Deserted Streets, Empty Spaces

The Ruddy Duck on Oak Street, with some good advice.

In the early spring in this year of the pandemic we live in a house on a street that divides the city from the county. The trees in the fruit orchards nearby are past peak blossom and west winds scatter their petals onto the pavement. Strangers walk by the house, in groups of two or three or alone. Some wear masks, some don’t. The roads are quiet as families shelter in place and many are out of work and few cars drive by.

Downtown, some retail businesses operate a version of what was once a normal schedule. They restrict access to limit exposure for customers and staff. Hotels are closed to deter tourists. Restaurants provide takeout meals only, which further discourages outsiders. Deserted streets and empty spaces prevail.

In my garden, I plant petunias and nasturtiums in the sunshine. Coleus plants go where indirect light filters through the overhanging branches of trees. Birds chatter and sing and bathe in a concrete trough, oblivious to the worries of us humans.

Portway at midday.

At the hospital, which I visit twice a month to treat my cancer, everyone must wear masks. Nurses, in the infusatorium, move among us like bees attending a hive. They set IVs, adjust the flow of chemo drips, and take vitals. 

The coronavirus has yet to deplete the hospital’s resources. Gloves, masks, face shields and paper gowns seem plentiful. These protective measures minimize the dangers. True safe distancing, however, is an illusion one accepts in order to continue treatment against the more visible foe of a malignancy.

As of the 26th of April, our town has just five confirmed cases of the disease. No one has died and none of the five are hospitalized. The air is clean to breathe, the colors of spring bright, yet concern about the future mars the improving weather.

Mike’s Ice Cream, normally a hub of activity.

In the last month, global deaths from the coronavirus occurred at a rate of 50,000 every eight days. The elderly carry the load of this mortality. Paeans to beloved grandparents pepper human interest stories in the media. Many die alone, in the twilight of their lives, absent the providence of human touch and the presence of loved ones.

Illness and death aren’t the only factors in the equation that defines our current hardship. Restrictions on movements and livelihoods can lead to isolation. For many, financial ruin is a reality. Everyone feels the weight of an uncertainty that goes on and on and on. Bailout checks signed by an empathy challenged president won’t soothe the anguish. Weeks become months, and a sticky cobweb of contagion adheres to our consciousness.

We all want something settled and predictable to counter the chaos caused by Covid-19. Patience is our ally. Hanging in there is good advice.

Cycle 5 Week 18: Staying at Home

With everything going on with COVID-19, I’m staying at home and only going out for essentials (e.g. groceries, to refill prescriptions) or for chemo treatment.

I’ve completed my 2 sessions of radiation to eliminate the myeloma lesions in my mouth. Treatment was divided over 2 days, was painless, and I’m now focused on post-radiation oral hygiene (e.g. brushing with a special toothpaste, using homemade mouthwash, remaining hydrated) to reduce the risk of infection.

My March monthly blood test results continue to trend in the right direction. My cancer levels dropped to 47 from 48 in February.

I’m feeling alright and staying positive.

Staying @ HomeStaying at Home

M protein (g/L) (if 0, then no cancer detected)
Mar = 47
Feb = 48
Jan = 50
Dec = between 47 and 48 (began chemo)
Nov = between 40 and 42
Oct = 29
Late Sept = 21
Early Sept = 16
Aug = 13
July = 6
June = 5


I have multiple myeloma and anemia, a rare cancer of the immune system. Multiple myeloma affects the plasma cells, a type of immune cell that produces antibodies to fight infection. These plasma cells are found in the bone marrow. As a blood cancer, it is incurable, but treatable.

From December 2019 I’ve been on Darzalex (Dartumumab), an IV chemo with Velcade (Bortezomib), a chemo injection + dexamethasone.

Lynn Creek @ Varley Trail - Lynn Headwaters Regional ParkFeb 2017: Lynn Headwaters Regional Park – North Vancouver

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Myeloma and Covid-19 – this strange world

So a few weeks ago I wrote a post in a time that felt so surreal. Nothing has changed, if anything it all gets weirder. Covid-19 is changing the world by the day and I honestly don’t think much will go back to the old ‘normal’.

