No 16 on the List for Living

16) See Stonehenge at sunrise

This was just how I imagined it would be. As we arrived, it wasn’t quite day or night. In the distance, Stonehenge emerged out of the mist.

There was something very special about the dawn light. It seemed velvety soft. With stripes of pink sky on the horizon, it held all the promise of a sunny day ahead.

Frost covered the fields which surrounded the ancient stones. The light may have had a warm glow but it was a freezing morning.

This was so different to the last thing I did on my List for Living.

Just days to go before the end of my horrible toxic treatment, I was racing towards the finish line at the British Grand Prix circuit with David Coulthard.

Last week I had my final chemo, for a while at least. So being at Stonehenge a couple of days afterwards for my List for Living to see the sunrise felt very symbolic. Slowly I will start to feel better as the anti-cancer drugs leave my system. It means that I have a new start.

As it got lighter, pinks and purples started to spread across the sky. I was alone in the prehistoric circle of stones. Waiting and hoping.

There was no guarantee that there’d be a sunrise. It had to break through the mist and the low sung clouds.

But then at exactly 5.14am I got to see no 16 from List for Living. Sunrise at Stonehenge.

It was glorious. As I watched the sun get bigger and brighter and higher in the sky, I felt excited about my future. It may be shorter than it should be but I know that it will shine brightly. Seeing the start of the new day at one of the oldest monuments in the world was such a simple thing but it made me so happy.

I’ve wanted to do this for ages. It felt incredible to be stood in the very heart of Stonehenge all on my own and see the sunrise.

Well, I wasn’t quite alone. Rache was with me. She’s my friend who came to chemo with a bundle of mobiles. Rache always has four or five phones with her. She’s sometimes known as Raquel. What else could I wear for the occasion than my Raquel wig?!

As the sun came up, we were the only visitors. While I was in the centre of the stones, Rache stood on the outside of the circle taking photos. Most of the ones on here were taken by her. We’ve known each other since A Levels, back then we also both took a photography course. We’d often get sent out to take shots of random things. Graveyards, bad perms, clock towers.

This has to be the best place that we’ve ever taken photos together.

We were so lucky with the weather. It’s only on certain days that English Heritage allow small pre-arranged groups of people into Stonehenge in the early morning. I don’t think that the weather could have been any better.

There was something magical about the sunrise. Before and especially afterwards I felt so terribly ill. But for that moment, the chemo side effects seemed to lift.

If it was just up to me, then I doubt that I would have seen it quite so soon. When I first wrote about my list, the BBC’s West of England correspondent, Jon Kay offered to help and it’s thanks to him that I ended up at Stonehenge on such a perfect day.

It was a great way to mark the end of my latest treatment against my stupid cancer. I don’t know what will happens next or even how much time I have left.

I’m sure that when Stonehenge was built no one could have predicted that people would still be enjoying it so many years later. It’s a timely reminder that some things last a whole lot longer than expected.

Big thanks to Jon Kay and English Heritage.

Chemo#17

Hooray this was my last ever chemo!

Well, not quite. But last for some time, hopefully. Appropriately enough, I had the treatment in the same side room as my last, last ever chemo, last year.

For the final dose I had to go past the garden of tears to get to the chemo unit. It’s a small square of green outside the hospital where you can go if you need a moment. It was there that I posed for photographs to celebrate my last chemo nine months ago. This garden reminds me of the brief time last year when I was cancer free.

When I saw it I thought I’d be sad but I felt surprisingly good. It’s hard to believe that I’ve had so many toxic chemo cocktails and yet I didn’t feel too ill. I think that my spin around Silverstone with David Coulthard from my List for Living gave me such a boost that the side effects hadn’t been so awful.

As I entered the revolving doors I was glad that I was able to walk into the hospital. I had the physical strength to get in there myself. I didn’t need any assistance. And, most importantly, I was still able to have treatment. I may be living with cancer now but it can still help me. That’s perhaps also why I didn’t feel too terrible. Chemo has become part of my life.

