Kindness of strangers

So what’s the best thing to do the next night after going to the James Bond premiere?

Go to see the film again?

Yes, 24 hours after watching Skyfall at the Royal Albert Hall, I was at the cinema for more 007 action!

It was thanks to my friend Rache. When not organising fancy dress themed nights out, she loves to enter competitions. She’s very good at winning and has bagged some incredible prizes.

Rache, me and Barbarella

For months Rache had been trying to win tickets for the Skyfall premiere for me. She wasn’t alone in doing this.

She’s part of an online forum for fellow compers. Many of them also did what they could by entering quizzes and competitions for me. These were people I’d never met before, they only knew me from this blog, yet they put in lots of effort into doing something lovely for me.

And they came up trumps!

A man who goes by the online name of Greatbigrobot won tickets to a VIP advanced screening of the movie for me the night after the premiere. I was delighted. Then a couple of days later the charity, the Willow Foundation managed to get me invited to the premiere.

The tickets for the advanced screening were non-transferable so I ended up with a double dose of 007.  Well, you can never have too much Bond in your life.

Anna, Bond girl for the night

My friend Anna came with me to the advance screening. It was a really great night and another fabulous excuse to wear Candice and a posh dress. You wait for months for something like this to come along and then you have two big nights out in a row. Not that I’m complaining.

Before the film we were served champagne by handsome waiters, played roulette and met men in tuxedos. Surely this is what it must be like to be a Bond girl?!

Although I don’t imagine that Bond girls normally drink champagne from plastic glasses.

Watch out Daniel Craig!

I was really touched that someone won the prize for me. But this wasn’t the first random act of kindness. Since being diagnosed, people that I don’t know have sent me presents.

When I went into hospital I received a care package which included tissues for tears and a notebook for ideas. During chemo I received a handbag in the post to help me look forward to happier times. Just a few days ago a Twitter friend sent me a teal green hat and earrings. Her gifts were to help make my bald look better and feel warmer.

I’ve also had cards from people who explain that we’ve not met but they know me through someone.

I’ve had so much love on Twitter too and from everyone that’s left comments on this blog.

Of course, the support I’ve had from family and friends has been wonderful but I didn’t expect so much good will from strangers. Knowing that lots of people, including many I’ve not met in real life, are cheering you on is an incredible feeling. It always gives me a boost and has been more help than I could have imagined.

So, thank you.

Never for a second would I have chosen to have cancer. It may be the worst of times but it’s also shown me the best of so many people.

Skyfall – The Premiere

When you’re told that you must use the red carpet you just know it’s going to be a special night.

The 007 premiere was held at the very grand setting of the Royal Albert Hall. Neither the venue nor the red carpet was hard to miss. Even so, with the tickets we’d also been given a map embossed in gold to show us where we had to go.

As we turned into the red road, there were thousands of people lining the route ahead of us waiting for the stars of the show. The sight took my breath away.

As this was such a big occasion I wore Candice, my long blonde WAG wig. This was the kind of event she was made for.

I’d been given two tickets so I took along Chantal, my friend the flower girl. We’ve known each other for a few years now. We met at hospital because she too is a cancer survivor.

This was my way of saying thanks to Chantal. She came with me to many of my hospital appointments and chemo sessions. My friend drove us there in her massive van which is normally filled with flowers.

When I became critically ill after the operation, Chantal put her work on hold. Mum stayed with her for weeks and together they visited me as often as they were allowed to. Chantal was at hospital during the very worst moments, when it got so bad that we both wondered if I’d pull through.

I wish that somebody had told us back then that a few months later we’d both be stood on the red carpet for the world premiere of a James Bond film.

With lights, cameras and so many celebs, it was all pretty surreal. Beforehand I’d been quite nervous but once we were there this soon melted away. It was almost like we’d wandered onto a movie set. Or we were in some kind of dream.

Yes, we saw Daniel Craig and yes, he was just as handsome in real life. I certainly didn’t dream that part of the evening!

The red carpet was surprisingly long, wide and busy. It was packed with people all dressed up in black tie. It wasn’t just me but everyone around us looked excited just to be there. It was as if we were all heading towards a very special party.

Along the way we had to be careful not to bump into the Bond stars while they were still hard at work.