For us as a family, once the rest of the UK went into lockdown, things have stayed largely the same as they are for others. Until today.

I have to say, that whilst I found the first two weeks really, really hard, the last two have become easier. I think I was so scared about how myeloma and coronavirus would mix, whereas now I have learnt to let that go….most of the time. Perhaps it got easier when it wasn’t just us doing the isolation piece – is that really selfish?

We are lucky that we have a spacious house and garden that has meant that our 3.5 weeks of isolation hasn’t felt cooped up. The children have home schooled well and we’re trying to help them to mix it up with dog walks, cycle rides, card games, and other things…anything to keep their mental health stronger…and ours! The same goes for us. We’re trying to make the most of our time with the kids, with each other and in the house. Lots of gardening (it has never looked so good!), decorating (lockdown hit before we could get the decorator in!), walking and cycling. Two meals a day all together, family boxsets and more facetiming than ever before. Oh, and courtesy of Nick, Sam is now sporting this wonderful haircut….he’ll never be allowed it again….and to be fair, he only did it to try and add to his fundraising total for Myeloma UK (pls sponsor if you haven’t – even a pound would be great!)

This week things are changing again though. I am currently writing this whilst I’m sat in hospital waiting for my monthly dartumumab infusion.

Mask, gloves and glasses all in place to try and reduce the risk of picking anything up while I’m in. I can’t believe when you’ve isolated for nearly a month, how scary it has felt having to come somewhere public again. Especially when I knew that staff on the team have had the virus! I’m just pleased I’m here this week and not last week, when apparently, staff weren’t wearing masks or anything. I’d even brought in masks for them, (thanks to my sister kindly donating them!), but thank god they weren’t needed. I didn’t want to look fussy asking them to wear them, even though I knew it was a fair request. Despite my fear of being out and about, there is an element of relief at seeing people. Of a gladness for human interaction, face to face. Even the car journey to the hospital felt like a blessing of some kind. It’s another reason to hope that we will all find something to be grateful for at the end of this viral pandemic.

So the downside of my hospital visit…We’ve decided that I will self-isolate at at the end of this. I don’t think I could forgive myself if I took anything home and the kids got ill. Not when I have a choice unlike so many of the amazing people out there who are still working to keep the country running. So, I will be going straight to my room when I get back – do not touch anything, do not pass go. I had big hugs with Nick and the kids as I left for hospital, and they will be the last ones for 12 days. I’m not quite sure how hard this will be. I think I’ll get lonely but imagine there’ll be lots of facetime and zoom catch ups with friends and family. I’ve got a couple of jigsaws, lots of books lined up, and we’ve moved the TV to our bedroom! I actually think it might be harder for Nick who is now not only working fulltime, but having to manage the kids over the Easter holidays, cook, clean and keep on top of everything! I’m very lucky to have such a capable and lovely husband (and yes he reads this blog 😉 )

But this period of time is affecting so many people. I have family (and friends) who are about to have a baby, others who have businesses that are up in the air at such a tough time, and others who have been separated from their families. And others who choose to put themselves out there to try to resolve this strange and terrifying virus – nurses, teachers, civil service staff plus many more. The whole world is worried – we are no exception. This blog feels slightly self-indulgent as I get further through writing it. But perhaps one day I will look back and it will be a record that will help.

To everyone, please stay safe….and stay at home. With much love.

xxxx

Today Will Not Be Here Tomorrow

Meanwhile, someplace in the world, somebody is making love and another a poem.”

From Figuring by Maria Popova

Periwinkles, ducks, and clouds. Hood River waterfront on 3/20/20.

I fed hummingbirds all winter. Each time I thought they had departed for a warmer climate, they would appear and take a big slurp from the feeder.

I received two petunia plants in September. They continue to flower. I did not tend them. Still, they survived outside, in northern Oregon, on relative humidity and indirect light.

This is unusual.

In late January, following our return from a Christmas vacation in California, the first news of the coronavirus came from China. The world scoffed aloud, “Hmph”. Now, barely two months later, it stammers a collective, “WTF”. The upheaval is astounding.