I may have felt well when I went in. But hours of poisoning later and it was a different story. I felt so drugged up. It seemed like I’d been given extra strong stuff as it was the last one session. Chantal, my friend the flower girl, slowly led me back out of the hospital afterwards. My woozyness and the wet weather outside meant we didn’t linger for photos. Besides, I knew that I’d be back but I wasn’t focusing on that.

For 11 out of the past 14 months I’ve had cancer treatment. I really need a break from it all. Chantal drove me back to my parents in her flower van. As we headed through the rain to the countryside I was dreaming of my chemo holiday.

No 36 on the List for Living

36) Be driven very fast around a race track in a sports car

Yay! It’s another big tick for my List for Living.

But it didn’t quite happen how I imagined it would. When I came up with no 36 on my list I thought that a friend of a friend with a flash car would take me for a ride. We’d probably drive around a small, local race track and that would be it.

However my friend Amanda who’s a sports presenter for CNN had a rather different idea and offered to help arrange something much more special. The former Formula 1 driver David Coulthard straight away agreed to take me for a spin around Silverstone. Who better to drive me than someone who’d twice won the British Grand Prix on the legendary circuit.

We set a date in-between my chemo sessions near the end of my treatment. It gave me something really exciting to look forward to.

I have to admit that I was nervous. These days the most frightening things in my life tend to be appointments with my oncologists to discuss my stupid cancer. So as DC helped to get me all kitted up, it felt brilliant to be scared about something that was going to be so much fun.

©James Rudd www.aboutmyarea.co.uk/nn12

It was pretty surreal being there. The day before I was in a hospital bed hooked up to a drip of toxic drugs. As the poison slipped into the veins I looked at the race track on the internet using my iPad. I tried hard not to listen to the two elderly patients next to me who were comparing their cancers.

Less than 24 hours later I was at Silverstone.

Porsche lent us a 911 for the occasion – £100,000 worth of car. When it comes to being in a hospital bed verses a Porsche, I know which one I prefer!

We zoomed out of the pit lane. As soon as we went past the green light at the start of the track DC accelerated so hard that it took my breath away. I wanted to scream but nothing came out. He told me this was just a warm up so I’d get used to the speed. A warm up?!?

‘’Are you ready for the first corner?’’ I just about squeaked a yes.

I soon understood why he’d checked. Braking into a corner felt almost like doing an emergency stop at full speed.

Then we got fast, real fast.

©Mick Orourke http://www.btccblogs.co.uk

David was very relaxed, pointing out the best parts of the circuit. Apart from his hands on the steering wheel, he didn’t seem to move much. Meanwhile I lurched from side to side, gripping the door handle for support. Once I got my breath back I managed lots of screams and plenty of oh-my-god-oh-my-god-oh-my-god. My fear was so funny and we laughed our way around the track.

There were a couple of other cars out there. For a few seconds we hovered behind them. Then over the noise of the engine I shouted “take ‘em”. DC was more than happy to oblige asking if I wanted him to use the inside or outside lane.

I’m sure the other cars were driving quickly but it was clear we were in a totally different class. Every time we overtook them, it almost felt like we were supersonic.

Our top speed was around 145 mph!

It was terrifyingly thrilling and yet I felt very safe. Even if I couldn’t stop myself from being thrown around the Porsche every time we went around a corner.

We did two laps of the Grand Prix circuit. It was an amazing ride. When I stepped out of the car I was a bit shaky but very happy.

Cancer takes away lots of the good stuff in your life. It creates many lows. You spend far too much time thinking about death. My List for Living is all about ensuring that I have plenty of highs too.

This gave me such an adrenalin buzz. It felt like I’d just a won a race. Standing on the edge of the track with Amanda and David afterwards, I realised that doing something incredibly scary had made me feel so very alive.

Amanda Davies, myself and David Coulthard
©James Rudd

A massive thanks to Amanda, David Coulthard and his BBC team, Silverstone and Porsche for making it all happen.

Chemo#16

Could it have been the fabulous weather? Or the fact that my treatment is almost over?

Whatever the reason – I felt great during chemo#16 yesterday.

