November came and went

The day before we left for Hawaii, I had an appointment to see my oncologist for the scan results of the cyst on one of my ovaries. Apparently, it is normal for some to have an enlarged cyst before a menstrual cycle. The cyst has since subsided and everything seem to appear normal now. Praise God! That was one less worry, for I had several on my mind.  I have never been on a 3-week holiday in my life. With no agenda nor purpose i.e. dropping in on friends enroute or participating in some form of sports event, I was not sure how I would cope mentally. The thought of sand between my toes made me cringe (those who know me well will know this is a fact). When I am on panic-mode, all sorts of scenarios came to mind - what if: 1) the "fasten seatbelt" sign is on when I need to use the toilet? 2) the inflight toilets are occupied and there is a long waiting line to use one? 3) Jack chooses to visit a remote beach where there are no (toilet & shower) facilities? On top of all that, my second wound was still sore - sneezing and coughing will still make my eyes water :(  In short, I lack self confidence.  Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I remember coming home from my appointment with my oncologist and making myself a cup of tea for myself. As I sat nursing my cup of tea, the words on my mug caught my attention. It read "Stay Calm and Carry On". Well, there you go! Life is too short to start worrying about what may be, or not. I have never wasted my time on worrying about things beyond my own control and I reckon I shouldn't start doing that now. It is realistic to be aware of one's own short-comings and I was determined not to let fear overcome me and spoil our long-postponed holiday. And on that very positive note, I threw a couple of t-shirts and some shorts into a bag and off we went on our transatlantic flight to Kona, Hawaii, that took a total of 32 flying hours (excluding waiting time for connecting flights) with FOUR transit stops. We made the best use of our time stuck at airport terminals to freshen up in those numerous and HUGE toilet areas, and set loose our "shopper-saurus" instincts as we stuck our noses in every shop that was open :)

And I can honestly say now that being in a totally different environment offers independence.  There are too many (good) distractions that make you forget own fragile condition, and no one to remind you of your situation. Back in Topsham, nearly everyone I bump into in town would ask about my condition and remind me to "take it easy". I am sure it is all out of concern from their good hearts. But I often feel I mustn't be too chirpy because I am aware of some families with a cancer-victim in their midst. My seemingly remarkable speed of recovery can cause polar reactions and unnecessary emotional stress :( I will write more about this later.

Recollections of my first chemo infusion treatment on 4 may 2010

Jack took the day off to be with me (but that often means more rushing around as he tries to pack more in for the day).

We arrived on time at Cherry Ward, RD&E Wonford. Upon checking in with the receptionist and paying 20 pence for my special chemo-treatment parking permit, Jack was sent off to display the permit on the car dashboard while I made a cup of tea at the self service counter and helped myself to the complimentary chocolate biscuits. Nervous munching.

A few minutes later, with a mouthful of chocolate crumbs, I heard the matron call my name. She showed us into the room where two other patients' treatments were in process - an old gentleman in a reclining chair for chemo, and an old lady lying in a bed having a blood transfusion. Before my seat was warm, the old gentleman had finished with his treatment. After the nurse removed his intravenous tube, he promptly stood up, walking stick in hand and marched out of the room. Wow! I told the matron that I’d like to finish my treatment today just like that old gentleman! The matron smiled. Very diplomatic, I thought. She took my "appointed" arm and examined for a "good vein". In fact, she had been eyeing both my arms for as long as we've met! She said I've got generally good veins and she's looking for the straightest stretch of the vein to stick the needle in, and it is very important that I KEEP STILL. (Uh oh! Might I be dealing with a matron with shaky hands here.)? I decided the safest thing to do at this moment was to look away. Jack sat up from his chair next to me and pulled him closer to have a better view of the process ... You would never have guessed - the "straightest stretch" of my vein is half way up my arm towards my elbow! Thank goodness - her first attempt was successful and I was spared the trauma of multiple pricks! I was surprised that the matron had used a yellow needle contrary to my understanding that the smallest one (pink/red to my understanding) will be used. When I tried to verify that, the matron explained that surgery ward staff always tell patients they have used the smallest needle on them just to ease the patient's anxiety ... and because the needle has to cater for emergency situations, all surgery patients are given the biggest red/pink needle as a precaution - which was what I had :0 (mental note for future hospitalization: Never trust what those hospital staff says again!)

After reconfirming who I am (to ensure that I haven't transformed into someone/something else between the waiting room and the treatment room), the matron and a staff nurse go through a dual-control procedure that made me laugh. OK. It is important to avoid giving the wrong medication to a patient, but isn't now a bit late for this? The matron said it isn't as she has only started flushing my vein with glucose and the second was a bag of anti-sickness. No medication has been administered as yet. (Hmmm .... "glucose"? Goodness! Aren't they supposed to sedate me rather than get me bouncing off the wall!?!)

The staff excused themselves for some reason and I jumped at the opportunity to say a little prayer with Jack. We committed the time to God and trust in Him that this is the process He has planned for me. And that we accept that if we cannot conceive in future, it is also His perfect plan for our marriage. We left our hopes at His feet.

1:00PM: The point of no return. Poor Jack had to put up with my crying when the matron plugged the Oxaliplatin to my intravenous tube. So, you see, I'm not that brave after all. So much went through my head (ouch!), I was hyperventilating! One thought was a death sentence scene from a movie (been watching Prison Break with Jack the night before). Not a good start ... I shall remember to reboot my mind to think of something else next time. But the main thought was around the possible damage to my ovaries :( As a healthy individual, I was sitting there helplessly waiting for this bagful of poison to flow inside me and cause havoc and destroy the very life form that constitutes to my well being now. I had this huge urge to pull the intravenous needle out of my arm. The thought was quickly quashed - you should have seen the way the matron had criss-crossed tape over the needle to ensure it stayed where it should! Darn!

