Category Archives: chemotherapy

A couple of little things

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Saturday 4th July

I don’t know what it was today, but there were many little reminders of you, that just came along and knocked me for six.

At your graveside this morning I nodded and waved to someone who was your dinner lady at primary school. She was kind and understanding towards you always; such a gentle person. So many memories of a happy time, long ago.

We walked down to the beach this afternoon and sat watching the holidaymakers sunbathing, eating, swimming and surfing. I don’t know what brought it to mind, but we began talking about the books and magazines you liked to read, and I remembered a series I bought for you fortnightly. Once Upon a Time: a magazine, plus a cassette tape of classic children’s fairy tales. I recalled the tinkling bell sound when it was time to turn the page. And that made me cry, as I thought of you, and how you would love to read along.

All your books are still lined up on the shelves in your bedroom, along with your teddies and dolphin.

I’ve really missed you today.
Love you forever sweet Angel xxxx

Your horse

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Friday 3rd July

On our way back from the hospital yesterday, where I had minor surgery on my arm, we stopped at a large garden centre. I wasn’t really looking to buy anything, but then I saw an ornamental horse, suitable for the outdoors. There was a bigger one, quite a life-like, foal size, but we opted for a smaller brown and black one. You would have told me straightaway it was bay or roan, not sure which. You were incredibly knowledgeable with equine facts.

At sixteen you spent three years completing a Further Education through Horsemanship qualification. Your whole life then was surrounded by horses. You loved them. You became quite a proficient rider, and indirectly your life skills were improved. Communication, independence, awareness, empathy, general knowledge were all skills that were developed for you to have a better understanding of everyday life.

The use of horses enabled you to have increased cooperation, communication and concentration as far as dealing with people was concerned. Having autism, you shied away from contact with people you didn’t know. You found social situations very difficult to handle. But put you on a horse, you became a different person. You were in charge, you learnt how to control and care for the animal. The horse’s environment, needs and routine were then transferable to you. Teamwork, self-discipline, motivation and exercise became part of your every day life, and you thrived.

You continued to ride and work with horses for the next ten years. Going out on weekly hacks was a stress relieving activity; grooming, cleaning tack and mucking out were necessary tasks that you also accomplished.

We would all enjoy Open Days when you would showcase your skills of horse riding, whether in the saddle or bareback, in-saddle gymnastics, relay races and horse control (not quite dressage, but pretty good nonetheless). Oftentimes you would receive rosettes or awards, and then become very shy at the presentation event.

So, we have placed the small ornamental horse on your graveside, to watch over you. Not sure what you would have named it; Shreddie was one of your favourites.

Walk on.
Canter through the clouds.
Jump over all the obstacles.
Feel the wind blow your troubles away.
Love you so very much.
Angel horse rider.
xxx

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Removing another alien blob

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Thursday 2nd July

Following my Month 18 check-up for the Combi-Ad clinical trial that I am on for malignant melanoma, a ‘mole’ on my arm was deemed to be suspect. Today we had a 250 mile round trip so that the hospital where I go for treatment could remove it.

The procedure took about thirty minutes to cut away the offending blob, then closed up with both internal and external stitches. I didn’t really feel anything, as I think quite a lot of anaesthetic was injected around the mole to begin with. I have about a two and a half centimetre scar, and will have to wait up to three weeks for the results. I have to have the stitches out in seven to ten days.

So there we have it. Cross fingers for a good outcome.

On the way home we stopped by the cemetery to see you. We talked for a while about what I had had done, in the same hospital where you were born, just over thirty years ago. So many memories came back to us.

I wish you were still here so we could talk with you properly, and to have a cuddle. I do miss those.

Love you forever.
xxxxx

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The Rememberers

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Wednesday 1st July

Yes, we are the rememberers.
We are the ones left behind.
Remembering is what we do.
You gave us so many memories,
And we do very much, love you.

Yes, we are the rememberers.
Keeping your spirit alive.
What else are we supposed to do.
When you’re not here by our side?
And we do very much, think of you.

