I only bake when I'm in a good mood

This is not what I thought I'd be posting. But for once, it's in a good way.

Last week I went to hospital for my third chemo session. I had done all my usual preparations (which means staying up late, sorting out paperwork and tidying up) and mentally braced myself for it. I took my bag of things to do (chemo takes around 5 hours, and there's not a lot to keep you occupied otherwise) and Mum came with me as per usual.

I might have told you that my last session was awful? And I may have mentioned the depression, the sleeplessness, the sickness/nausea and the intense stomach pains? So you can imagine that I wasn't particularly looking forward to this. Neither was Mum - she has to look after me through it all. But we went along anyway, because that's what you do...the doctors tell you what they think should happen and you just go along with it. It's all very well saying it's my decision whether to continue or not, but who am I to argue with an oncologist? 11 months of cancer experience might make me an expert on ME but it doesn't mean I know what treatment I need.

My doctor had been very keen for me to have this post-op chemo as a preventative measure. So the very last thing I expected him to say was that he thought I could stop now. I think he could tell that I was slightly stunned, so he even made the decision for me. Because it made me so ill, more chemo would do more harm than good.

So that's it. Officially. No more active treatment for now. I still have to go for regular checkups, and I do have some more surgery to come. But I think this is where I start referring to cancer in the past tense: I had it, I don't have it any more.

It doesn't feel real, and I have a lot of mixed emotions that are too complicated to write about yet. I am not celebrating, because I have a long way to go. I am just keeping everything crossed and hoping as hard as I can that this means I can start to put my life back together. Starting with baking on Sunday afternoons.

The cupcakes above are from an issue of My Weekly that I rescued from Gran's recycling pile.

Time may change me

One of the weirdest aspects of my cancer treatment is that I haven't lost my hair. Which is good, obviously, because it keeps my ears warm. But I did have it cut very, very short because it's just easier to look after that way. And when you've been in hospital for two weeks and can't use the shower because it floods...trust me, you don't feel like washing your hair.

This page got me thinking, though. My life has changed so much in the last couple of years. In some respects, I'm sure I'm still the same as I always was. In other ways, I hardly recognise myself. I quite like the person I've turned into. I think I might keep her. The hair? I'm letting it grow back now.

Just too cute

These are the 'good' days, the ones in between treatments, the ones when I feel (mostly) better and can actually do things. There aren't enough days like this at the moment. I am impatiently waiting for the time when all my days are like this.

And on the good days, I make things. I've moved on a bit from making blankets, and now I actually follow a pattern. This one I even had to edit because the original made me lose a stitch at the end of every row. It's never good when you realise your rectangular piece of crochet is turning into a triangle.

I love the pattern with its neat zig-zag, and purple is one of my favourite colours. I'm pretty sure I shall end up like my sister Mindy, who is always knitting in shades of pink and purple. They're just so pretty :)

And I even lined it. Pink with polka dota. Little hand-stitches all the way round. A button on the front to make a clasp. Cuteness overload!

Sleepless nights

Going to bed early has never held much appeal for me. What if I miss out on something exciting? Being ill, despite the fact that it makes me tired, has made me even less likely to go to bed at a reasonable hour. Too much to do, too little time. Plus, insomnia is actually a side-effect of my tablets so I have a legitimate excuse for staying awake till 3am.

Apart from watching lots of late-night TV (when the programmes with subtitles and sign language come on, you know it's late) what could I possibly keep myself occupied with at that hour?

Crocheted miniature pumpkins. Naturally. Now available in the shop.

Highs and lows

Just because I write it on pretty paper doesn't make it feel better.

This last weekend has been hard. Initially I thought I was going to get away with it - the Hickman Line seemed to take away so many of the horrible side-effects of the chemo. By Sunday, though, I had realised that it wasn't going to stay that way and I've spent the last couple of days finding every little bit of strength that I have left.

Realistically, I know that I am lucky. There are plenty of people who would love to be in my situation. People who haven't had treatment, people whose treatment hasn't worked, people who are in far worse states than I am right now. I am working my way through my sixth cycle of chemo and there are people I know who have had ten times that number, and yet still carry on.

This blog was never supposed to be about cancer, but it's hard not to make it so at the moment. It feels like my cancer and my treatment is all that is happening to me right now. Everything I do revolves around it. My journal pages for the last few days are mostly just some very self-absorbed ramblings about how bad I feel, because it would be dishonest to put anything else.

I try to stay grateful. I try to stay focused. I try my hardest to stay strong because I know I am not the only person on this journey. Most of the time I think I do a pretty good job. But it is going to take more than some pretty papers to make me feel ok this time.

I am not going to argue with my mother

My lesson for 6th Sept is something I have learned, re-learned and am still learning. I know parents have a duty to tell their children they are beautiful, or clever, or whatever. I know in my Mum's eyes I (and my sister) will always be the two most wonderful girls in the world. But actually, sometimes, she's right. And I'm not going to argue.



