Hot, I'm hot, and it's 2 in the morning and I'm tired, but I have that wakeful mind thing going on....not helpful. I hate it when I don't even know what I'm thinking *about*; or even what I'm trying *not* to think about. Something just doesn't feel right.
Perhaps it's because I've yet another extra week off chemo - which I know I need for my stomach and rest-of digestive tract to recover - but I'm scared what the next CT scan will show. I've had 2 elongated cycles in a row and I won't know for another 3 weeks if the medication is at the right level yet. And I worry that the disrupted timescale will mean things will no longer be stable. That cancer will be growing again. Because eventually it will be - that's inevitable now - well, not inevitable that it will grow *now; but that it will one day. One day. These are not the sorts of things you are supposed to be waiting for; they're not the 'one day' dreams I should be having. When I wasn't feeling well (at all well) last weekend (very icky) my mind immediately leapt about 4 million miles from where I was - thinking that the medication dosage would have to be decreased again already - to thinking that The Precious Oncologist would declare that Xeloda was no longer working and there were no other options and I was going to start the dying process. Palliative care next step. And my imagination was running wild (my imagination should seriously be lopped off) - trying to decide what music to have playing at my funeral; would I be buried or cremated? And if I was cremated then where would I like my ashes? And thinking of the people who would be there and how they would feel and about how would the Dear Other cope. And goodness me, I felt Very Sad and Cried (for a change). The wee small hours in combination with bathroom and not knowing if you're going to be sick, have diarrhoea, or both - plus heartburn and gas - these things are really Not A Good Combination and cause mental anguish. I feel better now - but, yet again, I am amazed by where my head goes when I'm not feeling well. I feel now like that can't possibly have been my head and my mental processes - and that is strange.
I'd forgotten, a bit, quite how simply dreadful it is to feel continuously nauseous. That feeling when you start to wish you'd just be sick and then it would be over and you could start feeling better - or feeling something other than nauseous anyway. I'd forgotten the fact that it eats away at your self-control; at the holding-it-together part of you. I didn't feel like I handled it as well as last time (2005 time, I mean) - I think that was because last time I could keep telling myself that I only had to go through it eight times (four times for the nausea-inducing chemo anyway) but now, now there is no set end. It could be many, many, many times. And it's even more miserable to have to hope that it will be many, many, many times.
Sorry, back to Boring. Dull and repetitive. I *want* to be saying other things. I *want* to have something more interesting to say. But, I was told that 'I want never gets'. And, in true-child fashion, I can only respond 'that's not fair!' Blah, blah, blah. Perhaps that's what my blogposts will be henceforth: I shall simply type [Blah, blah, blah] and you can just move on to the next blog in your blogroll.
Showing posts with label Xeloda. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Xeloda. Show all posts
Monday, June 09, 2008
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Doom downgraded
Cancel doom - not required today.
All is the same; no progression - Stable still.
It's amazing how tiring it is to sit around waiting and take this stuff in.
So, you may stand down from panic stations - for now. :)
And sadly, I have to start taking tablets again on Saturday ::sigh::
The extra week off has stymied all my holiday planning as well.
We're having a week in Cornwall in September once the schools have gone back. And two weeks in Scotland in August. Lucky, lucky me! Plus *two* weekends in York for weddings. All very pleasing. I'm looking forward to tea at Taylors - I haven't been for *years*. I can still vividly remember day trips with the family to York - particularly with my US grammy; she *loved* York. On one trip I bought my copy of "The Chalet School at War" and read it all the way home on the train......maybe I'll take it along for old time's sake! ;)
All is the same; no progression - Stable still.
It's amazing how tiring it is to sit around waiting and take this stuff in.
So, you may stand down from panic stations - for now. :)
And sadly, I have to start taking tablets again on Saturday ::sigh::
The extra week off has stymied all my holiday planning as well.
We're having a week in Cornwall in September once the schools have gone back. And two weeks in Scotland in August. Lucky, lucky me! Plus *two* weekends in York for weddings. All very pleasing. I'm looking forward to tea at Taylors - I haven't been for *years*. I can still vividly remember day trips with the family to York - particularly with my US grammy; she *loved* York. On one trip I bought my copy of "The Chalet School at War" and read it all the way home on the train......maybe I'll take it along for old time's sake! ;)
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
I hate CT scans
Well, I don't seem to be able to shake the sense of doom about my CT results. After all this worry; I hope the results *are* back......I think. There's no room in my head for a 'good' result; I'm assuming the worst - just as a safety precaution really, I have nothing to base than on. Other than the fact my body can't handle as much of the Xeloda as it once could. Now perhaps that means I should expect the results to be good - as the Xeloda has obviously been having a strong effect - but is it just the side effects? I don't know; I can't know; I should just wait until tomorrow. But I can't.
Add in to this that the Dear Other's cousin died last week - she had breast cancer but they did not spot her mets fast enough. She deteriorated quite quickly apparently. The Dear Other and I are upset - she was a lovely lady and her son was due to get married in just a month's time. So unfair. We reassured each other that I was not her; and neither of us were going anywhere..... I hope what I said was true. I then had a 'woe is me', 'what is the point?', 'how does religion fit in with this?' with the Dear Other's Vicar - he was very tolerant. Not overly helpful - but what help can there actually be? ::sigh:: At least he didn't run away screaming I suppose!
Then we went to Coton Manor Gardens and saw flamingoes and their lovely bluebell wood
This is their picture - not mine; I'd forgotten my camera entirely....doh!
Very beautiful; very romantic, 'isn't this romantic?' I said to the Dear Other; 'Oh, yes', he said.
But not romantic enough to encourage any proposals apparently.
::sigh::
The bluebells will be gone soon.
Tomorrow - clinic - CT results (probably) - knowing more about what's happening whether I want to or not. Tomorrow - funeral for the Dear Other's cousin. I can't go as I'm at the hospital. Dear Other can't come to the hospital with me and reassure himself. Fortunately for me, my papa will be there with me - thank heavens for papa's! And he's very good at calm and collected - which I need sitting in that corridor.
So, panic stations, all! That's an order!
Add in to this that the Dear Other's cousin died last week - she had breast cancer but they did not spot her mets fast enough. She deteriorated quite quickly apparently. The Dear Other and I are upset - she was a lovely lady and her son was due to get married in just a month's time. So unfair. We reassured each other that I was not her; and neither of us were going anywhere..... I hope what I said was true. I then had a 'woe is me', 'what is the point?', 'how does religion fit in with this?' with the Dear Other's Vicar - he was very tolerant. Not overly helpful - but what help can there actually be? ::sigh:: At least he didn't run away screaming I suppose!
