I'm loving being at home. It's peaceful here and Matt's mum, Lyn has been keeping me company. She and Derek have gone to Pompey this weekend to help Em and Steve move (they've had a stressful time of it too). We've had a lovely quiet few days - I've caught up on Strictly Come Dancing (sequins! yay!) and we've put the world to rights. I'm so lucky with such supportive parents and in-laws!

As far as my brain being fried with daytime TV - it is already fried with the amount of drugs I'm taking. I need them for the pain but they make me feel weird and floaty and I can't think straight. In a way it's probably just as well as one of our cats, Blue is still missing and without the sedation I'd be distraught. As it is I find it hard to do anything other than sit and dribble at the moment!

Hospital was weird - I find it hard to deal with the lack of privacy. I know it's odd given I'm quite open about things but when you're dealing with other people's sounds and smells so openly (like commodes by beds) it's deeply unpleasant. Not their fault by any means just strange.

I really kept to my own ward but I did meet some amazing women. One girl had an ovarian cyst - and had been palmed off by the doctors who said that she was just gaining weight and stuff. Eventually she had a scan and it was diagnosed. There was so much fluid in there that you could hear it slosh. It was removed on Monday and weighed 17 pounds.

What was good about hospital was that we were all in there for the same reason - to try and get well. It didn't matter what stage the cancer was at or what the treatment was, we all had the same goal, and some hope. We all suffered pain and embarrassment and indignity. On Tuesday I cried all day - everything had hit me. It was the first time I'd done that and I needed it. No one said anything like "keep your chin up" or anything - they just understood that it was part of the process. We also found things to laugh about - like when I was so delighted at having my bladder catheter out that the whole ward (if not floor) heard me yell "Thank you!". Or when I had my other catheter removed and there was still a stitch left inside me and the doctors turned up with a huge torch to stry and locate it. You have to see the funny side when you have your legs splayed and a torch shining at you.

I know that recovery will take a while but am rather proud with my progress so far - apparently I have a high pain threshold because everyone was astounded at how little morphine I self administered. I think years of dancing and putting myself throught that sort of pain paid off in the most unexpected way!

Thank you to those of you that have sent cards/emails/blog comments flowers/magazines/books/visited. It really has been appreciated. Matt's printed out things and showed them to me when I was in hospital.

Finally a message for Fools (stop reading if you are not a member of TMF). I think many of you have realised that I'm not posting there any more, and neither is Matt. The events before my operation were extremely hurtful especially as we felt unable to express our side of the story due to pulled posts etc. I don't want to be be exposed to the toxins there right now. Many many of you have been wonderful and supportive and I thank you, but I was shocked at being accused of being attention seeeking and everything else that I had dished out at me. I was also shocked at the rather obvious lack of support from some in the community. I know that things like that are trivial in the bigger picture but for me the Fool has been a big part of my life (after all I wouldn't have met Matt or made some fantastic friends otherwise) and I felt very let down. It's time for me to focus on the people that genuinely care about me and I'll keep in touch with y'all off board. Hugs Z xxxx

So I'm home and shouldn't really be posting, but thought I'd say thanks for all your messages and love and good vibes. I feel like a portion of cod - battered. But on the whole I'm pretty good. Being in hospital reminded me that however bad it is there's always someone worse off than you - I'll tell some stories when more up to it.

But I have to say, being at home is wonderful - my own bed and smells and the right amount of quiet. Am going to end up being one of those old ladies (all being well) that refuses to go to hospital.

And I really do have wonderful friends. And I really really did marry a wonderful man. I knew I had good taste, but who was to know just how much I'd need him so soon?

Lots of love

Z xxx

In case you’re wondering how she’s doing, you might like to know she’s home tonight. The doctors are amazed at her rapid recovery, so much so that they’ve let her out sooner than anyone thought possible.

Yesterday was not such a great day - I think the events of the past few days finally caught up - but as I write, she’s tucked up in bed and very glad to be home.

I’m afraid that’s just about all I can manage to post, as I’m shattered (again)... Just one final comment - you might like to know that I did find the English ‘Marie Claire’ and took it in to her yesterday!

“Could you pick me up a ‘Marie Claire’ on your way?” was the last thing Zoë said to me when I telephoned her from work this afternoon.

I was back in the office today, or as I prefer to see it; making an extended visit on my way in to see Zoë (in order that we can pay the bills).

I’ve seen enough copies of Marie Claire scattered around the house to know pretty well what they look like; however, I couldn’t see a copy anywhere in the newsagents along with the usual women’s magazines. No problem though - I spotted a copy a little further to the right and purchased it.

