PIPS AND SQUADDIES

My take on the Pips story (faulty French breast implants used by cheapskate cosmetic surgeons) is about the same as my take on the stream of young men Serving Their Country in Afghanistan: pointless, wasteful, and vainglorious.
   As someone who had breast surgery as a first line defence against cancer, I just can't understand why anyone would choose to have their mammary appendages messed about with in the name of body enhancement - for pleasure,  be it their own or to please other people. The body isn't a piece of fashion: it is a natural gift, and we mess about with it at our peril. Why have breasts always been problematic for women: not big enough, not small enough (see 1920's), not round enough? They are only problematic when they're not functioning properly, as in failing to feed babies, or so heavy that they cause breathing problems, or when they  threaten survival, as with cancer. Any other 'problems' are just vanities; and it is vanity alone, not psychological disorders ('bad body image/low self-esteem') that prompts women to visit private clinics to have their boobs inflated. They pay to have the implants in, and it is only fair that that they should pay to have the implants out. The suggestion that the NHS take them out at the taxpayers' expense is scandalous and morally abhorrent, especially  in a time of austerity and cuts to the Service. For every Pip that gets taken out in an NHS hospital, another bona fide patient, awaiting breast reconstruction after mastectomy, say, is kept waiting.
  As for the young Squaddies, they choose to join the military; they aren't conscripts who have no say in the matter.  It seems like skewed thinking to me to propose building hostels where the relatives of injured career fighters can stay while their soldier is having his false limb fitted. Instead of hostels for the rellies, we need hospices for the chronically ill and bereft, who have no choice with regard to their condition in life.

   I had a go at the false boobs culture in an early post on this blog when the revolting Jordan (aka Katie Price) was at the top of her game. I can't remember which post it is, but there was something gruesome in it about false fillets exploding in crematoriums (sorry). We are all headed in the same direction, towards the inevitable ending, and if we can't get that, and inwardly digest it, our lives are not worth living.

image by Agnes Toth 
http://www.agnestoth.eu

ITHAKA

This morning, I came across this poem in one of my old notebooks. It struck a strong, deep note of recognition in me, as though I had stored it away for the cancer journey, before I even had cancer. I'm going to send it to my daughter:

Ithaka


As you set out for Ithaka

hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery,
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon, don't be afraid of them:
you'll never find things like that on your way
as long as you keep your thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon - you won't encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.


C.P Cavafy

FIGHT BACK WITH FITNESS

Guest Blogger, David Haas, at Mesothelioma Cancer Alliance, has kindly sent me this article about fitness and cancer. Check out David's profile at http://about.me/haasblaag
- he's inspirational.


"Fight back with fitness - Ways to Boost or Maintain Your Exercise Routine”
The MD Anderson Cancer Center at the University of Texas has the slogan Making Cancer History. They, along with many other cancer researchers, mesothelioma doctors, and physicians believe strongly that exercise can become a powerful tool in your effort to fight cancer. Whether you've been diagnosed with breast cancer, mesothelioma or any other form of the disease, your diagnosis doesn't have to become the end of your fitness routine. If you were active before and enjoyed the benefits of being physically fit, then you already understand how important exercise is to the body and the mind. Here are some tips to keep your exercise routine going, while incorporating a little fun into your life.
* Take a Class
The local YMCA, fitness or community centre is likely to offer a variety of exercise classes you can participate in. While participating in class you need only exert as much effort as you're able to that day but will still reap the benefits of moving your body, getting out of the house and being around other people.
* Dance
Whether you dance at home or take a class at a local dance studio, the combination of music and movement is good for your body and soul. Choose a style of dance that revolves around upbeat music, such as disco, salsa, or jazz dancing. Dancing is a great total body workout and the music helps lift the mood.
* Spinning
Spinning on an exercise bike at home or at the health club is excellent aerobic exercise. If moving your legs gets difficult after a while, alternate between the stationery bike at your health club and the arm bike.
*Favourite Exercise DVDs
Remember the old exercise video tapes of the 80s and 90s? Many of them are available on DVD and can be fun to work out to at home.