Because I know how bad chemotherapy can make me feel, when the date approaches for my next infusion I start getting this sense of rising panic. I think of all the things that need to be done before I am out of action for a week or so, and then I stay up very late trying to do them all. Invariably I fail. I have to keep reminding myself to stay calm and just prioritise the really important stuff.



And the downside of the staying up late panicking...is that I end up making myself really tired and having a day when I don't actually feel like doing much at all. But you know what? That's ok too.

Two days at a time

Where does the time go? I have more time to myself right now than I have ever had in my life - and yet still I run out of time to do things. I blame the internet.



More journal pages...

I don't always feel ill. When I have good days I forget how much my body has been through and that I am still a long way from 'fit and healthy'. I push myself hard a lot of the time, and some days I have to remind myself that it is ok to rest.



On the other hand, sometimes you just need to make the effort. To go out, to see someone, to do whatever it is you're putting off. And it's always worth it.

So far, so good

Thursday was a bit of a bonus day really. Although I was due to start my next cycle of chemo, it didn't go ahead because I was waiting for a central line to be fitted. This will hopefully eliminate the pain that the chemo causes in my arm, and make it easier for blood tests. I never used to be scared of needles but I can't even watch Holby City any more.

So Thursday's lesson was easy - enjoy every minute. Especially when the sun shines and I go to spend some time with my gran.



Friday, on the other hand, was not so good. Having the Hickman line inserted was every bit as painful as I feared it might be. Wikipedia seems to think people have this done under general anaesthetic - I shall be writing to tell them this isn't so. I had a local anaesthetic and was all too aware of what was going on. It hurt then, it hurts now, and I think it's going to hurt for a while. But it isn't forever - and I think that's a lesson I'm going to be reminding myself of a lot this month.

Something every day?

So, Shimelle runs a class every year which encourages us to look for lessons in our lives, and record them in a creative way. I've done the class since it started (because once you've done it once, you can take part each year for free) and I have two completed albums from 2006 & 07, then a year when I didn't do anything, and last year I got halfway and then stopped.

This year, I am being realistic. I know that there will be days when I don't feel like doing anything. I know that crafting is difficult because I am not in my own home right now. But, I also know that having a creative project to work on will help to keep me motivated. My previous journals are fun to look back on and see what was happening in my life. I don't think this one is necessarily going to be fun but the lessons learned will still be important.

I've prepared as much as I can - made the book, decorated all the pages, and stamped a load of journalling spots ready to write on. In theory, all I need to do each day is write a sentence and stick it in. Let's see how far I get!

Happy, happy, happy

It started last November. I needed something to do, something to keep me occupied through endless hours of sitting and waiting.
Mum had tried to teach me to crochet before, but I'd never really got the hang of it. I knit, but crochet somehow seemed...wrong. Where was the other needle? How could something that started as a chain end up as a square? Why are there so many loops?

Suddenly, this time it clicked. It made sense. And so, armed with a pattern for a basic granny square, I chose a few colours and got started.

I didn't have a plan, I just kept making squares. Eventually, I started to put them together in some kind of order. Random seemed like too much hard work, so I settled on a nice, regular, even pattern. And eventually I had a small blanket that kept my lap warm.

Small wasn't really enough. I had big ambitions for this blanket. So I added some more squares and kept going.

And so, 150 squares later - it's finished.
Eight balls (I think) of yarn.
Over 20,000 stitches.
Far more late nights than I care to admit.

Finishing this blanket - finishing anything makes me happy. I love being 'crafty' and I always have some project or other on the go, but it isn't often that I get the sense of completion that I have with this. When I started, I knew what I wanted but I didn't know how to get there. As my piles of squares grew and I started joining them together, I could see my idea emerging and I was so excited to continue. There were times when the chemo messed up my head so much that I couldn't even string two stitches together, but I kept going. There were times when I felt too sick, or too miserable, or was in too much pain to focus on this, but I didn't give up.

For me, this is more than just a simple crocheted blanket. It represents time spent with Mum, learning how to crochet. It represents frustration, perseverance and endurance. It will always remind me of a really horrible time in my life, but the lessons I've learned from this are all good:

Handmade makes me happy.
Learning new skills makes me happy.
Keep going and finish, because that makes me happy too.

Now...off to apply that last lesson to the many half-finished papercrafting items sitting on my shelf!

Far too easily pleased

You know when you give a child a present, and they spend longer playing with the wrapping than they do with the toy?

If you give me flowers, I will spend at least as long taking photos of them as I will admiring them. And I'll take some more photos in a couple of days when they have all fully opened. And then all of those photos will give me hours of fun in Photoshop, because no photo of mine will live unedited.



You can see some more of my flower photos here

This used to be a craft blog

In the beginning, my blog was mostly about scrapbooking.
Then I bought a house and my blog included house-y stuff too.
I worked hard, studied harder, and my scrapbooking slowed down.
I left that house and that life, and found my creative mojo.
Then I got ill and despite having more spare time than I've ever had before, I had very little inclination to do anything with it.

I'd quite like this to be a craft blog again.
Shall we start over?