Once again Zoë looked much better than yesterday, indeed the number of tubes, machines and attached devices are now at an absolute minimum... Believe me, when I first saw her come out of surgery she had just about everything going - but I spared you the details, as I didn’t want to worry anyone unnecessarily.

Shortly after passing the Marie Claire to her, Zoë had a quick thumb through it then started to laugh. I wasn’t too sure what was so funny, but it amused her immensely... Then it dawned on me - I’d purchased the French edition!

It was great to see her laughing though - perhaps I’ll pick up an English-French dictionary on my way in tomorrow.

Just a quick post to let you all know that the Zoë we saw at the hospital today was looking a whole lot better the one we saw yesterday.

There’s certainly a marked improvement in the 24 hours or so since surgery, and by all accounts the doctors are very pleased with her progress.

More good news then - here’s hoping that trend continues.

Goodnight all!

Talk about a long day! I thought it would never end...

I was in the Marsden shortly after 7am this morning, to be sure I got there in time to meet with the surgeon, and more importantly see Zoë before the surgery.

I’ll spare you the details, because I know you’ll only really interested in one thing, and the good news is that Zoë’s doing fine.

She went down to surgery around 8:45am and came back around 3:45pm (yes, that’s 7 hours pacing - although I freely admit I sat for most of it), and thankfully everything went relatively to plan. ‘Plan A’ that is.

Even better news was that the lymph nodes were clear (actually they had to be for them to go ahead with ‘Plan A’), but that in itself was a great relief - especially as there was one very suspicious looking node showing up on the scans.

When I left tonight Zoë could probably best be described as ‘groggy’ and not especially comfortable, but even in the few hours I spent with her post-op, she was improving noticeably.

All in all then, it’s very good news, but there’s now a bit of a wait for the biopsy results that follow the surgery, and Zoë’s an awful long way from being up and about.

There's a long way to go then, but the news so far is good!

As I said, it was a long day, so excuse the brevity of my post - but I’m shattered.

Another weird week, which included me being accused of being attention seeking. For the record there are other ways of getting attention and I would not wish this on anyone. And certainly could do without the attention. I could also do without toxic people but I guess that it's hard to avoid in life.

Yesterday had the trial MRI - involved a probe in my unspeakables (sorry as open as I am I can't bring myself to be that open on the internet!) which took close up pictures of the tumour which means they can properly get the size. Yhe trial bit was a measurement of the chemical make up - they get a line reading through the scanner apparently. Somehow managed to fall asleep - partly because I've been so exhausted and stressed. They were lovely people and so I did feel at ease although it wasn't the most comfortable thing I've had.

Anyway. I'm off to the hospital today and op tommorrow. Matt will post here when he can. Am feeling rather wobbly about it all - partly because of the surgery and partly because I'm not sure what will happen. It's very hard to prepare for an outcome when you don't know what it will be.

Thanks again for all the lovely comments - they really do help. It's nice to feel so loved.

Hugs

Z xxx

Not much to add because we're back waiting again - the clock's ticking until my op.

But I wanted to thank some wonderful women for their support - from books and dvds to afternoon tea amd MORE chocolate. I also want to thank Sarah and the Hens for such a fab night on saturday night and making me feel so welcome. It was such a good feeling to let my hair down and get dressed up and have a laugh. And laugh we did.

I've included a couple of pictures from that night, including a great one that Sarah took of me with short(er) hair. And yes I am wearing a paper hat from a cracker - Christmas is coming!+

Me with short hair!

The Bride

The Hens

This entry was written before I realized Zoë had already posted today, so there’s quite a lot of repetition in here. Funny though how she can sum it all up in a few short paragraphs, when I seem to go on... And I’m supposed to be the quiet one!

As ardent followers of the blog will know, yesterday we were back in hospital for more tests, and a meeting with the surgeon himself - Mr Ind. (Yes that should be ‘Mister’ and not ‘Doctor’ apparently it distinguishes the surgeons from the doctors.)

We began with an early morning trip to the Royal Brompton hospital where Zoë had to visit the Nuclear Medicine department for an injection of a ‘glow-in-the-dark’ substance that would be used for her bone scan later that day.

Despite this appearing to be a relatively busy department, we were in and out of there in a relatively short space of time, and then off to the Royal Marsden.

Thankfully the Royals (i.e. Brompton and Marsden) are just around the corner from each other, so it was no more than a 10 minute walk between the two. Good news when you consider the relatively tight schedule we were on!