As exercise increases your fitness, it can help you reduce or avoid experiencing side effects from chemotherapy and other cancer treatments. The support and camaraderie experienced while taking an exercise class is also beneficial beyond measure, providing you with a physical outlet and surrounding you by friends and other people with whom you can talk. Thirty minutes of exercise daily can provide you with an improved emotional state, while maintaining flexibility, mobility and your aerobic health. Mesothelioma doctors and other physicians recommend incorporating exercise into your daily schedule as part of your artillery to fight back against cancer

David Haas


Citation:
http://www2.mdanderson.org/cancerwise/2011/02/fight-cancer-with-fitnesstips-to-amp-up-your-exercise-routine.html
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Anne Morgellyn comments: I can vouch for the value of exercise on the way to recovery - although it was a good eighteen months post treatment before I was able to undertake anything more strenuous than a walk to the bathroom! But just before Christmas, I signed up to Marcus Santer's online Qigong course, highly recommended to me by my singing teacher. I have to confess that I have so far mastered only one exercise - but spending only fifteen minutes a day on this gentle medicinal workout has significantly improved my balance and general energy levels.

Marcus Santer can be found on Google or at

http://qigong15.com/blog/qigong-training/about

HAIR CLIPPINGS

The acupuncture I had post-surgery did a lot for my nausea, balance, and energy levels; but the little copper needles in my scalp, in spite of the therapist's best efforts, have so far failed to stimulate my hair. I am now resigned to male-pattern baldness as a lasting legacy of the tremendous bolt of radiation I was given to mop up any rogue cells remaining after the second craniotomy. It has been well over two years now, and, although the back and sides have been growing slowly but surely, my tonsure still refuses to sprout.
Tired of trimming the new growth with nail scissors to match the non-growth on the top, three days ago I ordered some electric hair-clippers from Amazon, which arrived this morning. At first, I was too terrified to take them out of the box, but once I'd found the right gauge for beginners (a series of colour-coded safety combs), I oiled the blades and gave it a whirl. An hour later, I had a perfect Sinead O'Connor cut and a fresher-feeling in my scalp, enhanced by Neem Hair lotion from Dr Hauschka. Now I know how boys feel when they get a new gadget: excited, thrilled, can't wait to use it again.

Since I've been in recovery, I have ordered a lot of stuff from Amazon, all of it good and speedily dispatched. I've had bathroom shelves, a phone, a digital radio, vacuum cleaner, a pad to stop my laptop sliding off my knees, tiny trolley cases guaranteed to satisfy the stringent cabin baggage allowances of EasyJet and Ryanair, a watch, an opal ring for my daughter's Christmas present, and numerous books and CDs. I have the entire collection of Thomas Mann, whose novel 'The Magic Mountain' (Der Zauberberg), has to be the best book about chronic illness ever written, taking in philosophy, the tensions in Europe before the Great War, and perceptions of time, expanding and contracting as the seven years of Casthorp's sojurn in the sanatorium go by. Jeanette Winterson was on the radio this morning talking about the solace which reading can bring to a troubled soul. How that resonated with me as I was reading 'The Magic Mountain' again in the early days of my recovery. Now I'm reading Dostoyevsky's 'Brothers Karamazov' again, for the umpteenth time, and it too seems to have a greater significance for me in my cancer years. The other great soul feed, perhaps the greatest, is music. As I write this, I am listening to Verdi's Requiem, for which I begin rehearsals this evening with Truro Choral Society.

In the meantime, the Amazon courier has just delivered another package, and I have a book case to build.

YEAR'S SUMMARY

I haven't posted much this year because I have finally been getting my life back together. (Significant developments listed below.)