The Columbia River looking west from The Hook in Hood River, OR. 3/20/20

Worldwide, half a million people are infected with the virus. More than 25,000 have died. The travel industry needs a ventilator to breathe. Cruise ships are floating petri dishes. Professional and amateur sports suffer in an induced coma. Many states have closed schools. Shortages exist for supplies of hygiene related products. Restaurants across much of the USA shutter their doors in adherence to social distancing. Mayors and governors issue sheltering in place edicts. Bustling downtowns look deserted. The stock market plummeted to record lows, millions are suddenly unemployed, and everyone with a 401k is hyperventilating.

My ukulele-a Mike Pereira “Cali” Baritone.

To the rescue, the federal government …? Wow, where to begin? The kindest thing I can say is that our president’s leadership has been sub-optimal. Evidence of the country’s unpreparedness is matched in degree only by the administration’s improvised responses that, thus far, promise but don’t deliver. Congress, prone to partisan dithering, slogs along. Emergency relief is imminent, albeit late. More will be necessary.

Are we all going to die? No. But, it’s possible someone we know will. Better leadership and foresight could have minimized the number.

I belong to one of the high risk groups. I am older. And, I have a suppressed immune system due to my cancer, multiple myeloma. Fortunately, I am a home body by nature. Social isolation is not a personal hardship. I read, I write, and I play my ukulele.

I am 12 years out from diagnosis. Like those petunias in my front yard, I exist on the relative humidity of my good luck. My anxiety about the Covid-19 virus is tempered by experience. The grim prospect of mortality is an acquaintance. I am no more susceptible to contracting the virus than you. However, I may have a more serious response should it come my way. So be it.

Closed the waterfront to walkers on March 22nd

Our fragility as a species is revealed by a microscopic organism. Knowing better, we nonetheless chose to be unprepared. The current administration dissolved pre-existing institutions established for a menace such as Covid-19. Now, we pay the price for that choice.

Similarly, we will pay a price for our indifference to the threat of climate change. It’s cheering to see hummingbirds visit during the gloomy days of winter. Remember, though, this is unusual. It’s not equivalent to the Australian brush fires or 69 degree temperatures that recently occurred in Antarctica. But it serves to remind me, overwhelming evidence exists of this threat to humanity.

The coronavirus teaches us that calamities occur that effect all of mankind. It also shows that we can respond unilaterally for the greater good of everyone. We will survive Covid-19. Climate change will be a much more formidable challenge. Let’s hope we choose to be better prepared for its consequences than we were for this disease.

Now, a song … 

Today Will Not Be Here Tomorrow

The latest numbers …

The Drill

And change……

So unsurprisingly the Coronavirus has meant a total change in our life. Where to begin?

Well yesterday I was back to see the consultant. After my numbers going down the week before last, last week they went back up to 9.2. I’m sure there must be a better word than rollercoaster! Basically it means the graph shows my numbers as roughly staying the same. Which is definitely better than them rising. Before this week, I think they would have been considering hitting me with DT-Pace but because this blasts your immune system and would put me at greater risk of contracting Coronavirus, we’ve been told that both this, and Stem Cell Transplants have, unsurprisingly, all been cancelled for the foreseeable future.

So of course our next question was, what does this mean for me. The consultant is now happy, given the current climate, to see if the daratumumab can keep them at the current level till things blow over. Great. If it does. But what if not? Whilst the previous two options are now off the table for the time being, apparently if my numbers rise, the next option would be a drug called pomalidomide. This is in tablet form and in the same family as revlimid which kept me in remission for a long time. I tolerated that well although it is likely that my neutrophils will decrease which means I will still have lower immunity- so isolation again will be key.

I have to say I’m quite relieved. With everything that has been happening, we thought it was unlikely they’d still do transplants but I was concerned that there would be no alternatives and that they’d have to leave my numbers to just increase, risking bone damage and/or kidney damage. So I’m really relieved that this isn’t the case even if it does mean the whole situation has changed again. Better a different course of treatment than no treatment, or a treatment that would put me at major risk.

