No 10, 30 and 48 on the List for Living!

10) Snorkel on a coral reef

30) Go coasteering 

48) Sail alongside a pod of dolphins at sea

All I wanted to do was go on holiday. To relax and enjoy some sunshine in Oman with my friend Chantal, the flower girl. And thats exactly what I did a few weeks ago. But also I was able to do some things on my List for Living which was an amazing bonus! 

Even before we’d arrived I managed to persuade Chantal to come snorkelling with me despite the fact she’s not a fan of boats. She gets bad sea sickness. I promised her it would be fun. But I didn’t realise it would be quite so adventurous. When I’ve done snorkelling before its been pretty easy. You jump into the sea, have a little snorkel about and then get back on the boat. Hahaha this time it was very different. 

This was hardcore snorkelling. We swam along the coastline following our guide who was the most incredible swimmer. It was just a shame we weren’t! Up until that week I hadn’t swam for almost two years, for a long time I’d had a PICC line for the chemo which went into my arm and could not get wet because of a risk of infection.

I took my time, slowly drifting over spectacular coral reef, watching colourful fish up close. I found Nemo and millions of his friends. But when I looked up I was always trailing well behind everyone else.

I used to be a really strong swimmer but that was a long time ago. To start with I wondered how I was going to keep up. There was nowhere to rest. As we got further along the coast, I was tired but also surprised that I wasn’t totally knackered. The flippers you wear on your feet helped but it seemed that my body remembered that it liked to go for a long swim.

Towards the end I picked up the pace and got alongside the guide. Not because I was suddenly full of energy, it was mostly out of fear! The sea had become quite rough. I was on one side of the guide, Chantal on the other. She had the same idea. My friend admitted afterwards that by this point she was feeling sea sick in the waves. However just before we were able to get back on the boat, we were rewarded with the wonderful sight of a large turtle. I was so relieved when we finally got back on the boat. 

This was snorkelling and coasteering all rolled into one. If I’d had known how tough it was going to be I wouldn’t have signed us up. But I’m so glad we went. Just like other times when I’ve done stuff on my List for Living something special happened – my body came alive in an unexpected but amazing way.

On the journey back to our beach Chantal, understandably, asked if I minded if she didn’t come on any more boat trips. 

A few days later I set out on my own. This time I hoped to see dolphins out at sea, something I wanted to do for a long time.

One of my favourite stories that I reported on as the BBC’s correspondent in Ukraine was about military dolphins. The creatures lived at a Ukrainian navy base in the Crimea. During Soviet times this is where dolphins were trained for top secret military operations. When I visited the animals were being used to help children. Youngsters with mental health problems were allowed to swim with them. Ever since then I’ve been fascinated by dolphins and wanted to see them in the wild.

In Oman the boat trip I’d chosen looked good but there was no guarantee. I even had to sign a form to say I realised that I might not get to see any. As we left the harbour, the captain announced that we would see pods of dolphins in a few minutes. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I though to myself. But he was right.

All of a sudden, there was a group of dolphins swimming alongside us. My heart flipped. It was just so magical.

Every time the dolphins leapt out of the water or a new pod appeared, the only sound you could hear was oooohs from the ten or so passengers on board the boat.

My pictures aren’t brilliant as I spent most of the time watching rather than clicking away. The dolphins seemed to play a game of tag with us. They would appear at the side of the boat, swim alongside us then go out in front. Our boat would stop, the dolphins would go on ahead. Then they’d circle back to us. There were several pods, it was hard to know where to look at times.

This was one of the best experiences of my life. I love my List for Living. Without it I might never have seen these incredible creatures in the wild.

Now I’m back at home, I’ve finally got around to updating my List for Living. There were some things that I’m never going to be able to do. I have to be realistic. Run a 5K? These days I couldn’t even walk it. My bucket list is now a bit less adventurous. I’ve replaced some of the more difficult items with equally lovely but far more achieveable things which I’d like to do.

Chemo#5

Horse meat. That’s what has been getting me through. Well, horse meat and my knitting friend.

Okay, I’m not talking about the accidental eating of horse. I’ve already done that.

A few years ago I was tricked into having horse meat. I was on a story about a ski resort in Western Ukraine. At the end of filming we had a meal with the people who ran the place.

On the table there was a traditional spread. Vodka, pickles and slices of pure pork fat. Along with the more usual things including salads, bread and a selection of cold meat.

I was tempted by what I’d been told was a local delicacy. I popped a piece of red meat into my mouth. Ham, I thought or maybe cured beef. No, it was raw horse meat. It didn’t taste of much and was incredibly chewy. Then I was told what it was. Eugh! Everyone else found it hilarious.

So how exactly does the horse meat help?

This week has been tough emotionally. Not so much sobbing, but lots of stray tears. They seem to surface so often but I’ve learnt that I can kinda stop them by thinking about something totally different.

I’m finding that focusing on horse meat is working for me. I imagine it red, raw and ready to be disguised as beef. It’s my way of interrupting my cancery concerns. I don’t always want to deny the tears but there are times when I just don’t want to cry.