Then we went to Coton Manor Gardens and saw flamingoes and their lovely bluebell wood
This is their picture - not mine; I'd forgotten my camera entirely....doh!Very beautiful; very romantic, 'isn't this romantic?' I said to the Dear Other; 'Oh, yes', he said.
But not romantic enough to encourage any proposals apparently.
::sigh::
The bluebells will be gone soon.
Tomorrow - clinic - CT results (probably) - knowing more about what's happening whether I want to or not. Tomorrow - funeral for the Dear Other's cousin. I can't go as I'm at the hospital. Dear Other can't come to the hospital with me and reassure himself. Fortunately for me, my papa will be there with me - thank heavens for papa's! And he's very good at calm and collected - which I need sitting in that corridor.
So, panic stations, all! That's an order!
Friday, May 09, 2008
The solution
Well now, thank you all for your comments on the dilemma of the previous post - it was *very* interesting to read what you had to say and I have to say, for the most part, your comments seem to echo the way I feel about identity and blogging - and that is that identifying yourself and giving others access to your details and your blog was something to be approached with caution. For safety reasons, for sensitivity reasons. Which is exactly how I feel about it. And, quite honestly, when someone like snoskred, whose opinion and experience I have great respect for, says that she would *never* share details like that - I think there's no question left in my mind.
I'm following my instinct here, which, as Dorothy from Grammology quite rightly said, is often the sure-fire test.
So, no article for me. I was disappointed initially, but perhaps it's for the best. I like my readers and who knows what would happen if even more people came this way.....? But I suppose part of me has ambition - sees other folk doing articles or writing for other blogs and websites and thinks 'why shouldn't I?'. That's life, I guess!
In other news, I went to to Boston last week to see Eddie Izzard's new tour - 'Stripped' along with my brother. Fahbulous! Very funny. I thought he was better than when I went to see 'Sexie' live - I was slightly disappointed then. But this, was brilliant. So I was super glad I'd gone and that the feeling unwell that I did for the rest of the week held off until *after* I'd been. Alternatively, seeing Eddie Izzard gave me a stomach upset....... nah. It was the capecitabine. I really did think I'd picked up a bug on the plane because the capecitabine symptoms had been so minor and now I was feeling nauseous as well as having an upset lower digestive tract. But I saw The Precious Oncologist on Wednesday (why, yes, the day after I got off the red-eye from Boston!) she immediately said it was the capecitabine and that I needed an extra week off and it was time to reduce the dosage. I was gutted. I am gutted. It's my aim to keep going as long as possible on each dosage level - because each lowering is a step closer to not having any more options. And I'd hoped to keep going on capecitabine for *years*. (I have *nothing* to base anything about length of time etc on, it's just my arbitrary aim.) So, I've had 11 cycles on 2300mg twice daily. She went on to say that I had gone on at this dosage for longer that any patient she'd ever had and that most people managed 2 or 3 cycles at this dosage before reducing. So, actually, I've done bloody brilliantly. But I still wish I could have kept on a little longer..... but she went on to say that if we carried on at this dose - I'd probably get a few days into the cycle, become really unwell and then we'd have to have longer than an extra week off and that the important thing is to keep the cycles going on the 2 weeks on, 1 off rhythm. I don't really understand this - how can than be more important than the dosage level? It's illogical to me so I conclude I don't have enough information and that I'll be asking some questions when I see her next week.
I also had a CT scan on Wednesday - so hopefully I'll get the results next week too. I hope they'll continue to be good and show that the capecitabine is still working. Otherwise there'll be a whole slew of points between here and No Options Left crossed off the list (this is a pretend list - there isn't actually a list). On a more general note - having a cannula put in after a transatlantic flight plus diarrhoea is quite a challenge - the dehydration makes the veins *vanish*. Hence, I have a lovely bruise where apparently we hit a valve. Did you know you had valves in your veins? I didn't. I do now. Plus we had to downgrade to a yellow cannula as the blue just wasn't having any of it. And my favourite chemo nurse is a) on holiday in Mauritius - lucky devil and is b) going back to Australia in August or September - for good..... wahhhhhhh! (Why is it that everyone I know is moving to Australia??? OK, slight exaggeration perhaps but this is about the 4th person I know to have gone/be going to Oz. What did I do?!)
I'm following my instinct here, which, as Dorothy from Grammology quite rightly said, is often the sure-fire test.
So, no article for me. I was disappointed initially, but perhaps it's for the best. I like my readers and who knows what would happen if even more people came this way.....? But I suppose part of me has ambition - sees other folk doing articles or writing for other blogs and websites and thinks 'why shouldn't I?'. That's life, I guess!
In other news, I went to to Boston last week to see Eddie Izzard's new tour - 'Stripped' along with my brother. Fahbulous! Very funny. I thought he was better than when I went to see 'Sexie' live - I was slightly disappointed then. But this, was brilliant. So I was super glad I'd gone and that the feeling unwell that I did for the rest of the week held off until *after* I'd been. Alternatively, seeing Eddie Izzard gave me a stomach upset....... nah. It was the capecitabine. I really did think I'd picked up a bug on the plane because the capecitabine symptoms had been so minor and now I was feeling nauseous as well as having an upset lower digestive tract. But I saw The Precious Oncologist on Wednesday (why, yes, the day after I got off the red-eye from Boston!) she immediately said it was the capecitabine and that I needed an extra week off and it was time to reduce the dosage. I was gutted. I am gutted. It's my aim to keep going as long as possible on each dosage level - because each lowering is a step closer to not having any more options. And I'd hoped to keep going on capecitabine for *years*. (I have *nothing* to base anything about length of time etc on, it's just my arbitrary aim.) So, I've had 11 cycles on 2300mg twice daily. She went on to say that I had gone on at this dosage for longer that any patient she'd ever had and that most people managed 2 or 3 cycles at this dosage before reducing. So, actually, I've done bloody brilliantly. But I still wish I could have kept on a little longer..... but she went on to say that if we carried on at this dose - I'd probably get a few days into the cycle, become really unwell and then we'd have to have longer than an extra week off and that the important thing is to keep the cycles going on the 2 weeks on, 1 off rhythm. I don't really understand this - how can than be more important than the dosage level? It's illogical to me so I conclude I don't have enough information and that I'll be asking some questions when I see her next week.