1. I am driving again after a two year suspension following my brain surgery in 2009 (it will be three years this coming March since I received my second diagnosis of Ca to the brain). My consultant passed me fit to drive in May this year but his report is still with the medical team at the DVLA. They apparently have a very long back-log, implying that there are a lot of people with brain tumours and other neurological disorders applying to take to the highway again. They did, however, give me permission to get behind a steering wheel while my application is pending, so I've been rediscovering Cornwall in my baby Mercedes - a brand new Smart I'm leasing in exchange for the mobility component of my Disability Living Allowance. Every couple of weeks or so I contact the DVLA about the progress with my new licence but they keep on reassuring me that I am covered by the note they sent in May. I doubt I'll be getting the real deal, mug-shot and all, until well into 2012.

2. I'm travelling again, this year to Budapest (seventh visit coming up in February 2012), Milan and Como. I also met up with my mother for a week end in Bristol in the summer. I hadn't seen her for well over two years because she abandoned me after my second diagnosis and extended hospitalisation in 2009. I was dreading meeting up with her again, but my daughter thought I should, so I did. In fact, it turned out very well because it cured the emotional mess and bitterness I was stewing in and showed me that I'd got through all this on my own (with a lot of support from my friends - gratefully acknowledged) and didn't need to depend on maternal bonds that were never there before in any case. My mother and I have a tentative but mostly positive relationship now via e-mail.

3. I am writing fiction again and have just completed my fourth novel, Not Waving but Drowning, which should be out next year.

4. I am teaching again for the Open University.

5. I am singing again and have resumed my weekly lessons with my teacher in Redruth - the excellent Joyce Robson. When I went back to Joyce and she coaxed out my voice from the place where it had lain dormant for the past two years, I felt myself filling up with joy and exaltation. Singing is the best healing present I can give to myself.

6. I need fewer hospital visits. In October my consultant put me down for six monthly clinics (instead of three) although I am still having three-weekly infusions of the miraculous monoclonal antibody. Herceptin - this will be my seventh year on this drug, and I am still taking Tamoxifen. Dr Wheatley told me he had no way of knowing if the treatment was hitting anything now or if I was cancer-free, but being a cautious man, he's keeping me on it. He didn't want to give me another MRi scan because he said he'd just done that with another patient at a similar stage to me and the 'poor bugger' had been suspended from driving again after just getting his licence back! Duncan Wheatley saved my life in 2005 and has kept me going since with all his lotions and potions (see previous posts in 2005/6/7/8) His swift intervention with emergency steroid treatment when I was falling down all over the place (spectacular fall outside the US Embassy in London) and his referral of me to Mr Paul Fewing, neurosurgical consultant at Derriford Hospitial saved my life again in 2009 because without Mr Fewing and his team, I would have been dead by July that year, instead of recovering in hospital. It's been a very long and very laboured recovery. Was it worth it - yes it was. I'm still here.

I hope to be writing about these developments in forthcoming posts for 2012. Some of them - especially the car/driving story, are quite light-hearted! In the meantime, if I still have any followers left after this long, long hiatus, I wish you all a very happy Christmas and a healthy new year.

Anne Morgellyn

BLUE MONDAY WEEK

Although I have the greatest admiration for my new GP, who is of the type that goes an extra mile for the sake of his patients, he is the exception rather than the rule these days. It is extremely worrying to hear of the Coalition (aka Tory) government's proposals to give GPs more responsibility - and buying power - in another iniquitous shake up of the NHS. People living in the community with long term chronic conditions (like secondary cancer) are poorly served as it is, going by the many complaints about their GP practice I hear from other patients. I resolved mine in the end by switching practitioners, but that was only after I nearly died because of the previous GP's misdiagnosis of my brain lesion as 'labyrinthitis'. It was fortunate I had a hospital consultant to go to then to sort out the mess, for in the insouciant hands of the other guy, I'd have been long dead by now. Others I knew, ill served by this same bad Practice, were not so fortunate; they all died from lack of proper referral procedures in place for them to access a specialist.

I posted a warning about voting for the Tories in 2008 on this same blog. I see no reason to change my opinion of them now they are in power and, according to the BBC, will just have time to bugger up the NHS before the next election. They are seriously bad news. It is astonishing how a group of upper middle class white men, sheltered by privilege all their lives, can so easily wreck the welfare policies that were hard won by the British people over the years, and which, for all their flaws and abuses, have created a better quality of life for us all. What does Cameron mean by his 'big society'? I suspect it's a cockeyed, Old Etonian take on the concept of noblesse oblige in which the poor are served by Conservative ladies handing out food and clothes to the 'deserving' while their men in government tax the recipients, if they can, for the benefits of the gifts.