I thought that our seats for the premiere might not be too good but they couldn’t have been much better. We were in the stalls with film company executives in front of us and X Factor finalists behind us.

As the Albert Hall went dark, my heart skipped a beat. I could barely believe that I was actually there.

The atmosphere was incredible. There must have been several thousand people. I’ve never seen a movie on such a large screen and with so many other people. It felt exhilarating.

I loved Skyfall and thought Daniel Craig was brilliant as bond.

The film made me very aware of just how far I’ve come. I thought a lot about James Bond during the chemo but I’m not sure why I choose this character as my cancer killer. Although seeing 007 on the gigantic screen made me realise he’s the kind of hero everyone needs when they’re fighting their hardest battle. Nobody does it better.

Did we go to any of the premiere parties? Well, we didn’t intend to but somehow we ended up in a fancy hotel bar where there were a few familiar faces! This is what most people were drinking.

Of course we had to have one too. Shaken, not stirred.

This was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. It’s something that I’ll never forget. I was only able to go to the movie premiere thanks to the wonderful charity, the Willow Foundation. It’s their aim to create special memories for the future. They certainly did that for me.

The night was a celebration too. All the horribleness is over now. If the disease does come back then this will be something lovely to remember. But I truly hope that I’ll be able to look back and think of this an occasion when I was celebrated beating cancer for ever.

Over the past few months I’ve written a lot about being exhausted. On the premiere night I drank a bit too much, wore stupid high heels and stayed out far too late. All the kind of things I haven’t really done since I was diagnosed.

I was shattered the next day but for all the right reasons. I didn’t feel great and that’s a great feeling. It means I’m having a normal life again. I feel very glad to be alive.

James Bond is back!

It wasn’t so long ago, that just like today, I woke up stupidly early. Back then a heady combination of steroids and nervous energy meant that I couldn’t sleep. That was the morning back in May when I started chemotherapy.

I knew it was going to be horrendous but I was also well aware of just how important it was. All the tumours had been removed but I needed this to get rid of any teeny tiny cancery cells that might still be hanging around.

As I lay awake in the dark I thought about how the chemo was going to work. I’d been told how cancer fighters often come up with unusual ways of thinking about the treatment to try to take away some of the terror.

This is what I wrote in my blog post, Licence to Kill:

“I tried to think about what it would be like when the drugs went in. I turned every drop from the drip into a killing machine. A kinda James Bond. I imagined my own microscopic army of special agents. Just in case you’re wondering, I’m thinking Daniel Craig as James Bond….

…Anyway, I’m picturing my troops being launched into the killing zone with charm, cunning and a wry smile. Their mission is to destroy any rogue cancer cells.”

A few hours later when the toxic cocktail began to seep into my veins and poison my body, that’s what I focused on. It was the violent visualisation that I used during all the other sessions of chemo too. Whenever I was worried that potentially evil cells may be lurking inside me, I also thought about this fully loaded 007 army. They helped to shoot away my fears.

After six sessions of chemo it was mission accomplished. I got the all clear – the best news ever! The James Bonds had done the business. Of course, along with the drugs and the doctors etc etc. Since then the test results have been great.

So, back to this morning.

It’s a few months on from that first day of chemo; again I’ve woken up all excited and jittery and thinking about James Bond.

This time I’m not imagining gun-toting-cancer-killing-secret-agents blasting away at killer cells. No, I’m picturing 007 on a big screen. A mahoosive big screen. Daniel Craig is sat in the audience, all dressed up in black tie, surrounded by his co-stars. I’m there too. We’re all watching the latest movie. The difference is, this isn’t something else that I’ve just dreamt up; soon this will be for real.

You see, tonight I have a date with James Bond – I’ve been invited to the world premiere of Skyfall!!

The timing is brilliant. I’m finally feeling better than I have done in ages and now I’m off to a red carpet event in London featuring the very character that I thought of so much during the chemo.

It’s all thanks to the Willow Foundation. The charity was set up by Arsenal legend Bob Wilson and his wife Megs in memory of their daughter Anna who died from cancer at the age of 31. It aims to help young adults dealing with serious illnesses by arranging something amazing for them.

Already it feels special. Yesterday a man on a motorbike turned up at my house. Tall with broad shoulders, he was dressed all in black. As I opened the door, he gave me a wry smile and a large plain white envelope.