I also had a CT scan on Wednesday - so hopefully I'll get the results next week too. I hope they'll continue to be good and show that the capecitabine is still working. Otherwise there'll be a whole slew of points between here and No Options Left crossed off the list (this is a pretend list - there isn't actually a list). On a more general note - having a cannula put in after a transatlantic flight plus diarrhoea is quite a challenge - the dehydration makes the veins *vanish*. Hence, I have a lovely bruise where apparently we hit a valve. Did you know you had valves in your veins? I didn't. I do now. Plus we had to downgrade to a yellow cannula as the blue just wasn't having any of it. And my favourite chemo nurse is a) on holiday in Mauritius - lucky devil and is b) going back to Australia in August or September - for good..... wahhhhhhh! (Why is it that everyone I know is moving to Australia??? OK, slight exaggeration perhaps but this is about the 4th person I know to have gone/be going to Oz. What did I do?!)
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
CT results
Thank you for all the hugs and sympathy - they're all appreciated very much. Thank you particularly to the person who elected to remain anonymous - I felt that you had some very wise things to say and an attitude that I would do well to even emulate a little of. You seem to be achieving a state of mind that I haven't found my way to yet but it's something to ponder and I thank you. I hope you got something from sharing with those of us reading and if you're ever moved to share a little more about yourself then I'll be happy to hear from you.
I am incredibly bleary this afternoon - t'was clinic this morning complete with the results from last weeks' CT scan. Needless to say, I've been waiting for the scan for over a month because they have a stupid booking system and kept offering me dates I couldn't do; but since they sent them out by letter it seemed to take a week or more to sort out a date that we could have sorted out in 1o minutes of conversation........ridiculous. So, by the time I arrived this morning I think I'd worked myself up into deciding that the results were going to be bad; so imagine how I felt when I arrived at clinic to discover they were running so late that there were no seats to be had in the waiting area, the corridor was full; it was bedlam. I then indulged in a wee panic when the new locum nurse asked me in that sort of telling you way that I had more tests this afternoon - which to my knowledge, I did not. Alert! Alert! Alert! Ratchet up the adrenaline levels a few more bazillion points! Turns out he was talking out of his arse.
So, stable was the diagnosis - under control - not currently taking over my body plus the pamidronate is repairing the bone damage, so, good, OK, alright. That's were we are.
I am incredibly bleary this afternoon - t'was clinic this morning complete with the results from last weeks' CT scan. Needless to say, I've been waiting for the scan for over a month because they have a stupid booking system and kept offering me dates I couldn't do; but since they sent them out by letter it seemed to take a week or more to sort out a date that we could have sorted out in 1o minutes of conversation........ridiculous. So, by the time I arrived this morning I think I'd worked myself up into deciding that the results were going to be bad; so imagine how I felt when I arrived at clinic to discover they were running so late that there were no seats to be had in the waiting area, the corridor was full; it was bedlam. I then indulged in a wee panic when the new locum nurse asked me in that sort of telling you way that I had more tests this afternoon - which to my knowledge, I did not. Alert! Alert! Alert! Ratchet up the adrenaline levels a few more bazillion points! Turns out he was talking out of his arse.
So, stable was the diagnosis - under control - not currently taking over my body plus the pamidronate is repairing the bone damage, so, good, OK, alright. That's were we are.
Thursday, January 03, 2008
Diddly pom - peas
Clinic day yesterday - I've had an extra week off between cycles because of Christmas; I should have been there on Boxing Day, but since no-one else was going to be there I took the chance to have a 2 week break in Boston. Which was nice - but now I'm back. Blah.
So, at one point I lost my dad and thought I was going to have to go into the consultation on my own - which I've never done yet and don't ever want to. I don't think I'd manage to hold myself together on my own......he was still in Starbucks with no watch and thought I was coming to fetch him - I thought he was meeting me at the clinic. Moments of panic and no mobile phone signal for either of us but he, of course, used his nouse, noticed the time on his phone and came and found me. Phew! I did have to resort to a Lorazepam whilst I waited on my own though. Scary.
Anyway, side-effects are not judged to be bad enough to reduce the dosage yet - I'm glad about that, I don't want to reduce until we absolutely have to - I don't want to run out of time, if you see what I mean. Advice was lots of E45 - which I am doing, if a little haphazardly. My onc also said when I asked her about the whole mole thing that, yes, chemotherapy can cause changes in moles and especially their pigmentation......... would have been great if the Breast Care nurse had said this to me when I was in panic mode on the phone! Instead of claiming it was unlikely to be anything to do with it and go and see my GP. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. So, increased relief there.
Also, the lump in the lymph at the base of my neck is shrinking. It's what I'm calling petit pois sized - it's smaller than a regular pea and the onc joked that it was the size you'd send back in a restaurant..... I asked if there were any significance to that shrinking - which was jolly brave of me you should agree - and she said that generally with BC if it's shrinking in one place then it's usually having an effect elsewhere. So, it *could* be shrinking the lung and bone mets too. (Mind you, it also might not be, so no counting the chickens - I'm going to have another CT scan in the next month so she can take a look.)
So, goodish news. Hopefully this is working the way it's supposed to and hopefully it will continue to do so. Keep on keeping on as Dee said to me yesterday.
So, possible time to get up - I've spent the day in PJ's, knitting and now I'm off to see St Trinians with Sweet Camden Lass. We know two of the girls in it - the twins - and we're off to see what they've made of being 'movie stars'.......have to dress for that!!!
So, at one point I lost my dad and thought I was going to have to go into the consultation on my own - which I've never done yet and don't ever want to. I don't think I'd manage to hold myself together on my own......he was still in Starbucks with no watch and thought I was coming to fetch him - I thought he was meeting me at the clinic. Moments of panic and no mobile phone signal for either of us but he, of course, used his nouse, noticed the time on his phone and came and found me. Phew! I did have to resort to a Lorazepam whilst I waited on my own though. Scary.