Yes, all the cancer stuff is terrible of course but not every moment is horrible. Far from it. Before the toxic chemo cocktails started, I had a proper cocktail while sat outside in the sun.

To say I enjoy the treatment would be wrong but most of the time I do enjoy life. Going through all this makes you appreciate the small stuff even more.

Normally my view from the chemo ward is just brick wall. Yesterday I had something new. A different brick wall!

When I realised this, it genuinely made me happy. It really did. From my bed I got to look out at some lovely old red bricks which were a bit higgily piggily rather than the uniform, more modern bricks.

Then again maybe I’m in such a good mood because I’m going to do some amazing things on my List for Living today.

All will be revealed very soon….

Chemo#15

Merry Christmas from the chemo ward! I’m not sure why but the coffee cups now come with a seasonal greeting.

The weird thing is that it could well be Christmas for all I know. When you’re going through intensive treatment which lasts for such a long stretch, time seems to be elastic. Months melt into each other. You lose track of the seasons. Each week is pretty much the same and mostly spent inside.

The first ever time that I had chemo more than 11 years ago I found this so hard. I really missed the elements in a way I never could have imagined. I longed to feel the rain on my face, to get cold waiting for a bus.

It wasn’t until then that I understood how much the weather helps you to feel alive. It doesn’t matter if it’s good or bad. In fact I think that bad is better.

That’s why one of the things on my original List for Living was to experience extreme weather. And I certainly did that. When I was based abroad as a foreign correspondent I lived through some of the coldest temperatures on record. There was plenty of snow, ice and all sorts of wonderful wintery weather. Perhaps that explains how come I’m not quite so worried about being disconnected from the weather during this lot of treatment.

Even so, I do what I can to be out in the elements. Before chemo#15 I had lunch outside with my friend Anna. I wanted to absorb as much of the sunshine as I could before an afternoon in the not-so-great indoors.

Once on the ward, watching the sunlight bounce off the bricks, was as good as it got. This kind of view only adds to the feeling of your life being put on pause. But last week I found out that I’d actually managed to turn back time.

To make sure that the toxic drugs aren’t doing too much harm to your body you have various tests. One horrible side effect is that it can seriously damage your bones. A while ago I had a scan to check their density. I’ve now discovered that amazingly I have the bones of a 20 year old!

At hospital there was some more good news. I was told that I won’t have the week of chemo which I missed tagged onto the end of my treatment. It means that I’ll finish in just over a week as planned. It’s like getting a week back which is brilliant. I’m so incredibly overwhelmingly tired of it all.

I’m relieved that my third series of anti-cancer treatment will be over soon. I always seem to have chemo at the same time of year. With bank holidays and the start of spring I know that once again, it will be over soon.

There’s another sign that it won’t be long ’til the end of chemo – Sasha the dog has had her winter coat trimmed. She is all ready for lots of sunny days outdoors where once again she’ll be helping me to recover from the past few months.

Chemo#14

Hooray hooray it’s the end of my chemo holiday. It was lovely having a week off. What amazing weather for a spring break.

After treatment was cancelled last week due to a bad skin reaction I was given some new medicine to take which was knock-out. Literally. I was so drowsy. But it seemed to have done the trick.

After a week off from the usually toxic drugs I thought that I’d feel great but it was only on the last day or so that I started to feel normal-ish. It was just like a typical vacation where you only start to relax, just as you’re about to go home.

I worked over the weekend and ended up reporting on the London Marathon for the BBC News Channel. I enjoy working as it’s time-out from all the cancery stuff.  Physically it’s hard but mentally it’s brilliant to step back into my old life. To a time before I needed all this treatment again.

As I was still on a chemo holiday I decided to try something that I’d been thinking about for while. I had a CFD – a cancer free day. I didn’t mention the disease and if anyone spoke to me about it, I just told them about the CFD. I didn’t mind talking about the chemo and how I was feeling but not any of the bigger things.

