Cancer Comic Strip

Old age: is there any point?

2011-09-22T21:25:00.000+01:00

Lovely story I tripped over on the internet recently ...

"I recently picked a new primary care physician. After two visits and exhaustive lab tests, he said I was doing "fairly well" for my age.

A little concerned about that comment, I couldn't resist asking him, "do you think I'll live to be 90?"

He asked, "well, do you smoke tobacco or drink beer or wine?"

"Oh no", I replied. "I've never done either."

Then he asked, "Do you eat rib-eye steaks and barbecued ribs?"

I said, "No, I heard that all red meat is very unhealthy."

"Do you spend a lot of time in the sun? Like playing golf? Go sailing? Go ballooning? Motorcycling? Rock climbing?"

"No I don't", I said.

He said, "Do you gamble, drive fast cars, or sexually fool around?"

"No", I said. "I have never done any of those things."

He looked at me sternly.

"Then why do you give a sh*t if you live to be 90?"

Absolutely right...

What's in a (doctor's) name?

2011-06-30T11:41:00.000+01:00

The Psychiatrist & The Proctologist

Best friends graduated from medical school at the same time and decided that, in spite of two different specialties, they would open a practice together to share office space and personnel.

Dr. Smith was the psychiatrist and Dr. Jones was the proctologist.

They put up a sign reading: "Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones: Hysterias and Posteriors." The town council was livid and insisted they change it.

So, the docs changed it to read: "Schizoids and Hemorrhoids." This was also not acceptable, so they again changed the sign.

"Catatonics and High Colonics" - no go.

Next, they tried "Manic Depressives and Anal Retentives" - thumbs down again.

Then came "Minds and Behinds" - still no good.

Another attempt resulted in "Lost Souls and Butt Holes" - unacceptable again!

So they tried "Analysis and Anal Cysts" - not a chance.

"Nuts and Butts" - no way.

"Freaks and Cheeks" - still no good.

"Loons and Moons" - forget it.

Almost at their wit's end, the docs finally came up with...

"Dr. Smith and Dr. Jones - Specializing in Odds and Ends"

Everyone loved it...

If you want some help with your business or social writing, come and see me on HowToWriteBetter.net.

How to prevent cancer: yeah, right...

2011-06-17T10:30:00.000+01:00

Here are some incredibly useful tips based on what is promoted by the, er, shall we say, more romantic popular press who just love to put some oomph into their stories…

ACTIONS: WHAT TO DO

Buy and use some ear plugs. They obviate the need for you to listen in bed to a partner whose snoring is louder than a racing car performing at full revs two feet away, thereby significantly reducing your cancer-causing stress hormone levels. Also work well for screaming kids, arguing families, neighbours doing noisy jiggy-jiggy next door, construction workers in the street using pneumatic drills (jackhammers) etc.

Move to a remote island without electricity. This avoids the danger of living near nuclear power stations or electricity pylons which as any popular journalist knows have been a hopeful source of cancer causing something-or-other, for some time.

Keep and use carrier pigeons. This will ensure that you don’t succumb to the threats of brain tumours arising from mobile phone (cellphone) usage. After many, many years of the media desperately hoping to accuse it of triggering cancer, a bit of research has finally hinted that this could be true.

If you’re a woman and live in the UK, get a facelift and have some Botox treatments. It seems, according to pop journalists, that the younger you are (or appear to be) the more likely you are to get a partial or total mastectomy for breast cancer. It appears that if you’re over 70, forget it – either go private or get a sharp carving knife and do it yourself.

Stop feeding your teenage kids. Seems that if they’re overweight by 18 they’re more likely to get cancer and you don’t want to put them at risk now, do you? This a great excuse to stop paying for junk food treats and save money by feeding them low fat bread, water and the occasional few boiled vegetables and stewed meat. Helps the family budget, big time.

You stop eating, too. This way you will lose weight so your BMI gets down to whatever it’s supposed to be, er, this week. Spend the money you save on a lovely sunshine holiday … oh, no, wait … a cloudy holiday.

Invest in black curtains and keep yourself away from the sun at all times to avoid skin cancer. But hold on a moment … ah, you need to get about 10-20 minutes of sun a day to make enough Vitamin D to help keep your bones healthy. And that’s bare skin, none of your SPF 50 stuff. Your call?

FOOD AND DRINK: WHAT TO CONSUME

Garlic. Lots and lots of it. It is said to have many cancer-preventing properties, not least of which is that the smell of your breath is enough to keep potential cancer cells cowering in horror. Also very handy for warding off vampires, fellow bus or train passengers, close colleagues, etc.

Onions. Ditto re: garlic as the two veggies are from the same family. Onions don’t necessarily make your breath smell like that of a polecat on heat, but they can get their revenge by challenging your rear end to keep quiet and smell free. Eat at your peril.

Dark Leafy Greens. They are good sources of the antioxidants called carotenoids which scavenge free radicals from the body before they can kickstart cancer, OK? Depending on which sort they are they can also turn your wee-wee a strange colour, give you the runs, and get stuck in your teeth. Small beer.

Red wine. (And grapes, but who needs them when red wine does the job too.) Grapes and red wine contain a substance called resveratrol - a strong antioxidant that can prevent cell damage. Red wine is also a good cure for a lot of things, really, but just watch you don’t overdo it. And don’t drive on it if you want to keep your license.

Green Tea. The flavonoids in green tea are thought to prevent the development of several types of cancer including colon, liver, breast, and prostate. Well, yeee haah. Become a tea granny. (Actually green tea tastes great, whatever its health promises.)

Blueberries. These are, of all berries, the best at providing you with cancer-fighting elements. Coincidentally they also stain your teeth, hands, and clothes, so you’re better off eating them in your bathtub. If you must eat them while dressed, ensure your clothing is a) ready to be thrown away or b) made out of utterly synthetic fabric (yuk!) and therefore immune to staining.

Mushrooms. Many mushrooms contain compounds that can help the body fight cancer. Some mushrooms may not help fight cancer but will make you fly at an altitude of 36,000 feet without an airplane. Some other mushrooms look very pretty but could kill you long before cancer gets a look in. Mushrooms are interesting.

Cruciferous vegetables. This includes such delights as broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts because they contain strong antioxidants which may help decrease cancer risk. They also tend to make you flatulent, so if you gorge yourself on them ensure you spend some time in the open air afterwards, or if you are indoors, seek some solitary “me-time.” At all costs avoid crowded public places, buses, and trains unless you want to be very, very unpopular.

Olive oil. Consume gallons of it. I mean gallons. Don’t just put it in salads or woks, frying pans etc. to cook foods but also use it to brush your teeth, massage your feet, lubricate your car, unstick jammed locks, open rusty jars. Take a bath in it. Seriously. According to the popular media it’s a cure-all that knows no equal. And if you have a bit of money to invest, buy an olive grove because this stuff is becoming a pop-media panacea. Just watch you don’t spill it on yourself because one thing it won’t help, is your dry cleaning bills.

Tomatoes. They contain a substance called lycopene which even my own doctors have said show some evidence of help in urinary cancers, especially those of the prostate. Don’t like the raw variety? That’s cool, because the lycopene in them is best released by cooking the toms in a bit of – guess what – olive oil. And should you find the odd one or two rotten ones in your kitchen, just save them to throw at your most hated politician. They work a treat.

Don’t drink neat spirits or other strong booze, to avoid mouth or esophageal cancer. Ensure you always take plenty of water with it. Other mixers are OK too but watch for the sweet ones – sugar is supposed to be bad for you, too, according to the manufacturers of artificial sweeteners. Then again, artificial sweeteners are supposed to be bad for you and even cause cancer, if you heed the research produced by “scientists” and paid for by the sugar producers. ZZZzzzzzz.

For more information? Try the popular press. For some real information about cancer in the UK (and it’s very useful if you’re in another country, too) check out Macmillan. They are truly amazing.

If you want to know what I do for a day job (and maybe need some help with your writing) check me out on HowToWriteBetter.net.

Can you shout that a bit louder, please?

2011-06-02T19:32:00.002+01:00

Hello again and welcome to an amusing little scenario that happened to me yesterday.

Picture this example of what should have been the filming of some reality TV...

SCENE: Interior, waiting area stretching across what amounts to a long, wide corridor - large radiology department of even larger British hospital...about 40 people sitting around waiting, some anxious, some thrilled (well, the pregnant women waiting for ultrasounds, anyway) others chatting, reading, staring out of window.

NURSE: (AT FAR END OF SPACE, SHOUTING ACROSS ALL OTHER PATIENTS WAITING) Suzan St Maur please!

SUZE: (AT OTHER END OF SPACE, SHOUTING BACK) Won't be a moment, just going to the Ladies' Room quickly!

NURSE: (STILL SHOUTING) No, we're doing your kidneys, you must have a full bladder!

SUZE: (THINKS FOR A MOMENT, THEN SHOUTING) I haven't GOT a bladder! I wee into a bag!

SOUND EFFECTS: Total silence, followed by noise of 40-odd lower jaws hitting the floor.

40-odd heads swivel as if on tripods as Suze walks cheerfully past them to join exceedingly embarrassed and flustered nurse at other end of space. Flustered nurse begins apologizing profusely until she realizes Suze is convulsed with laughter, so starts laughing too.

Happy ending. (And my kidneys are OK for now.)

What news from you? Please share in a comment here.

Sz xx

PS ... if you want to see what I do for a day job (a site called HowToWriteBetter.net) click here. I look forward to catching up with you there.

NHS cuts in the UK: at last, some truly realistic proposals

2011-03-28T11:40:00.000+01:00

Here in the UK we, like many other nations, have suffered a great deal as a result of the recent recession. Despite our government assuring us that the National Health Service (NHS) - which provides free healthcare for the population – is not going to suffer serious cuts, in effect and all that, the reality may be somewhat different.

However instead of looking at cuts that could affect the delivery of cancer services along with many other vital functions, perhaps the NHS could do without the following measures to improve cost-effectiveness:

Parking control gates and pay machines: expensive technology and half of them don’t work properly. Removal of these would more than compensate for the loss of parking payment revenue. All they would need now is one security guard patrolling with a large Pitbull Terrier trained to bite anyone sneaking guiltily back to their car laden with shopping bags from Tesco, Waitrose, Sainsbury, etc.

Hand sanitizers: silly little squirty boxes used mostly these days for visitors to hang their bags on while waiting for the ward doors to open immediately prior to visiting time. Far more effective – and cheaper – is to sit visitors on those awful plastic chairs at least 2 metres away from patients to avoid infection, preferably facing away from said patients. And while we’re about it why not sit them outdoors (where appropriate, i.e. probably not outside a 17th floor ward) looking into the ward where their folks are? Easy and cheap!

Extensive male and female toilets: oblige all in-patients to have urinary catheters fitted on admission and be hooked up to wee-wee bags. OK, the infection rate might rise a bit, but toilet numbers could be reduced substantially with consequently large cost savings on cleaning, plumbing repairs, removal of graffiti, etc. – a mere bagatelle compared with the cost of NICE’s latest approved bargain-basement drugs for UTIs. Frequent visitors could be offered urinary catheterisation too, to save them using visitors’ toilets which could then be reduced to a few in a shed by the main door.

Restaurants and cafés: oh, please! Who are we trying to kid? We all know that hospital food is bland, cheap and boring. So dressing that up in cutesy bright coloured packaging and calling it “Tasty Delights from the Hospital Bistro Stinko” ain’t going to impress anyone. Let’s just call it all “sludge” and be done with it. Dispense it from the rented slot machines along with the fizzy-pop drinks, stale cakes and cheap potato snacks.

TV, radio, internet, telephone, the latest from the Starship Enterprise and messages from outer space at your bedside: half the time these fancy systems cost fortunes to use. They’re manned and monitored by nice people who sweep by every few days on the ward asking if yours is working OK, because a) it usually isn’t and b) if it is most of us don’t know how to switch it on, never mind use it. I know the NHS probably gets a kick back from the companies providing these services but at what expense of having to dust and clean the damned things? Anyway, whatever happened to good old-fashioned (and free) hospital radio?

Hospital shops manned by volunteers: OK, an opportunity to use volunteers to sell books, magazines, gifts etc. to guilty visitors when they turn up and realise they’ve forgotten to bring some sort of goody to cheer up the patient their visiting. But that’s the visitors’ problem. Tell them to go across the street and buy that stuff from a supermarket or corner store, so freeing up volunteers to make tea and coffee for the patients – and/or staff - instead.

And what about out in the community? Take the automated, screen-based check-in facilities when you come to visit your GP, for example. You tap the screen with your finger and after asking you a few brainless question the computer usually finds you and checks you in. Of course it’s too easy to say hi to the receptionist you’ve known for 20 years so she knows you’re here for your appointment? People are cheaper – and a lot friendlier.

What tips have you got to help the NHS make some truly realistic cuts in the United Kingdom? Please share them here, no matter how outrageous!

Check out what I do for the day-job on HowToWriteBetter.net

10 reasons why I love my urostomy pouch

2011-03-22T17:34:00.008Z

The other day I received my valued copy of the Urostomy Association Journal and was perusing the contents page when I spotted the title of an article. "Ha! That looks like something I might write," I said to myself. I duly turned to page 40 and saw my own face staring up at me. "Ha again!" I said to the dogs. "This explains it. I did write it."

In fairness to my senior moment it has been a few months since I wrote that but I still felt a prize idiot. So as a penance (and also to share it with you as I don't believe the Urostomy Association Journal has an online presence yet) here it is...

10 REASONS WHY I LOVE MY UROSTOMY POUCH

By Suzan St Maur

I know that many people with stomas prefer a very sensitive and private approach to dealing with them, but during my whole journey through bladder cancer (plus a short detour into unrelated breast cancer along the way) I’ve found that openness and humour have helped me – and quite a few others – to deal with the trials and tribulations.

That’s one of the reasons why back in 2005 when I had been dealing with bladder cancer for 2 years and then was diagnosed with the breast tumour, I started my online “blog,” Cancer Comic Strip.

The other reason why that came about was because around the same time a good friend of mine with metastatic colon cancer, who had been given three months to live some 5 years earlier and is still going strong today, called me to complain that there were no good cancer-related jokes on the internet so get on and provide some. Off I went and did it. Check it out if you want some chuckles! (NB: I do NOT sell advertising space, sorry stoma product retailers - it’s non-commercial.)

The Big Chop: an inevitable next step

Anyway after more or less keeping the bladder cancer under control across 7 years of TURBTs, BCG instillations, BCG and Interferon instillations etc. etc. my consultant finally said words to the effect of “let’s cut the cr*p and get your bladder our before the cancer decides to go walkabout.” I had a radical cystectomy with formation of ileal conduit in May 2010 and am now the proud wearer of a wee bag.

I remember sitting on the loo in the hospital the morning of the operation and thinking, “this is the last time I will pee in the conventional manner.” An historical milestone! At the time I was a little apprehensive of how things would work out. But now, 6 months later (as I write this) I am counting my blessings. Here’s why...

1.Having had the RC and knowing that the cancer had not even infiltrated the muscle wall, chances of it having spread beyond my bladder are pretty small.

2.As my consultant whipped out my “girlie bits” at the same time as my bladder I know that I can’t get ovarian, cervical or endometrial cancer. (Useful as I’ve had breast cancer already.)

3.The lymph nodes taken out all tested negative, and I’m assured I won’t get lymphaedema in my nether regions in the same way as I have in the mastectomy-side arm.

4.Six months post-surgery my conduit is working well and my kidneys show up as normal size on ultrasound.

5.I’ve only experienced two leaks since using a pouch – on both occasions the pouch had been applied by a stoma nurse. This is something my local stoma girls do not find in the slightest bit amusing, especially when I remind them of it.

6.Never again will I have to sit on some dubious seat in an even more dubious ladies’ room, because now I empty into the toilet bowl from a safe distance.

7.I now pee like a man, standing facing the back wall of a toilet cubicle. This is a source of much fascination for anyone weird enough to peer under the partition, seeing a lady going wee-wees with her feet pointing in the wrong direction.

8.If my pouch becomes full while I’m driving along a country lane, I merely pull over into a gateway, hide behind the car, and empty it. If I’m helping at a horse show (regular hobby) I don’t have to walk through half a mile of mud to use the horrible portable toilets; I just go behind a bush.

9.If my pouch becomes full while I’m sat in a traffic jam I know I should have a nightbag to keep in the car, but in the meantime I just use an empty Coke bottle.

10.Wearing a pouch sure beats the hell out of dealing with the pain, burning and other discomfort associated with “conservative” bladder cancer treatments.

Can anyone else add some reasons to be grateful for the wee bag? I’m sure I’ve left some out...

Suzan St Maur is a freelance writing coach & editor, as well as being the author of over 20 nonfiction books of her own on a variety of topics. You can catch up with her latest ways of helping you write better at HowToWriteBetter.net

Gosh, I'm a famous author (huh?)

2011-01-08T19:39:00.003Z

Today saw me experiencing a trip down memory lane with very mixed feelings ... a return to dear old Willow Ward at Northampton General Hospital where my cancerous bladder and various other (thankfully non-cancerous) organs were removed and recycled into the incinerator last May.

Purpose was to see my good friend Gillian who got there several weeks before me last May and is still there ... having been through the most awful time with surgery that went wrong, numerous other complications and a medical horror story that would shock a zombie or vampire. Thankfully she is finally on the mend.

As I passed by the nurses' station I caught site of a nice young HCA (health care assistant a.k.a. nursing auxiliary in old money) and said hello - I remembered him from my spell there.

"Hi, how are you now?" he replied.

"Surely to God you don't remember me?"

"Yes, I do. You're the author."

Fame at last! With the hundreds of women passing through that surgical ward he actually remembered "moi," because I, er, well ... wait a minute.

He probably remembered me after my late night ramblings, off my face on oramorph, when I expect I bored him and the other staff witless with ramblings about my books.

As my mind turned to "Heaven only knows what else I bored the poor lad with" I was tempted to slink out of there in shame.

But as I left he waved goodbye and asked me what new books I've got coming out. I told him (another one about horse jokes) ... but I kind of wished I had written one about the lovely, lovely staff on that acute surgical ward and the deep personal interest they take in all their patients.

I know the British NHS (National Health Service) has its faults, but you can't beat the dedication of its people.

And on a lighter note, enjoy this lovely old (pre-prohibition of flowers in hospitals) story ... how many nurses wish they had the chutzpah to do this?