Anyway, side-effects are not judged to be bad enough to reduce the dosage yet - I'm glad about that, I don't want to reduce until we absolutely have to - I don't want to run out of time, if you see what I mean. Advice was lots of E45 - which I am doing, if a little haphazardly. My onc also said when I asked her about the whole mole thing that, yes, chemotherapy can cause changes in moles and especially their pigmentation......... would have been great if the Breast Care nurse had said this to me when I was in panic mode on the phone! Instead of claiming it was unlikely to be anything to do with it and go and see my GP. Grrrrrrrrrrrr. So, increased relief there.
Also, the lump in the lymph at the base of my neck is shrinking. It's what I'm calling petit pois sized - it's smaller than a regular pea and the onc joked that it was the size you'd send back in a restaurant..... I asked if there were any significance to that shrinking - which was jolly brave of me you should agree - and she said that generally with BC if it's shrinking in one place then it's usually having an effect elsewhere. So, it *could* be shrinking the lung and bone mets too. (Mind you, it also might not be, so no counting the chickens - I'm going to have another CT scan in the next month so she can take a look.)
So, goodish news. Hopefully this is working the way it's supposed to and hopefully it will continue to do so. Keep on keeping on as Dee said to me yesterday.
So, possible time to get up - I've spent the day in PJ's, knitting and now I'm off to see St Trinians with Sweet Camden Lass. We know two of the girls in it - the twins - and we're off to see what they've made of being 'movie stars'.......have to dress for that!!!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Happy Holidays
Happy Christmas y'all! - well, those of you who celebrate it.
Happy ordinary December 25th to the rest of you!
I've celebrated this morning with an unhappy digestive system - no turkey for me today, I think...... :( I just hope I can manage to stuff myself with stuffing - which, let's face it, is the only reason for having turkey to begin with! I love me some stuffing...... ::sigh::
Today, Xeloda, I give you the v's - and I'm not even wrapping them up. So there.
So, I haven't taken part in the cousin's visit this morning - which makes me feel even worse. Not because I was desperate to see them (does that sound unkind? Yes, it does a bit - but that's not what I mean) - what I mean, is that it means I have to play the 'cancer-girl' role. I wanted to go and look normal and be normal and not have everyone thinking 'oh, poor her, etc.'
Crapola.
Whoo -hoo. I'm suffering with ruddy Internet Explorer instead of Firefox today - so I do apologise if my spelling is a load of rubbish. I discover I've become dependent on the in-browser spell-check with Firefox and consequently don't notice my own typo's anymore.
Sweet Camden Lass asked 
for a picture of the Christmas Tree Caper villain (pseudonym: Maxwell), so here he is, trying to look all innocent:
for a picture of the Christmas Tree Caper villain (pseudonym: Maxwell), so here he is, trying to look all innocent:And here he is looking pissed off because he was sleeping *under the covers* and I lifted them up to take a photo (mean, old me!)
Pissy, evil-eye; yes?
Finally, we have a White Christmas (and yes, I've just grokked-out watching it this morning. It is my favorite film ever, along with anything with Fred Astaire in. *I* want to be able to dance like that and wear fancy frocks like that. ::sigh:: Not Going To Happen.)
It had snowed before I arrived and this was the view from my bedroom window the morning after I arrived:
*Pretty*
Then, we were supposed to have a couple more inches last week, but what we got was more like eight inches more - this is the house over the street in the snow:
And, then this is our back garden (well, the wilderness - my grampy liked trees - me too. I miss him lots):
*So* beautiful. The more so because I get get scared that this is the last time I'll see this; have a Christmas here; have any Christmas.
But, it may not be either - maybe I'll see many more. I hope so.
Enough - today I'll just enjoy the day - or do my best, anyway.
(Dear Other arrived last night with miminum delays - so that makes me happy :))
Happy Christmas eveyone.
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Snow! ::grin::
Whee! Short interlude for sitting on a plane with lots of turbulence and dodgy intestinal tract - yay! Recipe for a fun trip! But I did make it to the other side of the pond and I've only got 3 more doses of Xeloda before Christmas - hopefully it'll all calm down by then. I have my onc's permission to knock off one of the small tablets on each dose if my skin gets too bad but it hasn't really - my cuticles are all disappearing and I like to be in close-ish proximity of a toilet but that's it for now. So I'll stick with the full dosage - I don't want to start decreasing the dosage until I really have to - that will just mean that I've got less of a place to go to before my body can't take any more of it. So, I'm shutting up and swallowing the damn pills. And lots of liquid to try and avoid being *too* dehydrated.....I thought last week I was getting a cold but it so far hasn't transpired (which is good) But I checked with Megan at the hospital about what to do if I got a cough (instructions in my purple chemo booklet say I'm supposed to ring them if I get a cough and I thought calling transatlantic over the Christmas period probably wasn't going to be much of a goer; so I now have *two* different sets of emergency antibiotics (on top of all the rest of the rattling lot) - I'm getting to be the drug queen........
It's snowing here in Massachusetts - we've had about 6 inches of the light, fluffy variety on top of the 8+ inches from the previous week, and I'm loving it. It's beautiful. Light and white and fresh. I stuck my head out the door earlier to take some photos and it was so quiet. I'd forgotten how quiet the snow makes everything. Even when there's nothing to hear; the silence is muffled too. Isn't that strange?
I'll post the photos later on I hope.
My memory is getting quite iffy again - hence the leaving my glasses at the Haven after Shiatsu last week. They were right on the table in front of me and I still didn't notice and left them there and had to go back to collect them another day - which is a drag because it takes at least an hour and 3 changes of transport to get there......grrrrr.
Amazon seems to have sent everything I ordered from them in an individual box - sorry, make that an individual, ridiculously enormous, over-packaged box. I'm sorry earth - I think my Christmas presents have cut down the last trees in existence. In the past they've been *much* better about it so I'm quite cross really. We went and picked out our tree yesterday and it's lovely - lots of smell and just the right shape and size - so now we have to fish out all the decorations. When we were putting it into its stand last night the cat insisted on sticking his head in it for ages - and then had a sneezing fit. Quite amusing. Hopefully this will have cured him of wanting to climb or otherwise decimate it......(but probably not).
Heartburn can See Me In Hell - getting permanently annoying now.
Right -decoration hunt begins now! Challenge!
It's snowing here in Massachusetts - we've had about 6 inches of the light, fluffy variety on top of the 8+ inches from the previous week, and I'm loving it. It's beautiful. Light and white and fresh. I stuck my head out the door earlier to take some photos and it was so quiet. I'd forgotten how quiet the snow makes everything. Even when there's nothing to hear; the silence is muffled too. Isn't that strange?
