End of Chemo Cake

I finished chemo last Monday.

When the nurses pointed this out to me, I frowned and said, yes but it is not my last intravenous infusion, because I will be turning up here every 3 weeks for 9 months to have Herceptin.

It was then I realised that my practical side was overwhelming the side of me that should have been saying HOORAY and THANK GOD that I have, six months to the day since my surgery, finished this nightmare experience.  Of course I realise that it is never really over.   But 'active treatment' as they call it, is now at an end.

In the last half year I have:

• gained a new and deep respect for the medical professionals in Melbourne.
• thought a lot about life and death.
• lost all my hair, most of my eyebrows and some of my eyelashes and gained my freckles back.
• read 43 books.
• confronted head on my very worst fear: getting cancer young. 
• spent a lot of time watching the children play and realised how much I still have to teach them. 
• continued to work at about half capacity which has been frustrating but well worth it. 
• felt so much gratitude for the support and wishes of family, friends, strangers, blog friends, acquaintances, the guy in the coffee shop, the stray business person I meet with who remarks on my 'lovely haircut', the mail man, the lovely girl in our local toyshop, the woman at Mecca Cosmetica, people in the oncology suite, the carpark man, the friend I haven't seen for 7 years who lives in Hong Kong who sent me the sweetest email last week and on it goes. 

So this weekend I:

* Baked a cake to celebrate:

Recipe from Delicious, a magazine which has really grown on me. So much more down to earth than Gourmet Traveller or Donna Hay.    It has cornflour in it and so is very very light and fluffy.

* Bought this book online (really cannot believe how cheap Book Depository is):

I wrote about Nigel Slater's memoir here. I have a small crush on this man.  I would love to cook for him.

* Made a 6 point plan for the next 6 months (more on that soon).

* Bought a painting. Yes it's dark and moody and that is why I love it.  By the Tasmanian Turner.   (It is of Bass Strait). 

* Picked some of these for floating in vases.  It really annoys me the way camellias don't survive in vases on their own.  We don't have as many picking flowers in our garden as I would like.

This to me looks very like the Chanel camellia...

* Ate some macaroons which I buy at La Belle Miette 

In case you were wondering these flavours are strawberry and vanilla and violet and blueberry.  He also does an amazing Pimms and pomegranate version.


Isn't life fantastic?  So much to enjoy.  

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Escaping Cancer Island

I have had some unusual dreams this year.  It is amazing how one's subconscious takes what is going on in the conscious world and twists and twirls a dream around it.  

So, at the risk of turning into a boring dinner party guest who bangs on about her dreams, I am going to share a couple here.   

(extremely overpriced lily which graced the table last week. I know they are funereal but I love them)

I have always thought recurrent dreams are the most interesting.  They must speak of something deep deep inside. 

My most frequent recurrent dreams since about the age of 20 have been:   (1) waking up on the morning of a university exam and realising I have not done any study or preparation for it  at all (actually that part was true in the case of Ancient French) or (2) running really hard but getting nowhere (often with not enough clothes on).

(frangipani lifted from a tree in the street on our last holiday in central New South Wales)

My new recurrent dreams are (1) giving some very dry legal presentation but I have forgotten my wig so I am with my 'No Hair' as my son calls it in front of 50 unimpressed strangers (2) dreams where I think I am wearing my wig at a meeting but realise at the end that I wasn't and everyone was being very polite and not saying anything (3) the Dr Suess Wig Dream where I think I am wearing a wig but it's the wrong wig and I take it off, then another, then another and underneath them all is the 'right' wig.  

And I had a very memorable epic dream which seemed to go for hours and hours where I was on an island and all the power went out and people were desperately trying to get off because they knew if they got stuck on the island that they would die and all the boats had left and all that was available were charter planes and they were all taken by the old people with brown leathery skins wearing lots of gold jewelry and pastel nylon tracksuits and I was crying at the airline desk saying I don't care what it costs, I will pay anything and do anything to get off this island.    (I can interpret this - the money reference is the fact that this cancer thing is costing a fortune and the older people thing I think relates to the fact that with a couple of exceptions, when I have my chemo I am the youngest person in the oncology suite by at least 15 years.   And I would be lying if I said I didn't feel trapped, if not by the diagnosis then definitely by the endless treatment.)

