...AND ON TO THE CLINIC AGAIN

From Heidelberg I took the train to Bad Salzhausen for another 10-day stay at the clinic, and once there I realised how tired I was, both physically and emotionally. Fortunately there were a few fellow patients who I already knew, including my friend Hilary, so I had congenial company for meals without feeling like I had to go through all the usual "what kind of cancer do you have? what treatment have you already had? when were you diagnosed? how are you finding the treatments here? how did you find out about the clinic? what does your doctor think about you being here?" which is the standard small talk here. These topics of course can be very interesting and bonding, but sometimes - especially after so many visits - I just can't face telling my own story again and summoning interest in other people's, so it was wonderful to be able to bypass all that and not have to put up a sociable front. (By the end I did get to know some new people, but it was a relief not having to do so straight away.)


I took it very easy (especially compared to last time, when I had a constant list of things to do), and instead went for walks, read books, watched DVDs on my laptop, and slept for hours every night. At the weekend I asked for the needle to be taken out of my port so that I could go to the mineral baths for a swim (it's usually left in for the whole stay, so that infusions can be given, and blood taken, easily, but it has to be kept dry), and I spent a lovely relaxing afternoon in the warm salty water. I also made regular circuits of the parks, playing around with my camera and experimenting with trying to catch the colours and the play of light.

The chemo procedure in the middle went fine: they had some problems cauterising the wound so I had to wait 4 hours instead of the usual 3 to make sure it had clotted properly (as the tube is inserted into an artery, any bleeding afterwards could be very serious), but I felt much better than last time when I'd had some inflammation around the chemo site afterwards. Having feedback from the scans is nerve-racking every time, but to my relief things seem to be stable still. The surgeon is pleased, and has agreed we can leave it for a slightly longer gap next time, so I don't need to go back until early July - fantastic news!

As always, I felt a bit tired for a few days afterwards, and I also realised that my sense of taste is temporarily affected by the chemo - it's quite subtle, but I've noticed how, for several days after each procedure, despite feeling hungry I have no motivation for food. I'd thought it was just that by that stage of the visit I was getting fed up of clinic food (which is quite bland, and not always appetising), but this time I realised that actually my taste buds are a bit dulled, taking the enjoyment out of eating and making the process very unappealing. However, it wears off after a few days - and in fact, going out for dinner at a local restaurant one evening helped enormously, so maybe it is partly psychological after all!

The weather was mixed, sometimes chilly and grey, once swelteringly hot and culminating in a massive thunderstorm, but there were a few pockets of properly warm sunshine, which I made the most of - there's something so blissful about lying in the sun with your eyes closed, with the sound of birdsong and the smell of freshly-mown grass. Cliches I know, but still very idyllic, especially for a city girl! 

TRIP TO HEIDELBERG...

Although staying at the clinic can be very positive and supportive, at the same time I dread going. It seems to exist in a little world of its own, and although it's not unpleasant in itself, re-entering it often feels very challenging. I guess it's because it involves engaging with cancer, acknowledging the reality of my situation, and being back in the role of a patient. Also, while many people I've met there are doing extremely well and having great results, others are going through tougher times, and from time to time I hear of people having died. Of course that's inevitable when socialising with people with cancer, but it's distressing, and chilling, and it can take a lot of bracing myself to go back into that world. 


So turning my clinic visits into an opportunity to visit new places in Germany makes a big difference to how I feel about going back. My friend Sharon offered to come away for a weekend before I started my next stay at the clinic, and we decided to go to Heidelberg, a beautiful and historic town about an hour south of Frankfurt. The weather wasn't great but we walked for hours exploring the old town and the impressive Schloss (castle), along with plenty of cafe stops, and dinner at a restaurant serving over 100 varieties of schnitzel - impressive by any standards! 

The Schloss, from a square in the old town

View of the old town from the Schloss

Enjoying cafe life despite the rain!

I found the town charming and laidback, and the architecture was fantastic - wonderful fairytale turrets and spires everywhere.

As well as being lovely to spend some time with Sharon, having a weekend away was a very welcome diversion between the funeral and going back to the clinic, and I felt much better for it. 

APRIL RAINCLOUDS

Health-wise I'm glad to say I've remained well, but it's been quite an intense and difficult month. Many of you, though not all, will know that my eldest nephew Robbie was diagnosed at 17 months old with a very rare neurodegenerative condition, Infantile Batten Disease, which is always fatal. It left him profoundly disabled, and from the age of 7 his round-the-clock nursing needs meant that he had to be looked after in a hospice, but he was very much part of the family and we visited him very regularly. When he was diagnosed he wasn't expected to survive beyond the age of 5, but he was amazingly resilient and we were fortunate to have had considerably longer with him in our lives than we expected. Sadly, through this spring he deteriorated, and he died at the end of April, aged 12. Although we'd known that this time would come, it was still very hard to lose him, but my sister Belinda and her family (they have 2 younger sons now aged 10 and 5) organised a very moving and beautiful funeral service. When I was diagnosed with cancer I was very worried that I might die before Robbie, and not be around to support my sister, brother-in-law and nephews when his life ended. So I'm extremely grateful and humbled that I'm still here, and that I was able to be part of marking his short but immensely important life with us all.

Belinda and I with Robbie and Eddie in 2005

With Robbie, David and Eddie in 2007

Throughout April, knowing that this was imminent, it was sometimes frustrating to have a number of immoveable deadlines (though at other times it was good to have distractions). I spent a lot of time finishing my distance learning course and writing the assignment, and I also had a fair amount of preparation to do for an orchestra concert (both administrative, and my own personal practice). I part-own a rental flat with my sisters, and as we had a change of tenants recently we took the opportunity to get some maintenance and decorating work done. When I was working full-time I put much less time into the flat than my sisters did, so it was good to be able to redress the balance by sharing the load more equally with my sister Annabel, but of course it needed to be done to a schedule and (as ever) took more time than I'd anticipated.


At the end of the month was my birthday, and although I was happy to celebrate just in a low-key way with a few close friends, it still felt a very significant milestone. I hadn't really expected to reach my birthday in 2011, let alone 2012, and while I didn't have much time to think consciously about it, I was aware of feeling a bit emotional about it. I often feel as though I ought to set aside space to analyse and process my feelings, and to reflect on my life in some profound way, but in fact I mostly tend to avoid thinking too deeply, finding it easier to focus on day-to-day tasks. But perhaps that's no bad thing.