For the past weeks, I had put aside all the bits that I was to take with me on my chemo treatment. Guess what? As we rushed out of the door, I totally forgot about the bag with my lemon-flavored ginger preserves (courtesy of my Hong Kong friends), my iPod (soft, soothing music was highly recommended but I think I'll stick to ACDC), etc. Useless. Just as I NEED them most HERE & NOW! Thank goodness Jack managed to find some Polo Mints at the hospital newsstand. I scoffed them up like I've never before to overcome a horrible taste of metal that came on so quickly in my mouth! Blah! Yurk! :(

As the Oxaliplatin has to be packed in an ice sleeve to stay cold, it is very cold when it entered my vein. The freeze seized the muscles of my entire arm :( A little electric blanket to offer a bit of relieve is wrapped around my scrawny arm. However, my arm was ceasing up all the way up my shoulder during the whole process that took more than two hours. Although there are no bruises from the process, my whole arm feels like it's taken a few hard punches even at this time :( (mental note for next treatment: offer other arm!)

And you must know what nervousness makes one do? Yeap. Go to the toilet. Picture me dragging this wheeler-pole with a big bag of drip along a corridor THREE times (that's a total of six trips)! The other patients must think I have a terribly weak bladder ... Brian was expressionless on my third trip. Not surprised.

Just after 4PM, the pump box on my wheeler-pole bleeped. That means the process has completed. Hooray! The matron came and replaced the tube with another bag of glucose to "flush" my vein again :) (Ha! This one is to boot me up like it did that old gentleman earlier!) She also took the opportunity to brief me on the bagful of boxes of tablets I am to take when I get home. I was too anxious to get out and nodded to everything she said and hoped that Brian was listening.

I felt fine so as we were walking through the hospital, I was saying to Jack perhaps we might take a drive to Budleigh Salterton beach for a stroll before we went home. The instant I stepped beyond the automatic doors of the hospital on to the road towards the car park, a gust of wind brought severe pins-and-needles sensation to my hands and face. While Jack continued to walk ahead of me, I had made a u-turn and walked straight back into the hospital and stood in a corner, crying in shock! It was nearly a whole minute before Jack came looking for me and found me. I huddled up to him and he held me tight and walked briskly towards our little car. The pins-and-needles just won't go away no matter how I rubbed my hands to warm them :( When we got home and I tried to open the door, I got "zapped" again. (mental note: gloves!!!) Soon, nausea set in and I was not much company the rest of the evening. Jack made mash from scratch and we had my favorite Birds Eye fish fingers with it. Swallowing was difficult and Jack sat with me for a long time after he had finished his meal, just to make sure I finished mine too.

8 o'clock is no longer a time I want to see on my clock anymore. This is the appointed hour, day and night, for taking my THREE ENORMOUS 500gm chemo tablets, The XELODA pill, Capecibabine, that MUST NOT be broken up to smaller pieces for easy consumption. The matron said it is important to take them whole within 30 minutes of having food :( (now why did I remember THAT part of her lengthy instructions?). There are two different types of anti-nausea tablets to confuse things further. It took me nearly twenty minutes to swallow all those tablets. Each one seemed to rock down my throat in the bumpiest way possible - much like trying to slide down a tunnel lined with crumpled newspapers! Like I said in my last email, I have to tilt my head back and stretch my throat to attempt to create a straighter path (like the giraffe at Longleat safari park!), and stroke my throat with one hand to ease the tablets down. I vaguely recall the matron also mentioned that the tablets must not be taken with some kind of fruit juice. Well, I can't remember if it was grapefruit or cranberry juice. To avoid disaster, I took the tablets with warm water. And right now, water tastes like custard gone bad :( (mental note: must find a safe place to store these poisonous tablets away from our usual meds in case Jack reaches out for the wrong thing in the middle of the night!)

My highly exaggerated sensitivity to cold means no ice-cream treats :( (And I had just stocked up on tubs of my favorite Haagen Dazs flavors the day before! Boo!)

Concentration - nowhere to be found. Could hardly read five sentences and my eyes start to blur. The connection from eye to brain (ouch!) seem to be disconnected ... It has taken me many attempts to write this email.

Hands and feet - thank goodness it is only the cold I am ultra sensitive to. Can't imagine having to miss my daily hot shower ... standing under a hot running shower has been the highlight of my days post surgery. I miss having a bubble bath. But I'm not about to risk it with my stoma. Jack treated me to a hand massage in the evening after my tablets. A tube of some form of cream came with my tablets and I'm supposed to apply it twice a day on my hands and feet to overcome possible flaking! :0 (at the time of sending this email, my hands have started to flake)

And speaking of stoma - for the first time, I'm grateful to have stoma. Diarrhea is a common side effect during chemo treatment. Imagine the number of loo trips I'll be making through the night and day if not for my stoma bag!

Sleep - The good thing about lying in the bedroom means I can hear the local church bells ringing last night (Thursday)  :) Bless my fellow bell ringers, who must have put in extra effort to ring those melodious changes. All this sleeping in the day is causing me to be awake by 4AM :( We woke up this morning (Friday) wondering if we have a proper new government. No such luck. :0

Quick update after first chemo infusion

I know you must be anxious to hear from me. I will write in detail (from my notes I'm taking along the way) when I feel better but right now, I can only muster this much...