Yes, we are the rememberers.
Today was your cousin’s birthday.
You would have wished her happiness
And written ‘Love from Frank’.
So now I’ll do it for you, I guess.

Yes, we are the rememberers.
And you are our Angel son.
Remembering is what we do.
The memories will last a lifetime.
But we do very much, miss you.

Love you.
Thinking of you.
Miss you.
Remembering you forever.
My Angel xxxx

Just thinking

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Tuesday 30th June

“A wife who loses a husband is called a widow.

A husband who loses a wife is called a widower.

A child who loses his parents is called an orphan.

There is no word for a parent who loses their child.

That’s how awful the loss is.”

Love you forever my sweetheart xxx

Sunflowers

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Monday 29th June

Your brother’s car had conked out. Well, it really belongs to his girlfriend. But anyway, the brakes have failed, the oil filter needs changing, the two front tyres need replacing, and the steering needs checking. What it really needs is a bit of care and attention, oh, and regular servicing probably wouldn’t go amiss. You’d call him a Jerk, or a Ninny.

The garage have had the car since last Wednesday, and today it is ready for collection. Your brother is working, so we are going to take his girlfriend in our car. She arrives with a gift for us: a gorgeous sunflower in a little pot. It has one flower ‘head’, but many, many more buds around the stem. Perfect. She knew you loved sunflowers, and this was so thoughtful.

We drive to the garage, collect the car, and stop to have tea in the garden centre. When we arrive home, your Dad plants the sunflower in a bigger pot, so that it can take root. You would have loved to watch it grow.

Just as you were coming to the end of your chemotherapy, you had bought some sunflower seeds, and said you were going to grow the biggest sunflower ever. Dad has planted those seeds in the garden, and right now the seedlings are about 20cm tall ~ no sign of flowers yet, but the stems look really strong.

My brother in America has also planted sunflower seeds, and his are probably three times the height of ours ~ must be the warmer weather at his cottage.

So your sunflower spirit will live on, across both sides of the ocean.
I just wish you were here to see them.

Love you, my own little sunshine xxx

Sunday outing

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Sunday 28th June

Our Sunday’s have gotten into a little routine ~ we collect my mum from the care home, meet up with my sister, and all go out for lunch and afternoon tea.

I was going to say, it was a family outing, but it’s not really, because you’re not there with us. You would always enjoy coming out for Sunday afternoon drives, stopping somewhere for a cake and lemonade, being able to walk outdoors and chat with Nan.

Now, all we can do is talk of you, about you, remembering you. Nan sometimes becomes tearful; she really does miss you, and it is hard for her.

Having said goodbyes to my mum and sister, we end the afternoon with you. At your graveside, talking to you, recounting the conversations we have had. Standing there, in the quiet solitude, just the two of us, we try to understand. But there are no answers.

We miss you.
It shouldn’t have ended this way.
And the tears fall.

Love you forever Angel son xxxx

A couple of appointments

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Friday 26th June

This morning I have my annual appointment with a consultant dermatologist. A whole body examination to look for suspect moles ~ none found. (She doesn’t think the one on my arm looks dodgy at all ~ the one I’m due to have removed next week. Hey ho). Plus a check for any swollen glands ~ none of those either.

We talk about our elder son, and she expresses her shock and kind condolences. She remembers how we would talk about him, our travels, and the fun we used to have together. It was difficult to talk, and we felt sad. All over again. Explaining what has happened never gets any easier.

This afternoon I have an appointment with my lymphoedema nurse for a massage session on my left leg. This is most relaxing, and necessary to move the lymph fluid up, and away from my knee and thigh. As I no longer have lymph nodes at the top of my leg, I have these weekly massages to reduce the swelling. I still have to wear a ghastly support stocking though, but it certainly does it’s job. Alluring it is not.

Later in the day, once the rain has stopped, we come to the cemetery. The sky has cleared, and we watch for vapour trails of the aeroplanes overhead, imagining that you are being flown away on holiday. By now you would have been so excited, with only about a month to go before we flew off to America. But not this year. Not yet.