A big shot business man had to spend a couple of days in the hospital. He was a royal pain to the nurses because he bossed them around just like he did his employees.

None of the hospital staff wanted to have anything to do with him. The head nurse was the only one who could stand up to him. She came into his room and announced, "I have to take your temperature."

After complaining for several minutes, he finally settled down, crossed his arms and opened his mouth.

"No, I'm sorry, the nurse stated, "but for this reading, I cannot use an oral thermometer." This started another round of complaining, but eventually he rolled over and bared his rear end.

After feeling the nurse insert the thermometer, he heard her announce, "I have to get something. Now you stay JUST LIKE THAT until I get back!"

She leaves the door to his room open on her way out. He curses under his breath as he hears people walking past his door laughing. After almost an hour, the man's doctor comes into the room.

"What's going on here?" asked the doctor.

Angrily, the man answers, "What's the matter, Doc? Haven't you ever seen someone having their temperature taken?"

After a pause, the doctor confesses, "Well, no. I guess I haven't. Not with a carnation anyway."

Wee-Wee Whoopsie

2011-01-01T14:12:00.007Z

Happy New Year! And if you're thinking that you haven't much to celebrate, oh yes you have ... as a dear friend who at the age of 50 has advanced Multiple Sclerosis and I were saying on the phone earlier, "we're still here!" And if you're reading this, so are you.

I was just marking up my shiny new 2011 calendar with a string of medical appointments including one to visit the stoma nurses on January 20th.

The last time I went to have my urostomy checked out I thought I would entertain the nurse by telling her how the only two times I have experienced a wee-wee leak were times when the appliance was put on by a stoma nurse.

When we got to the point where a new bag was to be put back on me, she handed me the necessary equipment and with a snarl, said "You'd better do this yourself." UroKarma strikes again. No laughter. I looked around for a drain to crawl down.

Don't forget to check out Amy Marash's delightful blog, CancerIsSoFunny - her drawings are wonderful and her take on the funnier elements of her own cancer journey is priceless.

And for more wonderful humour that isn't health related - but amazingly, makes you cry with laughter without the use of a single smutty word or thought - have a look at Jeanne Robertson's website. She's 6 foot 2 inches tall, 68 years old, from North Carolina, and one of the funniest women I've ever observed on either side of the Atlantic.

Let's hope 2011 gives us even more to laugh about, and less to fear and loathe.

Sz xx

Guest post: My Beauties - what a gift! By Jackie Dunn

2010-10-22T14:39:00.005+01:00

Many thanks to fellow breast cancer survivor Jackie Dunn who got somewhat more than she had bargained for when undergoing breast reconstruction surgery ...! Here's her story:

After about a year following the chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the latter which left great gaping holes under my arm and under my right breast, I was definitely not impressed with hospitals and regular treatment. However, knowing there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, I decided to get well with the zeal of a mad-woman let loose after my release.

Because the skin was very thin and difficult to heal following the radiotherapy – something which I am sure I was not told about, I sulked and screamed for a while. Then got over myself and healed.

A while down the road, I asked my GP for a referral. I wanted new boobs. You see, I had not been told that with the radiotherapy, that I might experience hard tissue on the breast. The right breast was getting very hard. I was single and still wanted to have 2 normal-looking breasts to fill my bra, which was about a size 34 C then. Along I went to plastic surgeon – Mr V. in Leicester, one of the finest in the UK. He was compassionate and told me that my skin had not healed sufficiently. Perhaps in time. Perhaps never.

So, 6 months later, I followed the same route; GP, then Mr V and then rejection. Hmmmmm, so there would be another way, I thought. So I started by sending Mr V. gifts. At one time, a bottle of fine wine. Then a wonderful card saying how wonderful he was and his bedside manner was just the best. Eventually, we got together again, this time on first-name terms. He agreed that he would give it a go, to speak. And he measured me up for the boobs that I wanted – after all, I wanted a matching pair didn’t I? We decided on the size, the weight and the shape. It was like looking for a great pair of shoes when you have so many to choose from and only one lifetime choice. Better get it right.

He did tell me that I would be added to the waiting list and I said that would not be necessary, that his personal PA was just waiting for the nod and I would be top of the list. More on this another time, and suffice to say that I was booked in the following week.

Pre-med. Gowned up, fastened at the front this time, I was wheeled to the pre-op room. Mr V. came in to see that I was ok. He also was gowned up with a mask under his chin. He looked a bit worried when he approached me. “Mrs Dunn,” he said, “we have a situation here. Your notes have not been found; they seem to be between the four hospitals you were dealing with. So there you have it. You have a choice to make here, and I cannot help you. Whatever you decide, will be recorded and you will sign to agree on the action.

You can either go home and we’ll let you know when your notes turn up – giving the full size and weight of your agreed silicones . Or you can verbally agree here and now and we’ll get on with the operation.”

Woozily I said, “just get on with it and fill the gaps” …. Signed a piece of paper and then all around me scurried into action.

When I awoke, back in the ward, the next morning, I was trussed up like a chicken. The bandages were protruding really quite a lot and then another doctor came along to see how I was doing.

“Doctor,” I said, “I seem to have a lot of swelling, here. Not quite as I expected, actually.” “Mrs Dunn” he said in a serious manner, “there is no swelling”. He and I gulped, in an awkward sort of way …. No swelling, eh? And so back off to sleep to allow his words to sink in.

So, getting used to my now and forever rather large breasts, I now refer to them as ‘my beauties’ . In actual fact, we have a birthday celebration for them each year. They suit my personality and are one of my greatest souvenirs of the final cancer chapter.

Jackie x

Have a look at Jackie's great website, "The String Bag" ...

Many thanks to Animation.Comedy.Com for the loan of their lovely pic of Marge.

Hello again and how to prepare for a hospital stay

2010-10-19T19:48:00.002+01:00

I'm back, having become an accomplished "urostomate" and of course, not having lost my sense of humour, I thought you might enjoy this little ditty (original author unknown):

How to prepare for the hospital

Going into the hospital is never fun to begin with, but with these tips you should be able to prepare for your stay, and minimize the discomfort when you get there.

1. Lay stark naked on your lawn and ask a gardener to probe you with his weedkiller applicator.

2. Drink two litres of Eggshell One-Coat Coverage Interior Flat White #2. Then have your child stuff his slinky down your throat.

3. Put a real estate agent's 'Open House' sign in your front garden and lie on your bed dressed in a paper napkin with straws stuck up your nose.

4. Put your hand firmly down into your food processor on the “chop” setting while practising your smile and repeating: "mild discomfort".

5. Set your alarm to go off every ten minutes from ten PM to seven AM, at which times you will alternately puncture your wrist with a Phillips (squarehead) screwdriver, stab yourself with a knitting needle and wrap several elastic bands very tightly around your upper arm.

6. Remove all fresh food from your house and replace it with "boil in the bag" culinary delights from the back of your freezer which you haven't defrosted in over 10 years.

7. With several strands of Christmas fairy lights strung from a coat stand and onto yourself, walk slowly up and down the hall. One familiar with this, practise going to the washroom in similar fashion.

8. Urinate into an empty lipstick tube and ensure you don't miss, even if you're a woman.

9. Rub a bit of honey on your left buttock, drop your pants, go over to a wasps' nest, bend over and shake it just a bit.

10. Make sure that there is no toilet paper in your bathroom, eat a bowl of cherries, and have your partner ignore you completely as you plead for her/him to come and bring you a roll of paper.

Having spent three weeks in a UK hospital this year I find the above not quite so funny, as I might have otherwise. I wonder why?

Charity begins at home (well, in the founders' own bank accounts, anyway)

2010-08-28T12:58:00.004+01:00

If anyone has been approached by or attracted to something called the "Cancer Fund of America" you might be interested to share a recent post from The Bladder Cancer Web Cafe email discussion list...

I have received a few calls from the 'Cancer Fund of America' soliciting donations to help cancer patients with their daily incidentals. After listening to them for several minutes and asking questions about who they help, I then tell them that I am a cancer patient that could use some help (not really - just want to know their response). I was directed to a website www.cfasupportservices.org or telephone number 1800-578-5284 and I was then asked for money again.

The website is sketchy to say the least. There is a form for patients to fill out to apparently receive a box of Debbie Cakes. An article by the Better Business Bureau claims "Cancer Fund of America and a related support group, Cancer Fund of America Support Services, Inc., reported they raised slightly more than $17 million in 2007, the most recent year in which public information is available. Of that total, Cancer Fund of America reported it donated $54,000 in cash to unrelated groups or individuals - or about 3/10 of 1 percent. Of that $54,000, however, $50,000 went to a court directed cancer charity as part of a settlement with the Georgia Governor's Office of Consumer Affairs. The state alleged the charity gave out deceptive and misleading solicitations to consumers. The salaries and benefit packages for charity president James T. Reynolds, Sr., two sons and a son-in-law totaled more than $537,000 for the same period."

So, before you give to them you should think twice. How they are still getting away with this practice is beyond me.

It seems our friends at Cancer Fund of America have been hounding people for money since 2006 at least, according to Michael Mazack et al - it's well worth reading their experiences here. And the Bladder Cancer Cafe poster, along with Mr Mazack, are not alone; when I did a Google search of the words "Cancer Fund of America scam" there were more than 200,000 results. Not what you'd call a flash in the pan.

Having had a quick gallop through the text on the Cancer Fund of America Inc's home page (and found two mistakes in their English/spelling,) I then clicked on through the site. I was not particularly reassured by their President's message, much as the beaming Mr Reynolds almost looks nice enough to buy a used car from. But then I'm hardly likely to buy a car from Knoxville, Tennessee (their official address, although they say they are a Delaware Corporation - and by sheer coincidence, of course, these appear to have comparatively relaxed rules and regulations.)

Perhaps someone should suggest the charity is renamed "The Reynolds Family Get-Rich-Quick Fund." Ain't life grand?

Melanoma alert: keep your bum out of the sun

2010-08-03T18:15:00.003+01:00

A recent study conducted by the University of Edinburgh found that of all parts of your body, those which tan the most ineffectively are the buttocks.

"The findings, published in the journal Experimental Dermatology, show that the buttock is much more resistant to sunshine," says the University of Edinburgh press release. "But when it does go red it tans less well than other areas."

"The fact that different types of skin cancer tend to be found in different parts of the body has long puzzled scientists, given that they are all caused by exposure to sunshine," the release continues. "The team aimed to identify whether this is linked to variations in the way different parts of the body develop a tan."

So be warned; the next time you're tempted to moon at the sun, don't forget the high-factor sunblock...

Want to avoid bladder cancer? Get bladdered on beer or wine.

2010-07-30T09:32:00.005+01:00

Such welcome news for boozers ... according to a meta-analysis of alcohol intake and risk of bladder cancer conducted by the Department of Urology at the First Affiliated Hospital (School of Medicine) at Zhejiang University in China...

"The overall current literature on alcohol consumption and the risk of bladder cancer suggested no association, while the consumption of beer and wine was associated with reduced risk of bladder cancer," says the abstract.

"Further efforts should be made to confirm these findings and clarify the underlying biological mechanisms," the abstract concludes.

Drinking wine didn't stop me getting bladder cancer and now I no longer have a bladder, I suppose this information is irrelevant. But I'm going to continue drinking wine just in case...

Police now classify urostomy bags as offensive weapons

2010-07-25T10:58:00.006+01:00

According to various articles in the North American press, it seems that a certain Monica Avila - proud owner of a urostomy - found a useful new role for her urostomy bag recently when displeased by the boys in blue who were pursuing her by car, attempting to arrest her.

Ripping off her bag, which we must assume was due for emptying at the time anyway, she threw it at the officers who were then splattered with urine.

Much encouraged by this I am delighted to be in possession of a potentially offensive weapon ... handy to deter muggers, pickpockets, charity tin rattlers, traffic wardens, etc. I think even the hardest-bitten hooded teenage chavvy-yob would run like hell rather than get sprinkled with fresh human pee...

Read one version of the whole story in the Toronto Sun ...

It's vampire time for me

2010-07-21T12:14:00.003+01:00

In a fit of peak no doubt caused by hospital visit withdrawal symptoms, my body has now found a clever way to get me back in.

Noticing that one of my legs was fatter - even fatter - than the other I had it checked and I now have a small deep vein thrombosis in the left thigh.

So I have been commuting to the vampire department at our regional hospital daily for over a week. My abdomen looks like a road map of Ontario after all the heparin shots, and the inner-elbow vein in my only available arm (other has lymphedoema) is standing out holding a up a white flag and saying "enough, already."

But still the vampires must taste my blood, although we're now down to every other day. And I'm chewing rat poison pills every evening (a.k.a. warfarin.)

Anyway, all thanks must go to the good folks at the Anti-Coagulant department of Northampton General Hospital who have been treating me so good humouredly. (See pic, above, senior member of their staff...)

You thought I had vanished, didn't you ... go on, admit it ...

2010-07-11T19:50:00.003+01:00

Well, I might have, I suppose. But thankfully I made it through the removal of my bladder, uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes and numerous lymph nodes in my lower abdomen ... plus the creation of a stoma using a chunk of my small intestine as a conduit, sewn to my kidneys one end which sticks through a hole at the other... OK, too much information.

(The upside? I lost 20 lbs! Without even trying! Major surgery and the off-putting effects of hospital food for 3 weeks beat the pants off the Dukan diet, I can tell you...)

If you really want to know the gory details, have a look here.

Having so many bits chopped out of me has left me feeling a bit tired and jaded, hence not up to so many jokes as in previous times.

But don't write me off just yet. My sense of humour is coming back at an alarming rate.

And I'm rapidly getting used to my small plastic friend which has replaced my very nastily diseased bladder (see pic on the left.)

In the meantime, let's celebrate medical humour with a few gags passed on by my delightful cousin Alyson in Ottawa, Canada...

~~~~~~~~~~

A man comes into the ER and yells . . .'My wife's going to have her baby in the cab.'
I grabbed my stuff, rushed out to the cab, lifted the lady's dress and began to take off her underwear. Suddenly I noticed that there were several cabs, and I was in the wrong one.

Submitted by Dr. Mark MacDonald ,
San Francisco

~~~~~~~~~~

At the beginning of my shift I placed a stethoscope on an elderly and slightly deaf female patient's anterior chest wall.

'Big breaths,'. . . I instructed.

'Yes, they used to be,'. . .replied the patient.

Submitted by Dr. Richard Byrnes ,
Seattle , WA

~~~~~~~~~~

One day I had to be the bearer of bad news when I told a wife that her husband had
died of a massive myocardial infarction.

Not more than five minutes later, I heard her reporting to the rest of the family that he had died of a 'massive internal fart.'

Submitted by Dr. Susan Steinberg

~~~~~~~~~~

During a patient's two week follow-up appointment with his cardiologist, he informed
me, his doctor, that he was having trouble with one of his medications.

' Which one ?'. .. . I asked. 'The patch...

The Nurse told me to put on a new one every six hours and now I'm running out of places to put it !'

I had him quickly undress and discovered what I hoped I wouldn't see. Yes, the man had over fifty patches on his body!

Now, the instructions include removal of the old patch before applying a new one.

Submitted by Dr. Rebecca St. Clair ,
Norfolk , VA

~~~~~~~~~~

While acquainting myself with a new elderly patient, I asked, 'How long have you been bedridden?'

After a look of complete confusion she answered, 'Why, not for about twenty years - when my husband was alive.'

Submitted by Dr. Steven Swanson-
Corvallis , OR

~~~~~~~~~~

I was performing rounds at the hospital one morning and while checking up on a man I asked, 'So how's your breakfast this morning?'

' It's very good except for the Kentucky Jelly. I can't seem to get used to the taste.'

I then asked to see the jelly and he produced a foil packet labeled 'KY Jelly.'

Submitted by Dr. Leonard Kransdorf ,
Detroit , MI

~~~~~~~~~~

A nurse was on duty in the Emergency Room when a young woman with purple hair styled
into a punk rocker Mohawk, sporting a variety of tattoos, and wearing strange clothing, entered. It was quickly determined that the patient had acute appendicitis, so she was scheduled for immediate surgery.

When she was completely disrobed on the operating table, the staff noticed that her pubic hair had been dyed green and above it there was a tattoo that read . . .' Keep off the grass.'

Once the surgery was completed, the surgeon wrote a short note on the patient's dressing, which said 'Sorry . . . had to mow the lawn.'

Submitted by RN no name...

~~~~~~~~~~

Would Amy's center please make contact?

2010-03-22T17:42:00.000Z

A bright and upbeat message from Amy Marash in Washington, DC ...

Hi Suzan,
I was diagnosed with metastastic colon cancer in 2008 and treated with 2 surgeries and 11 rounds of chemotherapy, including standard protocols plus an experimental drug. I write stories and make drawings to process my thoughts, feelings and fears about the beast. I've completed treatment, show no evidence of disease, and I'm still here!

Amy's blog, "Cancer Is So Funny" is fascinating - take a look here. She also sent me some of her art to share, so here it is:

Have you got the balls - or ball - for this?

2010-03-21T19:19:00.004Z

This one is especially for our Darren Couchman, campaigner extraordinaire for testicular cancer awareness and author of a hilarious book called "One Lump Or Two?

A patient visited his urologist for testicular cancer and expressed concern about being able to perform after the operation. The patient was also worried about the chemotherapy. The doctor said "I too had testicular cancer a few years ago. Ten days after the operation I made passionate love with my wife, and forgot all my worries. Try it and see for yourself." Three weeks later the patient returns, and thanks the doctor effusively. The doctor says "I'm glad my advice helped." The patient thanks him again, and as he's leaving says "By the way Doctor, you have a really beautiful house.

Gag unashamedly stolen from The Furry Monkey, a fellow warrior whose site is really well worth a visit. Check it out.

And Karen, please feel free to share any gags and other stuff from here that you find entertaining. We cancer warriors - and especially those of us with a sense of humour - need to stick together.

It's bye-bye bladder time

2010-03-20T14:18:00.003Z

Well, the BCG / Interferon treatments didn't work. Although the CIS cancer in my bladder isn't worse, it's still there. So in a few weeks' time the surgeons will remove my bladder, create an ileal conduit (tube made from a length of my own small bowel) which then gets sewn on to the ureters that descend from the kidneys, and bingo. Empties into little plastic bag, which I then empty by turning a tap on.

I even get a hysterectomy thrown in - just how cool is that for a "buy one, get one free" deal?

