Radiotherapy begins

I've now had 4 sessions of radiotherapy, and I have 15 more to go until I'm finished. It's going well so far. Each weekday morning I head into St Bart's and go to the basement, where the radiotherapy suites are located. Radiotherapy is often administered in hospital basements as the rooms have to be lined with lead to prevent the radiation from escaping. I have all 19 of my appointments (bar one) scheduled for either 8.45 or 9.00 in the morning, so that I can head off to work afterwards. There are five radiotherapy machines, and each is named after a planet. So far I have been treated on Saturn and Venus, and I also have treatments scheduled on Mars. The radiotherapy team are all extremely friendly, and the atmosphere in the department is one of jovial calm.

Treatment takes only a brief time, around 3-5 minutes, but the pre-amble makes it take a little longer. Basically I have to remove my clothes from the waist upwards, and lie on a plinth with my arms resting in armrests above my head. They use the tattoo dots on my body to line me up with some green lasers, according to the precise measurements they took at my planning appointment. They usually move me around a bit (I've been instructed to not help them, they need to move me sometimes by very small amounts) and they talk over the top of me, using numbers and codes and things that I don't understand, and they draw all over me with pen. It's very lovely though, at my first appointment they explained that they would need to talk over me while they were getting me in position, and that I shouldn't worry. They then leave the room and the robot-like machine blasts my boob with radiation, moves a bit, blasts it again from a different angle, and then I'm done. While it's doing its thing, I gaze at the ceiling, where there is a lovely artwork in the ceiling tiles, to distract me. On Saturn it's a Japanese cherry blossom tree and on Venus it's a fern-lined pool of water.

I can't feel the radiation, or see it, so it basically feels as though nothing is happening. Afterwards I have to apply thick cream to my whole breast, which I have to apply again at night. This is because one of the side effects can be something similar to sunburn on the skin where the radiation is targeting. I have aloe vera, which I'm keeping in the fridge so it's extra soothing, cetraben, and a cream called 'moo goo udder cream' which started out as a cream to treat sore udders on cows! Well, let's face it, this is basically the same thing! So far, it's felt a little sore but nothing too dramatic. The other main side effect is fatigue, but I'm feeling that already, so nothing new there. I'm resting in the evenings, making very few arrangements, and preserving as much energy as possible. Apparently the fatigue will be cumulative, so I'm expecting it to kick in properly in the next week or so. And it will last for a couple of months post-radiotherapy, so I'm keeping a low profile until the spring.

Generally though, I'm feeling much better than when I last posted. I've regained lots of my movement in my arm, I think the infection in my wound has pretty much cleared up, and I'm regaining strength each day. I'm enjoying being busy at work and getting back into things, and having more strength to do things around the home. This past weekend we had two of Tanai's friends over for dinner, visiting from Zurich and Milan. I was very pleased that my right arm was strong enough for me to bake a cake (folding in the egg whites took quite a bit of work, and I have not had the strength to do this since surgery). It was a flourless chocolate cake from the new Ottolenghi 'Sweet' book, layered with rosewater cream and caramelised walnuts. Delicious! We also went out with them for brunch near King's Cross the following morning, before they set off to the airport, which was really lovely. The autumn days here in London are blue-skied and sunny, but there's a chill in the air, and the temperature has not ventured above 10 degrees for some time.

Delicious cake!

A stroll near St Paul's Cathedral in the autumn sun

Brunch with the Italians

This coming weekend, we are planning to put up the Christmas decorations and make the flat all festive. I'm really looking forward to a very quiet, relaxed Christmas in our little flat, as I recover from my year of treatment.

Lessons and revelations from chemotherapy

Today marks the official end of my chemotherapy treatment. It's been three weeks since my last dose, but unlike before, there is no top-up today of the poison which is also saving my life. My body can continue to recover and rebuild, and I'm busy regaining strength and energy in time for my surgery on 24 October.

