Cancer Comic Strip

R I P my old booby...

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 11:54:00 +0000

Yesterday I said a fond farewell to my dear old and very first ever breast prosthesis which had begun to ooze silicone gel and had had to be patched up with tape.

Being keen on recycling rather than throwing things away I asked various friends what would be a fitting retirement role for it, and a number of very helpful suggestions were put forward, including:

**Door bell
**Shooting target, alternative to clay pigeon
**Centrepiece for upcoming festive season (appropriately painted)
**Decoration floating in party punch bowl
**etc.

By far the mosting intriguing, however, was from my good friend Pam W who suggested I mix it in with the pot pourri, rather in the fashion of St Agatha as seen in the illustration here ... a painting by Cariani currently hanging in the National Gallery of Scotland.

Excellent idea! Can anyone come up with anything better?

Warning: routine checkups can damage your health

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 09:33:00 +0000

An email just in from my cousin Alyson in Ottawa...

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Woman's Annual Exam

I went to the doctor for my yearly physical.

The nurse starts with certain basics.

"How much do you weigh?" she asks.

"135," I say.

The nurse puts me on the scale. It turns out my weight is 180.

The nurse asks, "Your height?"

"5 foot 7"," I say.

The nurse checks and sees that I only measure 5'5". She then takes my blood pressure and tells me it is very high.

"Of course it's high!" I scream. "When I came in here I was tall and slender! Now I'm short and fat!"

She put me on Prozac. What a bitch.

Power outage during a mammogram

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Sun, 27 Sep 2009 17:21:00 +0000