Last week Nick and I also started to talk seriously about what the virus might mean for our lifestyle and whether we were happy to wait to be told what to do or whether we should think ahead. We decided that we were getting more and more concerned about the risk that we were facing especially with the kids being at school and clubs every day.

Nick’s company had already contacted him at the beginning of the week to say he had been put on the ‘at risk’ list due to my myeloma and the treatment I’m on. This meant that he didn’t have to go to the same meetings, hospital visits etc that might normally have been part of his role, nor travel to London for unimportant meetings. So if he stayed off work, but we kept the kids at school, it felt like we were doing things in a very half arsed way!

By the following day things had moved on and most of his company was being told to work from home where possible and so we talked again and decided that we were going to email the school to tell them we’d be withdrawing them.

The kids haven’t loved the decision if I’m honest because they can’t see their friends but they have understood why we’ve done it. I’m not sure they particularly love our commitment to home schooling them – lol. We’ve been so lucky as the school has been amazing in their support in terms of a) agreeing they would support the decision and b) agreeing to get teachers to send work home each lesson. We’re ever so proud of how the kids are doing though – they’ve been following lesson plans each day and doing their homework. It’s not easy when you don’t get to see your friends at all at that age (or at my age!). I’m sort of hoping that schools close soon for their sake – they won’t feel so separate then. At least now most clubs have finished so they aren’t worried about missing out there.

At the same time as withdrawing them, Nick and I made the decision to self-isolate. Me totally and Nick as far as he can do whilst supporting us. We’re now 4 days in and I can promise you it isn’t easy so I can understand why the government wanted to wait to ask people to do it!! It’s amazing how many things you forget that you ‘pop out’ to do. Birthday cards, loaf of bread etc.

It’s also amazing how many things come into your home that have been touched. Most of us have probably seen the change in behaviour of amazon and Royal Mail but have you thought about wiping down packages when they come in. And what about your online food shop that so sensibly keeps you in isolation? Should every packet be wiped down? Or kept separate for 12 hours to and sure any viruses have died? Have I just become paranoid? All mad when you start thinking about it, but think about it we all should. This is really serious.

So yesterday most British people heard Boris Johnson and his team tell us that people like me, with myeloma, should isolate ourselves for 12 weeks. We got there first! But it’s going to be hard. Very hard. Especially once other groups get added to this, which I’m convinced they will be.

I can’t totally isolate as I have to go to hospital once a month for my treatment. But it sounds like that’ll be ask quick and careful as possible and I’ll be set back home to get results via the phone and not face to face. That suits me now that they aren’t planning to change much or move forward with the SCT. To be honest I think I’ll need that trip to stay anywhere near sane!!

I’m sure there’s more but my brain has gone for now so I’ll stop boring folk!

Cycle 4 Week 14: A chilly morning in the park

Sunday morning was pretty chilly (-2 C) when I was walking around before sunrise in the park. Unfortunately I really feel the cold due to my compromised immune system. My February monthly blood test results are encouraging. My cancer levels are 48 down from 50 in December. My Myeloma Specialist has increased the dosage of two of the drugs I take with my chemo, so hopefully my March results will be much better.

Overall I’m doing alright, eating healthy, and remaining positive each day.

Feeling Springtime in the air!

Cycle 4 Week 14: A chilly morning in the park

M protein (g/L) (if 0, then no cancer detected)
Jan = 50
Dec = between 47 and 48 (began chemo)
Nov = between 40 and 42
Oct = 29
Late Sept = 21
Early Sept = 16
Aug = 13
July = 6
June = 5


I have multiple myeloma and anemia, a rare cancer of the immune system. Multiple myeloma affects the plasma cells, a type of immune cell that produces antibodies to fight infection. These plasma cells are found in the bone marrow. As a blood cancer, it is incurable, but treatable.

From December 2019 I’ve been on Darzalex (Dartumumab), an IV chemo with Velcade (Bortezomib), a chemo injection + dexamethasone.