So long, farewell, chemo. It's been... well, shit, to be honest, and I'm bloody glad to see the back of it! Now, I know I've been putting on a brave face (literally, in the case of drawing on eyebrows), but I feel as though I should at least write one candid post about the effects and lessons of my six months of chemotherapy. You'll laugh (I'm kidding myself if I think 'with' me, you'll laugh 'at' me), you'll cry, you'll wince, and you'll hope you never have to go through it yourself. And I hope you don't, I really do, although if you do, I'll hold your hand every step of the way. It's shit, yes, but I survived it, and thousands do, but we develop a sick sense of humour and lose all dignity in the process.

One of the words most commonly used to describe chemo by people who have been through it themselves is 'doable'. As in: 'it's awful, but it's doable'. This has always intrigued me, what does 'doable' even mean? It's such an insipid, unassuming word. It has no sense of the horror of chemo, but it's factually correct. I suppose chemo is indeed 'doable', but hiding behind that word is a whole storage locker of pain and indignity. Strangely enough, I will probably find myself using that word to describe it in future. I did it, it's doable, I'm still here to tell the tale.

I've learned a few lessons over the last six months, valuable lessons about myself and my relationships, and I've experienced things I never want to experience again. So here are the fruits of my chemo education.

A little caveat: everyone's response to chemo is completely different, regardless of their regimen. I've learnt this through many online conversations in my support groups and with women I've been put in touch with, so there's no rulebook (and there appears to be no logic either) but here is my honest and frank experience.

As I've mentioned before, having chemo is like spraying your entire garden with bog-standard weed killer because some pesky weeds killed your rosebush. You don't know how far the weed seeds or roots may have spread, but you don't want the weeds to kill anything else in your wonderful garden, so you take no chances, and you blast the whole thing with strong weed killer. It's not very targeted, but it's certainly effective.

Side effects of chemotherapy:

So let's start with the obvious: hair loss. I've been rocking the headscarves for a few months, so it's clear I've lost the hair on my head. But hey, I also learned that hair is not just an aesthetic thing, it's also actually kind of useful. Eyelashes and eyebrows have functions. Not only does my face look weird without them, but I keep getting things in my eyes these days, and they are constantly watering. The loss of my nose hair is super annoying, as I now have a permanent drip from the end of my nose. It drips on my notebook, or into my dinner, totally unannounced. And, TMI, hair 'down there' is also useful. Why on earth people pay to have it removed in its entirety is beyond me. I want it back please! Sadly, the leg hair is persistent, no silver lining there.

Then there's the fatigue. It's very hard to describe but I've never experienced anything like it before. And it has different stages. Usually for the first few days after I've had chemo, I have immense fatigue, I feel tired all the time and usually don't leave the house for at least a few days. When I do try to go for little walks I can barely make it round the block before I have to sit down on a bench. And I have a fog behind the eyes, and need to nap lots (gotta love naps!). I don't have the strength to open the coffee pot in the morning, I'm dizzy and often can't walk without holding onto the walls. I take baths instead of showers because I can't trust myself to have enough balance to stand in the shower. I slowly regain energy and strength as the days go by, but never to anything remotely like even 50% of my 'usual' energy. I practice energy conservation (lifts not stairs) and have to make tough decisions about what I spend my energy on (ie if I go into work, that uses up all that day's energy. Usually a walk around a gallery exhibition floors me, etc). Even having a conversation is exhausting. For someone who is used to running around doing a million things a day, the fatigue has probably been the side effect that has impacted my life more than any other. And I don't have the language to describe what it feels like ('fatigue' just doesn't cut it). I find myself saying 'I'm exhausted' to people and they just nod and say 'mmmm' and I know that they have absolutely NO IDEA what I'm talking about. 