Over the sea and far away

Pont du Raz
Originally uploaded by kate bucci

In the beginning when I was first diagnosed, I decided that everything could be put on hold until my treatment was finished. The doctors gave me a timescale and in my head I was planning what I would do when it was all over.

Fast forward ten months and I've realised that it really doesn't work like that. Doctors are not accurate, diagnoses change and their original estimate of "six months of treatment" has already nearly doubled. By the time I am anything approaching normal again, it will probably be nearer 18 months.

That's a long time to put your life on hold...and somewhere in the midst of it all, I realised that I couldn't. Life goes on, whether you like it or not. And even if I can't do everything I want to right now, there are still things I can do, things I can enjoy. I don't have to just fight the cancer, I can live with it too.

Goal setting is one of those things I swore I'd never too (too self-help manual) but has actually been really positive. Whether I write it in my journal, or just mentally promise myself, having a checklist makes me happy. On my worst days, my goal can be to get dressed. On better days, having something to aim for really makes a difference.

My biggest goal was to go with the choir on tour to France. I got my surgeon to bring the op forward so I'd have eight weeks to recover, and hoped like mad. A two-week stay in hospital didn't help, and the day before we were due to leave I sat down and cried because I didn't think I'd manage it....but I did. I spent a week riding around Brittany in a coach with the most wonderful, beautiful, amazing group of people who carried my bags, sat with me when I couldn't walk, took hundreds of silly photos and shared more than a few bottles of wine. We sang in some amazing places and it was truly inspirational. I returned feeling very, very blessed to have such a wonderful group of friends and to have shared such an amazing time.

Right now, those memories are making me smile and keeping me going. 74 more days to go.

Ready

I've made a list, and done *nearly* everything on it.
All the errands, general admin, shopping and household chores.



But most of all: I remembered to have FUN!
To spend time with the people who matter most.
To do the things I enjoy.
To visit places that make me happy.
To relish every moment of sunshine and happiness.

And so, I think, I'm ready.

That time already

The last few weeks have flown by in a haze of working, sleeping, singing and catching up with my life. I've really enjoyed being at home in my own environment again, and it almost feels like everything is back to normal. But at the back of my mind has been the knowledge that there is still some pretty scary stuff to come, and I can't really hide from it any more.

Surgery is, hopefully, the last step in my journey to recovery. It's a daunting prospect, but it's not like I have a choice really - it has to be done. From my surgery at Christmas I have an idea of what to expect, but I am hoping that this time my recovery will be quick and I won't need any further treatment.

I haven't been blogging much because I didn't want this to turn into a health journal. The internet has been a great source of information but I have learned to use it responsibly. There are many people out there (usually selling) strange cures or wacky advice, and those are easier to avoid. It's harder to miss the stories of people who have had similar conditions to mine and have suffered worse or not made it through. I try to use the positive stories as inspiration, and when I read things which upset me I just have to remember that I am different, my cancer is different, and their experience will not be mine. It won't be easy - it hasn't been so far. But it will be ok.

A new beginning

It's been a long hard winter in more ways than one.

Today is 5 months since treatment began. It seemed like an impossible goal in the beginning, and those long winter days and nights were some of the toughest times I have ever experienced. Nothing will ever be enough to express how awful it has been, and how grateful I am for the love and support of family and friends. Quite simply, I couldn't have done it without them.

And so - spring. A season I've always loved but which is especially symbolic this year. I had so many plans for 2010 which have all had to change or go on hold, but now the sun is shining and I am feeling optimistic about the future again. There's still a long road ahead, but the end is in sight. The last five months have changed things irrevocably and I will never be the same person I was - but the person I am becoming is even better.

"Circumstance does not make me, it reveals me."

William James

One year on

It's just over one year since I realised I was going to be facing the future without someone I thought would be with me forever. The exact day passed me by because I was having too much fun - which is as it should be. But a couple of things have happened at work that made me think, 'oh, when we did this last year I was...'

Time is the only thing that makes it better. It isn't a linear process, I didn't start from heartbroken and work through to feeling better. There were days at the beginning when I felt ridiculously positive, excited for the future. There are some days even now when I remember something and my heart races and my stomach sinks. In between there have been times of pure happiness and times when it felt like I would never even smile again.

That which does not kill us, makes us stronger. That thought kept me going and still does. The things we experience make us the people we are, and I am a different person now from the girl I was then. I have put my heart back together but it is different now.

Normal service will be resumed when I return to earth

It's the Bestival, don'tcha know?

Back to front

I never normally go back to pages and re-do them. Life's too short. Once they're done, they're done and it'll have to do. Even pages for publication. This, though, has been an exception. I re-did the cover three times and then got cross and pulled it apart. It's not so different from the original, but just in a few little ways, and I think it works so much better.



This is also something of a tribute to the cuttlebug. It was my Christmas present last year from Mum & Co, but it's taken me a while to get in the habit of using it. I'm so glad I have (and a little bit cross with myself for taking this long). And now I can get titles in whatever colour I want!

Day two

I'd make September a self-portrait month, except I'd run out of locations around the house within about three days. And there are other things in my life worth taking photos of. Not today, though!