Day 21 in the jungle

Well, maybe not day 21, and maybe not a jungle, but sometimes the posts and messages you read on social media make you feel like people out there are in dire straits. As in - they only have enough loo roll to last 17 months, or enough pasta to feed all of the Czech Republic.

I'm not being nasty, it's evident from food and produce shortages that panic buying has impacted the supply chain, and the result will be  they'll have loads of products going past their sell by date.

Wood from the fallen ash

My partner and I are self-isolating - we are both at risk for different reasons. Luckily for us at the moment this is not a problem - we live in a forest and our neighbour is away, so all we see are walkers with dogs passing by and the diligent forestry workers - cutting and transporting the pine (to make into toilet paper perhaps!).

I've hardly been out apart from walks when all the walkers have gone, but we are so lucky that we have a beautiful garden to occupy ourselves, and the biggest pile of wood to chop and stack ready for next winter.

We had plenty of food in stock, and we've  had a delivery from Sheena's son (yes, we'are all sanitised and cleansed from his 2m visit now), so we are pretty well set for a while if needed.

I built another wood store

I am still working from home - work has not stopped and in fact now more than ever we need help; our amazing NHS still rely on the air ambulance services around the country to help save lives every day, we can't put heart attacks and falls and crashes on hold because of Covid-19. I am very proud to be a fundraiser, and very lucky that I can do my job from the middle of a forest.

My main concern is that my upcoming cancer treatment may be delayed - and who knows by how long. Although I'm not overly worried at the moment, the thought of even going to hospital, where the beleagued NHS are struggling to keep themselves and their patients safe, is a little disconcerting.

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Fear
Nature's gift
East Anglian Air Ambulance

Photos (C) Carolyn Sheppard / Sheena Stebbing

Under the knife

This may be a greusome thought, but I'm actually really pleased to know that I have an operation coming up. Having seen Sheena go through chemotherapy, radiotherapy (the burns were so much worse than we had anticipated), and surgery, I know I'm getting off lightly. Well, as far as I know, that's all I'll need.

The cancer has not spread, the scans show no problems with my major organs. If bowel cancer spreads, it usually goes to lungs or liver, and they are confident I've no problems there.

The margins of the cancer are clear too, so the removal of it in my tubes should be relatively straightforward as well. This all bodes well for an excellent outcome!

But, of course, we are amid the most extraordinary healthcare crisis this planet has seen since the 1918 Spanish Flu epidemic, or even since the plague. Well, cancer surgery is going ahead but less urgent surgery (such as the plan for fixing my dodgy finger joints) are being cancelled.  They are also cancelling gall stone surgery - which I am sorry to hear. I remember that was so very painful!

So all in all, a good news day for me today. Next week I should get an appointment with my consultant, and then schedule in the surgery. After surgery at least six weeks off work, and probably six months before I'll be weilding the chainsaw in anger again, but I think that's a small price to pay.

Reminder - if you have unusual bowel symptoms, please get them checked. Don't wait until it may be too late. Your health matters. You matter. Take care.

Photo (C) The Simpsons / Matt Groenig

Useful links
Symptoms of bowel cancer
CRUK - about cancer
Ipswich Hospital Blossom Appeal

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Learning new skills
Ghost Stories
Adelong Morning

Scans

Fashionistah - not!

A Friday night - what better way to spend it than in the Radiography Department of Ipswich Hopsital.

My first scan was the MRI - this will determine what Gertrude is made of and how embedded she is in my gut. The MRI machine was quite comfortable but loud, as expected. I had headphones but not music - so I made music myself.

There were different scans, and different scans made different noises:

The 'underwater hurdy gurdy' - a repetitive thrum on a single note, I made up tunes that leapt around the base note.

The 'sewing machine' - a higher less musical note, a lot faster. I imagined a room full of sewing machines.

The 'food mixer' - this one shook the bed and was a lot lower in tone - I imagined myself being spun round as part of a very lumpy pesto.

Back again to a higher note, and slightly out of tune 'amateur hurdy hurdy' and I made up some more tunes. What a shame I'll never remember them!