Steveston - Britannia ShipyardsSteveston – Britannia Shipyards

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Meibomian Gland Dysfunction, Chalazions and other fun things!

Back in January I wrote about the fact that I had been diagnosed with Meibomian Gland Dysfunction. Well, it turns out I have it pretty severely now, and we think that it is caused by the velcade that I am having, albeit it that it is pretty unusual to have it! I like to be unusual. (Not). Basically, it looks like my glands have not only blocked up and caused inflammation, but now they have become blocked and infected (blepharitis) which have lead to what is called chronic blepharitis and what is called a chalazion.

So when I just had the MGD without the infection, the best way I was told to treat it was by using a warm compress and massaging both eyelids. You can buy masks from the chemist that do a similar thing, and wipes that you then wipe the eyelid with. Anyway, that seemed to be working really well until a couple of weeks ago, when the first stye/ chalazion occurred. It basically made my left eye really sore, really swollen and very itchy. So I took a trip to the GP on the Friday who prescribed me with antibiotics….and I also started on ibuprofen on the recommendation of a friend. (Before anyone says anything, I don’t have any kidney damage so whilst I’m not meant to take it, it felt like a sensible thing to try in the short term)

Anyway, into the hospital on the Monday to be told it wasn’t anything to do with the velcade (hmmmm….I don’t think so!), that I should come off ibuprofen so I didn’t cause any kidney damage and take antihistamines instead, and prescribed extra eye drops. And things very slowly seemed to improve.

Until the same day two weeks later, when it came back in the right eye (and less so in the left eye again). This time, I immediately started back on the eye drops which I luckily had, emailed my consultant (who hadn’t been the one to give me the previous advice), and got it agreed to go back onto the ibuprofen to at least help bring the swelling down a bit. This time though, I’ve had it really sore over the whole weekend with it not only causing the chalazion, but also becoming infected.

So today, back to the hospital and it was agreed that I wouldn’t have my final dose of velcade as it quite probably was that which had caused the issue. In addition, further to an article I was given by my consultant, it was decided to put me back on antibiotics, but mainly to increase the dexamethasone that I’d had reduced last year due to it causing me anger issues! Dex is an anti-inflammatory and I have to say that I felt better within a couple of hours. It’s still infected of course, but the swelling is lower and I haven’t needed the ibuprofen.

Now we’ve got a bit of a waiting game. Hopefully, my eyes will just improve as I shouldn’t be having any further velcade. That is over thank god. In addition, I’m hoping to get a bit of energy back too… I’m now meant to be going to daratumabib maintenance until my stem transplant.

But, my numbers went up last week. Grrrr. Nothing is simple. I think they’ll still try at least one lot of maintenance to see if the dara works better without the velcade. But who knows what they’ll do if they keep rising….we could be back to the DT-Pace regime. I did my bloods again today, and I think they’ll be done next Monday too…all of which will give us a better indicator of whether I’m hovering around the same place, no longer responding to treatment, or whether my numbers do what we’re desperately hoping, and come down a little further to about 4 or 5.

Somehow (I may thank the antidepressants for this), I seem to be coping relatively well with it all. As does Nick I think. We aren’t telling the children too much until we know and luckily because we’re not falling to pieces, that is much easier. There is no point panicking unless it becomes necessary. So, I’d ask people just to take care in talking in front of them so that we can tell them what is necessary, when it is necessary, rather than them overhearing something….thank you.

I’ll update on here when we know more. Keep your fingers and toes crossed for those numbers to come down further please….I’ll even accept a few prayers if people are that way inclined!!

How communication makes all the difference

So we have met with the transplant consultant this week and things are a little bit clearer. Not much has changed but we understand it all a little better now which is helpful.

So one thing that he explained to us was that my paraprotein isn’t as low as they would want. I thought that because they are the same as when I had my first transplant, that they wouldn’t have an issue. But it seems that they look at the percentage decrease, and I’ve only reached about 60% where they’d want to see a decrease of about 80%. So, what does that actually mean. Well it seems that we’re going to keep watching for a couple of months. I come off my velcade (thank god!) after next Monday, and they think there is a chance that the Daratumabib has the possibility of kicking in again. If it does, and it takes my paraprotein lower, it might reach a level with which they are happy to proceed to transplant without any further treatment. Which would be great news.