I'll post the photos later on I hope.
My memory is getting quite iffy again - hence the leaving my glasses at the Haven after Shiatsu last week. They were right on the table in front of me and I still didn't notice and left them there and had to go back to collect them another day - which is a drag because it takes at least an hour and 3 changes of transport to get there......grrrrr.
Amazon seems to have sent everything I ordered from them in an individual box - sorry, make that an individual, ridiculously enormous, over-packaged box. I'm sorry earth - I think my Christmas presents have cut down the last trees in existence. In the past they've been *much* better about it so I'm quite cross really. We went and picked out our tree yesterday and it's lovely - lots of smell and just the right shape and size - so now we have to fish out all the decorations. When we were putting it into its stand last night the cat insisted on sticking his head in it for ages - and then had a sneezing fit. Quite amusing. Hopefully this will have cured him of wanting to climb or otherwise decimate it......(but probably not).
Heartburn can See Me In Hell - getting permanently annoying now.
Right -decoration hunt begins now! Challenge!
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Long time, passing
::Sigh::
Where did I go? I guess December has gotten the better of me.
What have I been up to?
Well, I had my appointment at the Royal London Homoeopathic Hospital with Dr. Kassab - who was very nice. Her office was filled with plants which was nice - green and leafy. She was very kind and it was so fantastic to talk to someone who really acknowledged how much of a problem the hot flushes are - and then went on to say that she was pretty sure she could do something to help. Which is such a difference to the usual 'well, it's crap but we can't do much about it'. I'm not saying that other drs. etc have been unkind or unsympathetic; it's just that, generally, they can't offer much help with it. Plus, it's always considered as a *side-effect* rather than a problem in its own right.
So, I cried (as usual) and explained everything that had happened to me (which I hate doing - well, the explaining the whole when it first started, how I found it and all that stuff.)
It was really quite fascinating discussing it with her - she asked lots of questions about the emotional effect and how I felt when it happened and before it happened and what it felt like. I learnt some interesting things about them through this - for example, the hot flushes make me feel claustrophobic - having to have windows open at night; feeling compulsions to take off as many clothes as I can when they happen; panicking and feeling trapped when they happen.
So I came away with an initial prescription for 'Argent Nit. ' and another for 'Glonoine' if the other isn't doing much after a month. So it's been just over a week and I'm still waiting to see what sort of effect the Arg. Nit. is having......I'm not feeling like it's helping much yet but I'll keep on giving it a go.
One of my few working veins has given up the ghost so we had to have several goes at getting the cannula in on Friday ::shudder:: I never thought I'd say this, but; I miss my portocath.....I keep joking that I'll bring in my port and they can put it back in. But I was down to 2 or 3 functioning and easily found veins in my one usable arm and if we keep going with the IV pamidronate then I'm going to run out of veins!! Plus, who knows what they'll have to give me in the future. Eventually, if the Xeloda stops working, then I may need some other drugs. So, in the long run, it may be an investment to have the portocath put back in.....I guess I'll cross that bridge in due course.
So, then on Saturday morning (of course, these things never happen on Mondays...) I noticed that a mole on my leg was looking odd and scabby and darker. So, of course, I freaked out; convinced that it was skin cancer and it had spread and perhaps this was the initial cause of it all (irrational, much?) and so on. Oh, and that the 3 cysts I have in various places weren't cysts and I should have mentioned the new one instead of telling myself it was just another cyst etc. Argh, dying, end of world, man the lifeboats, plan the funeral, finish the knitting etc.
Poor Dear Other tried to reassure me - reminding me that the CT scan would have shown up other cancer spots, that even if it was abnormal it didn't mean it was cancerous, that it was small. And it was a case of me meeting logic and going 'lalalalalal cannot understand this logic-thing, s'cuse me, too much dying to do!' Poor, poor, Dear Other - he looked so sad and said he felt so bad about not to be able to make me feel better. (Bear in mind I'd thrown in a healthy dose of 'I'm so stupid; it's all my fault; I should have done this and that and the other; bad, bad me, blah, blah, blah') Well, he did make me feel better; but I felt pretty crap to begin with so it was better on a relative scale. So, after a weekend of 'argh!' and great fear, on Monday morning I rang my breast care nurse (well, the new one - the one who knows me best is on maternity leave - the nerve of it!) who helpfully said 'hmm, don't think it's to do with the Xeloda - go and see your GP. Bye!' Not quite as much cossetting and reassuring as I'd hoped for. So, I rang my GP's surgery and asked for an appointment that day - none to be had (of course) so I asked for my GP to ring me and headed off to Shiatsu where I spent at least half the session crying and wailing before we even started - but she was very nice and understanding about my neuroticness and was even kind enough to say that she understood my point of view about feeling that the cancer was my 'fault' because my body is me. By the time I got home it was getting on for 5pm and my GP *still had not rung me* and I was cross but decided I'd just ring for an appointment early the following morning but just as I was bad-mouthing him, he rang (at 4 minutes before 6pm....) and said 'it's about a mole?' and I said 'yes, it sounds pathetic, I know.' and he was kind enough to say 'no, no - do you want me to look at it?' (er, no - why would I want that? Please just use your psychic powers to divine it's status and we shan't have to bother with all this appointments business.....) Ooh, I am bitchy - horribly so, considering that he told me to come and see him the following day - a miracle because I can't usually get an appointment with him at all. But he squeezed his schedule or something and fitted me in.
So I showed it to him, along with a bunch of other ones and my cysts, saying 'what about this one? Ok, this one? Can I just show you this?' and he was exceedingly patient and looked at them all and told me they were all *FINE*. (YAY!) But he said that if I came back in a month then he'd look again and if I wanted to have it removed then he'd take it out and send it to be tested; so I probably will have it taken off - just so I stop peering at it and poking it (which was probably why it was red in the first place - dumbo.) Then he asked if there was anything else he could do for me - which I always think if very nice but very pointless; because what can he do? I was torn between saying 'yes, make it all go away' and 'yes, come round for tea - that will make me feel better!' But I didn't say either - well, I might have said the former in a not so facetious way. But I did whine a bit about not sleeping and he gave me a prescription for some Zopiclone (why do half my pills start with a Z or an X???) - just a small number, not a long term thing but he said it might help so I can make the most of my time with my family over Christmas. So, I went home a very relieved bunny and collapsed in a heap.