(my mother's herb pots.  And she didn't need Martha Stewart to tell her to do it this way).

And so it is that I don't want anything to remind me of this time. When it is all over I don't want to listen to a song and think 'Oh yes that is what I listened to when I was having chemo'.   Kind of doesn't have the same nostalgic ring to it as 'Oh yes that was the song I listened to a lot when I first fell in love'.    Which means that I have stayed away from music largely except classical.  

And equally, with books, I don't want to think 'Oh that is the book I read when I was in hospital', or 'that is the book I used to read whilst waiting in the oncology suite'.  So I am reading books I have read before, or books which involve such a sheer form of escapism I will never remember them.    More on those another time.  

(last year's daphne.  This year's lot is just coming into bud.)

It surprises me that some friends of mine who have been through cancer and chemotherapy can't remember the names of the particular chemo they had.  The detail obsessive in me thinks 'how can they possibly not remember something that important?'. But then I realise that they have forced it out of their mind.  They don't want to remember.  They don't want that recall.  

I can't blank out my recall.  And in the typical manner of a lawyer, I need to read as much as I can about new experiences.   I have already mentioned that the Internet can be dangerous.   And books too.  But I have done a bit of cancer book reading. Some has been upsetting, some badly written, others moving beyond words.  I am a bit picky with my cancer books.  Any book that recommends that I 'find my special place' and 'sit there quietly'  gets thrown across the room pretty quick smart. 

Here are the three of the best  writings which I have dipped into whilst on Cancer Island.   And you may say: how are they relevant to me? But I say - they are all well written, and -  ultimately -  about life, not death.  Because that is what these experiences do teach us - to respect and value life and not to worry about its end. 

I cannot recommend this book highly enough. My oncologist suggested it to me, as he worked at the Royal Marsden in London when John Diamond was being treated there.  Believe it or not, on Cancer Island there are good cancers and bad cancers.   I think John Diamond had a bad one: throat cancer which had spread to his tongue and lymph nodes.    

John Diamond was a journalist and broadcaster, perhaps better known for being married to Nigella Lawson.   His 'cancer journey' was pretty horrendous from start to finish but he kept his perspective, and writes so clearly about  his experience that it moved me deeply.   

Diamond (like me) hated being described as fighting a 'battle' or being 'brave' and writes of his desire to whinge, moan and just give up. He also writes hilariously of the policy of 'partial disclosure' most oncologists follow, meaning that they just give you enough information progressively to be going on with, not the whole box and dice (because that would be just too overwhelming). 

This book only peripherally touches on cancer in one chapter when it looks at the 'positive thinking' mantra which plagues so many with serious illness (as in, if you think positive you will be cured, when in fact that has not been proved to be the case) but otherwise reviews the history of positive thinking in the US and forensically dissects the downside of such an approach.   I am all for being optimistic but to me the idea that thinking positively can bring me money, fame or good health for ever is ludicrous.   She also writes scathingly of the infantilisation of breast cancer, and in reference to the teddy bear she was given as part of a support group care package asks if men with prostate cancer are given Matchbox toy cars? 

And finally, I have been avidly reading this man's series of articles published by Vanity Fair:

Like or loathe Christopher Hitchens you would not wish Stage IV oesophagal cancer on your worst enemy.  And he has finally lost his voice, and writes brilliantly and movingly of the pain this causes him, and the importance of being able to voice one's thoughts here. 

I read just a day or so ago that Hitchens has won an award for his cancer writings.  Very well deserved.  I so feel for him.  





Weird chemo side effect no 467:  bye bye big toe nails, baby bye bye.  Yes it's true. I can cope with this I think as I lost one when I dropped a tray on my toe on New Year's Day 2000.   But I wasn't expecting it. Isn't life unpredictable? 

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No Lucite or Nigella just Chemo

I am definitely not turning this blog into a Cancer Blog.  If I was going to do that then I would post every day and make a book out of it, like this lady (thanks for the tip Lou I have now read her book and 'enjoyed' it, if that is a word that one can use given the subject matter!).   But I don't feel the need to document every single up \ down, needle in\ out, drugs-Chinese herbs-homeopathic remedies taken \ swallowed.   

Having said that, this blog is about both stuff I like and stuff that happens to me, and BC is certainly part of the latter . And it is sure taking up quite a lot of time at the moment. 