As things stand, I continue to rely on the NHS for treatment under my excellent hospital consultant, who deserves every penny of his colossal salary, juggling his budget, as he does, not to make money for a bunch of City suits who don't need any more dosh, but to keep people like me alive until the next election. Go Labour!























NHS

BATTLE FATIGUE?

Since I last posted in March this year (nine months ago...), I have been learning to make a friend of fatigue in order to boost my recovery. Boost is the wrong word, perhaps, because the recovery from last year's treatments to a state of much better health has been slow and long. But I have gradually felt stronger these last few months, thanks to the return of my appetite and the steady increase in energy that is enabling me to do more things. When I say more things, these activities are still largely confined to the house and garden; but I can walk without the stick now, if not always in a straight line, and with frequent rests. I no longer feel sick when I'm out, and I even managed to get to Nice in the summer with the help of my daughter. That showed me there was life out there, beyond the treatments, and I could still invest my presence in the world with some quality of joy and verve.

I have learned to make a friend of my bungalow, which I disparagingly referred to as 'The Bunker' when I first moved in, this being a considerable down-sizing after my previous home ; but now I am reconciled to bunker living. This may be because I have always been a natural recluse, and perhaps a little too tolerant of my own company; but this has helped me adapt to the state of invalidism forced on me by the brain tumour. This got me thinking about invalidism as a state of enchantment from which only a shock, an external event, or the disease making a dramatic reappearance, can free me for action. The best account of this state is Thomas Mann's great novel, The Magic Mountain, in which a young man goes to a Swiss sanatorium to visit his sick cousin, a trip of three weeks which turns, through various twists and beguiling events, into a stay of seven years. It is a book to savour, and ideal for bunker living. In fact, since this summer, I have worked my way through several long novels, thanks to my renewed concentration. My consultant (the splendid Duncan) told me in October that I should have more years yet on the old continuing treatment of Herceptin (my lifeline) and Tamoxifen with which I am continuing beyond the usual five year prescription for this drug. So things have returned to three weekly infusions and daily tablet popping, and soon I will have lived like this for six whole years, which hasn't been all bad, really, excepting, of course,the horrors of last year's tumour.

Duncan told me that the funding for cancer treatments was protected, but implied that the new regime demanded that doctors complete a case by case application for each patient review. There was a pot of money but increased admin, and this sinister sort of decision making put clinicians in a terrible position: 'We haven't got the four hours it takes to fill in each form for each patient and I wish they'd just let us get on with our job in helping people.' He went on to say that in my particular case, he had 'absolutely no way of knowing' if discontinuing my expensive treatment would cause a sudden upsurge in disease process, or if indeed there was no more disease to treat; but he believed in erring on the side of caution and sticking to the current prescription. While the best news, of course, would be to hear I was cured, I know that, with advanced disease, I will never hear that from him, and so am well contented with the status quo. Thanks again, Duncan, and the neurosurgical team at Derriford, for giving me these extra enchanted years. I watched an old Storyville documentary last week about a British neurosurgeon who visits Ukraine twice a year to operate, gratis, on seriously ill patients with horrific and often visible tumours. The hospital there were using adapted Black and Decker drills to get into the skull, while the NHS trust at Henry Marsh's (the British surgeon's) London hospital was throwing away 'perforator' fittings, costing eighty pounds each, after every patient, a wastage of hundreds of thousands of pounds a year. But that was in 2007. Now we have the unholy alliance of Cameron and Clegg guarding the money, and I know it won't be thanks to them, or their policy towards the poor and sick, that will save the lives of people like me. In fact, had I developed this disease before the election last May, I wonder if I would have been put on the treatment I am now, thanks to Duncan, receiving indefinitely. One thing is for sure, I will never compromise my vote by strategic voting for the Liberal Dems again.