The dehydration is intense. When I first started chemo, there were women in my support groups sharing tips on how to make water taste interesting. I laughed them off, thinking, 'I love water! I drink loads of it already, I'll be fine'. Not so. When you have to drink litres and litres of it each day it starts to get incredibly boring. No, more than that, I'm bloody sick of it! It makes me gag. So I had to try everything to make it taste interesting: diluted fresh orange juice, elderflower cordial, a plethora of interesting teas. And my skin is completely dry all the time, I've never moisturised so much in all my life. I've invested in a stash of 'Moo Goo' products, which are lovely and completely natural, free of nasties such as parabens etc. I'm obsessively moisturising my hands a million times a day, and my lip balm addiction has intensified. I put a spoonful of coconut oil in my bath. I'm applying nail oil to my nails and cuticles a few times a week, because, oh yes, my nails are getting dry and brittle, and are slowly peeling off.

On that note, I lost my first toenail last week. Yes! They're just coming right off. Fun times.

Everything takes a million years to heal. I have some mosquito bites on my leg which have been there for almost three months. If I accidentally cut myself, my blood just doesn't clot properly, and the wound takes weeks and weeks to heal. I put this down partly to my low neutrophils and white blood cells, as my body doesn't really have the mechanism to heal itself well. Interestingly, I was warned that this would make me more susceptible to catching infections, but ironically my own worst enemy has been my own body. The main things that have knocked me down are things which regularly exist happily and silently on my own body but have been able to make me ill because my immunity is compromised (such as the staphylococcus aureus I got all over my skin). If I so much as walk down the street I get blisters on the soles of my feet, and woe betide my hands if I don't wear rubber gloves while washing up.

My digestive system has been shot to pieces, every aspect of it. My tastebuds have changed, my eating habits affected, my tolerance to spices severely reduced and my cravings for beige food dramatically increased. And don't get me started on the other end of the digestive system. Let's just say I have 7 different types of laxatives in my medical cupboard now. Yes, seven.

Changed eating habits and lack of energy have led me to put on 6 kilos over chemo. I feel sluggish and most of my clothes no longer fit me. I'm looking forward to getting fit and healthy again. I am, however, grateful that I've been able to keep eating and feeding my body to give it the best possible chance to maintain energy and nutrition. Many people get such sore mouths and heaps of mouth ulcers during chemo so they lose weight due to lack of ability to eat. I'm very happy that it's been the other way round for me.

I get random nosebleeds all the time and there's nothing I can do about them. They won't clot, my nose remains dry and sore and I can't predict when they will happen. A couple of times they've happened in pretty embarrassing situations but I've always got tissues on me so I've escaped any major dramas.

Chemo brain is real. Yes, the cognitive impairment has been strange for me, especially as someone who prides herself on being articulate and decisive. At its worst it has been crippling: forgetting the words for things, forgetting how to use the oven, struggling to string a sentence together. I've developed coping mechanisms and workarounds, but this is one they say can linger, and I'm not looking forward to that.

Menopausal symptoms, the main one being hot flushes, have given me a new-found empathy for women going through the menopause. Hot flushes just come upon you suddenly, your entire body temperature soars and you're sweating all over, then a few minutes later you're shivering with cold. As this is happening regularly through the night as well as the daytime you can imagine how this is affecting my sleep. And when your body is trying to heal itself, sleep is something it really needs.

Then there are the side effects from the drugs they give you to prevent the chemo side effects. I kid you not! Each round I had to take steroids to make sure my organs kept working and to combat nausea. These prevented me from sleeping and gave me severe 'roid rage', turning me into a monster on day 4 or 5 of every cycle! The GCSF injections which Tanai administered daily after chemo were meant to encourage my bone marrow to produce white blood cells, thus preventing me from becoming neutropenic. Well these had the delightful knock-on effect of making all my bones ache like hell. A good dose of Epsom salts in the bath eased the pain.

There are more, but these are the 'highlights'. And I suspect that each one alone would be manageable. Many of them are not in themselves debilitating. But combined all together, when you're attempting to still function in society, they have been extremely challenging. I hope I've managed to demystify some of this experience without grossing you out too much.

