Saturday, 13 October 2018

Still me!

Well my wonderful bloglets,

I can’t believe how long it’s been since I’ve posted on here. Although this seems to be a theme. Now that I write for an American company and it has to be unique stuff for them, I write loads for them and neglect here. But. Not today!

So I still feel like me and it’s FUCKING AMAZING! I am also genuinely thinking about going running again! I just have to be careful as I do a lot of dog walking, I don’t want to completely fuck myself with running as well.

I think the biggest thing that I’ve been able to do on the new drug is to cook in a Friday evening and have friends over for supper. I haven’t been able to do this in EIGHT YEARS!!! So that’s pretty fucking fabulous.

I can get through the day AND evening on 9 hours sleep. Admittedly I’m tired at the end of the day, and I should reallly get more than that as my mother pointed out that I’m still on an oral chemotherapy. But. I can. And it’s not the same tired. It’s not the heavy fatigue. I had one day where that returned and I thought it was all over. The new me. But I think it was a blip. I had just done too much. I think the week before I had been out every night! AND I ALSO HAVENT WORRIED ABOUT HOW MUCH SLEEP I’LL GET EACH NIGHT IN WEEKS.

I can also stand up and other than that one blip, I haven’t word my ‘Cancer On Board’ and ‘please offer me a seat’ badges since my chemo break! AND I DON’T WORRY ABOUT NEEDING TO SIT DOWN WHEN I’M OUT AND ABOUT

Work is so much busier. I’ve had quite a few new patients book in who have come to me via my website/online. It’s like the universe knows I can deal with it.

I feel like this might all sound a bit, I don’t know, not excited or happy enough. I really am. I just pray to fuck that it’s working. I find out a week on Monday. I am on the lowest dose do my consultant can increase it. I just worry that the increased dose will potentially mean that I won’t feel as good. I’ve never worried about blood test results. Not once in over 11 and a half years, so it’s weird to be worried. I try not to focus  on it. What will be will be. I just really hope that it is controlling my leukaemia rate and it hasn’t shot up.

So with so much hope,

Tuesday, 4 September 2018

Aaaaaaaand I'm BACK!!

Well Bloglets,

I know it's been a while.....

So.  You won't believe it.  A HAPPY ME!!!  I know.  A rarity.  I'm fully aware of that.  It's just a fucker that it mainly happens when I'm off treatment, which as you all well know is not often and not for long.

I thought I had better document it before it went and I'm miserable and whingy again.  Because I know how much you all love that.....

I have been off treatment for nearly 2 weeks and I became myself again 7 days after coming off it which was incredible as I thought it would take 10 days.

I noticed when walking home last Thursday evening that I was me again. I'd had a late night on Wednesday and wanted to go to bed at 8pm, but it was a friends birthday so I didn't get to bed until around 11.30... I didn't have a great nights sleep and definitely didn't get enough that I needed and was slightly worried as I had a busy day the following day ending with 3 massage clients at 7.30.  So to say I was slightly worried about how I was going to do it was an understatement.  For the last few weeks the fatigue had been fucking horrific.  I wasn't coping.  I was always going to go home on the Thursday evening for the bank holiday weekend to have the Friday off as well, but I had to head out at lunchtime.  I had so much work I needed to do but I couldn't think.  I couldn't function.  I was in Pret getting some lunch and phoned home and cried because I was so exhausted I couldn't make a decision about what to eat.  I didn't feel hungry which didn't help even though I knew I was.  All I could acknowledge was the exhaustion.  I had felt like that for a couple of weeks because I had a weekend of fun.  And because my energy was getting worse and worse anyway as it seems to do (it's an accumulative effect of the drugs) and not having a weekend to sit and do nothing because I went to a friends wedding, which was magical and I wouldn't have missed it for the world.  I fucked myself severely and suffered.