Remind me to tell you tomorrow that I left my glasses at Shiatsu, I'm getting a cold, I'm collecting preventative antibiotics and to show you the *bee-you-ti-ful* lace stole I was given as a Christmas present (which I've worn and stroked every day since I got it); plus my dithering over what to make with Pocketina's hand spun yarn (I'm currently too scared to knit it in case it all goes horribly wrong and I spoil it - which will make me cry, more, lots.) Plus, plus, my envy over the meeting and fah-bulous new creations of Laurie and Rebel.
The end.
Whee! Are you still reading? Or have you slumped over in a heap of overwhelmed-ness?
Where did I go? I guess December has gotten the better of me.
What have I been up to?
Well, I had my appointment at the Royal London Homoeopathic Hospital with Dr. Kassab - who was very nice. Her office was filled with plants which was nice - green and leafy. She was very kind and it was so fantastic to talk to someone who really acknowledged how much of a problem the hot flushes are - and then went on to say that she was pretty sure she could do something to help. Which is such a difference to the usual 'well, it's crap but we can't do much about it'. I'm not saying that other drs. etc have been unkind or unsympathetic; it's just that, generally, they can't offer much help with it. Plus, it's always considered as a *side-effect* rather than a problem in its own right.
So, I cried (as usual) and explained everything that had happened to me (which I hate doing - well, the explaining the whole when it first started, how I found it and all that stuff.)
It was really quite fascinating discussing it with her - she asked lots of questions about the emotional effect and how I felt when it happened and before it happened and what it felt like. I learnt some interesting things about them through this - for example, the hot flushes make me feel claustrophobic - having to have windows open at night; feeling compulsions to take off as many clothes as I can when they happen; panicking and feeling trapped when they happen.
So I came away with an initial prescription for 'Argent Nit. ' and another for 'Glonoine' if the other isn't doing much after a month. So it's been just over a week and I'm still waiting to see what sort of effect the Arg. Nit. is having......I'm not feeling like it's helping much yet but I'll keep on giving it a go.
One of my few working veins has given up the ghost so we had to have several goes at getting the cannula in on Friday ::shudder:: I never thought I'd say this, but; I miss my portocath.....I keep joking that I'll bring in my port and they can put it back in. But I was down to 2 or 3 functioning and easily found veins in my one usable arm and if we keep going with the IV pamidronate then I'm going to run out of veins!! Plus, who knows what they'll have to give me in the future. Eventually, if the Xeloda stops working, then I may need some other drugs. So, in the long run, it may be an investment to have the portocath put back in.....I guess I'll cross that bridge in due course.
So, then on Saturday morning (of course, these things never happen on Mondays...) I noticed that a mole on my leg was looking odd and scabby and darker. So, of course, I freaked out; convinced that it was skin cancer and it had spread and perhaps this was the initial cause of it all (irrational, much?) and so on. Oh, and that the 3 cysts I have in various places weren't cysts and I should have mentioned the new one instead of telling myself it was just another cyst etc. Argh, dying, end of world, man the lifeboats, plan the funeral, finish the knitting etc.
Poor Dear Other tried to reassure me - reminding me that the CT scan would have shown up other cancer spots, that even if it was abnormal it didn't mean it was cancerous, that it was small. And it was a case of me meeting logic and going 'lalalalalal cannot understand this logic-thing, s'cuse me, too much dying to do!' Poor, poor, Dear Other - he looked so sad and said he felt so bad about not to be able to make me feel better. (Bear in mind I'd thrown in a healthy dose of 'I'm so stupid; it's all my fault; I should have done this and that and the other; bad, bad me, blah, blah, blah') Well, he did make me feel better; but I felt pretty crap to begin with so it was better on a relative scale. So, after a weekend of 'argh!' and great fear, on Monday morning I rang my breast care nurse (well, the new one - the one who knows me best is on maternity leave - the nerve of it!) who helpfully said 'hmm, don't think it's to do with the Xeloda - go and see your GP. Bye!' Not quite as much cossetting and reassuring as I'd hoped for. So, I rang my GP's surgery and asked for an appointment that day - none to be had (of course) so I asked for my GP to ring me and headed off to Shiatsu where I spent at least half the session crying and wailing before we even started - but she was very nice and understanding about my neuroticness and was even kind enough to say that she understood my point of view about feeling that the cancer was my 'fault' because my body is me. By the time I got home it was getting on for 5pm and my GP *still had not rung me* and I was cross but decided I'd just ring for an appointment early the following morning but just as I was bad-mouthing him, he rang (at 4 minutes before 6pm....) and said 'it's about a mole?' and I said 'yes, it sounds pathetic, I know.' and he was kind enough to say 'no, no - do you want me to look at it?' (er, no - why would I want that? Please just use your psychic powers to divine it's status and we shan't have to bother with all this appointments business.....) Ooh, I am bitchy - horribly so, considering that he told me to come and see him the following day - a miracle because I can't usually get an appointment with him at all. But he squeezed his schedule or something and fitted me in.
So I showed it to him, along with a bunch of other ones and my cysts, saying 'what about this one? Ok, this one? Can I just show you this?' and he was exceedingly patient and looked at them all and told me they were all *FINE*. (YAY!) But he said that if I came back in a month then he'd look again and if I wanted to have it removed then he'd take it out and send it to be tested; so I probably will have it taken off - just so I stop peering at it and poking it (which was probably why it was red in the first place - dumbo.) Then he asked if there was anything else he could do for me - which I always think if very nice but very pointless; because what can he do? I was torn between saying 'yes, make it all go away' and 'yes, come round for tea - that will make me feel better!' But I didn't say either - well, I might have said the former in a not so facetious way. But I did whine a bit about not sleeping and he gave me a prescription for some Zopiclone (why do half my pills start with a Z or an X???) - just a small number, not a long term thing but he said it might help so I can make the most of my time with my family over Christmas. So, I went home a very relieved bunny and collapsed in a heap.
Remind me to tell you tomorrow that I left my glasses at Shiatsu, I'm getting a cold, I'm collecting preventative antibiotics and to show you the *bee-you-ti-ful* lace stole I was given as a Christmas present (which I've worn and stroked every day since I got it); plus my dithering over what to make with Pocketina's hand spun yarn (I'm currently too scared to knit it in case it all goes horribly wrong and I spoil it - which will make me cry, more, lots.) Plus, plus, my envy over the meeting and fah-bulous new creations of Laurie and Rebel.