I’m coming to terms with my advanced cancer in my own way. I think about it a lot but when I’m not, I don’t want to talk about the horribleness of my situation. People want there to be a happy ending. I don’t like having to say that, no, I’m not going to beat the disease, it’s going to kill me. Despite all what I’m going though I still enjoy life pretty much most of the time. However these conversations can leave me feeling sad. A CFD is sort of like a mini-break for the mind. In the future I’m going to be having a lot more of these days!

On my way home from the BBC, I saw several runners on the tube. All skimpy lycra and shiny new medals. I too was exhausted. Considering how ill the treatment makes me feel, being able to do a shift at work is a big achievement. I ended the day tired but smiling. It was like I’d just done a marathon myself.

I was so glad when I was told that I was well enough for chemo to resume. The rash on my arm had cleared up nicely although we may never know for sure what caused it.

This week I had my chemo cocktail with Rache, my friend who I’ve known since we did A Levels together. She’s the one who loves a bit of fancy dress. I was delighted that we got an upgrade at hospital. I had my favourite side room without a view, as everywhere else was full.

Rache didn’t want to miss a call so she came prepared. She actually admitted that she’d left mobile number five at home!

My friend has visited me in hospital before but she’d never been to this part of the building so I explained where everything was.

Perhaps most importantly I pointed out that the hot drinks trolley was parked in the corridor, just outside the room. Rache said that she didn’t need to know as she doesn’t drink tea or coffee. I replied that I was showing her in case she fancied making me a drink, you know, the patient that’s lying in bed all hooked up to a drip!

We were having such a good time that it was easy to forget why we were there. It was lucky that we were in a private room on our own as we spent most of the time laughing. It was good way to end my chemo-cation.

Chemo holiday

Sometimes you should be careful what you wish for because it might just come true.

In my last blog post, I wrote that momentary I considered giving up but soon afterwards I realised that I wanted to continue. How ironic.

I’m now on a chemo holiday. It wasn’t my choice to skip treatment. This is an enforced break.

Last time I listed all the chemo cons. Well, there was one that I forgot to add. I had a nasty rash on my arm that itched like hell. It looked like a big patch of eczema, something I used to get as a child. It didn’t seem too serious. But when I turned up at hospital this week, my doctors thought it was.

Looking at it with them I had to admit it did seem quite red and angry. They don’t know what caused it to suddenly flare up however they’re sure there is a chemo connection.

After putting up with all the awful side effects I can’t believe that a stupid rash has postponed my chemo cocktail. Hopefully it’ll be better by next week and I’ll be able to have the five remaining sessions.

I should feel happy that about my chemo holiday but I’m not. I’m very disappointed.

Mentally I was all ready for another dose of the toxic drugs. I just want to complete this course of treatment. I’m so annoyed at the delay. Ever since the start of the year I’ve been working towards the end date in mid-May. I thought I had less than a month to go. My chemo has now gone into extra time and the final date has moved a bit further away from my grasp.

Also I don’t like my routine being disrupted. When you have cancer your life is changed for ever. At times it seems to spin out of your control. There are big question marks against all the things you thought were certain.

And yet there is one thing you can reply on. The regularity of your treatment. The chemo sessions and all the other associated appointments are comforting. Having a medical schedule gives your life shape and it gives you back some control.

After wondering whether I wanted to continue with the anti-cancer treatment, I’m more sure than ever that it’s what I want. Thanks for all the messages of encouragement and support, sorry I’m too tired to reply to everyone. I loved the way that after saying that I’d briefly thought about giving up, there was a massive noooooooo from the internet!

This chemo-cation has made me even more determined to carry on. When you’re told you can’t have something it makes you want it even more. I know that I’m lucky to still have options and I want to make the most of every moment. I’m more confident than ever that I have the strength to continue.

Chemo#13

I quite like Mondays. It’s the start of my super short week. I’m now so incredibly tired that my week only lasts for two days. Basically I feel sort of normal on Mondays and Tuesdays, and then the treatment begins again. Weekly chemo feels relentless. I’m spending most of my time in bed. I just want it to end. Last week it nearly did.

A couple of days before I was due to have chemo#13 I thought something I hadn’t thought before. For a few brief moments I decided that I didn’t want to continue.