This was sent to me by a colleague - original source unknown...

~~~~~~~~~~

POWER OUTAGE DURING A MAMMOGRAM

I actually kept my mammogram appointment. I was met with, "Hi! I'm Belinda!" This perky clipboard carrier smiled from ear to ear, tilted her head to one side and crooned, "All I need you to do is step into this room right here, strip to the waist, then slip on this gown. Everything clear?"

I'm thinking, "Belinda, try decaf. This ain't rocket science."

Belinda skipped away to prepare the chamber of horrors.

With the right side finished, Belinda flipped me (literally) to the left and said, "Hmmmm. Can you stand on your tippy toes and lean in a tad so we can get everything?" Fine, I answered. I was freezing, bruised, and out of air, so why not use the remaining circulation in my legs and neck and finish me off?

My body was in a holding pattern that defied gravity (with my other boob wedged between those two 4 inch pieces of square glass) when we heard,
then felt a zap! Complete darkness and the power went off!

"Oh, maintenance is working. Bet they hit a snag." Belinda headed for the door.

"Excuse me! You're not leaving me in this vice alone are you?" I shouted.

Belinda kept going and said, "Oh, you fussy puppy...the door's wide open so you'll have the emergency hall lights. I'll be right back."

Before I could shout "NOOOO!" she disappeared. And that's exactly how Bubba and Earl, maintenance men extraordinaire, found me, half-naked and part of me dangling from the Jaws of Life, and the other part smashed between glass!

After exchanging polite "Hi, how's it going" type greetings, Bubba (or possibly Earl) asked, to my utter disbelief, if I knew the power was off. Trying to disguise my hysteria, I replied with as much calmness as possible "Uh, yes, yes I did thanks."

"You bet, take care" Bubba replied and waved good-bye as though I'd been standing in the line at the grocery store.

Two hours later, Belinda breezes in wearing a sheepish grin. Making no attempt to suppress her amusement, she said, "Oh I am sooo sorry! The power came back on and I totally forgot about you! And silly me, I went to lunch. Are we upset?"

And that, Your Honor, is exactly how her head ended up between the clamps.

Yeeeee Haaaahhhh! (I'm back.)

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Wed, 16 Sep 2009 17:48:00 +0000

And you thought I had disappeared on you! Well, yes, I did. I have been busy writing more books, bringing up my increasingly expensively 17-yr-old student and rock drummer son Tom, and cooking for my (largely) adopted family of teen musicians who have been practising and recording at our house ... have a look here for more on that.

But that doesn't mean to say I have lost touch with cancer - no way. In fact in my ongoing dealings with bladder cancer I am about to embark on a course of treatment of BCG and Interferon ... commonplace in the USA but a relatively new departure in cranky old England. Having thought my bladder was soon to be confined to the hospital incinerator, we've had a reprieve for now!

So to continue in the urinary vein, so to speak, here is a short story you might find of interest - especially if (like me) you are the wrong side of 55.

77 year old Morris went for his annual physical. All of his tests came back with great results. The doctor said, "Morris everything looks great physically. How are you doing mentally, emotionally and are you at peace with yourself, and have a good relationship with God?"

Morris replied, "God and me are tight. We are so close that when I get up in the middle of the night, *poof*... the light goes on when I go to the bathroom and then *poof* the light goes off!"

"Wow," commented Dr. Cohen," That's incredible!" A little later in the day the doctor called Morris's wife. "Becky," he said, " Morris is just fine. Physically he's great. But I had to call because I'm in awe of his relationship with God. Is it true that he gets up during the night and *poof* the light goes on in the bathroom and then *poof* the light goes off?"

Becky replied, "Silly old f*rt...he's been peeing in the fridge again."

Until next time ... and I promise it won't be so long! Sz

UK school becomes madhouse to raise money for breast cancer

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Thu, 26 Mar 2009 18:50:00 +0000

Hats off to the "Sixth Form" (US equivalent - 11th and 12th grades) pupils at the Sir Henry Floyd School in Aylesbury, near London, England, for pledging to make prize idiots of themselves all next week to raise money for breast cancer charities.

Activities planned include wrestling matches with all combatants wearing fat suits ...
the boys performing their own version of "The Full Monty" strip routine ... a "gunge the teacher" session (which teacher can afford the time off afterwards to get all the goo out of his/her hair?)... various sponsored anatomical bits being shaved and/or waxed ... and lots more.

But why breast cancer?

"We had a vote in every year's assembly and breast cancer won outright," said organiser Oli Lacey. "People clearly wished for that charitable cause to be supported."

And when I asked my son Tom Webb (who just so happens to be a 6th form pupil at the school) if I could look forward to hearing about his wrestling exploits in a fat suit, he replied "nah, mum, I'll be busy doing the sound and lights for all the events."

Sometimes it pays to be a behind-the-scenes techie...

Not surprisingly these events are not open to the public, but if you want to lend your support have a look at their Facebook page.

To whoever owns the copyright of that fat suit pic - thank you for supporting us by letting us use it.

Another load of balls

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 13:12:00 +0000

With Darren Couchman's book on testicular cancer still fresh in our minds here is a gag that caught my attention...