If however, it doesn’t take my numbers any lower, or they start to increase, we may have to revert to the idea of DT-Pace. Yuck. However, at least now, whilst we know that it would be an awful treatment, that it would be the best option available and would give me a much better chance with the transplant. We’re still keeping our fingers crossed that the numbers keep going down though!

He also discussed my stored stem cells which have been at the Royal Marsden until recently. I was told that there weren’t enough, but it now seems that we might have. Apparently I’m very unusual because one test said there were enough and another said that there weren’t. Not what usually happens. So there are some questions to be asked to see which number is the most useful. And in the meantime, I’m going to try and lose some of the weight I’ve put on from a mixture of Dexamethasone (the steroid) and my total lack of willpower! Apparently, the result that says I don’t have enough stem cells, is linked to how many they need against body weight…..so whilst they haven’t said anything about losing weight, I’m thinking it can’t hurt*.

So in terms of dates, we don’t know much more. I think it’ll be April before we have much of a solid idea, and at that point, we’ll probably get told either a timescale for transplant, or that I’m going onto DT-Pace….or knowing my luck, something totally different!!

However, I’m hoping that in the meantime, that coming off the velcade might mean that the next couple of months are a little easier and that I start to feel a bit more human again. I have to say that the last few weeks have become harder and harder. I’ve been so tired that over half of my week has been wiped out. I haven’t even managed to walk Marley and have had to get the kids onto it. Rebecca even dealt with the builders last week, made them coffee and put a blanket over me while I slept for 3 hours. Poor kid. But I’m so proud of how they are coping whilst looking after me.

Anyway, the overall feeling is that by getting the information that we did on Monday, Nick and I both feel in a position that whatever decision they make moving forwards, we have 100% trust with what decisions they’re making, and why they’re making them. And that has to be good. The one thing I never want is to wish we’d done things differently.

* I’ve decided to give up processed sugar, crisps, nuts and takeaways for Lent – take a look at my #50B450 tab on this page.

Facing a New Future

Another post where I start writing it before I have all of the facts. I actually felt physically sick from my appointment yesterday. More worried than I’ve probably felt since I was first diagnosed back in 2009. I want to be honest but I’m actually quite scared about what honest might look like.

Yesterday, my consultant told me 2 things that weren’t great. He told me the lesser of the two things first: My stem cells – not enough were harvested back in 2011. Not a huge deal. It means I have to go through a stem cell harvest again (which I hadn’t wanted due to being really ill first time), but the process is easier at the QE with them not making you have chemo – just the G-CSF injections (these stimulate your body into making more stem cells).

So whilst this wasn’t the news I’d wanted after months of waiting to hear, it also didn’t feel like the end of the world. I could still harvest in March / April and have my transplant in April/May. This was scenario one.

However the second thing was: My Paraprotein levels look like they’ve plateaued. Now this could be ok if they decide they have only plateaued and aren’t rising. But his fear is that actually, they’d like them to be lower than what they are (9.4), and that if this is the case, they would like me to have some extra chemotherapy to really blast them before a transplant. This wouldn’t just be chemotherapy like I’ve been on for the last six months where a lot of life has been able to continue. This would be me on a cocktail of high dose drugs (called DT-Pace) that I would be given 24/7 for 4 days, and where it could take up to 28 days to recover (in hospital). This would probably be repeated at least twice in the hope that my paraprotein would decrease. Then I’d still have to go back for the Stem Cell Transplant after this where I would definitely be in hospital for 3 weeks. This DT-Pace would result in an earlier hair loss and being pretty poorly. And would really disrupt everything for the kids, and for Nick for an extra 4 months or so.

But what I’m really scared about is that it would mean that I’d be on my third line of treatment. With myeloma, every time you go down a different treatment route, you are getting closer to running out of options. First and second aren’t the end of the world. Third probably isn’t either. But if my myeloma has mutated that much, it might not respond to third line treatment either. And is less likely to give me as deep a response.