I felt so ill and frustrated by the horribleness of it all. It’s not just the toxic drugs that are so awful but all the other stuff too. Last week I spent around 12 hours over three days at hospital with scheduled appointments, procedures and tests.

When I woke up the next day after the wobble, my symptoms seemed to have faded a little. I wasn’t so exhausted and I knew that really didn’t want to end it early. Even so I came up with a list of pros and cons. I realised that there is only one thing that matters, it’s first on the list and outweighs everything else.

CHEMO PROS

*It’s hopefully helping me to live longer

*Chemo makes me feel that I’m doing something to fight the cancer

*Somehow it makes my skin glow. I know this is totally ridiculous but everyone tells me that I look really well when I actually feel so ill…

CHEMO CONS

*Extreme fatigue, most days I’m close to collapsing

*Lots of random pain all over my body, especially in areas that I’ve had surgery

*Fingernails and toe nails hurt and feel like they’re going to fall off

*Fingertips are a bit numb, meaning I’m clumsier than normal

*Painful pins and needles in my feet and hands

*Breathlessness, I can’t really walk and talk

*Painful to walk and I can’t exercise like I used to

*It’s making my hair fall out

*My eyes are watery and sticky as I only have a few eyelashes are left

*Constant bleeding nose

*Comprised immune system and I could end up dangerously ill if I get an infection

*Steroid induced mood swings

*Insomnia

*Disgusting taste in my mouth

*Dizzy spells

*Bloating

*Always starving thanks to steroids

*Chemo weight gain

*Mouth ulcers and sensitive teeth

Now that’s some list. The treatment is truly horrific. You need to be totally convinced this is what you want. I am but it doesn’t stop me from sometimes pretending that it’s not happening.

Before chemo#13 started there were lots of things I had to do at hospital. They required me and mum to navigate the confusing corridors which link the mass of buildings together. On our way back to the ward we made a break for freedom!

Instead of following the signs we left the hospital for an outdoor detour. The morning sun warmed my skin and I felt amazing. For a moment I wasn’t a patient. I was someone out for a walk with their mum, trying to convince us both that we weren’t lost.

As we weren’t that lost, it was soon back to reality. It was the first time I’d faced the toxic drugs after questioning whether I wanted to carry on. As I was hooked up to the drip I knew I wanted to continue.

Some people have been in touch with me on the blog to say that their elderly relatives are refusing to have anymore chemo and they don’t know what to do. I can only really talk from my own experience.

For me the most important thing is being able to have a good quality of life. Aside from the cancer, I’m a fit and healthy 41 year old. I feel very resilient. Despite the long list of chemo cons, I’m lucky that my body is capable of withstanding the treatment and I’m coping well. However, I know that I’ll probably need more and more evil chemo cocktails after this course finishes and in the future I may feel differently. There may come a point when I decide that I’ve really had enough.

This is such a personal decision. I’m convinced that I’m doing the right thing. I feel that I have so much to live for. Whatever it takes, I’m going to make it through the remaining five sessions of chemo.

Chemo#11

Squeamish warning: there’s blood in this blog however it’s a special kind of blood!

But before we get to that, let’s go back a bit. Last Sunday I was worried that I wouldn’t be well enough for chemo#11. I’d picked up a pesky infection although I had no idea where I’d got it from. It was nothing serious, unless you’re going through cancer treatment that is.

My immune system was already pretty poorly – the chemo doesn’t just attack the bad stuff in your body, it also harms good things. Now my immune system was having to fight off this unwelcome infection.

I took to my bed for a few days. I was mightily relieved that by Wednesday it had beaten the bug, not the other way around. I was healthy enough to be poisoned. Excellent.

Before I could have my chemo cocktail I needed a cheeky blood test. The permanent PICC line that goes into my arm is supposed to make life simple. The drugs can go into it and blood comes out easily. There’s no need for any nasty needles. But the blood refused to leave my veins no matter what the nurses did. They pumped and pulled and pushed my arm.