Two women were playing golf one sunny Sunday morning. The first woman teed off and watched horrified as the ball flew at four men who were playing the next hole. Her ball hit one of the men extremely hard and he instantly stuffed his hands into his crotch, fell to the ground and began rolling around in agony. The woman raced across to the man and apologized profusely.

"Please let me help - I'm a physiotherapist and I know I could relieve the pain for you," she said with deep concern.

"No, no, thanks, I'll be alright...I'll be OK in a minute," he gasped, still lying in fetal position with his hands clasped together at his crotch.

The woman then took it upon herself to ease his pain by massaging his groin. After a couple of minutes she asked, "does that feel better?"

The man looked up at her and replied, "Yes, that feels really good, thank you. But my thumb still hurts like hell."

Picture borrowed from 2NewsTV of Boise, Idaho. Many thanks for its loan.

Jade Goody: no jokes this time

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 14:11:00 +0000

So sad to learn of Jade Goody's death today, the UK's Mothering Sunday of all days. Whatever you may think of her behaviour in the past, she has created significant awareness of cervical cancer, particularly in younger women for whom it is a serious threat.

I think it's only fair to say that Jade's illness and its resultant publicity will save many lives in the future, and she is to be admired for that.

As this is, after all, a humorous blog, let's say goodbye to Jade with a picture of her when she was laughing and in good shape. She was a good publicist and a very brave cancer warrior.

(Pic borrowed from the internet, thank you to whoever owns the copyright.)

What a load of balls!

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Mon, 16 Mar 2009 11:37:00 +0000

I have just finished reading a very funny, very poignant and very helpful book about testicular cancer by Darren Couchman - it's called "One Lump or Two? A humorous story of one man's fight against testicular cancer."

Even though I'm not a contender for this brand of cancer (although my son swears I must have grown balls when single-handedly I kick all his drunken friends out of the house at 3 o'clock in the morning) I found the book highly entertaining and very moving in places. Well worth a read for all men and their partners. Click on the title or Darren's name for more information.

And while we're still in a testicular mood, one of my funniest moments recently was when I checked out YourNutz.com ... had me rolling around on the office floor, it did. However I laughed even more when a friend in Wisconsin told me that it's not a joke - in the US plastic or chrome balls have replaced furry dice as THE thing to dangle from your rear-view mirror. I wonder if their next product will be tinsel-adorned scrotums (scrota?) to hang on your Christmas tree?

Yours in a spherical frame of mind .... Sz

Face-to-face at last

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Fri, 13 Mar 2009 19:22:00 +0000

I hope you will be fearfully impressed to learn that I have been nominated and approved as patient representative for the Urology MDT (Multi-Disciplinary Team)at our local hospital.

While chatting to our new Lead Cancer Nurse - a delightfully pious and kindly soul - about this a few days ago I happened to mention that not only my consultant surgeon (who gives me regular cystoscopies, a.k.a. "pokes and peeks" into my bladder) but also the nurse practitioner who administers my intravesical (i.e. up my wee-wee hole) BCG maintenance instillations for the bladder cancer were to be my co-workers in this group.

Was I, she wondered, "comfortable" with that crossover of relationships?

"Absolutely!" I warbled. "For once it will be a nice change for those two to talk to my face."

Poor nursie. She couldn't help but burst out laughing as did everyone else within earshot. Humour within the medical bureaucracy? Perish the thought....

Important health warning

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 16:09:00 +0000

This post on Jeanne Sather's wonderful blog, The Assertive Cancer Patient, had me rolling around.

I'll never be able to chew gum with a straight face again.

How's everyone this chilly March?

Colonoscopy: to make your eyes water?

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Sun, 15 Feb 2009 13:51:00 +0000

Many thanks to my good friend Laurence H. who sent me some musings about colonoscopies by the wonderful Dave Barry, whom I hope won't mind me sharing this with you now. If you've never had a colonoscopy before and are due to get one done, take a deep breath before you start reading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I called my friend Andy Sable, a gastroenterologist, to make an appointment for a colonoscopy. A few days later, in his office, Andy showed me a color diagram of the colon, a lengthy organ that appears to go all over the place, at one point passing briefly through Minneapolis.

Then Andy explained the colonoscopy procedure to me in a thorough, reassuring and patient manner.

I nodded thoughtfully, but I didn't really hear anything he said, because my brain was shrieking, quote, 'HE'S GOING TO STICK A TUBE 17,000 FEET UP YOUR BEHIND!'

I left Andy's office with some written instructions, and a prescription for a product called 'MoviPrep,' which comes in a box large enough to hold a microwave oven. I will discuss MoviPrep in detail later; for now suffice it to say that we must never allow it to fall into the hands of America's enemies.

I spent the next several days productively sitting around being nervous. Then, on the day before my colonoscopy, I began my preparation. In accordance with my instructions, I didn't eat any solid food that day; all I had was chicken broth, which is basically water, only with less flavor.

Then, in the evening, I took the MoviPrep. You mix two packets of powder together in a one-liter plastic jug, then you fill it with lukewarm water. (For those unfamiliar with the metric system, a liter is about 32 gallons.)