On the plus side, the chemo has been busy NUKING THE CANCER, yeah. Let's face it that's the primary plus factor. Also most (but sadly not all) of the side effects are temporary. My hair will grow back (perhaps curly, who knows?), the fatigue will ease, I'll lose the chemo weight. But now I will continue to take Herceptin for a year (in injections every three weeks) and Tamoxifen for 10 years (a little tablet each morning), which bring their own side effects. There is also the likelihood that my treatment will bring on early menopause, eliciting a whole heap of other wonderful side effects. What treats I have in store!

There are other positives to this experience, though. There are so many organisations out there geared up to help. For example, Macmillan sent me a small plastic card for my wallet which requests that the person I show it to allows me to use their toilet in an emergency because of my cancer treatment. Useful when out and about! And Transport For London sent me a badge which passive-aggressively asks people to give up their seat for me.


And here are some of the things I've learned while going through chemo:

1) I can walk to my local city-centre Waitrose in tracksuit pants, no undies, flip flops, a baggy t-shirt and a headscarf and shop amongst the 'suits' at 5pm and not lose a shred of dignity.

2) It's actually possible to have both constipation and diarrhoea at the same time. It's like some kind of hideous pooping miracle!

3) Tanai loves me even when I am bald, have tonnes of coldsores, chronic constipation and I'm cranky from the steroids. The only way is up!

4) If I get to the end of the day and the only thing I've achieved is to stay alive, that's not a day wasted. Yes, I've definitely learned the art of slowing down and putting less pressure on myself. Long may it last.

I have to give a huge shout-out to those wonderful people in my life who have helped me get through this tough first phase of treatment. To the amazing friends who have sent or given me thoughtful cards and gifts after researching chemo side effects: nail oil, hand cream, headscarves, ginger sweets and tea, the biggest bucket of Epsom salts I've ever seen, a chilly towel all the way from Australia, homemade cheesy bikkies, gorgeous earrings to help me rock the hairless look, and so much more. To everyone who has popped over to our little flat to visit, some driving almost 6 hours for the privilege, others coming all the way from Australia, many bringing food and lolz. To everyone who has texted me jokes, messaged me support, reminded me they're thinking of me. These things have meant a great deal when you feel as isolated as I have felt at times. To my patient, supportive, caring colleagues, who put up with my regular TMI, have sanitised the heck out of the office, and who go and work in another part of the building when they've got a slightly sore throat. Our daily interactions at work have most definitely kept me sane through this. To the four incredible people who accompanied me to rounds of chemo and gave Tanai a break: Martin, Dom, Caroline and Siobhan. That really was above and beyond and I will be forever grateful. To mum for batch cooking and filling my freezer with delicious food, and dad for sending Tanai presents and reminding him he's awesome. To my uncles Paul and Paddy and their families, for providing Tanai and I with weekend respite before and during chemo. Getting away from the eye of the chemo storm was hugely important for our mental wellbeing, so thank you. I won't go on, partly because there is much more treatment to come, and I'm sure I'll be reaching out for further help and support, or grateful when it's offered unasked.

I've already had a couple of 'helpful' naysayers question my decision to proceed with this treatment, especially as I'm known for my holistic approach to health and my love of natural supplements and therapies. Aside from the fact that it's 100% my own decision how I proceed with tackling cancer, there's also the not so small matter of science. Eating kale does not get rid of cancer. Chemo does. End of.

If you've made it to the end of this post, well done! It was epic, I know, but the last six months have also been epic, and, like childbirth, I suspect that if I don't write about the experience, I'll forget the horror of it all. Onwards and upwards to the next stage of kicking cancer's arse!