A couple of days ago I visited another woman who has had the same surgery, who very kindly showed me her stoma, bag, etc and explained how it all works. OK, the surgery and recovery are not what you'd call a walk in the park, but they're "do-able."

And the prize bonus? About a year after this lady's surgery while on a trip to the Austrian Alps, someone dared her to write her initials in the snow - something men can do easily but is usually impossible for us girlies.

Not so when you have a urostomy, however. She waited until her bag was full, turned on the tap, squeezed and voilà. And now she's dared me to do the same thing next winter...I can hardly wait...

Photograph stolen from a delightful blog called The WetAss Chronicles by US journalist Tim Zimmermann ... thanks Tim, hope you don't mind.

Oi, Manchester!

2010-01-11T16:46:00.002Z

You Mancunians ... what are you doing April 17th?

Fancy a nice healthy walk?

Check this out.

Maybe I'll see you there ... as long as I can bring my four-legged friend for company...

"You're in remission now, so p*ss off."

2010-01-06T16:09:00.003Z

I thought it was just me and a few like-minded folks out here in the wilderness shouting at the health professionals that once your cancer treatment is finished, you're politely told to do something connected with sex and travel - if you're lucky, maybe "come back next year for a checkup." And that's it. Diddly squat.

As many of you will know from experience, while you're going through chemo and radiotherapy you feel supported and cocooned by doctors, nurses and other wallahs plus the whole cancer system itself. This is generally considered to be an important part of your therapy; you are not alone, you have a key worker or other mentor you can call in the middle of the night and rant at if you want to, and on your regular visits to the onco unit or "tanning booths" you're warmly welcomed and entertained by all your friends and co-patients.

As soon as the treatments end though, you get pushed over the cliff and you're on your own. All that nice, comfy support, cups of tea, letters, pamphlets, cosy chats, little ring-binders with your treatment notes in them etc. etc. vaporise in an instant and you're dumped back in the world of real life, feeling about as fit for coping with it as a one-legged man at a butt-kicking party.

At last, here in the UK, Macmillan Cancer Support - bless 'em - are campaigning for the system to stop abandoning successfully-treated cancer patients like stolen cars by the side of the road, and get them - or rather, us - the follow-up care we need.

Macmillan not unreasonably are focusing on the medical issues involved in post-cancer care here, but I hope they don't forget the psychological side of it - we cancer patients get withdrawal symptoms when our toy-toys and security blankets are whipped out from under our noses. But we can hardly rate as spoilt brats who should just be told to grow up and get on with it.

This article on the BBC website makes interesting reading.

What do you think?

Happy 2010

2010-01-03T18:21:00.004Z

Greetings to all in this new decade and I hope you had a wonderful Holiday season. I've had some welcome time off from BCG+Interferon bladder treatments - boy, did they make me pee razorblades - and have no further Chinese torture until I go for a "poke and peek" early February.

And now, while we're on the subject of uro cancers, a little story to start the New Year:

A patient visited his urologist for testicular cancer and expressed concern about being able to perform after the operation. The patient was also worried about the chemotherapy.

The doctor said "I too had testicular cancer a few years ago. Ten days after the operation I made passionate love with my wife, and forgot all my worries. Try it and see for yourself."

Three weeks later the patient returned, and thanked the doctor effusively. The doctor said "I'm glad my advice helped."

The patient thanked him again, and as he was leaving said "By the way Doctor, you have a really beautiful house."

With thanks to The Furry Monkey for the loan of this gag - check out his cancer jokes but be warned, some of them are not for the faint-hearted.

R I P my old booby...

2009-11-06T11:54:00.004Z

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

2009-10-01T10:33:00.003+01:00

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

~~~~~~~~~~

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

2009-09-27T18:21:00.001+01:00

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.)

2009-09-16T18:48:00.002+01:00

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

2009-03-26T18:50:00.010Z

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

2009-03-25T13:12:00.003Z

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

2009-03-22T14:11:00.003Z

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!

2009-03-16T11:37:00.007Z

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

2009-03-13T19:22:00.002Z

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

2009-03-03T16:09:00.002Z

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?

2009-02-15T13:51:00.003Z

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?

2009-02-11T17:01:00.004Z

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?

2009-02-07T20:33:00.003Z

...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?

2009-01-22T18:08:00.002Z

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

2009-01-14T12:24:00.000Z

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

2008-10-24T10:46:00.000+01:00

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?

2008-09-11T18:32:00.000+01:00

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?

2008-08-25T11:46:00.000+01:00

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

2008-07-05T21:17:00.000+01:00

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...

2008-07-03T19:23:00.000+01:00

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

2008-05-28T13:56:00.000+01:00

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

2008-05-16T17:17:00.000+01:00

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

2008-04-04T11:30:00.000+01:00

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...

2007-11-30T13:21:00.000Z

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

2007-10-09T12:22:00.000+01:00

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

Doctors take notes: but get them right, OK?

2007-09-28T19:30:00.000+01:00

Here's the latest batch of doctors' notes on hospital patients and - speaking as a professional writer - it really does make my mind boggle to see how inaccurate some of those notes can be. For example:

1. The skin was moist and dry.

2. Rectal exam revealed a normal size thyroid. (Long fingers?)

3. The patient had waffles for breakfast and anorexia for lunch.

4. She stated that she had been constipated for most of her life until 1989 when she got a divorce.

5. Between you and me, we ought to be able to get this lady pregnant.

6. The patient was in his usual state of good health until his airplane ran out of gas and crashed.

7. The lab test indicated abnormal lover function.

8. The baby was delivered, the cord clamped and cut, and handed to the pediatrician, who breathed and cried immediately.

9. Exam of genitalia reveals that he is circus sized.

10. I saw your patient today, who is still under our car for physical therapy.

11. The patient lives at home with his mother, father, and pet turtle, who is presently enrolled in day care three times a week.

12. Bleeding started in the rectal area and continued all the way to Los Angeles.

13. Both breasts are equal and reactive to light and accommodation. (Excuse me, what are you doing with that pen light?)

14. She is numb from her toes down.

15. Exam of genitalia was completely negative except for the right foot. (Anatomy review time!)

16. While in the emergency room, she was examined, X-rated and sent home.

17. The patient was to have a bowel resection. However, he took a job as a stockbroker instead. (An empowered patient.)

18. The patient suffers from occasional, constant, infrequent headaches.

19. Coming from Detroit, this man has no children.

20. Examination reveals a well-developed male lying in bed with his family in no distress.

21. Patient was alert and unresponsive.

22. When she fainted, her eyes rolled around the room.

23. We will follow her eyes and nose with a foley catheter.

24. By the time he was admitted, his rapid heart had stopped, and he was feeling better.

25. Patient has chest pain if she lies on her left side for over a year.

26. On the second day the knee was better and on the third day it had completely disappeared.

27. The patient has been depressed ever since she began seeing me in 1983.

28. The patient is tearful and crying constantly. She also appears to be depressed.

29. Discharge status: Alive but without permission.

30. Healthy-appearing decrepit sixty-nine-year-old male, mentally alert but forgetful.

31. The patient refused an autopsy.

32. The patient expired on the floor uneventfully.

33. Patient has left his white blood cells at another hospital.

34. The patient's past medical history has been remarkably insignificant, with only a forty-pound weight gain in the past three days.

35. She slipped on the ice and apparently her legs went in separate directions in early December.

36. The patient had a rash over his truck.

37. Dictation blunder: lasar radar response (as opposed to vagovagal response).

Sheesh. And these are the people to whom we entrust our health, and our lives?

(With grateful thanks to my friend Kazzy in Folkestone, England, who supplied that information.)

SUZE

Goodbye summer, hello our future

2007-09-17T19:21:00.000+01:00

So here we are in September. I have been hideously remiss in not posting on here but after my course of BCG (bladder cancer) treatments I couldn't wait to get the hell out of UK, fly to Canada, and spend a few weeks chilling back home.

Well, chilling is hardly an appropriate word here when you think that we spent 5 weeks travelling around visiting family and friends and at one point spent a week by Georgian Bay (Ontario) in rented accommodation in a group of 6 adults and 8 teenagers. Evening meals, in particular, resembled running a restaurant but we oldies shared out the responsibility and somehow managed to emerged unscathed.

Especially as none of us had to get up at 6:00 a.m. to see kids off to school...unlike now that we're all back to reality.

Now, the bladder cancer. Having heard the most terrifying stories from some folks who experienced BCG treatments I approached them, as you know, with some trepidation. However the sum total of my side effects were extreme fatigue. No pain, no fevers, no diddly squat. I am very lucky.

A week ago I went into the hospital for another "poke and peek" to see what if anything had happened up my wee-wee hole since the BCG treatment and my sabbatical in Canada. After my epidural anaesthetic had taken effect once again my numb legs were hoisted into the very undignified stirrups and the procedure began.

As this time the first little mini-camera worked (unlike the previous time when several little mini-cams failed before we found one that performed) the VT monitor was turned a bit so I could watch and I witnessed the entire procedure.

Despite my personal interest in the whole thing, I have to tell you - the interior walls of the human bladder really don't grab your interest like scenes from the latest soap or ballroom dancing prog on TV. Slightly fazed by a small shot of tranquiliser while watching, I frivolously asked the surgeon if he had ever played that "Packman" game on computers whereby the character ate up small segments of the opposing factor.

That's what the action on screen looked like to me, as they were using their miniature hedge-pruners to chop out a couple of remaining cancer spots as well as a few healthy-looking places for biopsy.

So now we wait for histology and my next rendezvous with the delightful Mr Andrews (operating surgeons in the UK, despite having had the Doctor handle for years, revert to "Mister" when appointed to "consultant" - i.e. senior surgeon - status) which takes place October 5th.

I'm lucky. Mr Andrews is such a nice guy - Nigerian, and fascinating with the stories of the medical profession out there - and cares about his patients so, so, much.

Now all I've got to do is get on with my work.

As so many of us say, and most of us believe, OK - we have cancer. But we also have a life.

What do you think?

Love to all

SUZE

So sorry … haven't been feeling myself lately (ouch)

2007-06-08T20:54:00.000+01:00

Ach, where has she been, I hear you say? Swanning off to some luxurious resort in the Far East or the Caribbean to mop her fevered brow after the traumas of the disastrous "poke and peek" exam of her bladder cancer?

I wish.

No, being a fulltime working lone Mom I couldn't afford that kind of luxury and in fact once the initial discomfort had passed I have been perfectly OK.

Day before yesterday was the first BCG treatment … click here for a full rundown on what that entails. The treatment itself paled into insignificance because as is common with our dear National Health Service here in England – due to a new computer system of course – they had managed to mislay not only my notes but those of everyone else in the waiting room of the MacMillan Unit which runs cancer treatments at our hospital. Not to worry! The good old British Blitz Spirit kicked in and by the time the kindly volunteer had brought tea, cookies and sympathy to us all (well, except me because I wasn't allowed any fluids) we were all yakking away like high school buddies at a 30-year reunion.

The lady sitting next to me, it transpired, was in there for a leukaemia check and she and I entertained each other for more than two hours with stories and anecdotes about children, dogs, and life in general.

When finally I was called in for my treatment I felt a twinge of regret, as my name had been shouted out in mid-conversation about Rottweilers and how dreadfully they are misunderstood. My urology nurse sympathised as she stuck a catheter up my urethra and instilled the magic potion.

Then, as it was my first time, I had to spend a further two hours in the waiting room while the potion did its stuff, in case it did its stuff somewhat too well and flung me into anaphylactic shock.

Fortunately nothing emerged for me other than a raging thirst and hunger which the uro nurse finally assuaged with a huge glass of water and a large cup of good old British tea, accompanied by a skinny ham sandwich courtesy of the NHS, 15 minutes before my wee-wee time was up.

At the appointed time I went to the washroom, discarded the magic potion, swamped the toilet with bleach to kill off all these lovely bacteria I had been entertaining for the previous two hours, and went home.

Reaction so far? Diddly squat. But they say the first session often does result in nada reaction … it's the later ones that get you.

If they do, I'll report back in full glorious burning technicolour.

In the meantime, a couple of very interesting news items…

One, it seems Vitamin D has made a startling comeback after having spent years in the doldrums featuring in the largely extinct (in industrialised countries) disease called rickets, caused by a deficiency thereof.

No, no, never mind rickets, deficiency of Vitamin D can lead to cancer.

Now guess what … it appears that Vit D "slashes risk of disease by as much as 60 per cent." However in order to benefit from Vit D you need to spend around 20 minutes without sunblock catching those rays – per day – or take about 1,000 iu of Vit D orally per day. Vit D also occurs in milk and fish-liver oils like cod and halibut, plus eggs and other things, but you have to consume one hellova lot of that to get the recommended daily 1,000 iu.

Well, I'll try anything once …

And to finish, a new (breast) cancer-related comic strip plus much more, courtesy of MyBreastCancerNetwork.com …
well worth a look.

Talking of breast cancer, my 6-month checko on May 24th was OK. Next stop for that, mammogram in September … and next stop after the BCG treatments is another "poke and peek" end August or so. Yaaaayyy! Looks like I get the summer off….

…but have no fear, I will be tuning into CancerComicStrip at ridiculously frequent intervals from my summertime perches of the UK, Canada and the USA, so please keep the comments, anecdotes and experiences coming. Especially if they're funny.

SUZE

"This won't hurt, honest..." ARRGGGHH!

2007-04-27T18:17:00.000+01:00

I hate doctors. They're liars. When I asked about the surgical procedure on my bladder and whether it would hurt afterwards, they flashed me glazed smiles and said "no, just a little discomfort maybe."

"A little discomfort" turned out to be three days of feeling like my lower abdomen had been driven over at speed by an 18-wheeler, then stamped on by entire stadium full of rioting British soccer fans.

Mind you there were mitigating circumstances. Most bladder surgery is done in a non-invasive fashion, i.e. with everything required inserted up your wee-hole as against via an incision. In my case the little CCTV cameras they use so they can see what they're doing didn't work. One, two, three and four all failed.

Mercifully number 5 produced a good picture but by this time nearly an hour had elapsed on a procedure that shouldn't take longer than 10 minutes. Hence a lot more bruising, bashing, scraping and tweaking than Mike Tyson's face received during his entire boxing career.

I had chosen a spinal (epidural) anaesthetic which was great in one way, as I didn't get the hangover associated with a GA. But it meant I was wide awake to hear all the four-letter words and curses used by the surgeons when the succession of camera gizmos proved useless. I learned a few new ones, too; the head surgeon was African and the number 2 was from the East Indian sub-continent, so I can now swear fluently in at least one Nigerian and one Bangladeshi language.

And when my bottom half regained consciousness, oh, whoops. Did that ever hurt.

Anyway on to funnier things and click here for an anecdote about bladder cancer treatment that had me rolling around laughing. It's from fellow Cancer Blogger David Ferdinando and his My Bladder Cancer Journey - take a look at that blog, it's excellent and very informative about this increasingly common disease.

Only four weeks to go now and I start my immunotherapy treatments. The doctors say they don't hurt, either ... yes, right...

Talking of bladder cancer, did I ever tell you about...

2007-04-23T19:33:00.000+01:00

...a few years ago when I was the writer/interviewer on a video production about the male urinary tract?

Anyway ... as bladder cancer and its somewhat eye-squinting treatment is now back on my mind after a welcome break, here's a story that should bring a smile to the lips of most women and a tear to the eye of most men.

Once upon a time I was scriptwriter and interviewer on a video production sponsored by a pharmaceutical company to promote its product which was an opaque medium used in a process called videocystourethrography. Sounds good? Means it was something injected into you which showed up on an X-ray, so that video cameras could track your wee-wee as it exited your body.

On the day concerned we had a subject who was willing to be shown on the programme - an elderly man. For reasons best known to the wallahs this elderly man required not one, not two but three catheters to be inserted up him; two up his willy and one up his back passage.

By the time we got to the insertion of catheter number two, our director - a gallant young man - was on the point of unconsciousness. "Suze," he gasped while fighting to stay aware, "I can't cope with this. You'll have to direct it."

Well, I'm not sure how many people in show business have experienced their directorial debuts by default, but I sure did. With a slightly bemused Suze in command we shot the scene in one take and bang, it was "in the can."

Sadly so was the director, but in an entirely different metaphorical "can" ... that of the lavatorial kind. Poor guy. Let's hope he never needs to have his bladder examined ...

That sinking feeling...

2007-03-22T20:36:00.000Z

Ah well, it's back on the cancer treatment treadmill for Suze.

A recent "poke and peek" (bladder cancer jargon for a flexible cystoscopy) revealed some inflamed patches on the bladder lining and lo and behold, it's carcinoma in situ time.

Now before you start planning my funeral, get this. The bad news about bladder cancer is that it recurs 80 percent of the time, many times. The good news is that it can be treated repeatedly for a long, long time, and if all else fails the bladder can be removed and I would then go wee-wees into a little "ostomy" bag.

Despite that knowledge over the last 24 hours since I received the news I've been feeling a bit down. However my sense of humour was revived today when I received this wonderful gag...

An elderly couple were discussing this and that, when the husband said, “whatever happened to our sexual relations?”

“Do you know,” replied his wife, “I don't even think we got a Christmas card from them this year.”

By the way if you suffer from bladder cancer, there is a wonderful website which has helped me enormously - the Bladder Cancer Web Cafe. Click here for more information.

Now ... I must get myself ready for the (minor) surgery and then 6 weeks of BCG immunotherapy which I'm told beats the pants off intravesical chemo for problems like mine, but does have some relatively mild side effects.

Yours anticipating a continuing, burning need to go-go...

SUZE

A bad day at the office - or on the cress of a wave?

2007-02-16T15:14:00.000Z

Hi all and apologies for now including Google Ads, but it would be nice to have a few pennies' worth of revenue from CancerComicStrip to give to one of my favourite cancer charities (Breakthrough Breast Cancer and McMillan, here in the UK.) So get clicking and you can help, too.

And if you think you've had a tough day at work, console yourself with this (original author unknown, but thank you, whoever you are)...

Rob is a commercial saturation diver for Global Divers in Louisiana. He performs underwater repairs on offshore drilling rigs. Below is an E-mail he sent to his sister. She then sent it to radio station 103.2 on FM dial in Ft. Wayne, Indiana, which was sponsoring a Worst Job Experience Contest.

Needless to say, she won.

"Hi Sis,

Just another note from your bottom-dwelling brother. Last week I had a bad day at the office. I know you've been feeling down lately at work, so I thought I would share my dilemma with you to make you realize it's not so bad after all. Before I can tell you what happened to me, I first must bore you with a few technicalities of my job.

As you know, my office lies at the bottom of the sea. I wear a suit to the office. It's a wetsuit. This time of year the water is quite cool. So what we do to keep warm is this: We have a diesel powered industrial water heater. This $20,000 piece of equipment sucks the water out of the sea. It heats it to a delightful temperature. It then pumps it down to the diver through a garden hose, which is taped to the air hose. Now this sounds like a darn good plan, and I've used it several times with no complaints. What I do, when I get to the bottom and start working, is take the hose and stuff it down the back of my wetsuit. This floods my whole suit with warm water. It's like working in a Jacuzzi.

Everything was going well until all of a sudden, my butt started to itch. So, of course, I scratched it. This only made things worse.

Within a few seconds my butt started to burn. I pulled the hose out from my back, but the damage was done. In agony I realized what had happened. The hot water machine had sucked up a jellyfish and pumped it into my suit. Now, since I don't have any hair on my back, the jellyfish couldn't stick to it. However, the crack of my butt was not as fortunate.

When I scratched what I thought was an itch, I was actually grinding the jellyfish into the crack of my butt.

I informed the dive supervisor of my dilemma over the communicator. His instructions were unclear due to the fact that he, along with five other divers, were all laughing hysterically.

Needless to say I aborted the dive. I was instructed to make three agonizing in-water decompression stops totaling thirty-five minutes before I could reach the surface to begin my chamber dry decompression.

When I arrived at the surface, I was wearing nothing but my brass helmet.

As I climbed out of the water, the medic, with tears of laughter running down his face, handed me a tube of cream and told me to rub it on my butt as soon as I got in the chamber. The cream put the fire out, but I couldn't poop for two days because my butt was swollen shut.

That will be a comforting thought for us all the next time we fret over a broken water-cooler at the office.

And here's another gem from the weirdo research brigade ... did you know that eating watercress can help prevent cancer?

According to this article in the British Daily Mail, eating gobs of watercress will provide you with lots of useful anti-oxidants that can ward off the Big C.

Needless to say the fact that this scientific, unbiased research was funded by British watercress suppliers, is entirely unrelated to the study's findings...

Mind you, the cancer experts were not quite convinced. The article goes on:

... Karol Sikora, professor of cancer medicine at Imperial College London, said the findings of the study were 'grossly overstated'.

He added: 'We know that fruits and vegetables all do affect DNA damage, hence the five-a-day strategy to prevent cancer.'

'There is absolutely nothing special about watercress. I don't think people will seriously convert to eating 85g of the stuff each day. That's an awful lot of cress!'

'You might even turn green. Much better to look holistically at your diet and ensure that there's plenty of fruit and vegetables, fibre and as little fat as possible.'

So I'd better get down to the grocery store and fill up my fridge with the stuff. If I turn green I'll let you know; might be a cool new look for Spring.

SUZE

Happy New Year ... and get cleaning that house, girls

2007-01-01T15:59:00.000Z

Heartfelt New Year greetings - I hope 2007 is a healthy, peaceful year for us all.

And guess what the latest news is on how to help keep breast cancer at bay? According to an article on the BBC news website, it's housework.

"Women who exercise by doing the housework can reduce their risk of breast cancer, a study suggests. The research on more than 200,000 women from nine European countries found doing household chores was far more cancer protective than playing sport."

Really? It goes on...

"Out of all of the activities, only housework significantly reduced the risk of both pre- and post-menopausal women getting the disease. Housework cut breast cancer risk by 30% among the pre-menopausal women and 20% among the post-menopausal women."

Come on, folks. Let's get real here.

"Dr Lesley Walker of Cancer Research UK said: "We already know that women who keep a healthy weight are less likely to develop breast cancer. This study suggests that being physically active may also help reduce the risk and that something as simple and cheap as doing the housework can help."

Aha, now we're getting down to it. Something AS simple and cheap as doing the housework ... but perhaps something less drudge-like would have the same effect? OK, playing sport is off the menu, but how about touring around a shopping mall? Sight-seeing at a country mansion with formal gardens? Taking your dog for a walk?

The article concludes ...

"He recommend (sic) that men and women take regular exercise and maintain a healthy body weight to help prevent cancer."

I'm sure the fact that Dr Walker is a man has, of course, nothing whatsoever to do with his suggestion that women should focus on housework...

Oil on troubled waters?

On a more inspiring note another BBC news website article tells us that olive oil can help prevent various cancers.

"A study of 182 European men found those who had 25 millilitres of olive oil per day had reduced levels of a substance which indicates cell damage. The Danish team said it may explain why many cancer rates are higher in northern Europe than the south, where olive oil is a major part of the diet."

Wonderful! Don't I just wish I was in the olive oil business right now! Well, at least I won't feel guilty any more about sloshing the olive oil on my salads and using it for frying. And with our UK climate getting warmer, olive crops could do well ... think I'll go see how much space I've got for olive trees in the back yard.

Yours on the way to the garden shed,

SUZE

Festive funny

2006-12-22T14:26:00.000Z

Looking back at this time last year, just before the Festivities, I was half way through my chemotherapy, bald as a coot, and feeling even less like stuffing turkeys and preparing vegetables than I do normally.

Now my fellow Canadian Sylvie Fortin is at the same stage and has written interestingly about it on her blog - click here to view.

I'd like to wish you all - and especially everyone currently undergoing chemo - a peaceful and restful Festive Season and a happy, healthy, positive 2007.

And to round off, a story to give the girls a smile...

According to the Alaska Department of Fish and Game, while both male and female reindeer grow antlers in the summer each year, male reindeer drop their antlers at the beginning of winter, usually late November to mid-December.

Female reindeer retain their antlers till after they give birth in the spring. Therefore, according to every historical rendition depicting Santa's reindeer, every single one of them, from Rudolph to Blitzen - had to be female.

We should've known. Only women, while pregnant, would be able to drag a fat man in a red velvet suit all around the world in one night and not get lost…

Have a good one!

SUZE

You're feeling very sleepy...very slee....

2006-12-02T13:08:00.000Z

What a relief it is to know that the scientists really are on the button when it comes to anticipating how women feel when they're about to have a biopsy on a breast lump.

At a recent conference of the Radiological Society of North America, in Chicago, the wallahs announced that out of the 236 women about to undergo this test, "all ... were anxious before the biopsy."

Hey, really? Why on earth should a woman be anxious when half a dozen white-coated robots stand over you and stab a small cattle prod several times into the depths of your beleaguered bosom? Nah. Kid stuff. The article goes on...

"All three groups reported pain during the biopsy, but the patients given the empathetic and hypnosis care felt significantly less discomfort than those given the standard treatment."

Empathy and hypnosis? Frankly I would rather have been whacked hard over the head with a mallet. Give me lots of local anaesthesia and preferably total unconsciouness every time.

According to lead researcher Elvira Lang, associate professor of radiology at Harvard Medical School ...

"The findings show that non-pharmacologic means can be very powerful - without side-effects. The results extend prior assumptions about mind-body interventions in that self-hypnotic relaxation can be learned very quickly right on the procedure table without additional cost, challenging the notion that extensive office visits or preparation are necessary."

Yeah, right. Should there be a next time for me, I can't quite see myself singing a mantra and visualising myself on a warm sandy beach while having my one remaining boob disembowelled by a giant apple corer.

To see the full article, click here.

And for yet another hospital smile ... the following made me giggle:

~~~~~~~~~~

Hospital regulations require a wheelchair for patients being discharged.

However, while working as a student nurse, I found one elderly gentleman--already dressed and sitting on the bed with a suitcase at his feet--who insisted he didn't need my help to leave the hospital. After a chat about rules being rules, he reluctantly let me wheel him to the elevator. On the way down I asked him if his wife was meeting him.

"I don't know," he said. "She's still upstairs in the bathroom changing out of her hospital gown."

~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry to have been so long in posting ... am frantically trying to complete the next book which is deadlined for December 31st. Much tapping away at keyboard, and not much time for anything else. Click here for a quick preview.

Love to all

SUZE

A crushing blow for pill poppers

2006-10-26T11:23:00.000+01:00

Seriously (for once) ... this article today states that crushing tablets to make them easier to swallow can have disastrous results. Apparently that's because some tablets are coated with a substance that allows the drug inside to be released over a period of time. If you crush them, the coating is destroyed and the drug can be absorbed incorrectly by your body.

I thought it was worth flagging up here as one of the drugs concerned is tamoxifen, a popular number amongst us breast cancer warriors. So be warned ... swallow it whole.

And talking of swallowing pills, here's some helpful advice for the next time you need to give a tablet to your cat:

1) Pick cat up and cradle it in the crook of your left arm as if holding a baby. Position right forefinger and thumb on either side of cat's mouth and gently apply pressure to cheeks while holding tablet in right hand. As cat opens mouth pop tablet into mouth. Allow cat to close mouth and swallow.

2) Retrieve tablet from floor and cat from behind sofa. Cradle cat in left arm and repeat process.

3) Retrieve cat from bedroom, and throw chewed-up tablet away.

4) Take new tablet from container, cradle cat in left arm holding rear paws tightly with left hand. Force jaws open and push tablet to back of mouth with right forefinger. Hold mouth shut for a count of ten.

5) Retrieve tablet from goldfish bowl and cat from top of wardrobe. Call friend.

6) Kneel on floor with cat wedged firmly between knees, hold front and rear paws. Ignore low growls emitted by cat. Get friend to hold head firmly with one hand while forcing wooden ruler into mouth. Drop tablet down, remove ruler and rub cat's throat vigorously.

7) Retrieve cat from curtain rail, get another tablet from container. Make note to buy new ruler and repair curtains. Carefully sweep shattered Staffordshire figurines from window sill and set to one side for gluing later.

8) Wrap cat in large towel and get friend to lie on cat with head just visible from below armpit. Put tablet in end of drinking straw, force mouth open with pencil and blow down drinking straw.

9) Check label to make sure tablet not harmful to humans, drink glass of water to take taste away. Apply antiseptic solution to friend's forearm and remove blood from carpet with cold water and soap.

10) Retrieve cat from neighbour's shed. Get another tablet. Place cat in cupboard and close door onto neck to leave head showing. Force mouth open with dessert spoon. Flick tablet down throat with elastic band.

11) Fetch screwdriver from garage and put cupboard door back on hinges. Apply cold compress to cheek and check records for date of last tetanus booster. Throw T-shirt away and fetch clean one from bedroom.

12) Phone emergency services (fire department) to retrieve cat from tree across the road. Apologize to neighbour who crashed into her own fence while swerving to avoid cat. Take last tablet from container.

13) Tie cats front paws to rear paws with garden twine and bind tightly to leg of dining table, find heavy duty pruning gloves from shed, hold cat's mouth open with small spanner. Push tablet into mouth followed by large piece of fillet of steak. Hold head vertically and pour pint of water down throat to wash tablet down.

14) Get friend to drive you to hospital, sit quietly while doctor stitches fingers and forearm and removes tablet remnants from right eye. Call furniture shop on way home to order new table.

15) Arrange for local humane society to pick up cat. Phone local pet shop to see if they have any hamsters.

PS ... forget crushing tablets for cats, too. No matter how powerful the smell of sardines you use to mop up the powder and trick puddytat into consuming it, he or she will know there's something nasty in there and walk away. Trust me. That's the voice of experience talking.

Love to all

Sz...

The worst thing since sliced bread?

2006-10-20T12:34:00.000+01:00

Here's yet another jaw-dropping revelation courtesy of the obscure research brigade, this time from sunny Italy. According to an article on the BBC News website,

The research, published in the International Journal of Cancer, found patients who ate more bread had a higher risk of kidney cancer.

It said there was a modest rise in the risk with pasta and rice, but a reduction among patients who ate more poultry, processed meat, and vegetables, whether raw or cooked.

Other products, including coffee, tea, eggs, red meat, fish, cheese, potatoes and fruit, appeared to have no bearing.

It does make you wonder, doesn't it, where it will all end? Will we all wind up terrified to consume anything other than organic lettuce and filtered water? Damn, no. There could still be pesticides and chemicals in those...

Anyway, for your information here are some further fascinating facts about bread, courtesy of World Wide Recipes, who in turn attributed it to one of their subscribers, "Terra Andromeda."

1. More than 98 percent of convicted felons are bread users.

2. Fully HALF of all children who grow up in bread-consuming households score below average on standardized tests.

3. In the 18th century, when virtually all bread was baked in the home, the average life expectancy was less than 50 years; infant mortality rates were unacceptably high; many women died in childbirth; and diseases such as typhoid, yellow fever, and influenza ravaged whole nations.

4. More than 90 percent of violent crimes are committed within 24 hours of eating bread.

5. Bread has been proven to be addictive. Subjects deprived of bread and given only water begged for bread after as little as two days.

6. Bread is often a "gateway" food item, leading the user to "harder" items such as butter, jelly, peanut butter, and even cold cuts.

7. Bread has been proven to absorb water. Since the human body is more than 90 percent water, it follows that eating bread could lead to your body being taken over by this absorptive food product, turning you into a soggy, gooey bread-pudding person.

8. Newborn babies can choke on bread.

9. Bread is baked at temperatures as high as 400 degrees Fahrenheit! That kind of heat can kill an adult in less than one minute.

10. Most bread eaters are utterly unable to distinguish between significant scientific fact and meaningless statistical babbling.

Well, I'd better go and make myself a sandwich.

Have a great weekend ... Sz

Cool calendar - with a slice of lemon

2006-10-10T18:52:00.000+01:00

My good friend Wendy C pointed out this great calendar for 2007 - raising money for one of the major cancer charities over here in the UK, Cancer Backup. Although UK based its audience is international and it does a great job.

Have a look here, at the folks who are promoting the calendar. I've just bought one and I'm looking forward to hanging it on my wall come January 1st.

I'm doing OK and hope to be put on Herceptin in November. As I mentioned in my previous post, here in the UK the regional health authorities vary a lot in their promptness to pay for Herceptin for early BC sufferers ... and my local authority happens to be one of those which is dragging its feet for as long as it can wriggle out of coughing up.

As I can't afford to pay the necessary GBP £20,000 for the drug per annum, it's a waiting game.

However soon the excuses and the filibustering will expire, and the National Health Service will have to perform under their obligation (paid for by our taxes) to provide free treatment.

Anyway, how's this for a smile for the week, dedicated to all of us girls who are no longer paired off in marital bliss?

~~~~~~~~~~

The woman applying for a job in a Florida lemon grove seemed way too qualified for the job.

"Look Miss," said the foreman, "have you any actual experience in picking lemons?"

"Well, as a matter if fact, yes!" she replied. "I've been divorced three times."

~~~~~~~~~~

Don't I know the feeling...

Love to all

SUZE

We must stop meeting like this

2006-09-29T11:03:00.000+01:00

Yesterday was check-up day at my local oncology unit and as I was waiting to see the doc, whose cool nose should I find pushing itself under my arm but the lovely guide dog Bradley's (see previous post.) By sheer coincidence Margaret, his owner, was in for a check-up too. It was great to catch up with her news and cuddle Bradley, and by the time my turn came to see the doctor I was covered in dog hairs. So what else is new!

As I was browsing the UK's BBC news website today I came across a wonderful story about a lady who has been battling breast cancer for nearly 20 years and still has managed to give birth to a beautiful baby daughter. Click here to read the full story.

Another brave breast cancer warrior is Ottawa-based Sylvie Fortin. Have a look at her blog, Breast Cancer Victory - click here.

And to round off today's post, some cute one-liners attributed to performers at the recent Edinburgh Festival in Scotland - courtesy of Joe Hoare...

~~~~~~~~~~

I realised I was dyslexic when I went to a toga party dressed as a goat.

Cats have nine lives. Which makes them ideal for experimentation.

The right to bear arms is slightly less ludicrous than the right to arm bears.

My dad is Irish and my mum is Iranian, which meant that we spent most of our family holidays in Customs.

You have to remember all the trivia that your girlfriend tells you, because eventually you get tested. She'll go: "What's my favourite flower?" And you murmur to yourself: "Hell, I wasn't listening. Self-raising?"

I saw that show, 50 Things To Do Before You Die. I would have thought the obvious one was "Shout For Help".

'Employee of the month' is a good example of how somebody can be both a winner and a loser at the same time.

I like to go into the Body Shop and shout out really loud "I've already got one!"

I enjoy using the technique of self-deprecation - but I'm not very good at it.

If you're being chased by a police dog, try not to go through a tunnel, then on to a little seesaw, then jump through a hoop of fire. They're trained for that.

~~~~~~~~~~

My check-up went OK and the mammogram was clear. But we're still waiting for Herceptin. I'm due back there in November and fingers crossed, our noble Health Service should have run out of excuses to delay treatment by then.

See you soon! Sz

Bradley and Margaret are media stars

2006-09-22T18:39:00.000+01:00

You will probably recall the lovely blind lady, Margaret, with whom I shared many a chemo session (see archives) ... along with her beautiful guide dog Bradley the Golden Retriever.

Anyway imagine my delight when I saw this recent article in my local newspaper, the Milton Keynes Citizen...

~~~~~~~~~~

Margaret joins the village people!

A blind woman recovering from cancer is the first of hundreds seeking a home at Willen retirement village to be allocated a place there.

Sixty-two-year-old Margaret Helsey and partner Ray Wall will live in a two-bedroom apartment overlooking communal gardens when they and 350 other residents move into Lovat Fields next summer.

Margaret said: "It's been a tough year but this news has put me on a real high. I was crying when I was told."

She says she and her partner will not feel so "isolated" in their new surroundings and she will be able to call on special support if needed.

~~~~~~~~~~

I've lost touch with Margaret now that we've both finished chemo, but I'm sure you'll join me in wishing her well should she visit CancerComicStrip.

And at the top of this post is the picture that goes with the newspaper article, reproduced by kind permission of the Milton Keynes Citizen ...

Isn't Bradley gorgeous? You can see now why I used to return from my chemo sessions shared with Margaret and Bradley covered in dog's hair...