Then you have to drink the whole jug.

This takes about an hour, because MoviPrep tastes - and here I am being kind - like a mixture of goat spit and urinal cleanser, with just a hint of lemon.

The instructions for MoviPrep, clearly written by somebody with a great sense of humor, state that after you drink it, 'a loose, watery bowel movement may result.' This is kind of like saying that after you jump off your roof, you may experience contact with the ground.

MoviPrep is a nuclear laxative. I don't want to be too graphic, here, but: have you ever seen a space-shuttle launch? This is pretty much the MoviPrep experience, with you as the shuttle. There are times when you wish the commode had a seat belt. You spend several hours pretty much confined to the bathroom, spurting violently. You eliminate everything. And then, when you figure you must be totally empty, you have to drink another liter of MoviPrep, at which point, as far as I can tell, your bowels travel into the future and start eliminating food that you have not even eaten yet.

After an action-packed evening, I finally got to sleep. The next morning my wife drove me to the clinic. I was very nervous. Not only was I worried about the procedure, but I had been experiencing occasional return bouts of MoviPrep spurtage. I was thinking, 'What if I spurt on Andy ' How do you apologize to a friend for something like that. Flowers would not be enough.

At the clinic I had to sign many forms acknowledging that I understood and totally agreed with whatever the heck the forms said. Then they led me to a room full of other colonoscopy people, where I went inside a little curtained space and took off my clothes and put on one of those hospital garments designed by sadist perverts, the kind that, when you put it on, makes you feel even more naked than when you are actually naked.

Then a nurse named Eddie put a little needle in a vein in my left hand. Ordinarily I would have fainted, but Eddie was very good, and I was already lying down. Eddie also told me that some people put vodka in their MoviPrep. At first I was ticked off that I hadn't thought of this, but then I pondered what would happen if you got yourself too tipsy to make it to the bathroom, so you were staggering around in full Fire Hose mode. You would have no choice but to burn your house.

When everything was ready, Eddie wheeled me into the procedure room, where Andy was waiting with a nurse and an anesthesiologist. I did not see the 17,000-foot tube, but I knew Andy had it hidden around there somewhere. I was seriously nervous at this point. Andy had me roll over on my left side,and the anesthesiologist began hooking something up to the needle in my hand. There was music playing in the room, and I realized that the song was 'Dancing Queen' by ABBA. I remarked to Andy that, of all the songs that could be playing during this particular procedure, 'Dancing Queen' had to be the least appropriate.

'You want me to turn it up ' said Andy, from somewhere behind me. 'Ha ha,' I said. And then it was time, the moment I had been dreading for more than a decade. If you are squeamish, prepare yourself, because I am going to tell you, in explicit detail, exactly what it was like.

I have no idea. Really. I slept through it. One moment, ABBA was yelling 'Dancing Queen, feel the beat of the tambourine,' and the next moment, I was back in the other room, waking up in a very mellow mood. Andy was looking down at me and asking me how I felt. I felt excellent. I felt even more excellent when Andy told me that it was all over, and that my colon had passed with flying colors. I have never been prouder of an internal organ."

----------------------------------------------

And still on the subject of colonoscopies...

Colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during the exam were quite humorous... A physician claimed that the following are actual comments made by his patients (predominately male) while he was performing their colonoscopies:

1. 'Take it easy, Doc. You're boldly going where no man has gone before!
2. 'Find Amelia Earhart yet '
3. 'Can you hear me NOW '
4. 'Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?'
5. 'You know, in Arkansas, we're now legally married.'
6. 'Any sign of the trapped miners, Chief?'
7. 'You put your left hand in, you take your left hand out...'
8. 'Hey! Now I know how a Muppet feels!'
9. 'If your hand doesn't fit, you must quit!
10. 'Hey Doc, let me know if you find my dignity.'
11. 'You used to be an executive at Enron, didn't you?'
12. 'God, now I know why I am not gay.'

And the best one of all.
13. 'Could you write a note for my wife saying that my head was not up there.

Cancer jokes: are they funny?

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Wed, 11 Feb 2009 17:01:00 +0000

I've been doing the rounds of the internet looking to see what new jokes there are about the Beast and I have to say, I find some of them disappointing.

There's a big difference between having a good laugh about some of the things that happen to you when you have cancer and/or care for someone who does, and actually making fun of the disease itself.

There was one gag I thought was reasonably funny (and it appeared on several websites)...

Top 10 Ways to Know You are a Cancer Survivor

10. Your alarm clock goes off at 6 a.m. and you're glad to hear it.
9. Your mother-in-law invites you to lunch and you just say NO.
8. You're back in the family rotation to take out the garbage.
7. When you no longer have an urge to choke the person who says, "all you need to beat cancer is the right attitude."
6. When your dental floss runs out and you buy 1000 yards.
5. When you use your toothbrush to brush your teeth and not comb your hair.
4. You have a chance to buy additional life insurance but you buy a new convertible car instead.
3. Your doctor tells you to lose weight and do something about your cholesterol and you actually listen.