I think some of my imaginative interpretations of the sounds may have been down to the intravenous Buscopan, which was rather relaxing. All in all I was in the scanner for around half and hour.

Still gowned up (ain't it a great look?) I was taken down to the CT scanner, and and IV drip put in. The scans were a lot quicker (and a lot quieter) but when they released the liquid in the IV into my veins (so that they are easier to see on the scan), it gave a weird sensation of a warmth all over and - that of having released fluid unintentionally (I hadn't, but they did warn me it would feel like this).

The CT scan will show whether Gertrude has any sisters anywhere else. I'm seriously hoping she's an only child.

So after the scans we headed back home (via the chip shop), and now I have to wait. I am hoping for an appointment soon so we know what happens next and can plan.

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So long and thanks for all the...
The people who went before

Useful links:

Bowel Cancer UK
Colchester and Ipswich Hospitals Charity

Fear

This is me.

Well, actually, I should have titled this post 'unafraid'. But I've used 'fear' because Richard Wilkins, the amazing man who runs the Ministry of Inspiration with Liz, has sent out a video on facebook called F*ck Fear. And it's been shared over 12,000 times, because there is a strong and real message in there.

Fear is tool ruthlessly used by our inner voice, our insecurity, that inner 'script' that tries to make us jump, quiver and generally not be who we truly are. That voice in your head is a liar. It is made of things you've done true, but it is also written by what has been done to you, what your loved ones, friends, colleagues and even random strangers say to you - it's written by others. It is not the true you.

With cancer now a part of my life, not just my partner's, I am looking forward positively. I am unafraid. Even before I understood that this disease is not likely to kill me (though I still don't know that for sure), I'm still unafraid.

I've never been afraid of death, and cancer has no power to scare me either. It does not have the power to 'redefine me' as a cancer victim or sufferer. It does not have the power to change my positive outlook and my love for life and living. Cancer is not my identity, it's just another page in my script.

With the covid-19 coverage causing fear and anxiety at unprecedented levels, it is a good time to remember and consider all the good things in live. Forget fear, be unafraid (but don't be stupid). Love who you are, and believe in yourself.

Useful links:

Ministry of Information

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Kindness is a strength
Attitude and examination

The results are in

Well, we already knew, but the histopathology results have confirmed the cancer in my bowel. Nasty little thing, I shall call it ‘Gertrude’.

Gertrude was found about 15cm into my insides (from the arse end), which is a good thing position wise. It is far in enough for surgery (which is a given) to be able to snip and stitch – so Gertrude and surrounding tissue will be excised, and the two ends of my innards reattached – a slightly shorter run than before.

I had my colonoscopy last week (this is when I met Gertrude – on screen) and the procedure itself

Preparing for colonoscopy

was not much of a drama. The night before (those of you who have had this will know) was worse! So, having established that there was a cancer in my bowel, the colonoscopy nurse took some samples, whose results were what we went to discuss at the hospital today.

I don’t know the stage or the grade of Gertrude yet. We don’t know if it’s aggressive, or easily intimidated, and we don’t know if it has spread at all. These options will be determined by:

• CT scan to see if the cancer has spread anywhere
• MRI scan to get a more detailed idea of where Gertrude is and which parts of my innards it has attached to (wall, nodes etc)
• Surgery to remove Gertrude and stitch my pipes back together
• Dissection – once Gertrude is surgically removed, it will go back for further pathology investigation.

The important thing now for me is the timeline, which is something on the lines of the scans (not on the same day) within the next two weeks or so, then the earliest surgical appointment that can be had. Possibly up to another month after the scans, if I’m lucky, earlier.

The reports on the deported Gertrude will determine whether I need any other treatment. Radiotherapy is unlikely due to the location, but chemotherapy is a possibility. It totally depends on what they find with the scans and post-surgery.

With any luck I could be having my operation sometime in April or May, and then it will be recovery time. Even if I have the surgery laparoscopically (keyhole) it’s a pretty big rework of the old insides, so I will need quite a bit of recuperation time.