Now, to round off today's post with a funny - well, this ain't called CancerComicStrip for nothing - here is my favourite doggie joke, excerpted from my very own joke book called "Canine Capers" (if you'd like to buy a copy, and I do need to sell some books now and again to help pay the bills so it would be nice, click here if you're in the UK and click here if you're in the USA. Most of the other Amazons carry the book too.)

~~~~~~~~~~

At the height of the arms race, the Americans and Russians realised that, if they continued, before long they would finish up by destroying the world. So they discussed the issue at a top secret summit meeting and decided to settle the whole argument with a dogfight.

The negotiators agreed that each country would take five years to develop the best fighting dog they could. The winning dog would earn its country the right to rule the world. The losing country would have to lay down its arms.

The Russians found the biggest, fiercest Dobermans and Rottweilers in all of the Soviet Union. They cross-bred them and then crossed their offspring with the fiercest Siberian wolves. They selected only the biggest, strongest puppy from the final litter, removed all the other puppies and left the lone dog to grow strong and large. They used steroids and rigorous training in aggression and ruthless killing power. Finally when the five years were up, they had a dog that oozed murder from every pore and had to be restrained in cage made from steel girders. Only the trainers could handle this beast, and even they had to exercise extreme caution.

When the day of the final fight dawned, the Americans arrived with a bizarre animal. It was a nine-foot-long Basset Hound. The Russians pitied the Americans. None of them thought this weird dog stood a chance against the growling monster in the Russian cage. Bookies around the world lay very short odds on the Russians winning in a matter of seconds.

The cages were opened and the dogs released. The Basset Hound waddled towards the middle of the ring. The Russian dog leapt from his cage and charged the giant sausage-dog.

The moment the two dogs met, the Basset Hound opened its jaws and consumed the Russian monster in one mouthful. There was nothing left but a few tufts of fur from the Russian dog's tail.

The Russians walked over to the Americans, blinking their eyes in disbelief. "We cannot comprehend. Our foremost scientists and trainers laboured for five years with the strongest, fiercest Dobermans, Rottweilers and Siberian wolves. They created a killing machine."

"You don’t say," the Americans replied. "Well, we got our foremost cosmetic surgeons labouring for five years to make a crocodile look like a Basset Hound."

~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend! SUZE

Am I a cynic or what?

2006-09-10T19:52:00.000+01:00

First of all, I have to tell you how much my son and I enjoyed a wonderful visit with our Barb of the drive-thru mastectomy when we visited her in St Paul, MN, at the end of August. Thank you Barb for a terrific time and a fascinating introduction to your twin cities, straddling the Mississippi and stop-off point for many famous bootlegging gangsters way back when. (And your cooking was just great!)

A few days ago a friend sent me one of these poems, supposedly written by a cancer-stricken child and if you sent it out to all your contacts a few cents would be paid for each one into a cancer charity.

Well, many people have told me that these emails are scams and that we should just delete them, because they don't benefit anyone.

OK, I can see that.

But ... whoever wrote this poem (cancer-patient child, adult, professional writer or whoever) has captured some ideas that crossed my mind while I was going through treatment and still cross my mind now. More than that, it is beautiful. My thanks to whoever wrote it, and if it is genuine, I hope it really does inspire contributions to cancer research.

Here it goes:

~~~~~~~~~~

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever watched kids
On a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain
Slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.
Do you run through each day
On the fly?
When you ask How are you?
Do you hear the reply?
When the day is done!
Do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores
Running through your head?
You'd better slow down
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.
Ever told your child,
We'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste,
Not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch,
Let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time
To call and say,"Hi"
You'd better slow down.
Don't dance so fast.
Time is short.
The music won't last.
When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....
Thrown away.
Life is not a race.
Do take it slower
Hear the music
Before the song is over.

~~~~~~~~~~

Yes, beautiful, huh? Let's hope the people who promote it are as beautiful and sincere as the poem is. For those who want to check it out, it appears the person to contact is:

Dr. Dennis Shields, Professor
Department of Developmental and Molecular Biology
1300 Morris Park Avenue
Bronx , New York 10461

......................

Love to all

SUZE

Trouper Grouper

2006-08-25T22:12:00.000+01:00

Here I am in sunny (well, most of the time anyway) southern Ontario, Canada, nearing the end of our month's vacation seeing our relatives and many friends this side of the "pond." Sunday we go to St Paul, Minnesota to visit the wonderful Barb - of "drive-thru mastectomy" fame - who has contributed several hilarious posts to CancerComicStrip. (See Archives.) I can't wait to finally meet her in person!

While browsing the Toronto Star of August 25th I came across a lovely story about Bubba the grouper (fish) ... and I quote:

"CHICAGO - Bubba the Grouper, who became a hero to young cancer victims for surviving a bout with the disease, has died, his keepers at the Shedd Aquarium said yesterday."

"Bubba, who turned into an instant celebrity when he became the first fish in history known to have received chemotherapy, was about 24 years old when he died on Tuesday, according to the Shedd officials."

"The 69 kilogram "super grouper" was abandoned at the Chicago aquarium in 1987, left at the reception desk in a bucket."

"...Bubba was diagnosed with cancer in 2001, and two years later, Shedd officials took the unprecedented step of administering chemotherapy for the tumour that grew above his eyes."

"Cancer survivors, especially children, were inspired by Bubba's story of resilience, and he was a Shedd favourite."

A sweet story and one to tell all the family, but perhaps leaving one part out: when Bubba arrived at the aquarium he was a she. She changed gender in the mid 1990s. According to the Toronto Star report that's "not uncommon for certain kinds of fish."

Some creatures get the best of both worlds...

Have a great weekend and I'll "see" you when I'm back in UK early September.

SUZE

Is it really more than two months since I last posted? Yikes!

2006-07-29T18:38:00.000+01:00

Well, well, doesn't time fly when your hair is growing back and your chemo side-effects are abating, albeit slowly. Impatient though I was to stop feeling so tired and get rid of all the other niggling symptoms, I had to keep reminding myself that after six months of being steadily poisoned, you don't get rid of all that toxic junk overnight.

Mostly now I'm back to normal, but it's funny: if I overdo things or have a late night, some of my symptoms come back for a day or two - like slight nausea or a sore tongue. There's still a bit of that junk lurking.

Anyway on Monday July 31st my son and I leave our animals and home in our house-sitting friends' capable hands and return home to Canada until September 1st. I'll be in the Toronto area and if any of you want to contact me while I'm there you can email me on suzetheschmooze@hotmail.com. We will also be visiting our good friend Barb the breast cancer warrior in Minnesota (see archives for her hilarious accounts of "drive-thru mastectomies" etc.) I've never been to the "twin cities" before so this really will be a new adventure.

I dropped by the onco unit at the hospital the other day after I'd seen the doctor for a checkup (all OK so far) and had a great time chatting to the nurses and some of the patients I'd met while on chemo. I even bumped into my dear next-door neighbour Barbara who was having yet another blood transfusion (they do both chemo and haematology at the unit) and we chatted over a cup of tea to alleviate her boredom. Blood transfusions take ages. Barbara had just been diagnosed with leukaemia which was the inevitable outcome of her longterm blood condition, but had been told she had at least a year if not two, and was feeling OK. The following week she got an infection and sadly passed away. I wept at her funeral and shall miss her dreadfully. Not all warriors win.

But Barbara, being the cheerful soul she was, wouldn't want us to be sad at her passing - at least she was spared long months of weakness, pain and indignity. In her memory, here is a gag I know would have made her giggle...

~~~~~~~~~~

Upon arriving home, a husband was met at the door by his sobbing wife. Tearfully she explained, "It's the druggist. He insulted me terribly this morning on the phone. I had to call multiple times before he would even answer the phone."

Immediately, the husband drove downtown to confront the druggist and demand an apology. Before he could say more than a word or two, the druggist told him, "Now, just a minute, listen to my side of it. This morning the alarm failed to go off, so I was late getting up. I went without breakfast and hurried out to the car, just to realize that I'd locked the house with both house and car keys inside and had to break a window to get my keys."

"Then, driving a little too fast, I got a speeding ticket.

"Later, when I was about three blocks from the store, I had a flat tire.

"When I finally got to the store a bunch of people were waiting for me to open up. I got the store opened and started waiting on these people, all the time the darn phone was ringing off the hook."

He continued, "then I had to break a roll of nickels against the cash register drawer to make change, and they spilled all over the floor. I had to get down on my hands and knees to pick up the nickels and the phone was still ringing."

"When I came up I cracked my head on the open cash drawer, which made me stagger back against a showcase with a bunch of perfume bottles on it. Half of them hit the floor and broke."

"Meanwhile, the phone is still ringing with no let up, and I finally got back to answer it.

"It was your wife. She wanted to know how to use a rectal thermometer."

"And believe me mister, as God is my witness, all I did was tell her."

~~~~~~~~~~

With love to you all! SUZE

Now what ... arrrggghhh!

2006-05-19T18:33:00.000+01:00

Well, over three weeks have passed since my last chemo session and by now my white blood cell count should be getting up on its knees off the floor, where it has been for the last couple of months. Hurry, please, white cells. I'm fed up of being tired and lacking energy.

My hair is growing and if I were a man, I would be able to walk around unnoticed with a normal head of hair. Being a woman I prefer to wear the wig when I'm out and about, because even with chandelier earrings I still don't want to look like a man. (Sorry, guys.)

And because I had a total mastectomy, I don't need radiotherapy.

So, yippee. I'm free. But there's a catch.

Many people this side of cancer treatment say they feel kind of insecure. For the last six months (or for however long your treatment was) you've been cocooned, albeit by nasty chemicals that poison all your fast-dividing cells, not just the malignant ones. But cocooned you have been. Cancer ain't going to come back when there's a half-litre of vicious chemicals coursing around your system. However when your body has finally eliminated the last of the toxic stuff ... now what?

It feels a bit like the first time a child attempts to swim without "water wings" or ride a bike without those little outboard stabilizer wheels. I'm on my own now, and must think positive of about recurrences (not going to happen) and further treatment (not going to be necessary.) That's where I am now. Trying to be positive while still feeling tired, feeling worn out, and feeling old.

But I should perk up soon. I hope! Everyone else does.

Anyway here for all of you who happen to be feeling as old and decrepit as I do right now, is some food for thought...in the form of a cute poem contributed by my cousin Aly from Ottawa.

~~~~~~~~~~

A is for apple, and B is for boat,
That used to be right, but now it won't float!
Age before beauty is what we once said,
But let's be a bit more realistic instead.

Now...
The Alphabet

A's for arthritis;
B's the bad back,
C's the chest pains,
perhaps car-d-iac?

D is for dental decay and decline,
E is for eyesight, can't read that top line!
F is for fissures and fluid retention,
G is for gas which I'd rather not mention.

H is high blood pressure--I'd rather it low;
I is for incisions with scars you can show.
J is for joints, out of socket, won't mend,
K is for knees that crack when they bend.

L is for libido, what happened to sex?
M is for memory, I forget what comes next.
N is neuralgia, in nerves way down low;
O is for osteo, the bones that don't grow!

P is for prescriptions, I have quite a few,
just give me a pill and I'll be good as new!
Q is for queasy, is it fatal or flu?
R is for reflux, one meal turns to two.

S is for sleepless nights, counting my fears,
T is for Tinnitus; there's bells in my ears!
U is for urinary; big troubles with flow;
V is for vertigo, that's "dizzy," you know.

W is for worry, NOW what's going 'round?
X is for X ray, and what might be found.
Y is another year I'm left here behind,
Z is for zest that I still have-- in my mind.

I've survived all the symptoms, my body's deployed,
And I am keeping twenty-six doctors fully employed!!!

~~~~~~~~~~

Ah, what the heck! Let's all forget cancer and have a great weekend. (See ... I can't stay negative for more than a few minutes!)

SUZE

Chemo finished, hair growing and a poem to celebrate

2006-04-30T13:41:00.000+01:00

Yep. It's all over. No more three-weekly poison and tea at the lovely local onco unit. Am still feeling pretty tired and will for a while longer, but at least I can see light at the end of the tunnel. I just hope it isn't an express train heading straight for my face. Now it's back to the daily anastrozole plus Herceptin, we hope, as my local area NHS here in the UK aren't coughing up for BC early-stagers but the pressure is mounting. Especially now that a recommendation for it has been issued by the European Medicines Agency.

And my hair is growing back with vigour. In a recent press article I noticed that Aussie singing star Kylie Minogue (who if you didn't know has just finished chemo and radioT for breast cancer) now sports her head in an elfin crop. Were I not a lot older and fatter than her I would do the same. On her it looks cute; "chez moi," it would look like a greyish-blonde scouring pad on top of an extremely large baking potato. Ah, such is the harshness of middle age.

For now though it's stick with the wig, pictured here with me looking none-too-pleased with it. Ozzie the dog keeps eyeing it up and no doubt is looking forward to the day I donate it to the doggie toy box. So am I.

And looking forward to my next (single) mammogram in September, here is another cute poem about them which I don't believe I've posted before. Author unknown, so thank you for sharing it with us whoever you are.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Boob Poem

For years and years they told me,
Be careful of your breasts.
Don't ever squeeze or bruise them.
And give them monthly tests.

So I heeded all their warnings,
And protected them by law.
Guarded them very carefully,
And I always wore my bra.

After 30 years of astute care,
My gyno, Dr. Pruitt,
Said I should get a Mammogram.
"O.K," I said, "let's do it."

"Stand up here real close" she said,
(She got my boob in line),
"And tell me when it hurts," she said,
"Ah yes! Right there, that's fine."

She stepped upon a pedal,
I could not believe my eyes!
A plastic plate came slamming down,
My hooter's in a vice!

My skin was stretched and mangled,
From underneath my chin.
My poor boob was being squashed,
To Swedish Pancake thin.

Excruciating pain I felt,
Within it's vice-like grip.
A prisoner in this vicious thing,
My poor defenseless t*t!

"Take a deep breath" she said to me,
Who does she think she's kidding?!?
My chest is mashed in her machine,
And woozy I am getting.

"There, that's good," I heard her say,
(The room was slowly swaying.)
"Now, let's have a go at the other one."
Have mercy, I was praying.

It squeezed me from both up and down,
It squeezed me from both sides.
I'll bet SHE'S never had this done,
To HER tender little hide.

Next time that they make me do this,
I will request a blindfold.
I have no wish to see again,
My knockers getting steamrolled.

If I had no problem when I came in,
I surely have one now.
If there had been a cyst in there,
It would have gone "ker-pow!"

This machine was created by a man,
Of this, I have no doubt.
I'd like to stick his b*lls in there,
And see how THEY come out

~~~~~~~~~~

Until next time! SUZE

Hurray - the hosepipe is gone!

2006-04-22T10:35:00.000+01:00

At my penultimate chemo session Thursday the nurse removed my PICC line (conduit through which chemo drugs are administered) as I had developed an infection at the point where the pipe entered the vein, in the crook of my right elbow. I had been awake half the night from the pain of it.

Erica, my onco nurse, dragged all 40-odd centimetres of it out of my arm and jauntily asked if I'd like to keep it as a souvenir. "Might come in handy to water the hanging baskets," I quipped, "or perhaps if I need to give an enema to one of the cats?" However in the end I declined.

The wretched thing developed leaks three times in five months, necessitating a long trip to another hospital to have it repaired each time. The problem? Mine was a newer, cheaper version of the old PICC lines which had never given any trouble. An example of our dear British Health Service trying to save money - something of a false economy in the circumstances.

Next week is my last session and I shall receive the chemo via a canula - for the uninitiated, a nasty scorpion-like device that bites into a vein on the back of your hand, strapped down tight, through which saline, drugs etc are pumped. But anything's better than that hosepipe 24/7.

Anyway, in the southern part of the UK drought conditions mean we are facing hosepipe bans. I will gladly ban that one - hopefully forever.

And here now, are some cheering thoughts if you are about to go into hospital for an op or procedure of some sort. I can't remember the original source of this but whoever wrote it, thanks a bunch...

~~~~~~~~~~

How to Prepare for the Hospital

Now, going to the hospital is never fun to begin with, but with these tips you should be able to prepare for your stay, and minimize the discomfort when you get there.

1. Lay nude on the front lawn and ask the weed man to probe you with his applicator.

2. Drink a quart of Sherwin-Williams Eggshell One-Coat Coverage Interior Flat White #2. Then have your child stuff his slinky down your throat.

3. Put a real estate agent's 'Open House' sign on your front yard and lie on your bed dressed in a paper napkin with straws stuck up your nose.

4. Put your hand down the garbage disposal while practicing your smile and repeating: "mild discomfort".

5. Set your alarm to go off every ten minutes from ten PM to seven AM, at which times you will alternately puncture your wrist with a Craftsman (squarehead) screwdriver and stab yourself with a knitting needle.

6. Remove all actual food from the house.

7. With several strands of Christmas lights strung from a coat tree and onto yourself, walk slowly up and down the hall.

8. Urinate into an empty lipstick tube.

9. Rub a bit of honey on your left buttock, drop your pants, go over to a wasps nest, bend over and shake it just a bit.

10. Make sure that there is no toilet paper in your bathroom, eat a bowl of cherries, and have your wife ignore you completely as you plead for her to come and bring you a roll of the paper gold.

11.Call up your local cable company and insist that they charge you a monthly fee every day of the week.

~~~~~~~~~~

All good wishes! SUZE

Tomato touts take off

2006-04-12T12:25:00.000+01:00

Once again the marketing wallahs have realised that there's money to be made from cancer - or at least the fear of it.

Tesco - the UK's largest supermarket chain - have managed to breed a super tomato that contains twice the lycopene of ordinary tomatoes. Lycopene, as we know, is said to be very useful in the fight against various cancers, particularly of the prostate.

The article on the BBC News website goes on to say ...

'Tesco produce technical manager Ian Reed said the super tomato was the first of a range of "functional foods" being developed by the supermarket.

He said: "The health benefits of anti-oxidants such as lycopene in our diets have recently attracted a lot of positive attention from both the medical and culinary worlds.

"Functional foods such as tomatoes naturally have high levels of lycopene however this naturally-bred variety has even higher levels than standard ones and tastes great as well."'

Not surprisingly in the light of this tomato launch Tesco fail to point out that the best way for us to absorb the lycopene from tomatoes is if they are cooked, along with a little olive oil. (This is not hot air; I was told that by my Urologist.)

Sorry Tesco ... much as fresh, raw toms oozing in extra lycopene may be a great sales gimmick, your customers are probably better off absorbing it from a jar of spaghetti sauce - or even the humble tomato ketchup.