And I've been me again for nearly a week. And I might have overdone the whole being excited about not needing sleep so I might not have actually had enough... so today I feel tired.  But.  It's NOTHING compared to how it was.  To try and explain a bit.  On Saturday night I only had 8 hours sleep and on Sunday, after spending another weekend at home for my Grandmothers birthday, I got the train back arriving around 6pm.  I then had the energy to cook for the week and to do some cleaning/tidying.  And it was fine.  I could do it.  I can stand up without it exhausting me.  It's just.  Well there are no words.

And it's when I feel like this, when I am fully me again.  The me that can get so much done.  That I think.  Fuck yes to the transplant.  I'll smash it!  Why wouldn't I do it for the possibility to feel like this ALL the time!!!

And when my parents and family notice how I am.  That I'm different. In a good way.  They notice the change.  And someone else said to me last week how nice it is to see me like this.  To be able to formulate a sentence at the end of the day without the effort being too much.  And when I'm asked how I am and I say that I'm well and I MEAN it!  Rather than thinking, you have no idea how I really feel.

In two days, this Thursday I'm back at the hospital to get the new drug.  And I have my fingers crossed.  And I hope.  And it's fitting that it's Blood Cancer Awareness Month for all of this to be happening.  And I hope that I raise some awareness with this.  To show how it can be.  How it really is.  It can be so fucking awful.  And then I get a window of amazing which I will hold on to.

So I will be back really soon.  If, IF I get side effects from Asciminib I will know pretty quickly...

With love and hope as always,

Thursday, 12 July 2018

It’s all about me. Isn’t it?

I know I have a massive WHAT ABOUT ME complex. Also known as middle child syndrome and also getting so much attention since my diagnosis. Which has lessened over the years. Obviously. It’s old news. Time moves on. Other people get Cancer. Die from cancer. Get married. Have babies. Buy houses. Change jobs. All these things are important to them. I get that. I really do. 


What about me? And trust me. I’m so fucking bored of it all. More than you are. 11 and a half years. So. Fucking. Dull. I wish it was over. That I could move on. That I could...Well. My parallel life. And it’s not to say I won’t. Tick tock. Tick tock. 

The NHS was 70 last week and all I saw were posts saying how amazing it is and how people are happy it’s saved them. And it is. I mean it’s been completely broken by the general public using it for what it’s not meant to be for. For too many chronically ill people like me draining resources. For people demanding aspirin on free prescription instead of paying 70p for it in the shop. And so much more. 

And I hate I cost so much. I feel very guilty about it. But at the same time I am grateful that I don’t get a bill every time I go to clinic and pharmacy. I wouldn’t be able to pay for it if I had to on an ongoing basis. I am so grateful for all of those who pay their taxes that pays for my treatment. 

And yet. Am I grateful that the NHS has saved my life? Honestly? I don’t know. This is of course said knowing that I won’t die. I might feel very differently if I was saying goodbye to my life right now. 

I seem to be writing on a topic I wasn’t going to. Obviously I need to get it out. 

My fatigue is so fucking awful at the moment. It’s harder to be happy. 

And what about me? I write for an American site and occasionally I look at the comments and it’s interesting. They are all about themselves. No one really says ‘great blog’ or ‘thank you’ or ‘I feel the same’. Not that they should of course. That’s what I’m used to from the British people who read my blog. Getting support from them in their comments. Especially my Bloodwise gang. They keep it focused on me, not them. And another thing about the Americans is that they always mention Myeloma. I’ve got fucking CHRONIC MYELOID LEUKAEMIA. it’s DIFFERENT. Faaarking hell. And I don’t know if it’s because they want to mention Myeloma and increase awareness. Which is great obviously. Everyone thinks Myeloma is skin cancer. But. I don’t fucking have that fucking cancer. And it pisses me off. 

I could not write for them. But. It would be one less opportunity to talk about me. 