In a nutshell - I survived my first chemo infusion on Tuesday. A total volume of 542 ml of an Oxaliplatin and glucose concoction infusion was successfully administered intravenously over just two hours. The ice pack cover over the infusion bag was dubiously labeled "CAUTION CYTOTOXIC DRUG - Vesicant". They may as well have simply put the pirate's skull-and-cross-bones sign across it! I'm currently experiencing the worse end of the possible side effects described in the literature:
1) Severe pins-and-needles sensation in both hands (versus "tingling at finger tips"). Hands are very stiff - I can't curve my fingers over my computer-mouse. I'm typing only with my index fingers!
2) Extremely sensitive to cold - touching a doorknob or cup is like holding a block of ice in my bare hands! Sensation is HIGHLY exaggerated.
3) Throat seems to have shrunk at least half in size and the membranes seem to have wrinkled up like crushed paper - apart from liquid, everything I try to swallow seems to get stuck just two inches behind my throat :( I've come up with a solution - think giraffe!
4) Appetite nowhere to be found - actually forgot to have lunch yesterday 'cause didn't feel hungry at all :( Sad when you think how much I love my food...
5) fatique, Fatique, FATIQUE - this needs no elaboration. Branson must be annoyed to have to share the bed with me ALL day versus the norm of having it all to himself during the day!

Will be interesting when the rest of the possible side effects set in i.e. memory loss! Hahahaha! Might be a good idea 'cause I won't even remember the reason for popping those huge tablets!

Please continue to pray for Jack. I've not seen him so worried...

p.s. Buddy should be completing his Topsham tour and leaving the UK to embark on his world tour beginning with the USA by mid next week.

10 weeks post surgery

I guess this is as good as it gets - I've been out and about on my bicycle around Topsham, met up with colleagues for curry and a pint (of Guinness), and even been to cheer the Exeter Chiefs on to beat Nottingham 53-10 on Saturday! If that wasn't impressive, Jack drove nearly 300 miles between Sunday and Monday bank holiday for what was supposed to be a straight forward overnight trip to visit his grandparents, but we were misled by his Blackberry and made several big, loopy u-turns and numerous circling around round-abouts, before we finally got to Basingstoke. On our way back the next day, we tried to take the scenic coastal route home but instead, detoured south for a stopover at an antique fair and then on to a guided tour of Goodwood House, followed by cream teas. Details of these to follow in another email.

But the highlight of last week has got to be Sunday's Great West Run! I wish I were running instead of standing in the wind and drizzle to cheer. And the funniest part was I totally missed Clare crossing the finish. After standing in the cold and wet for more than two hours, and assessing the state of the female runners returning, I told Jack that I'm sure Clare can run "faster than this lot!". A quick text to Clare confirmed my fears. Apparently, I was distracted by a runner dressed as a Roman warrior (and then there was this very cute penguin, and a very tall scarecrow that seemed to be dragging along an allotment plot, and there were these two very blue Avatar characters that I mistook for Smurfs, and a loo complete with toilet brush in one hand, and what looked like a three-legged race but turned out to be a runner helping another half-dead runner along!). For a first attempt, Clare did extremely well at 2 hours 7 minutes for a half-marathon! She's very pleased with her own performance, and can't wait to participate in next year's race. We want to THANK YOU all for donating generously towards the GBP750.00 that Clare raised for my charity of choice - FORCE cancer Charity. Great work, Clare!

Amidst a week packed with activities (plus packing jars with homemade onion chutney and pickling shallots!), the hospital had my emotions in a state like that of a yo-yo. Not only was my original pre-chemo preparation appointment on Tuesday morning cancelled due to a shortage of staff (a knock-on effect from the volcanic ashes incident), I was told my chemo treatment might have to be rescheduled! (That was when the "yo-yo" effect felt more like a roller coaster). After a few desperate phone calls to the various oncology departments of the hospital, my cancelled appointment was reinstated to 'postponed to Friday afternoon'. Now that all the boxes have been ticked, latest blood samples taken, scores of forms completed in duplicates (for the Scot Trial), my height and weight measured and recorded, there is no turning back :( My mind has been on overdrive (ouch!) all week in reassessing over and again, every step that we have taken to reach our decision - the decision that would impact our lives in such a profound way - so profound that we mustn't hold our breath, because ... Even though we have understood the importance of seeking chemotherapy now and all it's possible side effects, I cannot help but feel that it is the death sentence to my hope of having our own child. During the week, I had made several calls to the hospital's fertility department to try to understand how the consultant had given his advice without ever having spoken to me. I repeatedly asked to speak to the consultant but the earliest available appointment is late June. I explained to his staff that I am running out of time (chemo due to start shortly) and I need to know why haven't I been offered the opportunity to have my eggs frozen. Her answer finally came after consulting with her boss - "you are 46; the cut off age is 45". For the first time since my diagnosis in January, I felt angry at my situation. (By the way, I found out that chopping onions to make chutney is a great way to relieve stress and emotions 'cause of the tearing effect)

Praise God for His mercy and faithfulness - I have been randomized for the short chemo course of 12-weeks starting Tuesday, 4th May. We are very grateful for your prayers - God has heard them all.

The agonizing wait is finally over. Come Tuesday 12:30PM, there will be no looking back when my first chemo cycle begins.

Hug Mission

Well, if you weren't affected by the volcanic-ash incident then you're lucky! I'm not the one traveling but my pre-chemo appointment at the hospital yesterday, has had to be postponed to Friday due to a shortage of staff. Bummer. Anyway, ...

I woke up on Monday morning and had a great idea (ouch!). Must be the result of an overdose of fresh air (on the Dartmoor lakes where we spent the weekend fly-fishing) and the glorious sunshine (hahaha! Jack went to work with a somewhat red nose that morning!).