2. When your biggest annual celebration is again your birthday, and not the day you were diagnosed.
1. When you use your Visa card more than your hospital parking pass.

Here is a selection of sites with cancer jokes - click on the name to take a look:

Lawrence Wray

The Furry Monkey

Learning Place Online

Phoenix 5 (prostate)

Green Bananas Cancer Blog

...and so-on; today there are more than 9 million entries on Google when you search "cancer jokes." Seems it's the same couple of dozen that keep appearing though.

What do you think about these jokes? Please add your comments here - I'd love to know your views.

SUZE

Psssttttt.....got bladder cancer?

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Sat, 07 Feb 2009 20:33:00 +0000

...latest conversation with previously-mentioned gorgeous urologist who is treating me (in the UK) for my bladder cancer...

Me: Would you like me to send you the latest stats from the USA on BCG treatment combined with Interferon?

Him: Yes, by all means, but...

Me: ...but what?

Him: You know what it's like in this country, we're always the last to get approval for drug treatment when there's a cost attached to it

Me: OK, but evidence in the US is stacking up in favour of this treatment as it seems to wallop the be-jaysus out of even high-grade bladder cancers with substantially more success than BCG treatment alone

Him: All fine and dandy, but you know what the system is like

Yes, I do know what the system is like. It does not amuse me.

Can anyone smell burning?

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 18:08:00 +0000

Just back from the 6-monthly "poke and peek" for the bladder cancer and have settled myself very carefully at the computer.

Whereas on the previous occasion all my gorgeous, handsome Nigerian surgeon did was to poke, peek and retreat, this time it was poke, peek, spot small polyp/tumour (been sent off to histo), insert knitting needle, chop out lump, insert branding iron, cauterize.

By this time my eyes were watering so much the tears could have extinguished a forest fire.

And coincidently, the said Nigerian hunky surgeon grinned while cauterizing and asked, "can anyone smell burning?" Raucous laughter all around - from the nurses, anyway.

I was in and out of the hospital in exactly one hour, as opposed to a whole day had we done it conventionally. Much more convenient. But I have to admit there were times while the Nigerian hunk was prodding with the red hot poker that I thought fondly of spinal anaesthetics. Very fondly.

Funny, naughty blog for breast cancer warriors

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Wed, 14 Jan 2009 12:24:00 +0000

Happy 2009 everyone and apologies for not posting much in the last few weeks. My health is OK at the moment and I've got another "poke and peek" on Jan 22nd. Hopefully my gorgeous Nigerian surgeon won't find any nasties up there, other than perhaps the residue of all the delicious Chablis I've been drinking over the Holidays.

If you fancy a laugh about current affairs, have a look at my new blog, The Suze Report. And don't forget How To Get Married In Green if you're planning a celebration and want to make it more eco-friendly.

For anyone who has or has had breast cancer, or cares about someone who does, you'll love the feisty, brave humour of Alright Tit - how one young BrC warrior is thumbing her nose at the Beast as she ferociously kicks it into touch. I'm following her blog and recommend it thoroughly.

More after the P&P - keep smiling!

The eagle has landed ... on her feet

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Fri, 24 Oct 2008 09:46:00 +0000

You must read this wonderful account of how a badly injured eagle and a human with cancer healed each other. Click here for the full story, authenticated by Snopes.

In the meantime, I'm sure the copyright owners won't mind me showing you a picture of the pair - it brought tears to my cynical old eyes and I bet it will do that to you, too:

Watching TV can make you sick: so what else is new?

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Thu, 11 Sep 2008 17:32:00 +0000

TV viewers from around the world who, like me, find each new wave of cheaply produced TV shows increasingly nauseating, will be amused to learn that a Belgian research team has now discovered that medical programs can make you sick, too.

According to Dr Jan Van Mierlo, of Hasselt University, Belgium, "specifically, fear of illness increased with age and girls were more afraid of illness than boys. We questioned adolescents who, in general, had no personal experience of hospitals and doctors and are likely to have learned a lot through TV. It's a subliminal relationship, something you take with you from these programmes."

For the full article on the UK's Daily Mail, click here.

So - what ailments could other TV progs induce?

I can't really speak much about North American TV as I live most of the year in the UK, but let me speculate for a moment.

House - depression, supressed anger, pulling the wings off live flies

Strictly Come Dancing (or US equivalent) - dropped arches and bunions on both feet

Talent shows in general - severe tinnitis in both ears

Gardening programmes - gang-green (oh, sorry)

Home makeovers - housemaid's knee (sorry again)

Sports - tennis elbow (not sorry any more)

Beauty makeovers - Bell's Palsy (of the face)

Political documentaries - acute schizophrenia

OK, over to you now

How many more TV related illnesses can we come up with? Post your ideas as comments on here. Or email them to me, suze at suzanstmaur dot com, and I'll post them for you.

No budget for champagne I'm afraid but a big, big smile and cyber-hug will go to the author of the funniest responses.

All for now...

SUZE

Well, well, now ain't that a coincidence?

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 10:46:00 +0000