“Skyfall tickets,” he said.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“I’ve been expecting you…”

Disco dots to the rescue?

When I first started this blog back in March I wondered if I’d run out of things to write about but somehow that hasn’t happened. Well, not until last week.

I felt worn out. I had bursts of energy but they tended to quickly fizzle out after an hour or so. Most of the time I was so tired that I wasn’t able to think about much else apart from getting through each day.

The chemotherapy may be over but I seem to use up much of that energy on medical appointments in London. The surgery I had to get rid of the cancer was extensive and it’s caused me plenty of problems. Nothing too serious, just stuff that needs sorting out.

Of course experiencing all this fatigue is frustrating but pretty normal. Last week, one of the doctors at hospital said I should think of cancer treatment as like running a marathon. You focus on just getting through each medical mile. Exhaustion is just one of the many horrendous side effects. It’s only when you stop that it really hits you.

Weeks after crossing the chemo finishing line it still feels as if I’m sitting on the pavement covered in a silver foil cape, too shattered to move. I want to have a normal life instead of watching it pass me by.

The doctor suggested that I keep a tiredness diary. I was supposed to write down everything I did for a week so I could see if I was doing too much or too little. Each day was divided up into two hour chunks.

I started the diary on Wednesday and gave up on Thursday. It was far too depressing. It made me realise that at one point I was in bed for 17 hours in a row.

So I tried something else.

I gave acupuncture another go. It was one of the things that helped me cope with being poisoned by the toxic cocktails. I still don’t understand why it should work but several of my cancer fighter friends have said that it’s really given them a boost after chemo.

With a checked shirt and a silver hippy necklace, the acupuncturist took my hand as soon as entered the room. He was trying to establish my energy flow, I think, or something like that. I tried not to look too sceptical but he just smiled at me serenely

I lay back on the couch. Through a window in the ceiling I watched clouds slowly drift overhead as he stuck the skinny pins in my hands and feet.

Black dots began to dance in front of my eyes. The spots weren’t in the sky but some kind of optical illusion. Last time I had acupuncture loads of these tiny blobs seemed to rush across my eyes like a river. Now there wasn’t so many of them. These spots did a kind of side to side shuffle. It should have been quite freaky but I felt calm as I concentrated on the disco dots.

After about twenty minutes they disappeared and in their place were tiny white flickers of light that flashed frantically.

“Do you want me to do something that will really get things going? It’ll be painful to start with,” he warned.

And it was. Long needles were pushed hard into my thumbs and big toes, right near to the nails. Really big misshapen spots appeared and slowly swam across my eyes. This mirage also faded after a while.

I’d like to say that I walked out of there with a spring in my step but I didn’t. Instead I went home for a rest and then got the last train back to my parents’ house in the countryside.

That night I had the best sleep in a long time. I woke up to find that the extreme tiredness had gone. It was like someone had just flicked a switch.

Since then it’s been incredible. For the past few days I’ve felt energetic, alert and much more like me again. Okay, I’m no where near back to normal but I’m able to do things like walk without feeling as if I might collapse.

Why the sudden change? Maybe it was the acupuncture. The disco dancing dots. Perhaps it was being back with my parents.

Whatever it was, I don’t care, I just hope it lasts.

Good cold, bad cold

If you had to pick a time of year to have a chemocation then I suppose autumn/winter is perfect. A chemocation is rather like a staycation. Only this is no holiday at home but chemo enforced time off. And I can’t wait for it to be over.

Thanks to my incredible tiredness I’m still mostly stuck indoors. One of the perks of an A/W chemocation though is being able to have quality time by the log fire at my parents’ house. There are worst ways to spend an autumn afternoon.

But really I’d rather not be stuck indoors. Slowly I’m building up my stamina so that I can spend more time outdoors getting cold and wet.

The chilly weather means that when I do go out I can easily wear a hat over my shaved head and it doesn’t look out of place. I like my new number 3 hair cut but I’m not going to be showing it off in public anytime soon. That would just take too much energy. It’s less stressful to just blend in.

Raquel, Candice and very occasionally Barbarella are also helping keep me warm. I quite enjoy wearing my wigs. They still itch like crazy but over heating is no longer such a problem.