Like during a trip to see a musical a few days ago. It was a big family outing with mum, my aunts Judy, Rose and Juliet and my cousin Marie. It was a happy occasion. But let’s just say that when there was a sad song, I thought a lot about horse burgers.

As for my knitting friend, that was Sally. She came to keep me company for chemo#5. Not going on your own to hospital makes it so much less stressful. Sally is my oldest friend; we’ve known each other since we were about five. She’s a nurse but that doesn’t mean that hospital visits are any easier for her. We just hoped it wouldn’t be a traumatic day like one of her previous trips.

She saw me soon after my big cancer operation last year. I’d come close to death and was recovering in intensive care. As if that wasn’t bad enough, just before she arrived I had some kind of a scare. The doctors thought I might have had a stroke. I’d come round not knowing where I was and unable to use my left arm. Sally was only able to see me for a few minutes as I had to go off for a brain scan. I was seriously ill; it must have been shocking to see me like that.

This time thankfully it was all very different. I felt strong and alive as we walked into hospital together. We went along the corridor painted with dolphins which leads to the chemo cocktail bar.

The drugs sent me straight  to sleep in the pink reclining chair. It’s lovely to have someone by your side who doesn’t mind just sitting there for hours. I was totally out of it but I knew that I had a friend there if something went wrong.

Thanks to the PICC line, it was all so easy. I barely noticed as the toxic liquid slipped into my veins. The only big scary needles belonged to Sally. I was in such a deep slumber that once the treatment was over I had to sleep for another hour afterwards.

Chemo#5 was wonderfully uneventful. There was no drama and by the time I came round Sally had finished her knitting.

A perfect ten

Dolphins. How I dread those hospital dolphins.

They swim along the corridor on the way to the chemotherapy unit. Even the ceiling has been painted to make it seem as if you’re under the sea. It may look tranquil but just seeing the dolphins made me feel completely drained.

There might as well be a neon sign that says CANCER? COME THIS WAY….

As if that wasn’t bad enough, towards the end of the corridor it starts to slope upwards. It takes every last bit of your energy to walk the last part of it. Mum had come with me. My arm was through hers as we slowly made our way up the corridor.

It’s been a month since my chemo ended. I was there for a final check-up to find out for sure that the toxic treatment had been successful.

This is where I was told I had cancer. More than six months later I was back in the same room and in the same chair. Mum was next to me, also in the same seat as before. I felt so sick that I thought I might have to run out of the room.

However I was so focused on what we were about to be told that I felt compelled to stay. As far as big moments go, this was pretty massive.

If I got the all clear, then I’d be done with the disease, the doctors and the dolphins.

But if I didn’t, then it would mean that those evil chemo cocktails hadn’t worked. We’d have to try again. Jump through more hoops. Worse still, it could suggest that the cancer was terminal and that putting any amount of poison into my veins wouldn’t kill it.

At the hospital there’s a team of people involved in my care. For this appointment I was seeing a consultant who I’ve known for years, ever since the first cancer. She’s never had to break any bad news to me. She is the Good Doctor. Surely this must be a positive sign?

I know that the treatment has already gone really well. All the tumours have been removed and my blood test results are back to normal. But you don’t know what could happen next.

The blood test is known as a CA 125. Basically I needed to get a low number. Anything higher than thirty could mean the cancer had come back.

After chatting for a few minutes it was down to business. My consultant looked at my notes, at my records on the computer screen and then back at me as she said the magic number.

I’d scored a ten. A perfect ten.

The Good Doctor quickly revealed that there was also nothing nasty on my scan. It was a stunning set of results. She brought up a different screen on the computer.

“See, your organs look lovely, don’t they?” I had to take her word for it. All I could make out was a moving black and white image of my insides.

She pointed out various bits and pieces. It was a cross section of a healthy body. My healthy body.

“Hooray! It’s all gone!” The Good Doctor threw her arms in the air. We all grinned and punched the air. My sickness went; it was replaced with pure relief.

That’s it. Finally it’s all over.

The treatment has officially been successful. I won’t have another check-up for months.

After lunch in the hospital canteen, oh yes my celebrations are not always Kylie and cocktails, we got a lift home from the flower girl.

It ended where it all began, outside my house with my friend, Chantal in her big flower van. This is how I started out on my cancer journey when she took me to hospital for what turned out to be a life saving operation.

Back then I had no idea just how hard it would all be or whether I’d even be able to defeat the disease. That’s why I originally called this blog – beating cancer, again, hopefully.

I never realised quite how important the blog would become to me. I’ve been blown away by the love and support that I’ve received. I’ve appreciated every comment even though I may not have been able to reply to all of them.

So, thank you.

I’m now cancer free and there will be no more horrendous treatment but I’m still going to continue with this blog.

I’ve been given another second chance at life. Or maybe that makes it a third chance? Whatever it is, I hope that you’ll be joining me as I blog about life after cancer.