Some of you CCS readers may recall that back in May this year I posted about the interesting variance of opinions about Vitamin D and its relationship with sunshine and cancer. If you'd like to see a quick refresher, click here. Nice little piece, but not something you'd expect others to plagiarize, was it?

So you can imagine my surprise (or you will when you read it) to be Google Alerted, earlier this month when I was in Canada, to this piece of Neanderthal literature.

For those who haven't time to click through, let me quote you a short passage:

"Shame she doesn’t actualise that for the sunlight to get your wound producing competent quantities of Vitamin D, it should be as bleak as a baby’s behind. And even in relatively tropical climes 20 minutes’ of sunshine is hardly going to inflict third degree burns. One of many, many current, good articles about Vit D crapper be found here. Well worth reading, especially if you have a unification with boob cancer...." etc.

Get the drift?

Well, old Suze lost it. Saw red. Blew her stack.

For two reasons. One, much as we like to share some smiles on here I don't approve of idiots like those folks making a mockery of anything to do with the serious side of cancer. And two, I don't approve of anything attributable to me looking like it has been written by a committee of chimpanzees.

How did the perpetrators shoot themselves in the feet? By forgetting to remove imbedded links in the text redirecting readers to two of my books. Caught bang to rights, as they say in Britain.

I left a scathing comment on the post which needless to say did not get approved by the moderators.

So what is it all about?

Still exhaling flames from both nostrils, I sought advice from various experts on a couple of the online social/business networking sites to which I belong. The general conclusion was that this is one of those sites whereby any old garbage is posted as "content" to attract visits, and when people see what cr*p it is they click on an adjacent Google Ad purely to get away to something more relevant to their needs. Owners of site collect revenue for Google Ad clickthrough. QED.

I have written to Google UK explaining the problem and asking whether Google Ads really need to be associated with such sleazy practice, especially as the topic concerned is cancer - not some frivolous nonsense. Watch this space as if I get a reply, I'll share it here.

Hope everyone has had a good summer despite the monsoon-like rain in many northern hemisphere areas.

Sz ...

Silly, totally un-PC gag, but it made me laugh

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Sat, 05 Jul 2008 20:17:00 +0000

The phone rings and the lady of the house answers.

"Hello."

"Mrs. Ward, please."

"Speaking"

"Mrs. Ward, this is Doctor Jones at the Medical Testing Laboratory. When your doctor sent your husband's biopsy to the lab yesterday, a biopsy from another Mr. Ward arrived as well, and we're now uncertain which one is your husband's. Frankly the results are either bad or terrible."

"What do you mean?" Mrs. Ward asks nervously.

"Well, one of the specimens tested positive for Alzheimer's,and the other one tested positive for AIDS. We can't tell which specimen is your husband's."

"That's dreadful! Can't you do the test again?" questioned Mrs. Ward.

"Normally we can, but Medicare will only pay for these expensive tests one time."

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?"

"The people at Medicare recommend that you drop your husband off somewhere in the middle of town. If he finds his way home, don't sleep with him."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

With all due apologies to sufferers of both AIDS and Alzheimer's - who, if they are anything like the cancer warriors I know - will see the funny side of this just as we cancer warriors do with equivalent gags.

Hysterics at today's poke and peek...

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Thu, 03 Jul 2008 18:23:00 +0000

Having had a bit of time off where the bladder cancer is concerned, today I attended a routine "poke and peek" (a.k.a. a flexible cystoscopy) at the Treatment Centre of our local hospital here in the UK.

I was greeted by my now good friend and consultant/specialist Mr A and was invited to lie down on the table in preparation for the procedure.

"Have you had a flexible cystoscopy before?" asked the nurse, whom I had never met.

"Yep, many times," I replied.

"Well," she continued, "please would you get into the correct position?"

This, as bladder cancer warriors will know, means on your back with legs akimbo.

"Oh," I replied, "you mean like they say in American police dramas when they arrest someone ... 'spread 'em?"

Now, I have to confess that I did dramatise that sentence in the way that most writers-cum-closet-actors do, and this would appear to have been effective.

The nurse concerned got a fit of the giggles that went on for many long minutes, and held up my procedure quite noticeably.

Happily the other staff in the procedure room - including my lovely, lovely Mr. A - were laughing so hard that the delay didn't matter.

Here I must offer my apologies to our UK National Health Service for wasting doctors' and nurses' time ... but hey. It was worth it.

And the outcome? A possible recur, maybe yes, maybe no, but at least I can keep my bladder until January 2009 - hey, that's better than the alternative.

With a hop, skip, jump, splat

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Wed, 28 May 2008 12:56:00 +0000

Although I didn't bore you with all this in my last post other than to mention it in passing, this particular merry month of May has been one long, painful nightmare.

It all began at a party May 4th at which veteran boozer Suze had a few snifters, but nothing outrageous. She was also wearing new shoes and trousers (slacks) that were about an inch too long.

Cue disaster.