I’m so fed up of it all. It’s exhausting. I get a chemo break in just over 2 week’s for 2 week’s. I can’t wait. I should get 4 days of being me again. If my leukaemic rate has dropped enough I’m going to ask for a dose reduction on Monday. It hasn’t dropped as fast as my consultant would like though to date. 

I’m the joys of spring today... at least I have a tan. And this makes me happy. 

Started thinking about another tattoo.... an elephant. To remind me to be strong. They are my spirit animal. I love them so much. Always have done. 

With love and hope. Always hope. Even if it’s whinging hope. 


Sunday, 1 July 2018

I’m still here

I haven’t written in ages. So many times I’ve had sentences float in to my head but I haven’t sat down and typed. Might be because I now blog for an American site so use up a fair amount of my writing on that. I have to write original stuff for them, which is fine, I just feel I have neglected this is in a while. 

I don’t even know where to start. I gave up drinking 10 years ago today. I never thought it would be a permanent stop. I was only going to have a pause over the summer to let my liver have a break and start again after 3 months. And then 3 months turned into a year, and a year turned into 10. I don’t miss drinking. Well. Sometimes I do. But I think I can count the number of times I’ve *really* wanted a drink on one hand. 

I’m so much better without it. I could be a horrible person with it. I haven’t started again as I can’t trust myself. And that’s not good. I know my last reference point wasn’t ‘normal’. 23. A student. Recently diagnosed and drinking to cope. Not that I knew that at the time. I’m happier without it. Even though people think I’m boring because I don’t drink. 

That’s their shit, not mine. I can be just as ridiculous sober as I was drunk, but know I won’t fly off the handle, or get immediate memory blanks or get the shame. 

Back at the hospital tomorrow. It’s my second 4 weekly visit in a row. My liver is under control and the ‘roid rash’ has gone. But. Chemo plague is spreading onto my face from my neck. Not happy about that. 

AND I CAN SUNBATHE!!!! For the first time in 10 YEARS!!!!! Bosutabib doesn’t fuck with the melanin cells so I can once again go brown and not just burn. I don’t have to worry about being outside. It is AMAZING! I still wear factor 30 though. People who burn are fucking idiots and there is no excuse. 

I should be getting the new drug in 4 week’s. I think it’s spelt Asciminib. The hospital have allowed me compassionate use. I’ve asked my consultant if it also impacts on melanin production. I really don’t want to have to give up the sun again. 

I give up so much. 

I’ve started doing home exercises again as I’m fed up of being so critical about my body. I can’t go running because of low energy, so I’m making myself do them. Managed 3 times a week for 3 week’s so far. 

Get weighed tomorrow.....

I also don’t have the dog as much which is very upsetting for me. Change. I hate it. Especially when it’s sudden. I have made a real effort to keep up with walking lots and most days I managed to get 10,000 steps. It’s so much easier when it’s sunny and I can be in it. 

I’ve just read my last post to see where I was. I’m much better than then. Still have my blips. I’ve been able to process what I wrote about then. It sits easier. And then I always have constant drama of one sort or another to occupy me.... friends and family are really beginning to clock that everything I do is complicated. Nothing is ever simple... 

I want to write about one complication. Well. That’s not the right word to use. I don’t know what is. Maby I will one day. I don’t know. My usual car crash involving men. Don’t think I’m there yet to put it on the Internet. Still hoping. Not sure I should. Push me pull you. Words say one thing. Actions say another. What do I believe? So I carry on. One day at a time and see what happens. 

I think I’m ok though. 

Haven’t cried this week, so it can’t be that bad. 

So to bed I need to go. My eyes are heavy and closing. I feel this is a bit of a nothing post. But I wanted to write. I’m still here. Still getting out of bed every day. Still doing my best. More news tomorrow. I’m going to ask if I can have a treatment break before starting the new drug. I hope my consultant says yes. 

Always hope. 

Saturday, 14 April 2018


I feel horrific for feeling sad for myself out of others happiness. Life is a struggle at the moment. Shadowed by awful fatigue. Being exhausted before I even get out of bed. 