Venturing out: art class

Now that I have finished chemotherapy, each day I can feel my body grow stronger and it's so wonderful to know that I won't have to take on any more poison just when I'm starting to feel human again. I feel as though I'm finally able to start healing, even though there is still more treatment to come. My surgery will be on 24 October, so I'm concentrating on trying to get as strong and well as I can before then, to give myself the best possible chance to recover from surgery quickly. But today's post is less about what's going on with my body, which is very well documented here, but more about what's been going on with my mind. While my body is healing well now, I've been emotionally quite vulnerable this last week, and it manifested itself in many ways when I went to my first art class last Wednesday. I'd like to share it with you here, as my mental health is also an important part of this journey, and as so much of this is new to me, I want to document my experience with honesty and openness.

I decided to enrol on the art class partly because I wanted something gentle and creative to do while recovering from treatment. I've spent 6 months doing very little other than work and having treatment, but I know that my energy levels won't suddenly bounce back to how they were before. I loved painting when I was at school, and I've always wanted to try it again. Plus my friend Jana has been attending this class for a couple of years, and she has been producing some wonderful work, so in a way it was a 'tried and tested' class. So I went along last Wednesday, excited to be doing something new and wondering what I would learn. The class is made up of about 8 people (although I think more will join us in week 2), many of whom have been attending this particular class for many years. Some of them have even sold paintings! The teacher is an artist herself and for week 1 she led us in a collage exercise so that we could create compositions that we will eventually paint. I had never done anything like this before, and I found it quite interesting, as ideas generation has always been the area where I fall down. I think this is why I have so often copied paintings in the past, but of course original work is what we should be striving for. 

I think I had failed to appreciate the significance of this class in so many ways relating to my cancer. This was the first time I had done something new, and met new people, since my diagnosis back in February. Before diagnosis I would not have thought twice about putting myself in a situation where I was meeting new people. I am generally quite confident in social situations and love meeting new people, but on Wednesday I felt vulnerable and unsure of myself, and I leaned on my friend Jana who was also in the class, almost clinging closely to her. I'm sure they are a lovely bunch of people, but I felt awkward and self-conscious about how I came across. The cognitive impairment brought about by diagnosis (sometimes called 'chemo brain') is very real, and I still struggle to be as fast and articulate as I used to be. So when the teacher asked me conversationally what artists I liked, my mind went blank and I could not think of any! I madly searched the recesses of my mind but struggled to know how to answer. I then felt so self-conscious about sounding stupid and disinterested (I'm in an art class for goodness' sake! And I can't name any artists I like!) which made the whole thing even worse. 

The other challenge I faced was whether or not to actually tell them I have cancer. While I've been open and candid with the people in my life over the last few months, these were people I was meeting for the first time, with whom I was going to develop a relationship over the next 11 weeks. I was reluctant to be 'the cancer girl' -- I'm very conscious of not wanting to be defined by this. Therefore I decided not to tell them, and simply present myself on face value. But then of course my challenge was that 'face value' is a very depleted, fatigued girl. By 9.30pm I was exhausted, and running out of steam. I almost started to shut down! But I'm much younger than most of the people in the class, so how do I explain that it's way past my usual bedtime and I have very limited energy these days due to treatment? To compound this, that day was the first day I ventured out of the house without a headscarf on. In retrospect I feel that it was way too early (I've worn the scarves ever since). Although I'm excited about finally growing some new hair, it really is still very short, and I garnered many more stares than I ever have with the scarves. So I suppose they also had no explanation for my appearance either.

Perhaps I'm making too much of it, but all I know is that the evening had a significant impact on me emotionally. I got home and cried and cried. So many thoughts were swimming around in my head. I will have to re-learn how to socialise. I have to learn how to navigate meeting new people and whether (or how) I reveal my diagnosis. I physically can't do what I used to be able to do. I have to learn how to 'be me' when I have changed significantly. I'm sure that over time it will get easier but it was quite an unexpected shock to be feeling these feelings from something as unassuming as an art class. I also then grappled with whether or not to return to the class, as I am worried that if I don't, I may never re-learn how to navigate the world, and that, a bit like falling off a horse, I really ought to see it through. 

