been playing with my torch. I shine it at the wall and I make shadows. I shine it around my bedroom looking for sparkles and shadows.
Ten years ago (2007) I was being diagnosed with aplastic anaemia and I didn’t even know if I would be here (2017) in ten years time. Well, faced with a different ‘problem’ (or a ‘hiccup’), I am wondering what I will accomplish in the next 10 years.
I found a list that I made in 2009 (eight years ago). Of it, I have done the following:
Return to work
Go to Florida/Disney
See the Northern Lights
Do a degree (started but not complete)
Go on a steam train and have dinner on it with Grandad (Grandad and I made many plans that haven’t come to live yet. This was the best one I wanted to do…)
Maybe be a mum (I was undecided, then I didn’t want to and now I can’t)
Learn to play chess so I can play with Rick
Get my driving licence
Quit smoking (I have!)
Now, on my list, of what I want to accomplish in the next 10 years:
Become self-employed/my own boss
Return to Iceland
Go to Venice
Get stairs to my attic
Decorate my home – I don’t want a job-half-done like the beach hut was…
Write and publish more books
Take a photography course/join a club
Learn to use a sewing machine
Go to Harry Potter world
Visit Darrowby (where they made All Creatures Great and Small)
I think it’s a rather doable list. It’s also much the same as the list in the back of my 2009 journal: it involves a vision relating to work, travel and self-improvement. I’m sure I’ll be able to accomplish all of this.