I have had quite a few questions about it so I thought it might be interesting to explain chemotherapy and how it works for me.    To make it more palatable I have interspersed some current garden and around the house pictures.  (Every garden in Melbourne is lush and verdant at the moment. This has been the wettest and coldest summer ever, with almost half our yearly rainfall in three months.   Good for the plants, and great for our water storage).  

We planted lavender here to fill up a dead spot in the front garden and it is thriving

As someone has said to me, chemotherapy is like using a tank to kill an ant.  For me, it is overkill in every sense of the word because no further cancer has been found in me.  There may however be microscopic rogue cells floating around which are too small to detect, and that is what the chemotherapy nukes.  And as far as I am concerned, the stronger and the more powerful the chemo, the better.  And that was my specific request to the oncologist. I keep asking him if the chemo is strong enough.  He just laughs and says 'yes'.

This is the smallest of our three grass trees - again these are doing well. Note they are in a built up hill, which lowers the risk of them developing a dislike for the soil environment

Here are four  things about chemo I have learned in my crash course :

1. Contrary to many people's opinions, the chemo chemicals do not 'build up' in your system over months, making the symptoms worse and worse.  In fact, the chemo itself is gone from your system in the first few days.  What lingers are the side effects which are caused by those chemicals.  These may lengthen a bit.  The other old wives tale is that 'it gets worse'.  In most cases, it doesn't get worse.  In fact the first chemo can be the worst because one is so nervous about it.  

2. Everyone's chemo experience is different. I think pregnancy is a good analogy.  We all know people who had the worst pregnancy ever - constant vomiting or nausea or reflux or insomnia etc.  Sometimes that pain is real, other times one person will feel the same pain so much more strongly than another.   I believe childbirth and raising children give one a resilience and strength which we don't even know we have until we need to call on it.  I for one have always suspected I have a reasonably high pain threshold.  I say this because breaking my big toe 10 years ago was more painful than two drug free labours.   So whilst talking to others is useful in a general sense you have to bear in mind that they may be bedridden whilst you may be feeling off but able to be up and about.   To repeat: everyone is different.  

3.   Never ever ever read the Internet.  A lot of the information out there is from the US and UK where the treatment protocols are different.   Also, there are many posts on side effects felt by people.  This can be very scary.  See 2 above.    So now my first phase of chemo is going okay I have something new to worry about - the second round (Taxol) which according to many American women can give wrenching bone aches.   But really, I am me, and they are them.  It shouldn't really be relevant to me if Ann from Annapolis in Maryland has a terrible time with her chemo.  I may not have the same experience.  

4. Forget your memory of the uncle who did chemo 15 years ago and spent 7 months vomiting.  The nurses have explained to me that whilst the chemo drugs are largely the same from that time, what has changed is management of the side effects and the effectiveness of the anti-nausea drugs.  10 years ago my hospital would have to admit many people two days after chemo suffering from dehydration and mouth ulcers.  They now tell you to drink at least 2 litres of water the day of chemo and following and the admission rate is much much lower. 

These are those autumn coloured hydrangeas.  I would prefer the blue and white but these are looking pretty good at the moment. 

So, to the chemotherapy itself.   I do this at an oncology suite in my hospital in East Melbourne. It is a large sunny room with padded recliner style armchairs arranged around the wall.  There is a waiting area, where you check in and wait to be called through for a blood test and to take your anti nausea pill no 1.   The blood test checks for white blood cell count. If it is too low, you cannot do chemo that day.   If it is at an okay level, chemo can proceed. 

I am doing 'dose dense' chemo which means I have chemo every two weeks instead of three or four weeks.  Not because I am in any kind of hurry but this has had good results on 'young' people like me in New York and other locations, and it means the first phase is done and dusted in 8 weeks. 

the maple tree leaves are very multiplicitous this year.

The only way my body can take the dose timing is for me to have an injection of something called Neulastin every two weeks.  This amazing drug gets into your bone marrow and builds up your white blood cell count.   This does cause bone aches but I haven't found them to be that bad so far. 

There are two interesting aspects to this injection.  First, I decided to do it myself (as it has to be done the day after chemo and I couldn't be bothered going back to a hospital or to a local doctor).  I thought it would be a good skill to learn.  You have to inject it into your stomach (into a little pinch of fat - OF COURSE that was hard for me to find!).  If you are diabetic or have done IVF, none of this will be new to you.  Not such a big deal really.    