I suppose the main lesson is that which I've been conscious of all along. My mental health is just as important as my physical health, and I need to practice just as much self-care in nurturing my emotional resilience as I do resting and looking after my body. I will grow stronger both physically and mentally over the coming weeks and months, and I will need to also make adjustments in my life, both physically and mentally. Once again, I need to ensure I'm not too hard on myself, and I give myself time to find my 'new normal'. So I shall go back to class this week, and try to be as strong as possible, and it will get easier each week. And who knows, I may even paint something awesome!

My new baby fluffy hair

A biomorphic collage

Half way through chemo

This week I had my fourth round of chemo, which means I'm officially half way through! Cue: celebratory bells, klaxons and all you can think of. It's kind of hard for me to get too excited as it's not over yet, and it's still an uphill battle, but it is definitely a good milestone.

At the half way mark they give you a scan to see how well the chemo is working, so today I popped back to St Bart's for another ultrasound. Although I'm not supposed to get the results immediately (they go to my oncologist, who discusses them at the weekly Multi-Disciplinary Meeting before my appointment with her) I cheekily asked the sonographer if she could let me have a peek at the screen, and if she was allowed to share the measurements with me. Luckily she obliged (I threw in the 'I'm going through so much crap with this chemo business, it would be good to know it's actually working' line) and it was good news. The tumour has shrunk by 60%, meaning it's less than half the size it originally was back in February. It's still there, but the chemo is definitely doing its job.

The news has given me a little resolve. Although chemo is really tough, it's working, and is nuking the cancer, so I need to persevere. I'm also moving onto a different drug regimen. My four rounds of AC are over with (bye bye to the 'red devil' Doxyrubicin) and my next four rounds are 'TPH', or Docetaxol, Herceptin and Pertuzumab. I've been researching these as they have different side effects, and Tanai and I will be purchasing some supplies to get me through these new drugs. For my next chemo session, I have to be in hospital for the full day, from 10am, as they need to keep me under observation for 6 hours following the administration of Herceptin, to check that I don't have an allergic reaction. The Docetaxol (or 'the tax') is the one I've heard lots about. It's the one that can make your fingernails fall off, and it makes your bones ache. I'm not looking forward to that one, but with today's news I will hopefully find some inner strength to keep going for the next four rounds.

My friend Dominic accompanied me to chemo this time, and I got a window seat in the ward, on what ended up being the hottest June day since 1976. We spent a lovely 5 hours putting the world to rights, and I am writing another blog post about some of the interesting things we discussed, around resilience and self-compassion. Dom works for a prostate cancer charity so really I was doing him a favour, allowing him to join me on a chemo ward for 'research' purposes. But joking aside, once again I count myself incredibly privileged to have the kinds of amazing friends who would do something such as accompany me to chemo. Again and again I am blown away by your generosity and compassion, and I know that's what continues to sustain me as this journey gets tougher and tougher.

Headscarf wrapping workshop

One of the most well-known side-effects of chemotherapy is the loss of hair. This happens because the chemo drugs attack rapidly-dividing cells in the body (fast-growing cells). Their primary target is the fast-growing cancer cells, but the 'collateral damage' effect means that other, healthy fast-growing cells also get attacked. Hair follicles are some of the fastest-growing cells in the body, so these are often some of the first to go. This is also the reason why my nails are getting brittle and weak. I prepared for hairloss early on, shopping for fabric on Berwick street with friends, and as soon as my hair showed signs of falling out, I took over, shaving my hair off completely rather than waiting for it to fall out gradually.

