And They Ate Cake

A few milestones were passed this week, as we reached the halfway point in my chemotherapy treatment (6 doses down, 6 to go) and I managed to get back to doing some actual, real work for money.  I have also managed to come out of a two week grump as well, which Mrs W is well chuffed with.  So to celebrate we have indulged in a few slices of my Mummy’s famous apple cake.  This cake features heavily in my childhood memories, as it was one of the culinary best-sellers that used to be served over the counter at the pub we ran in Dorset when I was a teenager.  It was said back then, that people would travel from far-and-wide for a warm slice of cake and cream.  They were simple times and simple people.  I shall be indulging again at several points over the next few days, until the custard pot is empty and the last crumb has been hoovered from the plate.

During this week’s chemotherapy session I experienced what can best be described as ‘old-school’ blogging as a group of more mature patients engaged in a bit of across the room cancer banter.  Whilst I prefer to write about and publish my experiences online, this merry band clearly enjoy a more vocal sharing of their experiences.  So I was stuck in the middle of game of Cancer Top Trumps for an hour or two, as one compared their conditions and treatments to another, in a desperate bid to outdo each other.  We even stooped to the level of comparing the number of miles travelled between home and hospital during the course of the treatment, which really flummoxed a couple of bus jockeys.

I enjoyed my couple of days of work in West London earlier this week.  Although Steve the Stoma did take an opportunity or two to make himself known to the school staff.  I have decided that when Steve’s uncontrollable rasping growl occurs, I will just keep a very straight-face and attempt to ignore the situation whilst others around me subtly seek out the perpetrator.  And so it was, when Steve trumpeted in the reception area of the school I was visiting.  Fortunately, a combination of it being a ‘nice’ independent school and the presence of a few small children meant that nobody flinched and either Tarquin or Jemima probably got the blame when they got home.

Steve has now calmed down and we are back at the start of the chemo cycle for the next two weeks.  That’s the worst part of starting a dose of treatment; you know what the next two weeks holds in terms of feeling grumpy, sick, tired, cold, etc.  But at least I know that in two weeks time I will have worked through another cycle and will be one more dose nearer the end and of course I do have apple cake to see me through the first few days.  So what is there to complain about!