On departing Suze managed to trip and catch both feet up on a high sill between the patio and the living room (yes, it was one of those rare occasions when we in the UK could sit outdoors in the evening.) Left ankle got hideously sprained, but no pain; that didn't start until hours later. Each time folks helped me up I would get my weight on the right foot, but the left foot would just collapse. Right leg had a whack on the lower shin but that didn't cause a problem.

Eventually got home, slept, next morning friend staying took one look at my left ankle which by now was looking like a large haggis and couldn't take any weight at all, and promptly drove me to A&E (ER) at the local hospital. Happily and amazingly nothing was broken, so I got strapped up and spent the next two weeks hobbling around on two sticks.

Now it's just over three weeks and although still painful and swollen, the left ankle is recovering nicely.

A happy ending? Not on your nelly, as the English say, and let's not go into what a nelly is right now. Remember that graze on my lower shin bone that had scabbed over nicely and didn't hurt at all? Well, last Friday the scab began to disintegrate and after 24 hours it had disappeared. In its place was the sort of hole you see on footpaths (sidewalks) when workmen have been digging out deeply placed telephone cables. I squirted some antiseptic medication into the hole but by Sunday it was hurting terribly and I was running a fever of 100F.

Cue panic.

Same kind friend happened to be here again so drove me to A&E (ER) once again and this time we all huddled around my other leg. "Ah yes, a deep gangrenous and badly infected wound," said the African doctor cheerfully.

"Gangrene?" I whinneyed. "Isn't that serious? Will you have to cut my leg off?"

African doc smiled patiently and said no, not this time but had I left it any longer, well, who knows.

"But what about that nice scab that healed up so well? And there was no pain?"

African doc tried hard to smile. "You see, on most of the rest of your body there is quite a lot of tissue between the skin and the bones," he said, clutching my chubby calf to illustrate his point. "The problem is between the skin and the bone on your shin, there is diddly squat. Zip. Nada. So if you look down your hole, you will see your tibia. There, look - that white thing at the bottom."

"Tibia? That's the bone?"

"Yup. And that nice neat scab was hiding the trouble underneath. This wound has been infected for three weeks."

Well, if you've been reading this blog for a while you'll know I'm not squeamish - chemotherapy, surgery, BCG treatments, you name it, I've coped and made jokes about it all.

Suddenly though, this time I was lost for a few funny words...

Anyway the hole is now closing up thanks to daily dressing by kind nursies at our local medical centre and the infection is ebbing away thanks to some foul, very strong antibiotics which make me nauseous and give me the Aztec two-step, but let's not go there.

This all reminds me of the story of the man who was due in the hospital to have his right leg amputated. He awoke from the anaesthetic to find the surgeon standing beside his bed and the surgeon said, "Mr Jones, I have some good news and some bad news."

"Give me the bad news first."

"Well, sadly we amputed your left leg by mistake. But the good news is your right leg is recovering spontaneously!

Until next time .... Sz

Vitamin D - let the battle commence

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Fri, 16 May 2008 16:17:00 +0000

I wonder how many dermatologically sensitive people have begun to eat their hats recently, given that reasonable amounts of sunshine turn out not only to be not all that harmful, but also to be instrumental in reducing the risk / spread of a number of cancers, especially of the breast? (Strong sunlight on the skin causes it to produce Vitamin D - and it seems many of us are deficient.)

The beauty journalists, in particular, are getting thoroughly schizoid about it. In the editorial of one of the UK's leading women's magazines recently the editor proclaimed that "just 20 minutes in the sun is enough exposure to top up your Vitamin D tank for the entire day!"

After a few more lines she oozed "I closed my eyes and threw my head back to bathe my face*** in the afternoon sun."

When you follow the asterisks, beauty-conscious person that she is, she points out "don't worry, I was wearing an SPF 15 moisturiser."

Shame she doesn't realise that for the sunlight to get your skin producing adequate quantities of Vitamin D, it should be as bare as a baby's behind. And even in relatively tropical climes 20 minutes' of sunshine is hardly going to inflict third degree burns.

One of many, many current, good articles about Vit D can be found here. Well worth reading, especially if you have a connection with breast cancer.

Well, I shall be popping Vit D supplements for the foreseeable future as after a couple of glorious warm, sunny weeks southern England where I live is once again gray and rainy. What with that plus a badly sprained ankle I have no excuse whatsoever to avoid finishing the manuscript of my next book (due out in November) which is about winter weddings.

If you have an interest either in weddings or green living, or both, you might like to take a look at my most recently published book, "How To Get Married In Green." It's attracting quite a lot of attention!

Until next time ... Sz

Well, hello stranger

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Fri, 04 Apr 2008 10:30:00 +0000

Remember me? Did you think that I had won squillions in the lottery and retired to a mansion in the Bahamas? Run off with a tall, dark, handsome stranger half my age to live in a romantic tropical hut? Volunteered to be the first 50+ housewife to go and cook for the crew on the International Space Station?

Some would say, the chance would be a fine thing. And no, I’m still at my computer in leafy Bedfordshire, England, writing reams of ridiculous rubbish that some people (well, enough that I can pay my bills, anyway) are willing to buy.