Ten years ago when cancer last made my hair fall out, it was all very different. Back then I told hardly anyone, I was so embarrassed. I didn’t even have a name for my wig. It was identical to my old hair. I didn’t like wearing it and I never realised how handy it would be on my travels.

I’d just moved to Moscow for the BBC and it was the very start of winter.

Snowy sunset from the BBC Moscow Bureau

Russia was properly freezing, exactly how you’d imagine that it should be. I’d wake up every day hoping that it had snowed overnight and often I was excited to find that it had. At times just being outside was painful; as you breathed in, the icy air would scratch your throat and made your lungs feel like they were on fire.

One Sunday afternoon, not long after arriving, I ventured out to a market on the edge of the capital. It was next to one of the furthest stops on the metro. On the way there I sat opposite a pensioner. The woman with dyed red hair was dressed in fur from head to toe. She eyed me suspiciously and then gave me a right telling off.

My crime? Not wearing a hat.

As way of an apology I said that I was English. I didn’t feel like revealing my lack of hair to a random stranger. However she was right to chastise me. It was so arctic outside that within minutes of getting off the metro, my mobile phone had frozen.

Yet my wig was brilliant. My fake brown bob kept my head beautifully warm.

These days I tend to wear hats a whole lot more, even when I’m inside. It turns out that my internal temperature gauge has bust.

I am officially cold.

All those evil chemocation cocktails are to blame. My body thinks that I should be around 35c. Unless I’m in a swelteringly hot room I tend to spend much of the time shivering. According to my hospital handbook, my temperature is a code red and I should alert the on-call oncologist straight away.

Ever since my cancer operation my feet have been a bit numb and never that warm. Now they are like blocks of ice. It’s like I’ve just come in from the cold after a day braving the elements in Moscow. So I wear thick ski socks at all times and I have a selection of hot water bottles which get a lot of use. Sometimes I sit in the living room wrapped in a duvet next to the fire.

But apparently my low temperature is nothing to worry about. The problem should just improve all by itself. In the meantime I’ve been told to wear lots of thermals. Here’s some freaky logic. It may be warmer inside but I tend to shiver less when I’m outside.

Maybe this is my body’s way of saying that I need to get out more as the chemocation is coming to an end.

Time for tears

Something is missing. There is a cancer shaped hole in my life.

Don’t get me wrong, of course I’m incredibly relieved that it’s all over. It’s just that the past six months have been all about the illness. There was a routine to my life, structured with appointments, chemo and hospital stays. Perhaps most importantly I had a clear goal – to beat cancer.

After such a terrifying diagnosis, there was something I could do to try to make it go away, something that gave me back a feeling of control. I was a mean cancer fighting machine. The process gave me a sense of purpose. It dominated my every waking moment.

Then, one day, it was all over. The treatment stopped. I got the official all clear, the perfect ten.

I know I’m extremely lucky to be cancer free. All I have to worry about these days is recovering from the ordeal and getting on with my life. But it’s not all over, not really.

First all, I’m still ridiculously shattered. Or to be more correct, I have fatigue. No amount of rest or sleep makes any difference. Even my bones feel exhausted. Yet I’m attempting to get my normality back and that’s only making me even more tired.

Slowly the chemo fog is lifting. My brain has all sorts of ideas of what I could do but my body usually says no, plump up the cushions and sit back down. I still have some medical appointments but I’m not nearly as busy being at hospital as I was.

It all means I have much more time to think and reflect on my illness.

When you’re told you have cancer it’s a shock but it’s also an emergency. Very quickly you focus on the treatment. It’s a brilliant way of channelling all that anger, upset and fear.

Now the chemo has finished, it seems like my emotions are catching up with me. The enormity of what I’ve been through is starting to hit home. I wasn’t expecting this big, delayed reaction as it didn’t happen to me before. But then it was much more serious this time.

My feelings that were squashed for so long have bubbled up and are now never far from the surface. I’ve cried more in the past couple of weeks than I have done in many months. One moment I’ll be thinking about the surgery or something awful connected with the cancer and then all of a sudden it’s hard to hold back the tears. Often though it’s stupid things that make me cry.

It’s not that I sit around weeping all day. Most of the time I’m actually quite happy. Just like the sickness, the extreme tiredness, the pain, the scars and the hair loss, I’m realising that the tears are another awful but normal side effect.

Anyway, afterwards I feel much better and I suppose that’s the whole point.