This has an impact. Makes you feel down. Happiness is so much harder when your eyeballs hurt and you feel like you’ve been punched in the face. So my internal chat darkens. I become full of self pity. Which I hate. And then self loathing. 

Why can’t I be happy for others? Why do I always then turn it into poor me?

So many things I want, that I don’t. Because I can’t. 

Some because of my own choice. Choosing to be self employed. Working to others timetables is almost impossible. Being at work for 9am and not finishing until 6, 5 days a week would kill me. Choosing to do something people see as a luxury rather than a no brainer makes it a challenge to get new clients. Choosing to live in zone one which is so fucking expensive, because it makes life so much easier as I can get to most places in about half an hour, but therefore have no money. Which also impacts on everything. 

I have to live on my own. I go to bed at 9pm most nights. I need, well at the moment, nearer 12 hours sleep each night. You can’t do that in a flat share. You can’t impose quiet and restrict others because you have to go to bed. 

And because I’m tired and really struggle with evenings. I don’t really see any friends. I just sit on the sofa on my own. And go to bed on my own. And that can be pretty tough. Especially when you are a tactile person and need and crave hugs and cuddles. 

There is wonderful news in my family at the moment. And all I can think is. It’s not fair. Why can’t it happen to me. What did I do that’s so wrong to deserve the life I have. And I hate that. I really don’t like myself for thinking like this. 

I’m 35 next year. This is not what I imagined. 

And for all of you who think ‘you’re SO young’. You can fuck off. I’m not. This is not what I want. Yet it’s what I have. 

I thought cancer has a lot to do with it. It impacts on everything. It scares people off. It’s like having a child that no one wants to take on. I can’t get rid of it. I’m tied to it. But maybe that’s just a part of it. Rather than the reason. 

I don’t blame cancer. Then I would be blaming my body. Maybe I should. I don’t know. There is obviously something fundamentally wrong with me. Maybe I think it’s cancer that’s off putting as that’s an easy thing to focus on. Maybe it’s just me. 

So a rather self indulgent whinge about ‘poor me’ who is utterly fucked off with life at the moment. 

Wednesday, 21 March 2018

Words for MPs

I have lived with blood Cancer and been on oral chemotherapy every day since I was 22. That’s 11 years 2 months and one day.  I will live with it for the rest of my life. Nearly feinting twice in a week led to a blood test on Friday 19th January 2007, in the morning, and that night, a phone call from the Western General in Edinburgh and enough information given to me to work out they thought I had cancer to get me to  go to the hospital, as I wanted to call  my parents who were over 400 miles away and tell them I had cancer, before I went in, rather than a stranger from the hospital do it.  I was in my third year reading History of Art.

Chronic myeloid leukaemia. Old man’s cancer. To be female with it and so young is rare. Daily oral chemotherapy keeps me in remission. Keeps me alive. Causes sever chronic fatigue. So much so that a stem cell transplant has been offered for quality of life reasons.  I am yet to make that decision.  In the mean time I am at the hospital fortnightly trying different drugs, when they are granted rather than denied, and different dosages to see which lets me at least try to live my life normally.

The main problem about living with a blood cancer and having my hair is that no one gets it. So much of the ‘normal’ cancer care and ‘normal’ treatments don’t apply. As a chronic cancer patient I fall through the gaps in so many places. I have never, for example, had an HNA – they didn’t exist when I was diagnosed, or filled out the national Cancer survey. And so many surveys around cancer simply don’t apply to chronic blood cancers.