Bizarrely one of them suggested I coughed, a lot. Finally the blood began to flow. It was collected in an air-tight tube with a plastic stopper which was firmly attached to the top of the clear tube.

Then something very freaky happened.

As the nurse held the tube, the plastic top suddenly flew off and hurtled several feet across the room followed by my blood. Somehow it spurted out of the tube and left a trail of splattered red drops over the floor. It looked like I’d been stabbed.

Luckily the female patient who was wearing a pastel pink jumper and had been sitting to my left had popped out of the ward for a moment, otherwise she would have been splashed by my blood.

The nurse reckoned that my blood had sort of exploded out of the tube. She said she’d never seen anything like this before. It seemed that the blood sample had burt out of the tube of it’s own accord. So, apparently, my blood is explosive!

Actually it may well have had something to do with air pressure in the tube. Whatever it was, the hospital floor now resembled a crime scene. It was gruesome and funny at the same time.

With all my blood spilt, the nurses tried again, but I began to feel very ill. As I sat in the blue hospital chair I kinda collapsed. It was like I’d been hit over the head. I almost lost consciousness and could hardly move. My body seemed as if it had turned to stone. The last time I felt like this I was in intensive care and fighting for my life.

When one of the doctors pulled the blue curtain around the place where I was sitting and I knew THIS WAS SERIOUS. I had a oad of tests to try to work out what had just happened. I hadn’t started the chemo so this wasn’t a reaction to the drugs.

I felt ever so frightened but at least I wasn’t alone. My friend Jenny helped me to sip water as I couldn’t lift my arms.

It was feared that I might have been having a stroke but in the end it seemed that I probably fainted. Having spent days in bed may have made things worse.

Did any of this get in the way of my treatment? Of course not.

While I sat back and recovered I was attached to a drip and given all the pre-meds so by the time I felt a little better I was ready for the chemo. As always I couldn’t stop myself falling asleep. But this was a different kind of feeling knocked out. Something that was much easier to cope with. And there was no more of that explosive blood.

Chemo#10

You know what it’s like, you’re on your way back from a long holiday or a work trip. You’re knackered, feeling a bit grimy and all you want to do is get home. You don’t want to have to negotiate an airport packed full of people also trying to do the same thing and you desperately hope that you’ll get a decent seat on the airplane.

That’s kinda what chemo #10 was like for me.

Now I’m into double figures, which is amazing, I’m more than half way through my treatment. I’m homeward bound. But the journey back is proving a bit tricky.

My chemo cable – delivering the anti-cancer drugs

I was at hospital on Wednesday with my friend Louise. When I was having chemo last year, she arranged for a load of friends to go to see Kylie Minogue in Hyde Park. The concert was very soon after my treatment finished. It was something lovely to look forward to. So having Louise there for chemo coffee made me think that it’ll be all over soon.

After last week when I got my own room, I hoped it would go just as well. Ha! I’m far too optimistic sometimes. This week was incredibly busy. There were more patients and less staff than usual.

At the chemo unit there are a number of wards where you can have your treatment. Aside from the private rooms, each ward holds about six people. Three along each side. Some people are more squashed in than others. Just like the worst seats on a plane that you really hope you don’t get allocated, I was slap bang in the middle of the smallest row. If I reached out my arms , I could easily touch the people on either side of me.

I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal but I was going to be stuck there for hours, in-between patients who were twice my age, in a chair that wouldn’t recline. As you can imagine I wasn’t in the best of moods. Luckily Louise helped to lift my spirits.

Mmmm magnesium

We’d turned up an hour early but there was still a delay before take-off as it was so busy. Once we got started I needed a couple of hours of magnesium. Watching it drip into your veins is frustrating. In a weird way, I always can’t wait to get going with the bad stuff.

Having the chemo itself took one hour however I spent six long hours in total in that horrible chair sat far too close to sick strangers.

I’m so glad that there are only eight more sessions to go. In the time it’ll take, I could probably fly right around the world and throw in a few stop offs. But I’m not going dwell on this. I know that this treatment is giving me extra time so that hopefully in the future I‘ll be well enough to go off on my own foreign travels.