Since the start of my communication in January, when I was first diagnosed, I've been receiving numerous responses from friends all around the world.  I am very touched by everyone's kind words of wisdom, encouragement and prayers.  All your messages during these past few months have been received with great appreciation.  I want to give everyone a hug - but I won't be traveling for quite a while.  A reply email or even a hand-written note just doesn't seem to convey my heartfelt gratitude.  And so, I've decided to send my little Buddy around the world to my friends, one by one, to deliver a hug from me!  It will involve your participation with a fresh A5 or A4 envelope plus cost of postage to the next hug-recipient.  To avoid unforeseen circumstances that may lead to misuse of the contact list (and to add to my excitement of being able to monitor Buddy's whereabouts on a daily basis), I will email the onward address to Buddy's current host.  Here's how it will happen:-

1) You will receive Buddy together with my notebook in your post/mail
2) Please write a message and sign the notebook
3) Allow Buddy to deliver my hug and a snuggle to you and your family :)  Please, please do not leave Buddy unattended with your little children or pets (dog, cat, snake, etc) while he is in your care
4) You can email me updates while you're hosting Buddy, or even a photo of yourself with Buddy
5) Email me to obtain Buddy's onward destination if you haven't already heard from me
6) Please put Buddy and my note book in a fresh envelope with the correct details and the appropriate postage for him to reach his destination

For this project, Buddy will have to cover the east and west coasts of the United States of America, New Zealand, Australia, Singapore, Hong Kong, Japan, China and the United Kingdom. I wonder how long it'll take and what state Buddy will come back to me in...

N.B. If you do NOT wish to play host to Buddy for whatever reason (no worries!), please drop me a line as soon as you've received this email.  Hosts are kindly requested to avoid keeping Buddy for more than a couple of days. He mustn't overstay his welcome and more important - he has an important mission to accomplish for me!

I will delve into my Christmas card list for your snail-mail addresses.  When I've exhausted my address book, I'll email for your individual postal address.  I'm REALLY excited now! Hope you are too! :)

Jack’s Birthday Present

So cute or what? It is NOT a mouse. It is a hamster (as the lady in the shop corrected me). There wasn't much available with "40" and so I bought this cute little thing with a "4" and did some DIY by sticking a mini Cheerio cereal on the end :) Jack loved it!

Hope not too many of you have had to change your travel plans due to the Icelandic volcanic ash. TGIF. Enjoy the sunshine! :)

Two Weeks Gone

Where have the last TWO WEEKS gone?  I recall the excitement of finding my Hotel Chocolate Easter Egg from Jack under the stairs in, what I call the "Harry Potter" room. Half the shell of the egg is kept in a jar, but the cute chocolate-coated biscuits inside disappeared very quickly ... burp! (Excuse me!)  Jack's mum and dad got us each a polka-dotted chocolate egg and plus a Lucy Lamb (Easter chocolate range from M&S) from my colleague! So, we had a very egg-citing Easter weekend watching the Malaysian Grand Prix (finally - way to go Vettel!) over a constant flow of toasted hot-cross buns! And who would have guessed that a horse with the name "Don't Push It" and paid 20-1 odds, would win the Grand Nationals last Friday? I did :) A GBP2 bet on either way paid GBP54! Actually, I might consider a career as a professional punter ... (joking lah!)

I want to thank all your emails and text messages during this past two weeks when you haven't heard from me. Apart from having to concentrate on nursing our nasty colds and coughs, we have life-impacting decisions to make - a position that we'd rather not be in. Life has not been the same since our initial meeting with the chemo specialist on 1st April. Dr Osbourne first explained that she is ordering an MRI to confirm that a cyst on my liver is not cancer. I have no knowledge of any cyst on my liver till then. (Should we ask for a PET scan instead so we can be absolutely sure???) ... Worrying ... Within minutes, everything else paled against the list of possible side effects - from mouth sores to heightened sensitivity to cold, and bone diseases to bringing forward menopause; of which the one that threatens fertility caught our full attention. We asked for more time to consider our options. We were reminded that chemotherapy is most effective between the 8th and 10th weeks post surgery. Our hospital liaison was most helpful and promised to secure soonest appointments for an MRI, and another to see a fertility specialist.

The MRI appointment took place last Thursday on 8th April. Jack was comatose from Night Nurse for his cold, and so I took a bus to the hospital. I was so proud of myself :) I was in the MRI tunnel for more than 30 minutes. A dye was induced intravenously for the second half of the scan. When the nurse removed the drip needle from my arm after the whole procedure, my blood just shot out of my arm and created quite a mess around the room. Another nurse helped me to the changing/waiting area with my basketful of belongings. The sight of my blood-stained gown and the streak of fresh blood down my arm were enough to bring on such jaw-dropping expressions from those waiting for their turns to be scanned...

An appointment with the fertility specialist never came through, but a letter did arrive with the suggestion of using "donor eggs" when we are ready to conceive. (Shock) (How does using someone else's eggs be considered having one's own child? That's 50% at best!) In short, my eggs are not worth harvesting and freezing due to my age :( In view that menopause might set in before I can have a chance to recuperate after the whole course of chemotherapy (standard course is 6 months), chances of having our own child is looking remote :((  It doesn't matter that I don't look and behave my age, nor how healthy and active I was before the diagnosis ... Divine intervention is our only hope.

And so, at our second meeting with Dr Osbourne yesterday, we confirmed that I would take the oncology team's advice and proceed with chemotherapy. There is an opportunity to punt (seriously) for a shorter 3-month course - the Scot Trial, which is a research conducted nation-wide to prove that a 3-month course of chemo treatment is just as effective as the standard 6-month course. I have signed up to participate, and will know if I am lucky to be randomized for the 3-month course after my pre-chemo tests on 27th April. Meanwhile, the first cycle is scheduled for 4th May. Because it's Jack’s 40th birthday on Wed 21st April, and my doctors are very nice to accommodate my request for a week free of hospital appointments :)

We are still struggling to come to terms with our decision, and so your continued prayers for both Jack and myself during this time are most appreciated.

The weather in the southwest continues to be sunny :) Here's wishing you a very pleasant weekend, wherever you are ... (ok. who's going to win the Shanghai Grand Prix this weekend?)