I have spent the last 8 years becoming a ‘glass half full’ person. I’ve tried so hard not to let myeloma dictate who I am, what I do, or allow it to negatively consume me. I think I’ve succeeded. But this is all very scary and I am back to that feeling of helplessness and a fear of what might happen in the future. I am so scared I won’t see the kids leave school, or graduate. Will we get to finish the house that Nick and I have been lovingly trying to renovate? Will I reach my 50th – something I took for granted even when I knew I was relapsing. I never thought I might not actually reach it.

I know this might be a tough post to read. Believe me, if it’s tough for you, it’s even tougher for me to live it. And for Nick.

So bear with us at the moment. We’re trying to work out our priorities. We’re trying to make the right decisions – for the four of us first and foremost. But then for everyone around us. And we don’t want to give up – there’s a long way to go.

Bleurgh – bored and fed up now!

So I’ve now been on treatment for 6 months and I am ridiculously fed up with feeling exhausted and good for nothing for 3/4 of the week. What is worse, is that my figures for the last 2 months haven’t improved, if anything, they’ve gone up ever so slightly. We’re still hoping that’s a blip but it does make you wonder why you put yourself through the grimness of chemo if it doesn’t do what it’s meant to do.

I shouldn’t moan. (But I will).

Other people have it far worse than me. Their side effects are worse (or they say they are!), they suffer with bone issues on top of all of the chemo treatment, they have other significant side effects or additional complications that make it worse.

But I just hate not being able to do the things I normally take for granted. Some days, I haven’t even had the energy to walk Marley. Others, I can’t make dinner for the kids and they have to do it themselves while I’m asleep on the sofa. The ironing piles up to the point the MIL offers to do it. I can’t really work now as I can’t focus on it and I don’t know when my bad days will happen sometimes, and working, even in my job, can take it out of me. Sport, and especially netball has had to be paused. I can’t go out more than one day at the weekend and even that, exhausts me the next day. And then when I do feel well, I do silly things like wallpaper stripping that totally wipe me out afterwards! That’ll teach us for continuing the house renovations right up to transplant date!

Basically, my whole life has pretty much gone on hold, and its a total drag if I’m honest. I’ve gone from feeling (even if I wasn’t ‘myelomawise’), 100% fine to feeling like I’m about 50% most of the time. It’s a strange concept taking drugs that make you much worse before they make you better. I know when I get to the transplant I’ll feel like 0% for a while, but it feels like the journey moves homeward at that stage. At this moment in time it still feels like I’m touring with no idea of what direction I’m going. Maybe I’ll feel better once I have a transplant date in the diary.

Anyway, I’m ok so this really isn’t a call for sympathy. Last week I was REALLY fed up, this week only semi fed up (at the moment). Today I feel ok – I normally do on a Monday until late evening…that’ll be the devil steroids (although they seem more under control now and the sleeping tablets help counteract that side of them too). Wednesday and Thursday are my worst days normally. And I just have to make the most of the weeks where I don’t feel bad on a Tuesday or Friday….I never quite know. Perhaps I need to avoid that wallpaper stripping in the house….but I get so bored if I don’t do anything!

Enough of the wingeing though. On a positive, my friends in Belbroughton arranged a brilliant ‘no frills’ disco for my #50KB450 at the weekend. It worked brilliantly, hopefully wasn’t tooooooo much work for them all, and raised £500 for Myeloma UK and my target. And it was loads of fun!!

It will take us over the 10% mark which is great! If you want to see an update on what has been going on just pop to my #50KB450 tab at the top of this page. The next event is that Deb and Brigitte are doing a 3 hour body combat event in Stourbridge on the 29th Feb.

Finally a big 🎉🎂Happy 18th Birthday🎂🎉 to Holly for Wednesday! She has really generously asked friends to donate to her fundraising page for #15KB450 instead of presents – not many 18 year olds would be that selfless! She’s also doing the 2020 challenge and running that many miles in 2020….mental! If anyone else would like to support her, it would obviously be great!