I’m being positive and upbeat because that’s the best way to knock Gertrude into submission. Cancer is an ugly, unwanted intruder, but needs to be treated with care so it doesn’t cause more problems. Gertrude is an inconvenience that will make my life pretty difficult for several months, but I am aiming for the minimal impact scenario where I will be up and about and my usual self in time to enjoy the summer months.

Meanwhile there is nothing I can or need to do other than keep healthy and carry on. I will post further updates as and when things happen/change.

Finally, Gertrude doesn’t have a chance, because there is so much love and support around me. Thank you.

Woodland walk

After a rather unhappy start to the week, I went for a walk in the woods last Wednesday morning. The birds were starting their special spring songs and loudly proclaiming their eligibility, and the rising aroma of drying winter leaves, warmed by a light sun, permeated the air.

The dogs were trotting happily, sniffing and shuffling about, noses to the ground around some particularly interesting smell, and ears pricked up and listening to the startled flap of pheasant or pigeon wing, or the tell-tale crack of a bracken stalk under the tread of a timid Muntjack.

The walk was restorative. The air, the sound of the wind in the trees, the sunshine trickling through the pines. It was a beautiful morning and a beautiful walk, with nature around me and the sights and sounds of the natural world flowing into me like a healing elixir.

I'll need more than a walk in the forest, I know, as I embark on a new journey, but living in the woods, walking here and enjoying everything that nature has to offer is going to be very important to me as I enter the next phase of this condition.

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Suffolk lullaby
Two walks

Photos (C) Carolyn Sheppard


And just for fun because I don't want to put a whole new post in just to fit this vid in - here's me playing the weirdest bass ever at the final Shave the Monkey concert back in January.

Nature's gift

There was a crack like thunder, and then a huge thump that shook the ground, the house, the very trees in the forest. The  house screamed as ash-fingers scratched at it's bricks and tore off the gutter and demolished the front light. Well, that's how I imagined it would have felt had we been in the house when the tree came down!

When you live in a house that is mostly heated by one wood burner, then your primary fuel is... well, wood. And dry wood is expensive if you buy it, and to dry it yourself takes time. The ash opposite our house had Chalara, and was looking dead, but the Forestry Commission (who had marked it for removal) thought it was fine. Chalara (ash dieback) starts from the crown, so the roots are usually OK. Apart from us telling them the tree was dead and dangerous, they didn't see any reason to take it down in a hurry.

The track was blocked for over a week until the FC came

There are advantages of living in a forest, but you can't go cutting down trees that belong to the Forestry Commission. And if they fall on you, well, that's an 'Act of God' in insurance terms.

A few weeks ago (mid-Feb) we went away for the weekend back to my little terraced house in Hertfordshire, with it's central heating, and it's snug warmth. And when we came back late Sunday night, we had been delivered a gift. A 45 foot gift.

Fence destroyed, but house fine.

A bit of a destructive gift, for sure, but let's just say we won't be short of wood for a while. And the nice thing about ash is that it burns well, and as the tree was dead, it doesn't need drying out.

Yes the fence was damaged and so was the lawn, but it only brushed the house (like fingers tickling the brickwork), it only took out a little bit of gutter and a light. The poor tree, which was home to nightingales and jays, woodpeckers and squirrels, is gone. The forestry commission )(after more than a week, even though it blocked the lane) came and took it down and sliced it into manageablel chunks (if you are a 14 foot muscular giant, that is).

We have had to cut up the logs they've left. But here are still some huge bits that are going to take several goes with the chainsaw to reduce even into moveable pieces. And the lawn has huge gouts of turf lifted up (one of the branches literally ploughed the ground) and a huge dent where the main trunk hit. The fence had to be replaced, and we will eventualy get round to repairing the lawn - just as soon as I've moved 3 tonnes of timber.

It missed us, it barely damaged the house, and we have a lot of nice burnable wood. I think that's a gift from nature (even if I do end up with bulging biceps from all the chainsawing, heaving and splitting).

Photos (C) Carolyn Causton and Sheena Stebbing

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The gift of snow