And here's a further commercial thought about tomatoes...

~~~~~~~~~~

A small boy was looking at the red ripe tomatoes growing in the farmer's garden. "I'll give you my two pennies for that tomato," said the boy pointing to a beautiful, large, ripe fruit hanging on the vine.

"No," said the farmer, "I get a dime for a tomato like that one."

The small boy pointed to a smaller green one, "Will you take two pennies for that one?"

"Yes," replied the farmer, "I'll give you that one for two cents."

"OK," said the lad, sealing the deal by putting the coins in the farmer's hand, "I'll pick it up in about a week."

~~~~~~~~~~

All good wishes for Easter and Passover

SUZE

Cancer news snippets ... and a bit about growing older

2006-04-01T20:06:00.000+01:00

Some recent articles in the UK's Daily Mail newspaper have given us some interesting food for thought.

Chemo without hair loss?

Developed by Dr Semali Perera of Bath University, England, this new method will administer chemotherapy by using tiny drug-soaked beads or fibres implanted into your body near the tumor. As those break down the cancer gets hit right between the eyes, but the rest of your body gets far lower levels - hence, we assume, far fewer side effects.

Clinical trials are expected to start on ovarian cancer patients within the next few years. Could be - if it works out - that the new method will give wig and turban sales a good haircut...

Young girls may get anti-cancer vaccination

With cervical cancer being such a serious problem, it's good to know that a vaccine for the human papillomavirus (HPV) is being developed. HPV is thought to be responsible for all cases of cervical cancer and is transmitted by sexual contact.

Professor Henry Kitchener of the Academic Unit of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at the University of Manchester, England, reckons girls as young as 10 should be vaccinated, before they become sexually active.

Two big drug companies are currently racing to develop an appropriate vaccine which could protect women against 70 percent of the HPV strains.

Watch this space.

Ginseng ...not just an aphrodisiac

According to a study conducted at the Vanderbilt University of Tennessee, USA, ginseng could have an important role to play in improving prospects for us breast cancer sufferers.

A study of nearly 1500 Chinese women treated for breast cancer found that those who had been using ginseng before their diagnosis were 30 percent more likely to survive, than women who had never used the herb.

So should we get taking that ginseng? Maybe. Plus there are other advantages ... its other properties are encouraging for old goats like me, the classic Baby Boomer.

And talking of Baby Boomers...

For readers of a certain age here are some re-written Baby Boomer song titles that might ring bells with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

Paul Simon -- "Fifty Ways to Lose Your Liver"
Carly Simon -- 'You're So Varicose Vein"
The Bee Gees -- "How Can You Mend a Broken Hip"
Roberta Flack -- "The First Time Ever I Forgot Your Face"
Johnny Nash -- "I Can't See Clearly Now"
The Temptations -- "Papa Got a Kidney Stone"
Nancy Sinatra -- "These Boots Are Made For Bunions"
ABBA -- "Denture Queen"
Leo Sayer -- "You Make Me Feel Like Napping"
Commodores -- "Once, Twice, Three Times My Back's Out"
Procol Harem -- "A Whiter Shade of Hair"
Steely Dan -- "Rikki Don't Lose That Clapper"
Herman's Hermits -- "Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Walker"
Credence Clearwater Revival -- "Bad Prune Rising"
Marvin Gaye -- "I Heard It Through the Grape Nuts"
The Who -- "Talkin' 'Bout My Medication"
The Troggs -- "Bald Thing"

~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you're having a good weekend!

SUZE

Another chemo tea party and a little serious stuff

2006-03-24T08:58:00.000Z

Had part 1 of my second CMF chemo treatment yesterday and it was like catching up with old friends...David the nurse was back from a fabulous 4-week vacation in New Zealand so we bombarded him with Kiwi questions ... my Irish buddy was ecstatic because it was her last treatment ... Jackie and I sat together and tried on each others' wigs ... and another lady was there for her first session ... very nervous. So we ganged up and cheered her on, and I think she found it a far less traumatic experience than she was anticipating. The first time can be terrifying - I remember that one well.

Now, I've been in touch recently with an interesting lady based in NYC, Sally Church Ph.D, a pharmaceutical expert who amongst other things runs a blog called OncoChat. It's aimed more at professionals than us lay folks, but all the same it will provide you with useful knowledge. In it Sally posts her own views of all the latest developments in oncology, worldwide. Have a look and bookmark it; click here to view. (And as soon as I figure out how to create new links from here I'll include it in the side bar.)

While we're on the subject of technical information, here are some noticeboard comments found in science laboratories (originally from New Scientist magazine, I believe.)

~~~~~~~~~~

The fridge in the lab is full of really nasty things. The fridge in the tea room is full of really nice things. Please maintain the distinction.

Lost: the will to live. If found please return to the postgrad room.

I hereby withdraw my declaration that Trevor smells like a mongoose - the mongoose has threatened to sue.

The tea bags in the jam jar are mine and mine alone. I have coated them with a potent neurotoxin to which only I have immunity. Thieves will inevitably die a painful, lingering death and I'll then merrily dance on their graves. This concludes my COSHH statement (Control Of Substances Hazardous to Health.)

Remember add acid to water not water to acid. If you get it wrong the emergency services are on extension 1234.

The departmental van is not available at the moment. It can be found on its roof just to the left of Highway 9 about a mile north of town. Mike did it - but don't tell anyone.

The bins in the lab are for paper - not barium salts, manure or body parts. Please remember, 'cos Beryl the cleaner isn't into slasher movies - yet.

~~~~~~~~~~

Have a good weekend!

SUZE

Prostate cancer and red hot chilli peppers ... and things

2006-03-17T18:44:00.000Z

..........no, not the rock band (although I love their music) but now - according to this article on the UK's BBC website - enough to make prostate cancer cells commit suicide.

I have to say there have been times when an overdose of chilli has made me think about jumping out of a 5th floor window, but only for the benefit of the cool air on the way down that might put out the fire in my tonsils. However (and I quote) ...

The ingredient which makes jalapeno peppers hot also makes prostate cancer cells commit suicide, a study suggests. Tests showed that capsaicin triggered 80% of the cells to start the process leading to cell death. The US research in the journal Cancer Research also found tumours treated with capsaicin were smaller. UK prostate experts say capsaicin could be the basis of a future drug but warned eating too many hot peppers has been linked to stomach cancer.

.........I'm not surprised at that. As you might surmise from my comment above, on the rare occasions when I do eat chilli my stomach feels like it has been infiltrated by thousands of ants looking to build a new nest. Ah well, it's a decision the guys need to ponder. You can always use your frequent chilli consumption as an excuse to down a few more cold beers.

In the meantime, I've been thinking about getting more exercise. Despite feeling a bit tired from the chemo I've been advised not to lie down for a snooze, but to go and do something a bit lively to get all the systems going again. So here is an exercise program I plan to follow, as sent to me by my childhood friend Janet from Prince Edward County, ON.

I came across this exercise to build muscle strength in the arms and shoulders. It seems so easy, so I thought I'd pass it on.

The article suggested doing it three days a week. Begin by standing on a comfortable surface, where you have plenty of room at each side.

With a 5-lb. potato sack in each hand, extend your arms straight out from your sides, and hold them there as long as you can. Try to reach a full minute, then relax. Each day, you'll find that you can hold this position for just a bit longer.

After a couple of weeks, move up to 10-lb. potato sacks. Then 50-lb. potato sacks, and then eventually try to get to where you can lift a 100-lb. potato sack in each hand and hold your arms straight for more than a full minute.

Once you feel confident at that level, put a potato in each of the sacks.

Have a great weekend!

SUZE

Semi-colonoscopy

2006-03-11T13:46:00.000Z

My cousin Mike from Oakville, ON points out that colonoscopies are no joke, but these comments during an examination 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 is not up here?"

Hmmmmm. Makes your eyes water, huh.

Hope you're enjoying your weekend!

SUZE

Hair of the dog?

2006-03-09T17:27:00.000Z

Last Sunday we brought Ozzy, our new (third) dog home from the Pet Rescue Center. He's the cutest thing you ever saw - a Jack Russell Terrier / Springer Spaniel cross - and he's settled in so well no-one can believe he's only been here a few days.

Our two other dogs are quite elderly - 10 and 12 years - so we've kind of lost the habit of having a lively youngster around the place (Ozzy is only about 2 years old.)

So it took me a few seconds earlier today when I came downstairs and found a proud little Ozzy wagging from his tail to his nose, proffering his lovely, hairy teddy bear, to realize what it was.

It was my wig.

As we chased around and around the house playing a lively game of "catch me if you can," I was laughing so hard I could hardly keep upright. Anyway I rescued the wig, gave it a quick rinse and dry, and it's as good as new, apart from the odd tooth mark.

Although I'm only three-quarters of the way through chemo my own hair is beginning to grow back. So I've promised Ozzy he can have the wig when my crowning glory is restored.

In fact I think by then I might feel like grabbing the wig in my jaws and running around and around with it, too...

Cancer prevention - are we doing enough?

2006-03-06T18:55:00.000Z

My cousin Alyson in Ottawa brought a recent CBC TV programme about cancer to my attention and I was fascinated to read the hardcopy version on the CBC website, click here to view. It really does make you think about the politics surrounding cancer and all the other potentially menacing issues that might stand between us being healthy, and not.

But hey, we're not here to get down about cancer, so let's have a laugh about Canada instead ... (and being a Canadian myself, of course I have a good sense of humor about it!)

~~~~~~~~~~

The Official Canadian Temperature Conversion Chart

70 above (23 C)
Texans turn on the heat and unpack the thermal underwear.
Canadians go swimming in the Lakes.

60 above (16 C)
North Carolinians try to turn on the heat.
Canadians plant gardens.

50 above (10 C)
Californians shiver uncontrollably.
Canadians sunbathe.

40 above (5 C)
Italian & English cars won't start.
Canadians drive with the windows down.

32 above (0 C)
Distilled water freezes.
Lake Superior's water gets thicker.

20 above (-5)
Florida puts on coats, thermal under wear, gloves, and woolly hats.
Canadians throw on a flannel shirt.

15 above (-10 C)
Philadelphia landlords finally turn up the heat.
Canadians have the last cook-out before it gets cold.

0 degrees (-18 C)
People in Miami all die...
Canadians lick the flagpole.

20 below (-30 C)
Californians fly away to Mexico.
Canadians get out their winter coats.

40 below (-36 C)
Hollywood disintegrates.
The Girl Guides in Canada are selling cookies...door to door.
And Winnipeggers are still barbecuing

60 below (-51 C)
Polar bears begin to evacuate the Arctic.
Canadian Boy Scouts postpone "Winter Survival" classes until it gets cold enough.

80 below (-63 C)
Mt. St. Helens freezes.
Canadians rent some videos.

100 below (-74 C)
Santa Claus abandons the North Pole.
Canadians get frustrated because they can't thaw the beer keg.

297 below (-184 C)
Microbial life no longer survives on dairy products.
Cows in Canada complain about farmers with cold hands.

460 below (-275 C)
ALL atomic motion stops (absolute zero in the Kelvin scale).
People in Winnipeg start saying, "Cold 'nuff for ya?"

500 below (-297 C)
Hell freezes over.
The Leafs win the Stanley Cup

~~~~~~~~~~

Well ... not so sure about the Leafs there, but the rest is all true, of course ...

Have a good week

SUZE

Want to get healthy? Get a pet.

2006-02-28T12:54:00.000Z

If any of you cancer warriors out there are foolish enough still to be smoking cigarettes, here's a heartwarming story from the UK's BBC News website...

~~~~~~~~~~

Smokers at an office in West Yorkshire have kicked the habit thanks to a new colleague - Rupert the cocker spaniel.

The nine-month-old dog was brought in by managers at Relay Recruitment in Bradford in January to help staff beat the post-Christmas blues.

But the move had an unexpected bonus as four of the firm's 12 smokers gave up cigarettes by substituting fag** breaks for a 10-minute walk with the dog.

Bosses now plan to provide dogs for their staff in Leeds, Halifax and York.

To read the full story, click here.

**North American readers please note: "fag" is British slang for a cigarette. Yes, really.

~~~~~~~~~~

Of course, before taking on the responsibility of a pet there are a few ground rules you need to establish. Here are some suggestions you might find helpful (original author unknown.)

~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Dogs and Cats,

When I say "move," it means go somewhere else, not switch positions with each other so there are still two of you in the way. The dishes with the paw prints on them are yours and contain your food. The other dishes are mine and contain my food. Please note, placing a paw print in the middle of my plate and food does not stake a claim for it becoming your food and dish, nor do I find that aesthetically pleasing in the slightest.

The stairway was not designed by NASCAR and is not a racetrack. Beating me to the bottom is not the object. Tripping me doesn't help, because I fall faster than you can run.

I cannot buy anything bigger than a king size bed. I am very sorry about this. Do not think I will continue to sleep on the couch to ensure your comfort. Look at videos of dogs and cats sleeping, they can actually curl up in a ball. It is not necessary to sleep perpendicular to each other stretched out to the fullest extent possible. I also know that sticking tails straight out and having tongues hanging out the other end to maximize space used is nothing but sarcasm.

My DVDs are not miniature Frisbees.

For the last time, there is not a secret exit from the bathroom. If by some miracle I beat you there and manage to get the door shut, it is not necessary to claw, whine, try to turn the knob, or get your paw under the edge and try to pull the door open. I must exit through the same door I entered. In addition, I have been using bathrooms for years. Feline/canine supervision is not mandatory.

The proper order is kiss me, then go smell the other dogs' butt. I cannot stress this enough. It would be such a simple change for you.

To pacify you I have posted the following message on our front door...

Rules for Non-Pet Owners Who Visit and Like to Complain About Our Pets:

1. They live here. You don't.

2. If you don't want their hair on your clothes, stay off the furniture.

3. I like my pet a lot better than I like most people.

4. To you, it's an animal. To me, he/she is an adopted son/daughter who is short, hairy, walks on all fours and doesn't speak clearly.

5. Dogs and cats are better than kids. They eat less, don't ask for money all the time, are easier to train, usually come when called, never drive your car, don't hang out with drug-using friends, don't smoke or drink, don't worry about buying the latest fashions, don't wear your clothes, don't need a gazillion dollars for college, and if they get pregnant, you can sell the results.

~~~~~~~~~~

No matter what, it's better than smoking...

SUZE

My other blog, if anyone's interested

2006-02-25T11:02:00.000Z

A quick note to say Hi and that I've renamed my other blog, which is about my work (yes, we ALL have a life as well as cancer.)

Because I post excerpts from my eTutorials about business writing on the other blog, I thought it was a bit stupid to call it "Newz from Suze..." so it's now "BetterBizwriting"

By all means have a look if you have to do any writing for your work or community activities - you might find some of the posts helpful.

All good wishes

SUZE

Test results ... oh, why are we waiting?

2006-02-23T19:37:00.000Z

Just got back from chemo and as usual am covered in dog hairs, courtesy of Bradley the Golden Retriever Guide Dog with whom I sat on the floor of the waiting room before I was called in.

Well, the place was busy and there were few free chairs - also Bradley seemed in need of a cuddle (doesn't he always?) And I wanted to chat to Margaret, his owner.

She's had a bad time since her first double whammy of "CMF" (the second half of our chemo regime consisting of Cyclophosphamide, Methotrexate and Fluorouracil - she wrote, copying from her little hospital book) and her test results had come back with big no-nos written all over them. Having arrived before me she was ushered into the treatment area and then ushered straight out again, well pleased because she now has another week to get stronger before the next assault. Exit woman and dog, grinning.

Meanwhile my test results had come back just about OK so eventually I was called in and spotted my next-door neighbour, Barbara, once again ... she's a haematology patient and they share the facility with us chemo kiddies. So we had a brief catch up on local gossip before I was hitched up to the drip and off we went.

But waiting for test results can be stressful, can't it? Especially for this poor fellow...

~~~~~~~~~~

A man suspected of a serious infection is lying in bed with an oxygen mask over his mouth. A young auxiliary nurse appears to sponge his face and hands.

Nurse," he mumbles from behind the mask, "Are my testicles black?"

Embarrassed the young nurse replies, "I don't know Mr Wallace, I'm only here to wash your face and hands."

He struggles again to ask, "Nurse, Are my testicles black?"

Again the nurse replies, "I can't tell. I'm only here to wash your face and hands."

The Head Nurse was passing and saw the man getting a little distraught so she marched over to inquire what was wrong.

"Nurse," he mumbled, "Are my testicles black?"

Being a nurse of long-standing, the Head Nurse was undaunted. She whipped back the bedclothes, pulled down his pyjama bottoms, moved his willie out of the way, had a right good look, pulled up the pyjamas, replaced the bedclothes and announced, "Nothing wrong with your testicles!!!"

At this the man pulled off his mask and asked again, "I SAID.... Are my TESTS RESULTS BACK .....!! ???"

~~~~~~~~~~

All good wishes! SUZE

Condom conundrum

2006-02-17T19:00:00.000Z

Politicos in the UK are all of a twitter over the price of condoms, saying that the products' current classification here as "luxury items" means they are taxed excessively. Considering nearly everything else is taxed excessively in the UK the fact that dear old condoms haven't escaped is no great surprise.

However in the light of recent revelations that lots of good sex could be very beneficial for your health - including prevention or amelioration of cancer (see my previous post) - how can our dear UK government justify taxing condom users out of their brains?

Surely the money saved through the therapeutic effects of protected sex would far outweigh .... but no, I'm not going there. Politics suck, especially when like me you're tired out after a week's work and a mild dose of "chemo brain." I'll leave the arguments about taxing condoms to the sexperts.

If you want to know more about our condom-inium plight here in the UK have a look at this article on the BBC's website - click here.

In the meantime, let's not forget that the Winter Olympics are rampaging on - and here is a short anecdote that is relevant to this post in more ways than one:

~~~~~~~~~~

A man is out shopping and discovers a new brand of Olympic condoms. Clearly impressed, he buys a pack. Upon getting home he announces to his wife the purchase he just made.

"Olympic condoms?" she blurts, "What makes them so special?"

"There are three colours," he replies, "Gold, Silver and Bronze."

"What colour are you going to wear tonight?" she asks cheekily.

"Gold, of course," says the man proudly.

The wife responds, "Why don't you wear Silver? It would be nice if you came second for a change."

~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great weekend!

SUZE

And now it's sex, sex, sex. Err, excuse me?

2006-02-14T19:18:00.000Z

When I saw the latest research results implying that a fatty diet was NOT necessarily a death sentence for us post-menopausal cancer warriors, I rejoiced. Yum, yum, yum. So my little bits of butter and olive oil aren't necessarily going to enrage my cancer to the point that it kills me.