Easter bunny or chick?

The fluoroscope was the most unpleasant experience at the hospital thus far - not only was I not offered an intro to the procedure, I was left soaking in a puddle of sticky fluid :( ... but I did catch a glimpse of the x-ray vision of my colon on the computer screen. A normal colon usually forms a rectangle around the abdomen. Well, my colon now has a triangular formation :0 I guess I should be thankful that there weren’t any fluorescent sprays showing up around the stitched area!!!

Just under 24 hours to our meeting with the chemo specialist to work out my course schedule. I am as nervous as can be. Not looking forward to it but am glad the wait is over.

Last but not least, I am sure many of us will be taking time off during this Easter long weekend (only my husband thinks Easter is NEXT weekend!), and so I'll like to take this opportunity to wish everyone a very happy and meaningful Easter. We'll have to do our Easter egg hunt indoors hee-hee I've got a lot of time to hide the eggs than Jack so I'm likely to win this time. We shall see :) ... Go easy on the chocolate Easter eggs!

The sun is out :)

Happiness is …

... sitting in the Saturday afternoon sun, watching the Exeter Chiefs beat London Welsh 32-6 :)

... having a permanent smile - imagine my belly-button is my nose, and my scar from the surgery happens to be positioned below it – just like a smile! :)

... being booed by my mates (of whom none are size 12 or below) for complaining about having to get a new wardrobe (to accommodate stoma) in SIZE 10

... having lovely sunshine and a clear blue sky when you know it's snowing up North :)

Introducing Buddy

Buddy was a gift from my mum-in-law to "substitute"  Branson; when he was unable to share my small hospital bed. As you can see from the first photo, Buddy has a wind-swept look about him - both his 3-inch long ears are often resting together on one side. Buddy is 10-inch tall in total from the tip of his toe to the tip of his ears. He is what you would call - "not a tall guy". Unlike Branson. At the hospital, I was always afraid of losing him to visiting children of my roommates. One morning, a very efficient nurse, while changing my bed sheets, accidentally flicked Buddy into the air.  Poor guy landed behind the headboard that was attached to the wall! I had a hard time retrieving him with a ruler borrowed from the Ward's reception desk! From then on, Buddy is secured to me and followed me everywhere (please see photo2). Why the name "Buddy"? He is my stoma buddy. Buddy's brown patch on his body is where my stoma is situated on mine :)

ok. Who ordered clouds this week?

5 weeks post surgery

Thank you all for your great encouragement of my pursuit of a "Blue Badge/Label". Upon checking on their website, one has to be assessed on your mobility on several occasions before such a coveted badge is awarded. Now, I know I'm walking at a pace slower than my oldest fellow bell ringer (approx. 86) but I'm not prepared to break a leg. But mind you, the badge would be most useful if Brian were to take me on a road trip around Europe because, apparently, the badge is good for all EU countries! Think again...

Guinness extra stout: Never underestimate the nutritional value of a pint of Guinness Stout - my rugby physio used to tell me.  But I do remember feeling a lot less sore the day after a game, if I had a pint post game. With the current very short list of things that I can eat, I'm willing to try anything! I toyed with the idea of evaporating the alcohol by putting the (opened) can in hot boiling water, but the thought of warm stout put me off :( So, I risk disaster (with stoma) and drank a small glass of the ultra dark-brown liquid that smells like toaster malts. Soon after, stoma hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiised in disapproval :( Never know, till you have tried ... Anyway, I thought you might be interested to know stoma's reaction to the various foods I eat:
carrots & spinach - splutter
peas - spit
canned peaches - gurgle
macaroons - hiiisss

TCM: It is interesting to know so many are curious about the outcome of taking TCM. Unlike western medicine, TCM works slowly and only after taking six doses, my second tongue snap shot to my brother-in-law had this response: "... Not sure if you felt more energetic after taking the concoction, but your general facial appearance looked very much better than the previous shot.  You appeared less listless with stronger circulation; general indications of improving GI or absorption that promote better blood flow.  This could also be due to your being able to sleep better. Not being able to see the back of your tongue, I cannot comment if there is any dampness in the body or otherwise." (to which I promptly emailed him a close up snap shot of my tongue)

Each dose of the prescription comes in 14 little sachets to be dissolved in warm water for consumption. All I can say is, it isn’t something one drinks with gusto and enthusiasm (like you would Guinness). If you have had experience taking TCM in Asia, whether you brew it yourself or have it prepared at the TCM shop, you'd remember you get a "reward' in the form of a lemony-preserve (some kind of preserved fruit/plum) to 'clean' your palate with each prescription. Well, unfortunately, that "reward" is lacking here right now :(

Whoever ordered this continuous drizzle ...???

Praise God from whom ALL Blessings flow

Yes. I survived the scalpel procedure. But only for two bits before my knees buckled. James very kindly agreed to come back next week to deal with the other bits and the granuloma that has developed.

Your continued prayers are most appreciated. Please pray for Jack who is having an extremely busy time at work to meet deadlines. It is a different type of stress when he comes home and he's not had much personal time to exercise at the gym or relax. Please pray for sound sleep for both of us. I am pleased to report that I felt great for a couple of days after I was able to sleep through the whole night for several days, but that didn't last :(

Surprise visitor: A Long time friend from Hong Kong managed to find his way from London Heathrow airport to my doorstep in Top sham WITHOUT A SAT NAV! Well done! He was on his way to visit family in Bide ford, North Devon. After some catching-up chat over coffee and brownies, I asked him if there's anywhere he'll like to visit whilst in this part of town.  His eyes lit up, and with a wide grin on his face, very promptly said - yes! I'll like to meet Branson! :) awwwww bless!