When I was told about the Cancer recovery programme by Bloodwise and mentioned it to my consultant we both thought how great it sounds. Yet I am not eligible. She knows nothing about it. I will at this rate never come off treatment. I will never be cured. Very clever and amazing research has developed these magical chemotherapy pills that yes, have saved my life, but because I am a sensitive responder, so young compared to the majority of my clinic (in Edinburgh where I was diagnosed I called my clinic gods waiting Room), being exhausted all the time is an issue. I need the same amount of sleep as a toddler, between 10-12 hours just to get through the day, that doesn’t include the evening!  And that’s just not realistic when trying to run a business and have a ‘normal’ life at 33. So I don’t.  I either work or see friends, I can’t do both.  And the weekend is mainly sofa based to rest and recover from the week so I can do it all over again.  So my social life is basically non-existent. Due to these clever pills that for so many are ok and for those that aren’t, we learn to life with side effects and try to manage them the best we can, it’s almost like ‘box ticked’ with treatment and care. Don’t get me wrong, there is new research being done but it’s years from being in people and not mice. My current consultant is amazing, and I’ve told her she can never retire! I genuinely don’t know what I would do without her. And she does her best to think of ways to let me live my life. But I don’t. Fortnightly hospital appointments after 11 years is very unusual. Still trying to find the right drugs that I am ok on. For people like me, who look fine, who aren’t in -patients, aren’t on intravenous chemo or radiotherapy who don’t fulfil the ‘correct cancer patient criteria’ can really struggle with life. And it’s for people like me who in a way need support more than others as we don’t meet the criteria for other help available. We are too well for the criteria on the forms and our answers to questions aren’t right as they don’t take into consideration what it’s like to live with a chronic blood cancer.

I get out bed every day because I refuse to give in.  I am exhausted before I get out of bed every day.  Every day is a mental battle get things done.  Living with an invisible illness like chronic myeloid leukaemia has helped make me, me.  And I wouldn’t change that for anything.  I would however, like to change the side-effects of treatment and to have an end date in site.  I would like to no longer be a blood cancer patient without having to risk my life with a stem cell transplant.  I ask you today from the bottom of my heart to help get my message back to the decision makers.  To let them know that it’s not just the sexy cancers like Breast that need all the focus.  It’s those that no one knows about.  Like CML . That never go away and are never cured.

Monday, 5 February 2018

Fed up. Again.

Nothing particularly has changed recently but I am feeling fed up. And it culminated yesterday on world cancer day. It really fucked me off. And I don’t know why. Well. I probably do. For most they might only experience one or two during their treatment. It’s my 11th. 11 fucking years of cancer. 

And I saw posts of people suggesting what to do. Take people food. Give them a ring. See how they are. Well really. That should be happening regardless. Why should one day a year flag that a friend or family member might need you. And I know I’m being a complete twat about this. So many don’t know how to react to a cancer diagnosis and don’t know what to do. I know I have become so blase about it all. About death. About the shit side effects. Of how treatment impacts on the body. And yes. I am even more aware of the fact that this hasn’t been my ‘journey’. I am ‘lucky’. What’s a pill or two a day? 

Compared to some. It’s nothing. Steroids are making me fat and spotty. It’s pissing me off. Ridiculous I know. Just so fed up of it at the moment. 

I think it’s when I dip like this that I miss my girl gang the most. Those who are now all over the world and no longer in London. And I’m shit about organising to see those who are here as my focus in the evening is the sofa. And that’s boring. For everyone. 

Still waiting to hear on other drug options. There is the possibility of another new pill alongside the new interferon. Hope....

Luckily my liver is fine today so my steroids have been dropped. Back in two weeks. 

I just need more sleep. A fairly busy week last week and too many nights that weren’t 10 plus hours sleep. This is a phase. It will pass. It always does. 

And it’s ok to feel like this occasionally. It’s ok to be pissed off that my life is not my own. It’s ok to feel like there is never any acknowledgment to how hard it is to live with a chronic cancer. It’s ok to feel fucked off that because I have my hair it’s assumed everything is ok and my life is easy. It’s ok. It will be ok. 

Just feel like I have a bit of a hole in my heart at the moment. But it will mend. It will be ok. 

With love and hope,