And now, what more good news? According to this article on the UK's BBC news website (click here to view) sex is good for walloping cancer too, amongst other things.

Am I dreaming? Am I being hopelessly optimistic? Am I hoping to find a man who will feed me lots of fatty cr*p, seduce me, and cure my cancer all at the same time?

Hmmmmmmmm. I don't think so. But hey, aren't those just some WONDERFUL notions????

All we need now is to know that chocolate cures cancer. When that happens, we can tell the doctors that chemotherapy is sooooooooo last year...

Have a good week!

SUZE

Fat, fat, fat

2006-02-10T18:44:00.000Z

Hee, hee, hee ... at long last I don't need to feel quite so guilty about being umpty-dump pounds overweight. I gleefully quote from this article on MSN ...

"A large U.S. government study has found that a diet low in fat but high in vegetables, grains and fruits does not reduce the risk of breast cancer, colorectal cancer or cardiovascular disease in postmenopausal women."

And what's more, we post-menopausal girlies can eat carbs!!

"Researchers were also interested to note that high intake of carbohydrates did not increase body weight. Rather, it tended to maintain it."

So ... eat your heart out, Atkins dieters! And sorry about that awful pun!

Read the whole article here. If you're my age and female it's soooo heartwarming.

In fact the next thing you know they'll be saying that chocolate milk shakes cure cancer...

In the meantime though, I feel morally obliged to balance this post by issuing the following warning:

~~~~~~~~~~

Top 10 signs that you're overweight

10. Your favorite bedtime reading is all your local takeouts’ menus.

9. You've had to have the doorway to your bedroom widened.

8. You recently paid a substantial sum to get satellite TV purely for the Food Network.

7. You fail to attend your daughter's wedding because you don't want to miss your local Thai restaurant’s “all-you-can-eat” special offer

6. Your doctor had to change your blood group on your medical records from "O" to "raspberry coulis"

5. The Nobel Prize this year will be awarded to the scientists who succeeded in measuring your gravitational field.

4. Blinking your eyes makes you feel winded.

3. You buy steaks by the square metre.

2. Your travel agency ensures that you buy three airline tickets to ensure you can sit in the aircraft comfortably.

And the #1 sign ...

1. Your ideal start to the day is an enlivening mug full of warm Hollandaise Sauce.

~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great (low calorie?) weekend .... Sz!

Never thought I'd be glad to have chemo pills, but...

2006-02-09T19:27:00.000Z

Well, here we are in shivery Britain going through what - in my memory - has been one of the worst winters for kids' bugs since my son (now nearly 14) was born. One throat bug after another cold after another chest infection after another tonsillitis after ... well, you name it, he's had it.

Despite my chemo I've managed to avoid catching all but one of the colds until this week, when we both got the gastro-intestinal bug that's been laying out hundreds of folks in our neighbourhood. Several schools locally have had to close because too many pupils and teachers were out for the count with it, and the doctors' offices are heaving with people who can't stop vomitting and/or trotting to the washrooms.

I've experienced a few trots myself but whenever I have felt that Vesuvius was about to erupt from my stomach, I have popped a couple of my wonderful "Dom Perignon" pills ("domperidone," for the medically minded) given to me to counteract nausea arising from chemo.

They work a treat. It's a shame I can't share them with my son but I just don't dare give them to him - they say you must never share medicines with others and I'm especially cautious in his case.

If he isn't better by tomorrow I'll take him to the doctor's but I can hear it now, can't you?

"Rest, plenty of fluids, and it'll clear up by itself."

So often, going to see your GP/primary care physician is just one very short, pointless yawn... as we can see from the following:

~~~~~~~~~~

Patient: Doctor, I have a pretty bad sore throat.
Doctor: Go in the next room and disrobe, please.
Patient: But doctor, it's just my throat!
Doctor: Who's the doctor here? Please just go into the next room and disrobe.

So the man goes into the next room where he sees another man sitting down in his shorts with a box in his lap.

As the first man is getting undressed he starts up a conversation, "Can you imagine that doctor? I've got a sore throat and he tells me to undress!"

The second man answers, "What are you complaining about? I only came in here to deliver a package."

~~~~~~~~~~

Yours longing for Spring and healthier days

SUZE

MRIs and one from the boys

2006-02-06T19:20:00.000Z

Tom P, a friend and fellow cancer warrior from sunny South Africa, writes...

~~~~~~~~~~

'I enjoy the humorous side of life and have found that it has helped me much since being diagnosed with lymphoma in December. Just had my second course of chemo and the nursing staff and I have a lot of laughs.

Before having an MRI, I was asked if I suffered from claustrophobia (what difference would that have made anyway??).

I said "only in confined spaces" - the local humour didn't extend that far unfortunately...'

~~~~~~~~~~

That's a bit like the gag that says "I'm in two minds about schizophrenia."

And MRIs. Sheesh.

I haven't had one yet but accompanied my Mother when she had one. I watched as they squeezed her through what look like a brightly-lit mains sewage drain, handing us ear protectors to save us from the din. I thought high-tech electronics weren't noisy, but this MRI machine made a 19th century textile factory seem quiet.

(And if you want to know what I'm talking about there, go and visit some of the textile museums in the north-west of England - Macclesfield is a good choice. I'm talking deafening, right?)

Anyway thanks Tom, have a good week everyone, and if by any chance you're MRIing, make sure you wear your ear muffs.

Sz..........

One for the boys

2006-02-03T17:28:00.000Z

I was feeling very guilty yesterday when sitting in the onco unit having my chemo. Not only was I chatting with my good friend Margaret and her adorable guide dog Bradley, but also with a lady who happens to be my next-door neighbor out in the "real" world. We all had a good gossip and the time flew by.

Now I'm on a new regime of prettily colored poisons; "cyclophosphamide," "methotrexate" and "fluorouracil" (it says here in my little book the hospital staff gave me.) I nearly suggested to David my chemo nurse that he stack them all up in a nice hi-ball glass over some crushed ice and an olive. They looked good enough to drink - shaken, not stirred, of course.

Anyway why was I feeling guilty? Not towards the lovely David who was the only guy surrounded by us gorgeous girls. He wasn't complaining. No, I feel guilty for going on about breast cancer treatments at such length when so few men - fortunately - get that disease. Don't want this blog to become a females-only enclave.

So here, just for the fellows, is a cute story I saw on Ray Owens' wonderful jokeZine from Joke-A-Day...

~~~~~~~~~~

'I work as a pharmacist at a fairly high volume pharmacy. Most of the processing is done by our good technicians, but they don't always know the clinical aspects of the medications we're dispensing.

One day last week there was a medicine making its way to the counter for a customer who was waiting. My tech didn't know the medicine was to help men who had erection problems.

The tech sensed the customer was becoming impatient and said, "Yours will be up in just a minute, sir."'

~~~~~~~~~~

Have a good weekend! Sz...

Ah, alternatives ... aren't we lucky to have them?

2006-01-29T18:41:00.000Z

When I was first diagnosed with cancer and declared it publicly, a great friend - experienced in these things already - warned me to beware of people emerging from the shadows with weird and wonderful remedies for almost any medical problem, most of which would bear little resemblance to those prescribed by conventional medics.

Having no problems about contemplating alternative supplements and therapies that help compensate for the inadequacies of our modern lifestyle, I'm pretty well disposed to new ideas regarding any of the issues we have to deal with every day. Not just cancer, but life in general.

However there are a few of these notions that really strike me as a bit OTT. Am I being unreasonable? See what you think of the following ...

~~~~~~~~~~

** If you are choking on an ice cube, don't panic. Simply pour a cup of boiling water down your throat and presto. The blockage will be almost instantly removed.

** Clumsy? Avoid cutting yourself while slicing vegetables by getting someone else to hold them while you chop away.

** Avoid arguments with the Mrs. about lifting the toilet seat by simply using the sink.

** For high blood pressure sufferers: simply cut yourself and bleed for a few minutes, thus reducing the pressure in your veins. Remember to use a timer.

** A mouse trap, placed on top of your alarm clock, will prevent you from rolling over and going back to sleep after you hit the snooze button.

** If you have a bad cough, take a large dose of laxatives, then you will be afraid to cough.

** Have a bad toothache? Smash your thumb with a hammer and you will forget about the toothache.

~~~~~~~~~~

Have a great week!

SUZE

Herceptin - a serious moment

2006-01-27T15:54:00.000Z

Readers in North America may be horrified to learn that here in the UK our National Health Service is somewhat backward in coming forward - depending on which area of the country you live in - to allow funded treatment for early stage Her2 positive breast cancer cases.

The only NHS approved funded treatment currently is for advanced BC. Some NHS areas are relenting on early stage BC cases and coughing up; some aren't.

However attitudes - and financial unwillingness - are beginning to change.

The progress that is being made is largely due to several brave people campaigning in the UK to put this right. Just today (Jan 27th) there was a heart-warming story on the BBC's news website about Barbara Clark - click here to view.

And another brave warrior, Dot Griffiths, has started a campaign, "Women Fighting For Herceptin," with its own website - click here.

Without people like Barbara, Dot et al Heaven knows how much longer the fight would take. If you're sympathetic to the cause, please sign up to Dot's petition on "Women Fighting For Herceptin" ... there's no donation required, you don't need to be UK based, and every bit helps.

OK, next post will be jokey. Promise.

SUZE

That broccoli has a lot to answer for...

2006-01-26T18:58:00.000Z

My recent postings seem to have caused something of a stir in the world's vegetable racks. The following are the thoughts of my good friend and colleague Nicola Cooper-Abbs, whose feelings about broccoli are almost as passionate as my own...

~~~~~~~~~~

I’ve had an irrational fear of broccoli for as long as I can remember. It fits well with my irrational fear of donuts and thunder. I’m pretty sure my fear of the green trees started with my mother’s obsession with that vegetable. My mum has always been pretty good about looking after herself. She used to come in late from work and prepare herself an evening meal, maybe a jacket potato, maybe a fish pie, maybe a piece of chicken. Whatever the meal, whatever the mood, it was always accompanied by those evil green trees.

Big, hulking, steamy lumps of broccoli simmering away in the pan. Bluergh. Even the smell was enough to make you leave the country. I used to have nightmares about giant trees of broccoli chasing me through the countryside, pinning me down and dropping into my mouth to curse me with their unholy goodness. My mum used to take great delight in asking me to chop up her broccoli or chase me round the kitchen with it (wonder where those nightmares came from).

Somewhere, and I’m not sure how it happened, I developed a liking for broccoli. It was insidious. I ate it one night not knowing what it was and before I knew it I was craving more. Evil, haunted broccoli has infected my brain. They say coffee and alcohol are addictive - they ain’t got nothing on broccoli.

But the broccoli addiction paid off for my mum - she is incredibly fit and healthy and at this very moment is in training to walk the Inca Trail. In October this year she will take on the 10 day trek to raise money for the Breast Cancer Campaign. If you’d like to sponsor her to raise money for a great cause (and distract her from the broccoli for a few days) then go to www.justgiving.com/janetrosser.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nicola told me that her mother is doing this fund-raising trek in memory of a very close friend who was a breast cancer warrior. Sounds like a great idea, with an even greater purpose.

Latest news: vegetables are dangerous

2006-01-21T17:32:00.000Z

If I read any more stories about the health-giving properties of broccoli (see "Beautiful Broccoli" here) I will scream. It's all lies. In fact I now think broccoli is the most dangerous vegetable of all. I don't care if prevents cancer - it was directly to blame for a grievous accident last night...

Having choked on a floret of that brutal brassica, I trotted off to the washroom rather than entertain my dinner guests with the unappetizing sound effects of coughing and spluttering. On my way there my foot caught on a cable and over I went on my ankle.

Damn and curse the dreaded broccoli! Boy, did I turn the air the colour of blueberries with my folkloric words and phrases!

Now I have a foot that looks like a ripe aubergine and feels like someone dropped a giant pumpkin on it. Can't drive, can't walk without shuffling as if I had a ball and chain attached to that foot, and can't remember where I left my sense of humour. (In the vegetable rack, maybe?)

Ah well, I suppose that's all part of getting older. If you're a baby boomer, like me, you'll appreciate these suitably re-written song titles:

~~~~~~~~~~

Paul Simon -- "Fifty Ways to Lose Your Liver"
Carly Simon -- 'You're So Varicose Vein"
The Bee Gees -- "How Can You Mend a Broken Hip"
Roberta Flack -- "The First Time Ever I Forgot Your Face"
Johnny Nash -- "I Can't See Clearly Now"
The Temptations -- "Papa Got a Kidney Stone"
Nancy Sinatra -- "These Boots Are Made For Bunions"
ABBA -- "Denture Queen"
Leo Sayer -- "You Make Me Feel Like Napping"
Commodores -- "Once, Twice, Three Times My Back's Out"
Procol Harem -- "A Whiter Shade of Hair"
Steely Dan -- "Rikki Don't Lose That Clapper"
Herman's Hermits -- "Mrs. Brown You've Got a Lovely Walker"
Credence Clearwater Revival -- "Bad Prune Rising"
Marvin Gaye -- "I Heard It Through the Grape Nuts"
The Who -- "Talkin' 'Bout My Medication"
The Troggs -- "Bald Thing"

~~~~~~~~~~

Don't forget to eat your greens ... carefully.

Just call me FatFingers

2006-01-10T17:14:00.000Z

Raucous laughter at our friendly neighbourhood onco unit last week when I happened to ask if they knew why my left (the side on which the good surgeon chopped out a dozen armpit lymph nodes) hand and wrist now looked like a string of giant bratwurst sausages.

"How many hours did you say you were doing per day writing that book of yours?" snorted one of the nurses. I told her. "And you're surprised? You're lucky your whole arm isn't the size of one of those French horsehair bolsters. Here, take this video home and watch it."

Off I trotted, antique VHS format videocassette in hand, wondering if we still had a VHS player in the house and if so whether the cats had walked on the controls and reprogrammed/ruined it like they did to my fax machine. My son sneered down his nose at this ancient piece of pre-technology but obligingly rummaged in the attic for a VHS player and hooked it up. We settled down to watch the show.

Now, the VHS technology might have been pure 1980s but the model chosen to demonstrate lymphedema massage was straight-out-of-the-noughties Politically Correct; a post-mastectomy man, poor chap. However the fact that he was a big, fat middle-aged fellow with body and chest hair the texture of Sherwood Forest didn't help me to understand the technique. I found it tricky to relate the places he was stimulating on his thicket of coarse Norwegian Pines to the equivalent places on my still half-bosomed, hair-free chest. The voice-over narration droned on incomprehensibly, the script no doubt having been written by an expert (they're the last people who should ever write training or explanatory material, because they know too much.)

Three times we watched the video and with each showing I became more confused. "Do we have to watch this again, Mum?" asked my son through clenched teeth as I reached for the video player once more. I pulled the cassette out of the machine and said no.

"I guess I'll just have to be FatFingers," I grunted. But then I remembered a friend of a friend who is a Lymphedema nurse ... aha, the lovely Yvonne. She will be getting a call from me very soon. In the meantime I just wish there were a pill I could pop to shrink my giant bratwursts ... to regular weiner (frankfurter) size would be good. In the meantime, here are some other pills for women to pop that can make us all feel a little better...

~~~~~~~~~~

D A M I T O L
Take 2 and the rest of the world can go to hell for up to 8 hours.

St. M O M 'S W O R T
Plant extract that treats mom's depression by rendering preschoolers unconscious for up to six hours.

E M P T Y N E S T R O G E N
Highly effective suppository that eliminates melancholy by enhancing the memory of how awful they were as teenagers and how you couldn't wait till they moved out.

P E P T O B I M B O
Liquid silicone for single women. Two full cups swallowed before an evening out increases breast size, decreases intelligence, and improves flirting.

D U M E R O L
When taken with Peptobimbo, can cause dangerously low I.Q. causing enjoyment of country & western music.

M E N I C I L L I N
Potent antibiotic for older women. Increases resistance to such lines as, "You make me want to be a better person ... can we get naked now?"

B U Y- A G R A
Injectable stimulant taken prior to shopping. Increases potency and duration of spending spree.
Extra Strength BUY-ONE-AL When combined with Buyagra, can cause an indiscriminate buying frenzy so severe the victim may even come home with a Donnie Osmond CD or a book by Dr. Laura.

J A C K A S S P I R I N
Relieves headache caused by a man who can't remember your birthday, anniversary or phone number.

A N T I-T A L K S I D E N T
A spray carried in a purse or wallet to be used on anyone too eager to share their life stories with total strangers.

S E X C E D R I N
More effective than Excedrin in treating the, "Not now, dear, I have a headache," syndrome.
~~~~~~~~~~

Love to all

SUZE

Chemohair...such an issue!

2006-01-07T19:12:00.000Z

Hi everyone and welcome back to CCS after the Holidays. A happy, healthy 2006 to you all.

At my last (4th) epirubicin session on January 5th we had a particularly hairy afternoon, one way or another. Bradley the gorgeous Golden Retriever guide dog spent some considerable time with his head on my lap, hence depositing hair on my knees etc (no problem though, am used to it!) and several of us were comparing bald heads as well as early regrowth of hair among breast cancer girls in the second half of their chemo - on CMF.

To my astonishment I was the only girl (well, old trout, actually) in there who was wearing a wig. Everyone else is into hats, scarves and turbans. Why not me? My scalp itches like crazy and I know scarves and turbans are much more comfortable. Is my wig thing just vanity then? Or could it possibly have something to do with the fact that in a hat I look like Humpty Dumpty with a cowpat on his head?

Hmmmm ... anyway, here are some links to further thoughts on this wig issue from other cancer warriors. Have a look at those and then please come back here with your own thoughts - I would be fascinated to know which wins in the head covering stakes ... hats/scarves/turbans or wigs??

http://www.lymphomainfo.net/surviving/wigs.html

http://www.cancer.med.umich.edu/share/humwig.htm

http://www.cancer.med.umich.edu/share/humwig.htm

http://citypaper.net/articles/2005-01-27/naked.shtml

Love to all

Sz..........

Happy Holidays

2005-12-23T12:48:00.000Z

For all of you who celebrate at this time of year, my best wishes for a happy time - and let 2006 be the year when even more of us cancer warriors defeat the dreaded beast once and for all.
SUZE

Onco-hilarity

2005-12-15T17:42:00.000Z

I don't know if it's the influence of the impending Holidays, but my chemo session today (number three) was more like attending a giggly girls' night out than anything else I can think of.