Mademoiselle: As my stoma nurse (yes! Robbie Williams look-alike!) writes in his report - "... Emily is managing (her stoma) much more confidently" (thanks to rubber gloves!), however, I still struggled with one issue - smell. I am constantly spraying the house with air freshener. Jack says it's "in my nose". I think he's being polite. To help me overcome the feeling that I am taking "the smell" (of the contents from my stoma bag), my dear husband splurged on a bottle of eau de parfum - something sweet and lasting (but not pungent). A little squirt of the fragrance after my morning shower lasts all day :)

Snapshot of my tongue: Bless my mum (in Singapore). She's desperate to help me recuperate before the onslaught of chemotherapy. She's persuaded me to try some Chinese tonic. For those unfamiliar with TCM, the condition of one's tongue reveals the state of one's health. Mum assured me that no preparation will be required - the tonic will come in powder form, to be mixed with warm water for consumption. Thank goodness! Otherwise, Jack will be overwhelmed by the smell and move to a nearby B&B if I have to brew the tonic! The following are comments from my brother-in-law after reviewing my photos:

"It was very smart of you to forward 2 photos, one a full facial shot and another close up of your tongue.  Your full facial shot tells me that you are indeed very weak.  There was lesser intelligence in your eyes, your tongue was pale and your skin lost its usual glow.  These are signs of qi dissipation and needs to be addressed immediately. Fortunately, there appeared little "dampness" in your body, but there is obvious heat in your heart or cardio-hematological system as well as the gastro-intestinal system.  So there is also a need to stabilize your GI system as well."

I had tears in my eye from laughing, and from the pain caused by laughing! Thanks, bro ... the last thing I am worried about now is "intelligence" (or a lack of)! Bless him.  He is a qualified Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) practitioner a.k.a "Chinese doctor" in Singapore. He is a corporate employee by day and spends two evenings a week treating oncology patients!

THREE emails from me this week - am I feeling great or what? :) Indeed. Here's wishing you a fabulous weekend! Till my next entry..

The ex-Blood Donor

Coming from a traditional (and conservative) Chinese background, we were encouraged to help others in need in all ways possible, except in the form of blood donations. If ever, it should only be considered for a member of the immediate family. In the late 1980s when my father needed surgery in Singapore, family members were asked by the hospital to donate blood towards his surgery. If a family member is unable to do so, they are encouraged to get their friends to do so in their place. I can't remember for certain but I think the reason was because the blood bank in Singapore was experiencing an extremely low stock. Since making my first blood donation for my father, I have been a regular donor for my entire stay in Hong Kong. I used to threaten to make a withdrawal from the blood bank whenever I encountered a difficult or agonizing problem at work! A year ago in Topsham where we now live in the UK, I came across a sandwich board outside the local Matthew's (town) Hall, with an invitation to enter and give blood. I did. And since then, they have been sending me regular invitations ahead of the NHS team's visit to Topsham. I received an invitation last week and so I thought I'll give them a call (No! Not to make a withdrawal!) So my slot can be assigned to someone else. The conversation with the NHS Blood & Transplant receptionist, Kate, went like this: -

E: I'm calling to let you know I won't be able to make the upcoming donation session. I'm due some chemotherapy in April, so I reckon I'll be able to do so by autumn. Please keep posted.
K: Silence.
E: Hello?
K: err ... What is your treatment for?
E: Colon cancer.
K: err ... Mrs. Emily. I'm very sorry hear that you've been diagnosed with cancer. In that case, we will not be able to take your blood.
E: For how long?
K: We won't.
E: Not ever?
K: Correct. Even after your course of treatment, the disease may still exist in your blood and it is not safe to give your blood to another patient, who may be sick (and unable to fight the disease). Unless the rules (?) change, we'll have to take you off our register.
E: (feeling totally rejected [and embarrassed that I didn't have the common sense to figure THAT myself] and with a pout) ok...

After I put the phone down, it finally dawned on me - that I’d never be (treated) the same again. I am now under the protection of the Disability Discrimination Act (to put it nicely). Apparently, I have to inform our car and travel insurance underwriters because I am now classified as a Disabled individual :( Hmmm ... might I qualify for a blue label then? (A 'blue label' on your car windscreen allow you to park free in most restricted areas and with designated lots near building entrances!) (Wishful thinking...)

It’s me again

Thank you to all who responded to my last entry by sending me email with suggestions of recipes, books, remedies and concoctions. I promise I am reviewing every suggestion one by one to test for suitability. Thank you very much!

And for those who enquired about what a Goldilocks and the Three Bears chair look like - well, it was my way of description and I'm sure those who tried to look it up on the furniture books won't have a clue.  Please find the photo of my chair :)

Walking (a question of exercise): Walking is made a lot harder in the cold winds. I cringe when I feel a cold gust in my face and my whole back just tense up. Not to mention that the vibration from each little step travels up to the sore spot :( Jack has to make up all sorts of excuses and reasons to get me out of the house. One day, Jack had left my library books in Bubble (our little silver Audi TT), which was parked on The Strand near the museum. We had to get the books and return them before the library (located a bit further at the other end of town) closed that day (I hate fines). And then double back to the Co-Op for a loaf of WHITE bread on our way home. Guess what? It was so windy; we both jumped in the car and drove through town to complete those errands!

Crowning glory: I meant to, but never got round to getting a haircut before my surgery. The reflection on my mirror (especially first thing in the morning) reminds me of a gutter-rat! However, after some reading on chemotherapy, I've decided to postpone a much-needed haircut till after the initial few chemo cycles. Although they say I am unlikely to lose my crowning glory, knowing my luck and how abnormal my system can be, I should hate to see a good GBP30 haircut ruined...