The end.
Whee! Are you still reading? Or have you slumped over in a heap of overwhelmed-ness?
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I'll moan if I want to!
Well, the Xeloda is starting to have a few more side-effects now.
The skin on my right thumb and forefinger has gone all shiny and is peeling all over the place. It's looking like I'll have no fingerprints on them (Quick! Rush out and commit crimes! They'll never catch me! - I'm kidding, right?)
The skin on the soles of my feet is quite tender now and will blister and peel if I even *look* at shoes other than my trainers. This I found, to my sorrow, the other week when I wore (not *that* high) heels to a dinner party. I was limping with both feet (this is quite difficult in itself) by the end of the evening and the little toe on my left foot was entirely made up of blister. No kidding - there was no bit of skin that wasn't blistered on it. Nice!....Not so much.
I'm back in heartburn-city, drinking peppermint tea by the bucket-load to try and stave off the having to walk round the house with hand pressed to chest at all hours.
Plus, the old lower digestive system is starting to notice and rebel - lovely. Just what I need to make my attractiveness bloom - rushing to the toilet. Although 3am seems to be the time it likes to strike. At least I'm at home then.....
Oh, and the cuticles are disappearing. I don't get that. It happened with the previous chemo-varieties too . What have cuticles got to do with anything? It's problematic in that it's not good for the lymphoedema side of me.
Flying (or something. Too much blueberry pie?) seems to aggravated my hand a bit too. My fingers are looking decidedly podgy again - grrrr. So it's back to the lurvely sleeve and gauntlet - mmmm, sexy!
Hmm, owt else I can complain about? I'm just practising for my next Onc. appointment on Weds really. My oncologist worries about me if I don't arrive whinging and complaining. I think she's finding me entirely less interesting this time around. No far-out, more-unusual side-effects this time around. (I'm tempting fate, aren't I? What an idiot.) She won't want to know about my feet anyway - she doesn't 'do' feet.... ;)
In other news, we flew back from the States on the daytime flight rather than the red-eye yesterday. Wow, *so much* better for the jetlag....we left at 9am US time and landed (with help from a very kindly jetstream) 5 and three quarter hours later at around 7.45pm UK time. Home by 10pm and ready to go to bed at a usual hour - woke up (well, as usual, throughout the night) but was in fit state to get up at 7am (I didn't, mind you; but I *could* have if I'd wanted to!). None of the 'awake until 3am and unable to prise open eyelids until noon'. Getting up at 5am to get to the airport on time was less fun; but manageable since I hadn't been there long enough to get fully onto US time anyway. I'm converted I think. I always thought it would make more sense actually but had never actually done it.
During the course of the flight, I managed to tip a full cup of gingerale onto the (fortunately) empty seat next to me and karma returned the favour when one of the flight attendants knocked an orange-juice carton onto me - it mostly went on the floor thankfully. Plus, I managed to fit in all the requisite pills at relatively appropriate times.
The skin on my right thumb and forefinger has gone all shiny and is peeling all over the place. It's looking like I'll have no fingerprints on them (Quick! Rush out and commit crimes! They'll never catch me! - I'm kidding, right?)
The skin on the soles of my feet is quite tender now and will blister and peel if I even *look* at shoes other than my trainers. This I found, to my sorrow, the other week when I wore (not *that* high) heels to a dinner party. I was limping with both feet (this is quite difficult in itself) by the end of the evening and the little toe on my left foot was entirely made up of blister. No kidding - there was no bit of skin that wasn't blistered on it. Nice!....Not so much.
I'm back in heartburn-city, drinking peppermint tea by the bucket-load to try and stave off the having to walk round the house with hand pressed to chest at all hours.
Plus, the old lower digestive system is starting to notice and rebel - lovely. Just what I need to make my attractiveness bloom - rushing to the toilet. Although 3am seems to be the time it likes to strike. At least I'm at home then.....
Oh, and the cuticles are disappearing. I don't get that. It happened with the previous chemo-varieties too . What have cuticles got to do with anything? It's problematic in that it's not good for the lymphoedema side of me.
Flying (or something. Too much blueberry pie?) seems to aggravated my hand a bit too. My fingers are looking decidedly podgy again - grrrr. So it's back to the lurvely sleeve and gauntlet - mmmm, sexy!
Hmm, owt else I can complain about? I'm just practising for my next Onc. appointment on Weds really. My oncologist worries about me if I don't arrive whinging and complaining. I think she's finding me entirely less interesting this time around. No far-out, more-unusual side-effects this time around. (I'm tempting fate, aren't I? What an idiot.) She won't want to know about my feet anyway - she doesn't 'do' feet.... ;)
In other news, we flew back from the States on the daytime flight rather than the red-eye yesterday. Wow, *so much* better for the jetlag....we left at 9am US time and landed (with help from a very kindly jetstream) 5 and three quarter hours later at around 7.45pm UK time. Home by 10pm and ready to go to bed at a usual hour - woke up (well, as usual, throughout the night) but was in fit state to get up at 7am (I didn't, mind you; but I *could* have if I'd wanted to!). None of the 'awake until 3am and unable to prise open eyelids until noon'. Getting up at 5am to get to the airport on time was less fun; but manageable since I hadn't been there long enough to get fully onto US time anyway. I'm converted I think. I always thought it would make more sense actually but had never actually done it.
During the course of the flight, I managed to tip a full cup of gingerale onto the (fortunately) empty seat next to me and karma returned the favour when one of the flight attendants knocked an orange-juice carton onto me - it mostly went on the floor thankfully. Plus, I managed to fit in all the requisite pills at relatively appropriate times.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
The rain in Spain
Ugh, hate - Xeloda. Messing with my lower digestive system. (Why yes, that is me being polite about saying it's UPSETTING MY BOWELS.) Just the opposite way round from all the other chemo I had, which had the exactly the other effect.
Funnily enough - neither of them is a fun side-effect.
So.
Am nursing lovely cramps and waiting for it all to eff-off.
(Are you listening bowels??)
Haha. How many people can I put off ever reading my blog again?......
How I wish it were the diamond effect.
Funnily enough - neither of them is a fun side-effect.
So.
Am nursing lovely cramps and waiting for it all to eff-off.
(Are you listening bowels??)
Haha. How many people can I put off ever reading my blog again?......