On the health front, everything seems quiet in the breast cancer department for the moment and things are improving with the bladder cancer. Last year I had two programmes of 6 x BCG treatments as CIS had been discovered. The first programme didn’t quite crack it, but the second one appears to have got it on the run for now.

Mind you, that pleasant discovery did not come easily.

Because I have lymphoedema in my left arm, all needles and other instruments of torture are obliged to use the veins in my right hand and arm. These veins, having been intruded upon many times, are beginning to say “enough, already” and refuse entry. This posed a problem for the anaesthetist (anaesthesiologist) prior to my “poke and peek” procedure (AKA cystoscopy) while trying to hook a canula into my right hand.

If I had a hammer...

So hard was the poor man pushing and shoving, that – between my shouts of pain – I suggested he might like to call down to the janitors and borrow a heavy-duty mallet. He didn’t see the funny side. And neither did I when I looked at my right hand which was by now filling up with a haematoma the size and colour of a cowpat.

“Do you bruise easily, Suze?” asked the nurse, whom I knew from previous P&Ps. “Looks like it, doesn’t it?” I groaned. “Hee hee,” replied the nurse as he finally got the canula into my wrist (the anaesthetist had given up trying), “you’re going to have a real doozer there.”

Of course that, in itself, wasn’t too serious. What did make me a weensie bit twitchy, however, was the fact that the ham-fisted cretin now set about administering my epidural anaesthetic. Needles and mallets are funny when you’re talking extremities, but not when you’re talking spinal cords. No, no.

Happily however my spine is more obliging than the long-suffering veins of my right hand, and I sighed with relief as the feeling efficiently ebbed away from my lower half and we wheeled into theatre. Phew.

Next week I start a 3 x BCG treatment “maintenance” programme; something like a routine service and an oil change, I suppose.

Anyone for a colonoscopy?

It’s a long time since I have laughed so much about my bowels, or anyone’s bowels for that matter. Dave Barry’s hysterical article in the Miami Herald is a must-read for anyone who either has experienced the camera-up-the-jacksie procedure, or who is contemplating one. Click here to read it.

Until next time (and I promise it won’t be so long, either...)

SUZE

Balancing act...

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Fri, 30 Nov 2007 13:21:00 +0000

Hi again and apologies for not posting for a while.

I have now completed a second course of BCG immunotherapy for the bladder cancer and have been feeling tired, not to mention working hard to finish my next book (click here for a preview.)

Recently I've been getting up in the mornings, putting on a track suit and sitting straight down to work after my son has gone off to school. However I haven't been bothering to don my mastectomy bra complete with prosthesis. After all when you work from home and you're the only one in the office, being a track-suited mono-boober is not too damaging a fashion deficiency.

After a few weeks I began to get terrible aching in my neck and shoulder on the mastectomy side and eventually I worked out what the problem was ... my remaining, real boob was dragging me down and sideways and causing an imbalance, straining my muscles etc.

No sooner had I recommenced wearing a mastectomy bra containing the dreaded pink blob, than my neck and shoulder ache disappeared.

The moral in this story?

Don't let yourself get dragged down by a real t*t.

Happy Holiday Shopping!

SUZE

How to get hip - in Igbo

noreply@blogger.com (Suzan St Maur) — Tue, 09 Oct 2007 11:22:00 +0000

First we must focus our minds on the latest mind-boggling findings of the Obscure Cancer Research Brigade with this revelation from the UK's Southampton University, as told by the Daily Mail:

"Women whose mothers have wide hips could be seven times more likely to develop breast cancer, researchers have warned. A study of thousands of women has revealed a clear link between the two."

No, really? Well, the explanation is simple enough...

"Prof Barker, of Southampton University, an internationallyrenowned medical researcher, said: 'A women's hip size is a marker of her oestrogen production. Wide, round hips represent markers of high sex hormone concentrations in the mother, which increase her daughter's vulnerability to breast cancer.'"

Ah, got that. Now. Does having a long nose mean your second cousin is more likely to get melanoma? Or if you have a big bottom, that your sons' nephews are more prone to rectal cancer? Am I being utterly cynical, or is there something vaguely funny about all this? Click here for the remainder of the story.

On to my most recent meet with my lovely Nigerian urologist. We were running over my recent "poke and peek" history for the benefit of Angela, a delightful nurse I've known for some time through other things and who has now taken up the reins as the urology/oncology nurse specialist.

"Yes," said Mr Uro. "The first time we did a cystoscopy I had to try four scopes before I found one that worked properly."

"I know," I chuckled. "I certainly learned some new swear words that day."

Mr Uro's eyes widened. "Oh, God, you were awake, weren't you? That's right, you'd had an epidural anaesthetic. I'm so sorry..."

"Don't worry," I assured him. "I knew all of the words in English. It's just the ones in Igbo that I didn't understand..."

More on that exciting cystoscopy in the archive, here.

Finally, if you should happen to be a member of Ecademy - the international online social and business networking platform - you may be interested to know that I have started a Cancer Club on there. Unlike this blog which is devoted largely to the lighter moments, Cancer Club is for more serious debate. It's a private club, too, so only members can view posts.

To learn more about Ecademy, click here, and to see the Cancer Club home page, click here.

Love to all

SUZE