"Robbie Williams": Since coming home, my most regular visitor (THREE times!) has been my stoma nurse, James Jewel. James is making another visit tomorrow to scalpel off some stitches that are showing up around my stoma (the stitches usually dissolve when in the flesh, but these have surfaced and hardened. Removing them is essential so they don't cause scratching vibes around stoma!). James has been really patient and helped change my supply (of stoma bags) to something with a more comfortable sticky. If I don't pass out during the scalpel procedure, I should reward him with a cup of tea and a piece of my infamous brownie! And yes, he looks like Robbie Williams!!! :)

The 6 Nations rugby has provided some entertainment but utterly disappointing results so far. I can't bear to watch this weekend's France vs. England game ... So glad that the Formula 1 Grand Prix season has started!

Something more fun :)

Apologies to those who have not been formally introduced to Branson. Please see attached.

The following are a few amusing incidents that happened over the last week or so:

Brief Mission - My parents-in-law were marvelous when they were baby-sitting me last week. Not only did they rose up to the responsibility and challenges of watching over an individual who's not used to sitting still, they managed to accomplish a very important Brief Mission. Coming from the hospital with a horizontal (so called 'bikini line') wound from the operation and a stoma bag to consider, no normal young lady's underwear would accommodate the 'bulk'. After having done the amount of trawling online for suitable underwear, I think it is safe to say there are no size 8 grannies. Yeap. The sort of underwear that would comfortably avoid pressure on the wound and offer some support to the stoma bag is, unfortunately, the full briefs that grannies wear. Bless my mum-in-law who managed to secure the one and only 5-a-pack from the Exeter High Street M&S! Well done!

House Call - Apart from learning that I take 3 times longer (than an average patient) to come around from the same dose of anesthesia, I also learnt that I have a delicate stomach. The anti-inflammatory tablet I was prescribed was causing me increasing pain as the week progressed. While the pain from the wound is kept at bay, the discomfort in my stomach grew each day. Following two sleepless nights and nausea, Jack put his foot down and made a call to our local GP. Dr Turner very kindly agreed to make a house call, but only after he has finished with his day clinic. As the surgery is located nearby, he asked for the exact location of our house so he can come on his bike. What seemed like ages later, with my sleepy head under Branson, I heard a loud VRRROOOOM! Hey Presto! It's Dr Turner turning up for the house call on his super (motor) bike! And my mum-in-law thought he was coming on a pushbike!

2 men and 6 trips - to get a prescription from the local chemist. Yes. After Dr Turner left, both my father-in-law and Jack hurried to put on their coats to brave the cold winds to the local chemist before closing time (for a small town, closing time can be anything from 3PM). Soon after I heard the door shut, my mother-in-law walked into my bedroom waving a little green slip - yeap! The prescription. Mum called Jack's mobile but there was no answer. About 15 min later, the front door flew open. Mum hurried out and handed the slip to Jack. No need for any communication. It was understood. Shhhhhhh. About half an hour later, both men returned with bags full of food from the local green grocer's and biscuits (for my in-between snacking) from Arthur the butcher (apparently, the local Co-Op does NOT stock simple items like Jacob's cream crackers!). Before the shopping could be emptied, my father-in-law, arms in the air, hurried off to get his coat on again. Mum and I stared at each other, not knowing what as happening ... It seems like they have both forgotten to make their way home via the chemist to collect the prescription! I am most grateful to them, especially for making me laugh amidst the presence of pain. Bless them both :)

Now, please tell me you're smiling.

It’s been sunny in the Southwest

... but I'm afraid I haven't good news Bad news is always difficult to deliver, thus the delay in sharing this. Last Wednesday, the Nurse Specialist informed us that:
. All the cancer-affected bits have been removed from my body (hooray!)
. Out of the 29 lymph nodes removed, 9 had cancer :(
. Anything from 6 to 9 cycles of chemotherapy is highly recommended from April

My first appointment with the chemo specialist is scheduled for 1st April (I'm still hoping it's a joke!). Between now and then, I have to work very hard to gain my strength back. This 'task' is very challenging with stoma to consider. In order to avoid blockage problems, the list of food to avoid is about everything I usually eat on a daily basis i.e. granary bread, peas, and any high fiber fruit and vegetable you can think of. I can't remember when was the last time I had a slice of WHITE bread ... now, that is all I can have :( We learnt the hard way that crunchy carrots are also on the list of foods to avoid! We recently invested in a MagiMix food processor in anticipation of all the yummy soups we can churn out. Unfortunately, I'm struggling psychologically with the limited veg range of puree-like baby food because I want to feel normal by eating food I can actually chew :(

Although the Nurse assured me that chemotherapy has come a long way and is now tailored to the individual, it IS down to the individual's body (thanks!). Jack is devastated that I have to go through chemo. Please continue to keep us in your prayers - for physical and mental strength, as THIS is the real test of our faith. The surgery was peanuts!

Till my next update ...

I’m Home :) con't...

Wed 23rd Feb - Dr Ian Daniels shakes my hand and tells me to remember to give him the money when he walks into the bank with a gun. Conserved my energy for the big walk from Ward to car when Jack came to get me at 4:00PM. In-laws welcomed me home with a Goldilocks-&-the-3-bears chair (so I can sit in the sun on a fine day and read by the window).

Thurs 24th Feb - Lie in till 11am. District nurse visited and observed my stoma care ritual. Rained all day so no attempt made to venture out for a walk. All meals cooked and served up timely by Jack.

Fri 25th Feb - Took my first long walk from the house towards The Goat Walk and back. No panting. Good to fill my lungs with fresh air albeit cold.

Next week, I will be informed if chemo is recommended. If no further treatment is required, I will have a scan in four weeks to see if colon has healed well, and for the surgeon to decide if a reversal of the stoma is to take place.