The second aspect worth mentioning is the cost of this injection.   This is the first and last time you will ever see a price tag here:

Yes, you read it correctly.   $1971, not $19.71.   I believe the price might come down if it was more widely able to be used by cancer patients - the PBS is covering mine but (this is for anyone of influence in the Federal Government who may be reading) it should be automatically available to all who want it without having to wait.   

(As an aside, my second chemo session started with a bang. Just outside the hospital I managed to drive straight through a red light in front of 3 manned police cars.   I slowed down waiting for them to catch me and fine me.  My mother said 'Okay - I will burst into tears and you tell them you are having  chemo'.  But they either didn't see me or didn't care so I missed perhaps my best Cancer Excuse Opportunity so far.)

Once you are cleared in blood count terms, you pick a lovely armchair and they hook you up to an IV with saline and anti nausea drugs no 2. And then they drip drip drip the chemo into you. The first, Andramyacin is bright red.  This is the bad stuff.  The nurse has to stand over you whilst it is going in to make sure it is going into the vein and not the surrounding tissue.  

Then comes Cyclophosphamide, which takes a bit longer as the bag is bigger.  

All up, done in two to three hours. I spend my time talking to whoever has come with me, or reading my Kindle, or looking (not too obtrusively I hope) at the others around me, trying to imagine their lives and what they did and thought about and loved before this happened to them.  

It goes without saying that cancer does not play favourites.  A wide range of people are here - the burly tattooed man who sits quietly with his aged mother, the elegant silver haired cashmere wearing lady, men sitting with their wives, doing the crossword or staring wordlessly into space, a young girl who appeared one week with her tiny baby and husband, looking tired and drawn (the next time I saw her she looked fantastic), youngish and older men, in suits and shorts, and women in suits, wigs, scarves, high heels, trainers and everything in between.  On Monday a women receiving chemo mentioned that her husband had lymphoma.  I thought: how much bad luck can one person have?

Aren't these beautiful?  I bought them this morning and instead of the usual round bowl thought I would use a tall vase.  

Having said all that, it is not a depressing place.  The nurses are incredible, and laugh and joke but are always super professional.  Almost all the other patients look completely normal and healthy, like me.  

Then come the side effects.  For me they have been mostly just nausea and towards the end of the week, tiredness. I fall asleep on the couch at 8.30 pm, and am going to bed early.   Not sleeping that well but that is another matter.   And I seem to have become a bit anaemic this week so I am eating lots of red meat and beetroot and dried peaches. Oh and my hair of course is still falling out.   Not planning to mention that again.  

This fireplace is still looking a bit too zen - one day that large gilt mirror will appear from the sky, I hope

It is not unbearable, have to go to bed pain.   For me, it is manageable pain, which definitely fades if you are distracted.   And of course there are so many anti-nausea pills and other things to take. I have gone from being someone who, in deference to my Scottish Protestant heritage,  never even took a Panadol for a headache,  to popping literally dozens of different pills a week, sometimes, because of the homeopathic stuff, it is more than 15 per day!  

My biggest fear, as a lawyer, was what is called 'chemo brain'.  I was told that this can last for months and months and the thought of having difficulty processing my thoughts was quite horrifying.   Whilst I have had some fogginess, it seems to come and go.  It is a bit reminiscent of a red wine hangover, without the headache and the memory of a fun time the night before.  At this stage, to my great relief, this part of it does not seem to be permanent. 

Current bedside reading, many half finished alas.  I am looking forward to the Amy Chua book about Chinese mothers. I would like to be a Chinese mother in some ways. 

I do hope this has demystified some of the chemo fables.  I was quite terrified going into this treatment stage, and for any of you unfortunate enough to do it too,  it will hopefully not be as bad as your imagination might make out. 


xoxo

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A Fuchsia Pinata Party

If I could have conveniently timed my babies I would not have had one at the end of November (too close to Christmas) and end of March (bad timing in terms of school start resulting in him repeating 3 year old kindergarten).  But of course you can't plan these things.  At least I couldn't.   And for me the Christmas season can't really start until we get my daughter's birthday done and dusted.    I thought it would be pretty straightforward to do her 8th birthday party at home this year. 