Night night sweetie pie.
Sweet dreams my Angel.
Love you forever.

Cognitive Behaviour Therapy

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Thursday 25th June

Instead of sailing across the sparkling, blue ocean, aboard my father’s yacht, I’m floundering in the sea, with the surf breaking over my head, and all I can see are bigger waves on the horizon. What I once had and enjoyed, has now sunk without a trace. Well, that’s what it feels like to me.

Maybe I’m a bit cynical, or I just know what the problem is, but today’s hour and a half course on Stress, left me, well, stressed.

Today I attended the first of four sessions, entitled The Stress Less Course.

I know all the stressful feelings I experience: numbness, guilt, low mood, jealousy, discomfort, insecurity, futility, hopelessness, upset, flat, tearful.

I know the stressful thoughts I experience: worry, cut-off from others, poor concentration, hard to relax, loss of interest, no get up and go.

I know that stress has affected my actions: avoidance of doing things or going places, withdrawal, avoidance of responsibility, eating less.

I know how stress has affected my body: tension, drained, headaches, tiredness, shallow breathing, stomach pains, insomnia,

I know what has caused my stress, that leads then to depression.

My own health has led me to deal with huge changes in my life recently. That I have Stage 3 malignant melanoma is something I think I have accepted since being diagnosed in 2013.

My father passed away in 2009 from Pancreatic Cancer.

My mother is in a Care Home as she has the beginnings of dementia.

My elder son passed away fifteen weeks ago today, diagnosed with Testicular Cancer, having undergone 99 days out of 100 days of chemotherapy treatment.

Oh, and I’ve been signed off work since the day my son died.

So my stress is caused by depression, life problems, anxiety, sleep problems, health problems.

I suppose this afternoon’s session was introductory, and necessitated going through all aspects of stress, anxiety and depression. But I did find it stressful, in that I had to think about what it was that created the stress, and what I should or shouldn’t do about it.

And yes, I know there are coping mechanisms, and things I should be doing to help myself, gently along the way.

I take anti-anxiety medication and sleeping tablets. I don’t smoke, nor do I drink alcohol, but I do like my cappuccinos. I try to exercise by going on a daily walk to increase my normal heart rate. Our diets are improved, and include much fruit, vegetables, fish and chicken. And I find writing about my feelings in this blog, quite therapeutic. I’m also trying to raise awareness and money for a testicular cancer charity, in memory of our son. I also have a goal to focus upon, and that is to climb Mount Snowdon in August.

What I also need to do is learn relaxation techniques, and diaphragmatic deep breathing.

I know I won’t be able to change what has happened, but I would like to feel better about myself, to have my once positive attitude back.

The biggest cause of my feelings of depression is, of course, the death of my son. My grief is, and has been, all-consuming. I don’t think I’ll ever come to terms with it. Our lives have been changed forever. The future that we thought we were headed towards has now disappeared, and we don’t know what path to take.

Maybe this group therapy to come to terms with stress, anxiety and depression will be of use to me.
But it won’t bring my son back.
It won’t change the past.

But I need to be able to swim again, without feeling I’m drowning, being able to hold my head above the waves, and reaching the shore without a struggle. The waves will always continue to break, the tides will rise and fall, I know I can’t stop the inevitable, but I’d like to be able to go with the flow, and enjoy the current as it takes me to somewhere better than where I’m stranded at the moment.

As always, thinking of you, my dearest sweet Angel xxxxx

Last night’s sunset

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Wednesday 24th June

Yesterday evening we walked down the hill, to the top of the beach, to watch the sunset. It was a beautifully warm end to the day.

Many people were lined up along the wall, or down on the sand taking photographs. The colours in the sky changed from fiery orange to a deep, smoky red.

An aeroplane vapour trail had split the sky, almost creating what looked like wings. And was that an angel shape to the West?

I thought of you. I think of you all the time, but you know that, don’t you? I think of you, with your Angel wings, soaring above the clouds. Care-free. Pain-free. Cancer-free.

Missing you every day.
xxxxx