Since then I've been experimenting with different headscarves, watching various youtube videos and trying out different styles. I've had some wonderful friends send me vintage scarves, lend me their own collection, and my talented friend Bree even sent me one of her own handpainted scarves, with a beautiful floral design. Many of the videos are by Muslim or Jewish women, who are exploring creative ways of covering their hair for religious or cultural reasons, and some of my favourites are by African beauty bloggers, as I love the way they incorporate volume on the top of their heads, making the final effect quite large and impressive. I feel as though this makes me look less as though I am 'ill' and more like I'm making a fashion statement. Now I know that no-one can ever accuse me of being fashionable in any way, but I may as well try to at least be a little stylish while I'm spending the next few months as a baldy, rather than looking like the washerwoman of yore.

Some of my previous attempts

More experimenting

Keen to expand my headscarf-tying repertoire, on Saturday I went along to a headscarf workshop at Hello Love in Bloomsbury. Hello Love is a delightful new shop on Southampton Row, which only opened seven weeks ago, and is run by the Hello Beautiful Foundation, set up by a woman who had breast cancer, with the aim of providing women with complementary therapies and nutrition information to help them while going through treatment. I've been following them on instagram after a friend sent me their link, but this was my first trip to their dojo, and I immediately loved the space and the fabulous things they have for sale. They had invited Sandra from Knots UK to run the scarf workshop, and she greeted me with a big smile when I arrived, complimenting me on the scarf I was already wearing. My friend Taey came along too as she wanted to know how to tie scarves herself, and we tried a few different styles.

This is the 'before' photo!

I love this front twist style

New ways of tying my square scarves

Not sure about this one, it's a bit 'minnie mouse' on me

Stacking some serious height

Taey and I with our fabulous teacher

Taey looking beautiful

Mastering a simple but lovely wrap style

Mid-instruction

Strutting our scarves on the streets

Sandra is from Miami, Florida, with a Nigerian heritage, and much of the fabric she sells is from Africa, with fabulous bright prints. It's a great size for doing a whole range of styles. I got some Marimekko fabric sent over from Australia recently and I think I will hem it to exactly this size as it's perfect. 

I still like some of the youtube videos I've found, but I definitely got some new styles out of the day, and Taey got plenty of inspiration too! And I came away with a fabulous new red scarf, which is just my colour. 

The afternoon was a lot of fun, and I passed another milestone too, it was the first time I'd been out in public completely bald. Although I wore my pink scarf to the workshop, I had to take it off (of course) in order to try out new styles with different scarves. At first I was a little nervous as I've never been bald in public before, but no-one batted an eyelid, even though the shop is in the middle of busy Holborn with floor-to-ceiling glass at the front. It emboldened me and I also went bald the next day when I cycled to the Tate to see the David Hockney exhibition. I popped into the bathrooms where there was a busy queue, whipped off my helmet and cloth cap liner in front of everyone and nonchalantly wrapped on my scarf. 

Who cares? So I'm bald, so what? But this is actually quite strange for so many people. I've met women who have honestly and genuinely stated that losing their hair was more traumatic for them than losing their breast, or getting their diagnosis in the first place. This absolutely astounds me, and I think it all stems from the pressure society places on women to look 'beautiful' and the attachment people place on their hair as part of their image and identities. I mean, I get that it can be upsetting to some people to suddenly lose all their hair, and being bald isn't necessarily the best look in the world, but it's just bloody hair, it will grow back! And it's saving me so much time in the mornings when I shower and get ready. And you know what, I like my face, and being bald isn't making my face any less awesome, in fact, it's obscuring it less than my hair did, and making me appreciate and love it more. 

I did get a wig, as they are provided to you by the NHS if you want them. But as soon as I put it on, I knew it was not for me. I just feel so incredibly self-conscious, and aware that I'm wearing fake hair. And everyone else will know. And as one of my friends said, it ages me by about 20 years!

Be-wigged

It's likely I will be bald until early 2018, so I may as well rock the headscarf look. And I can have such fun with so many different fabrics and styles. I think I will even continue to wear scarves occasionally once my hair grows back, especially when it's sunny and I want to protect my scalp, or on days when I can't be bothered washing my hair.

Cheers to that!