I didn't count on having the flu at the same time.  Which made everything take 10 times longer to organise.  And whilst I usually forget something critical (like the date on the invitations or buying lemonade) this year it went off without a hitch. 

A tip if you are planning a party at home: don't.  Seriously, this is what I have learned over years of these events.    You can read and then make an informed decision!

(I am getting good use out of my pink tablecloth. 

This is the one I used for my Family Argument Lunch a few weeks back.)

First off, the games.  

Rule no 1: a game you spend ages preparing for takes 5 minutes to happen. Blink and it is over.   Even if you stretch out the pass the parcel to Lady Gaga for as long as you can, it still only takes 7 minutes.   Simple arithmetic tells you that if you have an hour to fill in, that is a LOT of party games (although technically musical statues and musical bobs are two different games, aren't they?)   This means that you need some activity which  takes up lots of time.  See Rule no 5 below. 

Rule no 2: every one's a winner.   So in pass the parcel, which in my youth was fiercely competitive because there was only one prize, is now a bit of yawn because there is a gift in every layer.

Rule no 3: 8 is a hard age.  They are not little girls and not into fairies and glitter.  But they are too young still for many types of parties.  Still, a couple of the guests turned down the offer of a balloon on departure.  Too  childish, I guess.  

Rule no 4: treasure hunts take 3 minutes and consist of Lord of the Flies style carnivorous screeching around the house looking for the little hidden packages.  See rule 1 above.  I think my treasure maps took maybe 20 times longer to make than the game took...

Rule no 5: everyone loves a game which involves bashing something half to death with a stick.  In this case, a flower shaped pinata.  These girls must have some stress going on in their lives, because the pleasure they took in beating this thing to a pulp was a sight to see.  Even when all the lollies inside had spilled out, they kept hitting and hitting until it was in tiny pieces.

(I strung up leaves and lamps from the maple trees. This is also where the pinata massacre occurred)

Now to the all important food.

Rule no 1: the food you have proudly taken ages to prepare will be of least interest to the party goers.  This year my meringues went weird (I blame the humidity) so I crushed them, mixed with strawberries and cream and made mini Eton Messes in shot glasses. They were amazing.  And no one ate them. 

Rule no 2:  simple and sugary is best.    Caramel popcorn (see above image) is universally loved.  And at the other end of the spectrum, chopped up watermelon is always gobbled up. 

Rule no 3: don't bother with the elaborate cake.  In my time I have made a Miffy, a giant cupcake, an echidna, an Ariel mermaid on a sea bed and a dinosaur.   This year I went round and simple (from Feast by Nigella Lawson).

Rule no 4: there is always one girl who complains there is not enough food and another one who eats nothing at all. 

Rule no 5:  serve frankfurters.  I know that these are barely food but how they love them. 

Finally.... have the party in the late afternoon so you can pass out conveniently when it finishes without having to get through the rest of the day.....

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Spring Quiet

Finally, on Sunday, 3 weeks into spring,  we had an actual spring day.   

We spent time in the garden, splashing in the water, and admiring the blossoms on the pear trees and the Japanese maples which are slowly coming into leaf.   We have planted a dogwood to replace a tree which was not thriving, and we pulled out our previously happy grapefruit tree which just dropped dead, as only trees can, a couple of weeks ago. 

I don't know about you, but I feel that this  has been a winter too long.  And I don't even like the hot weather but this year, I am really ready for it.  And I am so ready for spring and all that  entails: peas, lamb, beans, silky green things, lots of linen, salads and outdoor spaces which will help me shelter 'most shadily'.

(cover of the September 2010 edition of my favourite food magazine, New Zealand Cuisine.  You may feel the lamb butterfly is a bit too much but I love it)

Gone were but the Winter,

Come were but the Spring,

I would go to a covert

Where the birds sing.

 (Imogen riding her too small bike - she is too frightened of her 'big bike')

Where in the whitethom

Singeth a thrush,

And a robin sings

In the holly-bush.

(my out of control parsley - what can I do with it?  Parsley soup? Tabbouleh?)

Full of fresh scents

Are the budding boughs

Arching high over

A cool green house:

(my summer aim - create a cool outdoor space) 

Full of sweet scents,

And whispering air

Which sayeth softly:

'We spread no snare;

(another planned project - a gallery wall, no matter how ubiquitous they are, I love them done well)

'Here dwell in safety,

Here dwell alone,

With a clear stream

And a mossy stone.