Again, I am astonished at the number of replies I received after my initial "I'm sick" email.  Jack and I would like to sincerely thank everyone who made time from your busy schedules to pray for us.  Your prayers gave us the strength to see us through the two weeks up to the surgery and last week. We feel very blessed to have all your support in prayer, phone calls, text messages, emails, e-cards and post.

Till my next update, please stay in touch. :)

I’m Home :) con't...

Sun 21st Feb - Finally gave in to have a wash by the bed assisted by a nurse. Managed to get my mum on the phone and let her in the loop for the first time (you know what they say - parents are the last to know). Brother-in-law visits straight from ski trip in Chamonix. Continue to send incoherent text messages in an attempt to inform/reply. Desperate to get on with my reading. Decided to ease off the morphine to clear my head.

Mon 22nd Feb - Side effects of morphine set in - MASSIVE headache that was to last till Wed. Two draining tubes and the catheter were removed - yah! Freedom! First shampoo and shower. Spent most of the day with head under a pillow in pain. The noise generated by the non-stop activities in the Ward seemed amplified and unbearable. HSBC Exeter St Thomas colleagues Sue Willis, Matt Whale and Kate Williams dropped in at different times of the day. Experienced post-op trauma by way of nightmares and jerking in my sleep. Getting out of bed several times a night to use the loo is exhausting.

I’m Home :) con't...

Fri 19 Feb - A male and a female physio helped me out of bed to walk out of the Ward and back. That was a massive effort with so many tubes and dangly bits hanging off me. Jack was misinformed and arrived 30 min before visiting started, so got thrown out by the staff nurse. He came back at 2:30PM promptly everyday and stayed till 8:00PM when the matron threw him out. Prescribed antihistamine for severe itching from use of morphine. Discovered the number of ab muscles one uses to sneeze and/or cough (and the post-op brochure instructs to cough as much as possible to rid mucus retained in lungs!).


Sat 20th Feb - Made BIG mistake of having a piece of toast for breakfast - ouch! Father-in-law visited. Mother-in-law stayed home with her cough. Plucked up enough courage to lift the sheets to look at my wounds. Discover that I have had to have a stoma. Depressed with and embarrassed by my stoma's behavior - making loud spitting and oozing sounds when you least expect it. Even more depressed with accident of stoma bag exploding under the sheets! Observed how quickly my 2-litre (urine) bag gets filled up. Experimented further with the morphine injector. Only 33 shots used in total.

I’m Home :)

I don't think I have ever spent so much time glued to a bed as I have in the last 10 days.  The following is an attempt to recall what had happened:


Wed 17 Feb – Branson (my stuffed toy companion) and I were officially checked in at The RD&E Wonford at 6:15PM. The nurses were real sweet and gave Branson an identity wristband. Jack and I prayed together in the chapel.


Thurs 18 Feb - Before I could say, "I need a pee", a surgery staff dawned on me - putting on compression socks (hey! I can do that myself if you leave them on my bed!), registering my blood pressure (low as ever), temperature (normal), etc. A smiley-faced lady measured and made markings on my belly. Then a very matronly lady nurse walked me towards the operating theatre. As I looked totally able, I was asked to haull myself onto the steel-operating table. I let out a scream when my flesh touched the cold surface of the table!  The anesthetist who I met a few minutes earlier at my bedside, held my right hand out for a somewhat sheepish-looking girl to stick a needle in. She succeeded on her 4th attempt and I remember nothing thereafter. After 4 hrs of surgery and another 6 hrs in the recovery room, I was finally wheeled to the Lyme Ward. Jack had to take Branson home 'cause the nurses were concerned about being able to access my tubes and arms quickly in case of an emergency.


…sorry, I have to stop now and I will update tomorrow.

Speedy Gonzales

Everything is moving VERY quickly now - its go Go GO!


I received a call from The Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital (Wonford) at 6:20 PM last night, with the good news confirming my surgery date for Thursday, 18th February (correct! 5th day of Chinese New Year!) Your continued prayers are much needed and very much appreciated. I am pleasantly surprised at the number of friends in distant places (who have somewhat lost touched over the last 3 years) who have recently written to me with encouragement and words of wisdom. Please pray especially for Jack as he has a lot to cope with his upcoming work appraisal, maintaining his workload, office move next weekend, and my situation. He's been down with the shakes and temperature all week now and hasn’t been able to get rid of it :(


The exact time of my surgery is not known but I know I will be checking in to the Hospital the night before. And so my next update could be before or after the surgery.


Thank you once again for all your kind thoughts and friendship.

I’m sick :(

On Wednesday, 13th January 2010, I was diagnosed with colon/bowel cancer. It wasn't till I had to break the news to Jack that I cried a bit - for spoiling our plans to travel to Hawaii for his 40th birthday in April. I worry that Jack might possibly become a very young widower. Our finances should be OK as I've got eight weeks paid leave from work and then I've got HSBC Life (Sickness Choice) cover if I need to take more time to recover from the surgery. My other worry will come if I have to undergo chemo. The doctors won't know till after the surgery specimen has been tested. Jack's direct boss is very understanding and has arranged for him to work from home during the immediate weeks after my surgery. I don't know what to expect, and don't want to speculate 'what might'. Those who know Jack, please lend him your support in whatever way you feel appropriate. Those who believe in God, please pray for me - to continue to have faith in God and to feel his guidance and protection. I am sure that if I didn't have God in me, I won't be this calm!


I will know when the surgery is due by 3rd Feb and keep you posted. I hope you will support me by writing to me. I have a feeling I'm not very good at staying at home for an extended period of time. The weather in the UK is a bit too cold to wonder outdoors after surgery ... and I'll certainly miss the good old Chinese style of chicken soup to aid recovery.


Till my next update :)


P.S. Those who know my mum, please don't mention this to her as I'm planning to call her before my surgery!!!