Pre-treatment fun

In a few short days treatment will begin and no doubt my day to day life will change significantly. Knowing that I will soon embark on a period of at least 6 months where my ability to enjoy certain things I love (food, travel, the energy to do loads) will decrease, has made me more fully appreciate some of the fun of the last few weeks. With my prognosis imminent, our long-planned weekend in Heidelberg for Tanai's birthday, for example, took on a new importance. We flew to Frankfurt airport for the last weekend in March, and my aunt and cousin picked us up. My mum's brother, Paul, his wife Milena, and their two children Liam and Antonia have lived in Heidelberg for many years, and I have visited them often, but this was Tanai's first trip there. It's such a beautiful town, and we were lucky enough to have gorgeously sunny Spring weather for the whole weekend. We were spoilt rotten by my family, who cooked us delicious food, entertained us and ensured we had a thoroughly wonderful time. Paul played tour guide and we visited Heidelberg's famous castle, sampled some of the local beer, and of course pork, potatoes and sauerkraut. For Tanai's birthday we had a delicious meal in a Bulgarian restaurant, where the boys had whole spears of meat and Milena and I enjoyed Bulgarian ratatouille. And we cycled to Schwetzingen palace, where there are some stunning gardens and the cherry blossoms were in bloom. Milena and Antonia treated us to a fascinating night at the theatre, where we saw a contemporary dance piece and ended up having bubbles served on the stage by upside-down dancers! The sunny weather definitely helped me feel rejuvenated, and it is always great to get away from London for a long weekend. We walked and cycled past allotments, fields and the bustle of Spring was around us. It was also great to think about things other than cancer for a while! I'm sure I'll love similar distractions over the coming months.

Our hosts, beneath the cherry blossoms

With Tanai in the wonderful cherry blossom garden

Paul and Tanai overlooking the castle and the river

Liam and Tanai and the spears of meat!

Being served by upside-down dancers

Riding in the laneways of Heidelberg

The spring weather has also been lovely during the days at work, as we have a deck on our fourth floor and can now sit out there during lunchtime, and even for some after-work drinks. This week was bitter-sweet for me as one of my team members was leaving. Only two days before we'd had team karaoke and we'd belted out classics together, and now I was saying goodbye. Phil is my favourite office DJ, he makes me laugh every day and I will really miss him.

On the roof of the office

Belting out Rocket Man with Phil

Team Awesome karaoke

Following my recent hair-loss worries, yesterday two of my girlfriends took me shopping to the fabric stores on Berwick Street in Soho, and we bought some fabric for me to fashion into hair wraps. We also watched some videos on YouTube and I practiced tying some fabulous African-inspired hair pieces over my head. It was a lovely day hanging out with them, and now I'm a lot less worried about losing my hair, as I feel a whole new style coming on! I'm even considering not bothering with a wig, and just going with scarves the whole time. I'm keen to buy even more brightly-coloured fabric and making some fashion statements. But at least now I am prepared for the inevitable.

So much fabric!

With my fabulous shopping companions

Bus fun!

First attempt at a hair scarf (youtube vid in background)

Another thing I'm concerned about is losing my tastebuds during chemo, and not being able to taste the delicious food my friends cook! So today we went to my friend Taey's house for lunch, and she made amazing slow-cooked short ribs which she'd marinated the night before. They were so tasty, Tanai could not stop talking about the food all the way home. I love Taey's cooking and the thought of waiting another 6 months before I can taste it again makes me sad, but it will taste all the sweeter after I'm done with the chemo. It was also lovely to see how little Marou is growing, he is so happy and chilled out, a lovely little boy. Not sure how much I'll be able to hang out with my friends' kids over the coming months either, as I'll have a low immune system and they are basically human germ-factories, so I'm getting my fix now.

Storytime

Tomorrow I will probably find out when my first chemo is and then it's action stations. Until then, I'm having a relaxing evening with a dark chocolate Lindt bunny and a book on post-colonialism.