(and a final project - to get around to doing some big pots of lavender and rosemary)

'Here the sun shineth

Most shadily;

Here is heard an echo

Of the far sea,

Though far off it be.

by Christina Rossetti (1847)

(a pear tree in blossom)

(Images (1)(2)(3)(7) Jane (4)(5)(6) Skona Hem) 

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Camellias for all Hairdressers

One of the best things about living in a 100 year old house is the garden which comes with it.

We have 9 camellia trees, of varying sizes and shapes.  They have struggled mightily over the last few years - not enough water, too much sun, a 48 degree day which burnt their leaves off in 2009 and so on. 

But this year they have come good.   And are thriving.

These camellias come from the tree outside our study:

Here is one I cruelly picked before it had a chance to properly open:

When I took botanical illustration classes 5 years ago, camellias were the flower I turned to first:

You may be wondering what any of this has to do with hairdressers.  

Well, a few months ago my hairdresser noticed something not quite right on my scalp.  She scolded me and said I must go to the doctor.  It was a basal cell carcinoma, and a little operation a few weeks ago and 10 staples in my head later, it is all pretty much gone (we hope).   

You may say - of course she should have mentioned that.  But I think that many people wouldn't bother.  And she did and I am grateful.     And it happens that I have a history of skin cancer in my family so I do need to pay attention to such matters.   

I have not actually sunbaked since I was 15.  But these things do keep appearing on my pale surface.    It is a real issue in Australia.   The sun is just so strong, and it penetrates you like the heat from an oven.    And leaving aside the health risk, growing up in Australia in the 1970s with white skin was not that easy.   No one knew of the dangers of the sun.  It was quite normal to spend the day on the beach and burn one's skin to a crisp and watch it then blister and peel.  And there was no proper fake tan (remember Sudden Tan, which came in a foam tin and made your skin go orange) and lots of taunts from school friends newly returned, honey coloured, from Noosa.  Now of course we have Cate Blanchett and others to admire.  Then, one had to really turn the other cheek.   

So, for bothering, Gloria, thank you.   

And I must mention an upside of  my paleness.  Not as many wrinkles as I would otherwise have.   At least that is what I tell myself.   And whilst I don't go as far as Nicole Kidman who apparently 'wears a hat to cross the street'* (oh right so that's why her skin is so perfect), go to Little Augury here to see in art and photos how wonderful a parasol can look. 

Happy winter sunny weekend to you all. 




* this is what Naomi Watts, her friend, once said in an interview.  

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Winter in Melbourne - Quinces quick or slow

These are the leaves of our maple trees - yellow, orange, red and burgundy.  Or brown and dead where they have fallen.  The kitten loves watching them fall and chases them endlessly.  He just does not understand why they keep falling.

Quinces are in season, and look at their yellow nubbliness.  Truly a fruit only a mother could love.   They are usually used for making something grandmotherly like paste or jam but they are wonderful stewed and poached. 

Perfect on a cold winters morning with Greek yoghurt (the sourer the better, I can't stand sweet yoghurt any more it makes me feel physically ill) and meusli.

Who first thought of eating these, I wonder?  They taste terrible uncooked. 
The first way produces quinces which are pale and caramelised.

Method

Peel and quarter two quinces and two cooking pears (like Beurre Bosc).

Barely cover with a sugar syrup made by boiling two parts water to one part sugar.  

Bake in the oven at about 180 for an hour or so. I forgot about these, and they became tender with crisp sugary edges. Most of the liquid dried up, so I don't necessarily recommend the 'I forgot' method but I think they turned out well. 

And here they are at breakfast time. 

The next method produces rich winey (not in a complaining way) quinces.

Method

Peel and quarter three quinces.  Do not core.

Place in a put with the peelings, about half a cup of red wine, a quarter cup of caster sugar, a cinamon stick, two cloves and a splash of orange juice.  

Bring the boil and cook until tender.  Quinces vary dramatically.  Check with a sharp knife before cooling in the sticky liquid. 

Eat with vanilla icecream.  

Here they are after an hour or so of gentle simmering. I even found a matching bowl with quince coloured edging.  

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