How I wish it were the diamond effect.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
The discrete chemo-taker
Ugh. We went out to dinner last night at the house of some people we don't know terribly well - people from the Other Half's church. And there were 2 other couples there who we didn't really know. Which led to some rather stilted conversation although they were all very nice. I'm just really hopeless with people I don't really know - I can manage a few, but 6 is too many and I just end up clamming up. I'm really just shy at heart.
So, dinner was fascinating - all veggie and dairy-free. We had carrot and ginger soup, then home-made lemon sorbet, then roast pumpkin with a green veggie melange with red pepper and a sort of curried lentil filling plus cauliflower and finishing up with pear gingerbread. I'm still waiting to see how my stomach is going to react to all those veggie - it's been misbehaving on and off recently - usually at 3am - nice (not).
So we got to the end of dinner and I had to take my Xeloda (within 30mins of eating) and I debated excusing myself and taking them in the bathroom, but then I realised that I wouldn't have a glass to put water in to take them so I had to take them at the dinner table - plus I had to ask for a glass that wasn't a wine glass (I wasn't drinking alcohol anyway). Which I did and I tried to be subtle about it but obviously taking 6 tablets with an ocean's-worth of water is a bit hard to do discretely....
So, the chap next to me says 'those look like my pills' and I said 'I don't they will be' (thinking 'I don't think so! Shut up') and he went 'statins' and I said 'um, no, um, these are chemotherapy tablets' which shut him up for a minute and then he went 'they look just like mine' and I made some ha-ha comment about the terrible colours they make these medications, blah, blah. All the while feeling awful. I didn't want to tell this guy, or anyone about them; although our hosts and one of the other couples will know about my cancer from the church - I just couldn't think what to say (other than 'mind your own beeswax!'.) I'm a terrible liar in these situations and I didn't want to not answer because then they might be thinking who-knows-what....
(Dear Other Half suggested afterwards that I should have said they were hormone pills because of my sex-change operation - funny, but I think *not*)
What would you have said? What would you have done? How do you not say 'I have metastatic breast cancer in my bones and lung and I have to take chemotherapy in order to try not to die any time soon...' (No, I didn't actually say that; but I bet that's where his thoughts took him.)
Urgle. Hate.
So, dinner was fascinating - all veggie and dairy-free. We had carrot and ginger soup, then home-made lemon sorbet, then roast pumpkin with a green veggie melange with red pepper and a sort of curried lentil filling plus cauliflower and finishing up with pear gingerbread. I'm still waiting to see how my stomach is going to react to all those veggie - it's been misbehaving on and off recently - usually at 3am - nice (not).
So we got to the end of dinner and I had to take my Xeloda (within 30mins of eating) and I debated excusing myself and taking them in the bathroom, but then I realised that I wouldn't have a glass to put water in to take them so I had to take them at the dinner table - plus I had to ask for a glass that wasn't a wine glass (I wasn't drinking alcohol anyway). Which I did and I tried to be subtle about it but obviously taking 6 tablets with an ocean's-worth of water is a bit hard to do discretely....
So, the chap next to me says 'those look like my pills' and I said 'I don't they will be' (thinking 'I don't think so! Shut up') and he went 'statins' and I said 'um, no, um, these are chemotherapy tablets' which shut him up for a minute and then he went 'they look just like mine' and I made some ha-ha comment about the terrible colours they make these medications, blah, blah. All the while feeling awful. I didn't want to tell this guy, or anyone about them; although our hosts and one of the other couples will know about my cancer from the church - I just couldn't think what to say (other than 'mind your own beeswax!'.) I'm a terrible liar in these situations and I didn't want to not answer because then they might be thinking who-knows-what....
(Dear Other Half suggested afterwards that I should have said they were hormone pills because of my sex-change operation - funny, but I think *not*)
What would you have said? What would you have done? How do you not say 'I have metastatic breast cancer in my bones and lung and I have to take chemotherapy in order to try not to die any time soon...' (No, I didn't actually say that; but I bet that's where his thoughts took him.)
Urgle. Hate.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Ah, Xeloda!
Xeloda (Capecitabine) (doesn't it just trip off the tongue - I'm sure there's a song with this in it.....what am I thinking of??)
Well, they look like effing orange horse pills (the pills are orange, not the horse) and I take 4 large ones and 2 small ones twice a day starting tomorrow for 2 weeks then I get a week off and then we start again - whee! The absolute best bit is that it comes with its' own instruction booklet that includes a CD-ROM.
Yes, really.
No kidding.
I proceeded to laugh hysterically whilst Megan tried to tell me about the side effects.
The booklet also includes a little chart where you can mark off your pills and also chart your side effects. It has little pictures in case you're not sure what throwing up or diarrhoea is - helpful, eh?!
Truly hilarious - it really cheered me up no end. Plus you can chart the relative severity of your side effects - just in case having them isn't enough.
In the meantime they dripped me full of the bone strengthening drug - Pamidronate - another fancy name. I appear to have one usable vein for cannulas - so that's going to be fun, not.
In more exciting news - my invitation for Ravelry arrived today. Which was a nice cheerer-uper for the day. Now I just have to take lots of photos of things. Which, let's face it, I'll now have time to do - ironic, eh?
And, finalmente, I'll leave you with a picture of Peruvian llamas at Machu Picchu:
Well, they look like effing orange horse pills (the pills are orange, not the horse) and I take 4 large ones and 2 small ones twice a day starting tomorrow for 2 weeks then I get a week off and then we start again - whee! The absolute best bit is that it comes with its' own instruction booklet that includes a CD-ROM.
Yes, really.
No kidding.
I proceeded to laugh hysterically whilst Megan tried to tell me about the side effects.
The booklet also includes a little chart where you can mark off your pills and also chart your side effects. It has little pictures in case you're not sure what throwing up or diarrhoea is - helpful, eh?!
Truly hilarious - it really cheered me up no end. Plus you can chart the relative severity of your side effects - just in case having them isn't enough.
In the meantime they dripped me full of the bone strengthening drug - Pamidronate - another fancy name. I appear to have one usable vein for cannulas - so that's going to be fun, not.
In more exciting news - my invitation for Ravelry arrived today. Which was a nice cheerer-uper for the day. Now I just have to take lots of photos of things. Which, let's face it, I'll now have time to do - ironic, eh?
And, finalmente, I'll leave you with a picture of Peruvian llamas at Machu Picchu:
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