At one point hysterical laughter starting emanating from an adjacent room. Three or four different voices. For several minutes. It was obvious that a joke-telling session was in full swing.

"Hmph," grinned my oncology nurse rhetorically. "You'd never guess she's having her bone marrow done, would you..."

And me? I sat chatting with my chemo-team-mate Margaret while epirubicin was pumped into our Hickman/PICC lines and we, along with the nurses, set the world to rights with Margaret's beautiful Golden Retriever Guide Dog, Bradley, asleep at our feet. In fact ON our feet.

When I got home my son was shocked. "Mum, why are you covered in dog hair? I thought you'd been to the hospital."

"I have. I gave Bradley a cuddle, though."

"Bradley? Cuddle? You're weird." And he slunk off, expressing befuddled disapproval as only teenagers know how to do without needing to say a further word.

Comfortable chairs, friendly girly chat, a cuddly dog to make a fuss of ... if we'd had a glass of wine to drink it would have been the perfect afternoon. Maybe next time I'll take a bottle...

And in honor of the superbly trained and behaved Bradley, here are a few sobering words of wisdom for any of you who are contemplating getting a puppy (excerpted from "Canine Capers," one of my jokes books, available from Amazon or my website, commercial over!)

~~~~~~~~~~

How to prepare yourself for your first puppy

Buy a pair of really expensive shoes (Gucci or Jimmy Choo are ideal). Bring them home, remove from box and place on chopping board. Beat several times with meat tenderising hammer, then clip around edges with pinking shears. Laugh and throw them away.

Take your best white shirt or blouse from the wardrobe. Put it on, go out into garden on a rainy evening and splash liberally with mud. Observe the “dry clean only” label and smile.

Put your new duvet cover and bed linen on your bed. Buy a juicy beef shin bone from the local butcher’s and bury as deep as you can in the duvet. Scramble around the whole bed and see if you can make all the bedclothes and pillows into a huge pile on top of the bone.

Take a cheese grater from the kitchen. Apply it powerfully several times, rubbing it up and down, to the flounces on your brand new sofa in the living room. Admire the shreds as they fall to the floor.

If you haven’t done this already, buy a computer and get it hooked up to the internet. Ensure that you have bookmarked a reliable news service as one of your “favourites.” Resolve to be comfortable with the fact that from now on newspapers are for weeing on or for chewing up.

Rip up all carpets and wood or parquet flooring from your home and replace with good, old-fashioned, “easy wash” linoleum.

Hire an electrician to remove all electrical wall sockets from skirting board level and replace them at (human) shoulder height. Then remove all objects, including table lamps, from tables and other surfaces and suspend them from the ceilings.

Remove all food storage elements and, similarly, suspend them from the ceiling, including vegetable racks, canned food stores, fridges and freezers, waste bins and waste disposal units. This is especially important if you are getting a Labrador puppy.

Talk your husband and children into abandoning socks and slippers as conventional footwear. Persuade them to wear Dutch wooden clogs barefoot instead, although these will require replacement at frequent intervals.

Put your cat or cats into immediate psycho-analysis (especially Oriental breeds, e.g. Siamese and Burmese). Show them pictures and videos of delightful, gambolling puppies and movies like “101 Dalmatians.” Practice making effective puppy noises like high-pitched woofs and growls. Cover a wooden spoon with fake fur and smack them with it over their noses several times a day. Prepare a sanctuary for them on top of a high cupboard or tall wardrobe, or suspend something strong and inviting from the ceiling (see above, literally).

Finally, abandon all hopes of a tidy home for a period 12 – 84 months, tending towards the higher figure in the case of such breeds as Labradors, Boxers, Rhodesian Ridgebacks, Dalmatians and especially English and Irish Setters.

~~~~~~~~~~

Poem for the Holiday Season: "Twas The Night Before Chemo"

2005-12-11T12:31:00.000Z

The following poem also appears on BreastCancer.org's humor boards - click here to view - posted by Binney. I thought it was great so have shared it here too. Unfortunately I can't trace the original poet but thanks so much, whoever you are!

~~~~~~~~~~

T’was the night before chemo, when all through the room
Not a patient was stirring, from Ativan I presume.
The chemo bags were hung on IV poles with care,
In hopes that a cure soon would be there.

The patients were nestled all snug in their lounge chairs
Sipping Ensure and hugging Relay teddy bears
And the nurse in her scrubs and I in my wig
Had just settled down for another chemo gig,
When out in the parking lot there arose such a clatter
I sprang from my chair to see what was the matter.

Away to the window, I flew like a flash
Tore open the blinds and threw up on the glass.
Soothing my nausea with the fresh cool breeze
The wind took my wig and it flew with such ease.
When what to my wondering eyes did I see?
Eight tiny nurses giggling with glee.

Leading the pack was an oncologist so sweet
With a mission of cancer that they would beat.
To help with side effects from chemo we blame
Was his arsenal of drugs that he shouted by name:
"Now Xanax!, now Ativan!, now Zofran! and Compazine!
Let's offer comfort with bon bons and magazines.

On Vicodin!, on Darvocet!, on Tylenol! and Morphine!
Let’s make them all loopy and cause a big scene!
To the top of Mt. Courage, to the top of Mt. Hope
Now dash away, dash away so we can help cope
With tumors and lesions and lumps, it is clear
We must make their cancer finally disappear!"

So up to the clinic-top, they flew and flew
With a sleigh full of drugs and the good doctor too.
Then with a jingling I heard from their purse
Was the prancing and pawing of each little nurse.

As I drew in my head and was turning around
In through the vent the came the doc with a bound.
His eyes, how they twinkled, his dimples so merry,
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry.
He was dressed all in white with an ugly plaid tie,
And he preached to the patients, “Do not ask why.
Have courage, choose hope and just think positive.
Live, love and laugh and your life will be lucrative.
Never forget that you're heroes in my book
Conquering cancer without a second look!"

With a wink of his eye and a twist of his head
He soon let me know I had nothing to dread.
A bundle of drugs he had flung on his back,
He looked like a drug dealer opening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work
Making me feel sick, so I called him a jerk.
A human pin cushion, I had become
So multiple pokes, again I succumb.

But then I remembered, my life he was saving,
So I realized I better start really behaving
"What comes around goes around" I always say.
And a bad attitude might haunt me one day
I thanked him for fighting with me side by side.
With two against one, cancer cannot hide.

Then laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the air vent he rose.
He sprang to his sleigh, gave the nurses a sign
To travel the world fighting cancer like mine.
The sleigh held our hope, and he was the driver
Bringing strength and good cheer to every survivor.

I heard him exclaim as he flew out of sight
Happy Holidays to all and to all a good night!

~~~~~~~~~~

Brilliant stuff, isn't it? I'm going to print this out and recite it at our local oncology unit while I'm having my next chemo session this week...Sz.

Beautiful broccoli...

2005-12-08T18:04:00.000Z

Here in the UK everyone has become wildly excited about the anti-cancer potential of broccoli, or at least of eating it. I quote from a recent post on the BBC news website...

Cancer team make 'super-broccoli'

Scientists are developing a "super-broccoli" which they hope will help people ward off cancer.
Broccoli has anti-cancer properties but an Institute of Food Research study has found some people's genetic make-up may minimise the protection they get.

IFR scientists say creating broccoli containing more of the key chemical - sulforaphane - may counter this effect.

They hope it will be ready in three years but recommend eating lots of different green vegetables until then.

Lead researcher Professor Richard Mithen said the key appeared to be a gene called GSTM1, which about half the population don't have.

He said: "Some individuals, who lack the gene, appear to get less cancer protection from broccoli than those who have the gene.

"Our studies suggest that this may be because, if you lack the gene, you cannot retain any sulforaphane inside your body. It is all excreted within a few hours.

"However, if you consume larger portions of broccoli, or broccoli with higher levels of sulforaphane, such as the 'super-broccoli', you may be able to retain as much sulforaphane in your body as those who have the gene.... (etc.)

One thing that intrigues me is that in creating this wonderful new "super-broccoli," are the scientists by any chance using genetic engineering? And, er, hasn't that created some angst among other groups of cancer warriors?

Ah well, I suppose I had better get down to my local store here in our English village and buy up their stock of fresh broccoli for dinner tonight. In the meantime I leave you with this short piece of dialogue overheard in the store recently...

Customer: Worcester sauce crisps please
Shopkeeper: Sorry can't, it's off the shelves, cancer scare.
Customer: Oh right, Chinese Chicken Wings?
Shopkeeper: Ah that's the same, Cancer scare
Customer: Hamburger Relish?
Shopkeeper: Cancer scare
Customer: Sausage and Mash?
Shopkeeper: Cancer scare
Customer: Cottage Pie?
Shopkeeper: Yes, ..no wait, Cancer scare.
Customer: So they're all off the shelves because of a Cancer scare?
Shopkeeper: Yes
Customer: (sigh) Just give me a pack of cigarettes then.
Shopkeeper: Certainly. £4.50 please.
Customer: Thanks.

Surgery ... arrrggghhh!

2005-12-03T20:44:00.000Z

I cast my mind back to my mastectomy surgery way back in September and remember...well, I was out for the count. But many folks aren't - especially if they elect to have epidural anaesthetics, as did my Pop-in-law recently for a knee replacement op.

Here's why he should have elected for general anaesthesia despite being 89 years old...

~~~~~~~~~~

A List of Things You Don't Want to Hear During Surgery:

*Oops!
*Has anyone seen my watch?
*Come back with that! Bad Dog!
*Wait a minute, if this is his spleen, then what's that?
*Hand me that...uh...that uh.....thingy
*What do you mean he wasn't in for a sex change!
*Damn, there go the lights again...
*Everybody stand back! I lost my contact lens!
*Well folks, this will be an experiment for all of us.
*What do you mean, he's not insured?
*Let's hurry, I don't want to miss "Bay Watch"
*What do you mean "You want a divorce"!
*FIRE! FIRE! Everyone get out!

~~~~~~~~~~

Well, I'm all tooled up...

2005-11-25T20:07:00.000Z

New wig, new boob (full all-singing, all-dancing silicone job) and yesterday I had my second Epirubicin chemo session. So far, so good again. Maybe I'll be one of the luckier ones.

Today I got an email from a colleague in Canada who has just lost his sister to mets breast cancer. He referred me to her website and I read it all - her bravery and humor is an inspiration to us all. I'm sure her brother won't mind if I refer you to her URL which is http://www.staceygaudet.com/ Her writing is wonderful, full of laughter, hope and love.

Now, it's one thing to go into the hospital for tests and have to hang around waiting while the experts find time to get to your case. However the in the following anecdote our patient wasn't so lucky. Or was she?

A beautiful young girl is about to undergo a minor surgical investigation. She's laid on a trolley bed by a lady in a white dress and brought to the corridor.

Before they enter the room she leaves her behind the theatre door to go in and check whether everything is ready.

A young man wearing a white coat approaches, takes the sheet away and starts examining her naked body. He walks away and talks to another man in a white coat. The second man comes over and does the same examinations.

When a third man starts examining her body so closely, she grows impatient and says: "All these examinations are fine and appreciated, but when are you going to start the investigation?"

The man in the white coat shrugged his shoulders: "I have no idea. We're just painting the corridor."

Hope you guys in the US are having a great Holiday weekend ... and for the rest of us that our ordinary weekends are going well!

Some tips for US Thanksgiving cooks...

2005-11-23T19:13:00.000Z

...Because I'm doing a chemo session tomorrow I'm unable to join my local American friends (who consider me to be their "honorary American") for Thanksgiving dinner. However they said they'll send me over some turkey to munch on next day and I can't wait! In the meantime here is a recipe you USA folks might find helpful.

~~~~~~~~~~

HOW TO COOK A TURKEY

Step 1: Go buy a turkey. (size is not important)
Step 2: Take a drink of whiskey.
Step 3: Put turkey in the oven. (use a pan)
Step 4: Take another 2 drinks of whiskey. (glass preferred)
Step 5: Set the degree at 375 ovens.
Step 6: Take 3 more whiskeys of drink out of bottle.
Step 7: Turn oven the on.
Step 8: Take 4 whisks of drinky.
Step 9: Turk the bastey craefully.
Step 10: Whiskey another bottle of get an open it.
Step 11: Stick a turkey in the thermometer.
Step 12: Glass yourself a pour of whiskey.
Step 13: Bake the whiskey for 4 hours.
Step 14: Take the oven out of the turkey.
Step 15: Take the oven out of the turkey.
Step 16: Floor the turkey up off of the pick.
Step 17: Turk the carvey wit a knife sharp.
Step 18: Git a fix on teh wound baggage it.
Step 19: Blood stoped is when it on go then.
Step 20: Get yourself another scottle of botch or whiky.
Step 21: Tet the sable and pour yourself a glass of turkey.
Step 22: Bless the saying, pass and eat out.

~~~~~~~~~~

Happy Holidays!

Growing old (dis)gracefully

2005-11-21T17:33:00.000Z

As I watch my hair fall out - well, it's marginally more interesting than watching paint dry - I had to laugh at the following quotes about getting older. Not that I'm anywhere near that time yet of course. And neither are you of course. But anyway ...

~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like my body has gotten totally out of shape, so I got my doctor's permission to join a fitness club and start exercising. I decided to take an aerobics class for seniors. I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour. But, by the time I got my leotard on, the class was over.

Reporters interviewing a 104-year-old woman: "And what do you think is the best thing about being 104?" the reporter asked. She simply replied, "No peer pressure."

The nice thing about being senile is you can hide your own Easter eggs.

Just before the funeral services, the undertaker came up to the very elderly widow and asked, "How old was your husband?" "98," she replied. "Two years older than me." "So you're 96," the undertaker commented. She responded, "Hardly worth going home, is it?

I've sure gotten old. I've had two bypass surgeries, a hip replacement, new knees. Fought prostate cancer and diabetes. I'm half blind, can't hear anything quieter than a jet engine, take 40 different medications that make me dizzy, winded, and subject to blackouts. Have bouts with dementia. Have poor circulation; hardly feel my hands and feet anymore. Can't remember if I'm 85 or 92. Have lost all my friends. But, thank God, I still have my driver's license.

An elderly woman decided to prepare her will and told her preacher she had two final requests. First, she wanted to be cremated, and second, she wanted her ashes scattered over Wal-Mart. "Wal-Mart?" the preacher exclaimed. "Why Wal-Mart?" "Then I'll be sure my daughters visit me twice a week."

My memory's not as sharp as it used to be. Also, my memory's not as sharp as it used to be.

Know how to prevent sagging? Just eat till the wrinkles fill out.

I'm getting into swing dancing. Not on purpose. Some parts of my body are just prone to swinging.

It's scary when you start making the same noises as your coffeemaker.

These days about half the stuff in my shopping cart says, "For fast relief."

I've tried to find a suitable exercise video for women my age, but they haven't made one called "Buns of Putty."

Don't think of it as getting hot flashes. Think of it as your inner child playing with matches.

Don't let aging get you down. It's too hard to get back up.

Remember: You don't stop laughing because you grow old, You grow old because you stop laughing.

THE SENILITY PRAYER
Grant me the senility to forget the people I never liked anyway, the good fortune to run into the ones I do, and the eyesight to tell the difference.

~~~~~~~~~~

Well, Thursday's chemo time again ... four hiball glasses full of Epirubicin pumped into my arm, getting stoned and starving on steroids and peeing bright orange for 36 hours. Oh joy!

It's follicular fallout time!

2005-11-19T10:18:00.000Z

This past week has been frantic. Happily I've had very little reaction to my first chemo session and have been working flat out, galvanized into action by my Canadian buddy Leslie. In an email to her I mentioned that I should really get cracking on writing up my next book because it's due to be published in the Spring.

"Damned right you'd better get cracking," she replied, "the book's already available on pre-order from Amazon."

Yikes! I checked it up and sure enough, there it was (it's called "Wedding Speeches For Women" and it's on www.amazon.co.uk and www.amazon.ca, but not amazon.com yet.)

There's nothing like the finality of an Amazon entry to get writers like me motivated so it has been tap, tap, tap on the keyboard for many hours, which chemo permitting will continue until the manuscript is finished.

I've been so busy I scarcely noticed on Wednesday this week that my hair has started falling out. What with dog hairs and cat hairs everywhere (we have two dogs and three cats) a few more don't really make much difference, but now I'm beginning to wonder whether I should preserve my fallout and have it spun into wool with which I could then knit a hat. What do you think?

Anyway I've already bought a great wig which I'm looking forward to wearing, and my son insisted that I may only wear beanie hats with designer labels. So I may become a "slaphead" but at least I'll be a smartly dressed one!

....and talking of being smartly dressed, it seems that's not a quality well known within surgical circles, according to this anonymous contribution from a surgeon in the USA...

During my surgical residency I was called out of a sound sleep to the emergency room. Unshaven and with tousled hair, I showed up with an equally unpresentable medical student.
In the ER we encountered the on-call medical resident and his student, both neatly attired in clean white lab coats.

The resident said to his student, "You can always tell the surgeons by their absolute disregard for appearance."

Two evenings later, I was at a banquet when called to the ER for yet another emergency.

I was stitching away - wearing a tuxedo - when I encountered that same medical resident. He looked at me, then said to his student, "Sure is sensitive to criticism, isn't he?"

Have a great weekend and if you're in the USA, have a wonderful Thanksgiving too.

Hair today, gone tomorrow?

2005-11-12T16:32:00.000Z

Went shopping for hats today in anticipation of my hair's impending disappearance. Just as I was stepping out the door to do this the mailman (well, mailpersonne, as it happens) arrived with a parcel from the USA. Imaging my delight on opening it to find a beautiful handknitted beanie hat with matching scarf, crafted especially for me by the lovely Barb Grengs (see September archive, "Bye, Bye, Boobie.") What wonderful friends I have.

The hair is still hanging in. I keep tugging at it to see if I can get a handful out; this would make an amusing party trick, but so far it doesn't work. Perhaps I should visit a barber's to get my head shaved. But having read of this poor guy's experience (see below) I think I'll keeping tugging and waiting.

An obviously new barber nicked a customer several times while giving him a shave.

The new man, in an effort to smooth things over asked solicitously, "Do you want your head wrapped in a hot towel?"

"No thanks." said the customer. "I'll carry it home under my arm."

Happy weekend, everyone!