Back in outpatients at the Marsden, after a few minutes waiting, we were ushered into a small room and told Mr Ind would be along to see us shortly. This, now familiar routine (waiting to see someone), is always a little unnerving as you sit there in the clinical surroundings.

Each time it seems to take a little longer for me to come up with some humorous comment about either some strange looking apparatus; the nurse (who yesterday was determined to dissuade us from having a flu-jab, on the basis it all but gave her flu last year); or anything else that springs to mind.

Personally I think I may have peaked when on the last occasion I suggested the device mounted in the room was in fact a periscope used to seek out and destroy Traffic Wardens in the area - but however stupid the suggestion, it matters not what is said if it raises a smile on Zoë’s face.

Mr Ind came in and told us again about the plans for next week's surgery. This was basically a recap of the news we’d been told last week by other members of his team, but this time from the man himself. Despite the repetition, it was good to hear again, as we’re bombarded by so much information every time we visit that it sometimes takes a while to sink in.

The only downside to us seemed that he was a little more sceptical about the likely success of the particular surgery - but in a strange way it’s actually reassuring that he’s open about all possibilities rather than raising expectations too high. At least we’re aware that there’s always a chance ‘Plan B’ will come into play.

After this it was down to the basement to Day Surgery where Zoë had her pre-op examinations. All fairly standard stuff really - height, weight, pulse and blood pressure and then a chat with another doctor.

Next we were off for another x-ray and then there was just enough time for a quick bite to eat in the canteen before heading back to the Brompton where the David Bailey of the Nuclear Medicine team was awaiting Zoë for her close-up.

A busy day then, but we got a lot done in a relatively short space of time. Mr Ind has requested one final test before the surgery; some sort of new MRI scan which she’ll be undertaking as part of a clinical trial. We’ve no problem with that though - the more information the surgeon has the better, it can only be a good thing!

I forgot to mention that in a rather random moment last week I saw the queen. Was just wondering into Kingston minding my own business when I was diverted by police to the other side of the road and suddenly there she was looking like a rather elegant Ribena berry.

Matt and I are still suffering from this cold and so it was rather miserable to have to head up to the hospital for MORE tests. We had to go to the Brompton for my injection and then to the Marsden and then back to the Brompton for my scan.

Saw my surgeon - he's more pessimistic than the other doctor last week as my tumour is quite big but he's keeping an open mind, just preparing us for the worst I think. Have to have ANOTHER scan next week in Sutton - it's part of a trial so not only will it help me, but also hopefully help other people - animal testing, but I'm the animal!

Then I had to be checked over in readiness for my op - not easy with this stinking cold and other things, which made my blood pressure drop to something so low that the nurse commented on it (90 something over 80 something I think).

So we got home absolutely shattered. But something that we have both commented on is how nice it is to have these outings. I have decided that all my singleton friends should consider their future partners with the hospital test. If you know that he/she will come with you and sit quietly and hold your hand and not worry if you don't want to talk for hours on end, or will make you laugh when you need it then they are the one. If you can't see that happening. Forget it. Harsh but fair.

You probably don't know this, but when I'm writing these posts I generally have at least one cat in the room. Either just being a cat somewhere, or on my lap, or standing on the desk, or on the keyboard. They are being very cute and protective of me at the moment.

So I've added some random cuteness because everyone needs to look at kittens once in a while (except Col, who can keep his thoughts to himself!!). These are Blue and Berry before we adopted them. I'll post some current ones at another time!

Berry posing as ever

Meeting Blue

On top of everything Matt and I have very bad colds so are feeling v. sorry for ourselves and rather soggy. It never rains... But we had a lovely evening on Friday going to our local bonfire night and watching the fireworks, though somewhat ironically no bonfire.

Anyway we had news of all my tests on Thursday and the news is not bad - it looks like even though my cancer is stage 2 rather than 1b as first thought, I may still be in with the possibility of a thracheletomy rather than a radical hysterectomy (in other words fertility saving).

It's pretty amazing because this is very new surgery and very few women are eligible for it, but because I'm "young" for cervical cancer, and the cancer although invasive is contained, I'm one of the lucky ones. Also it's not available in many places in the world and often people fly to the UK for it so I guess location, location, location plays a bit part in it.

HOWEVER it's worth bearing in mind that although things are positive, they won't know for sure until they open me up, plus they are a little worried that one of my lymph nodes is swollen so these will be removed and tested. If it's cancerous it's out with the surgery and in with the chemo.

So we've moved a step forward, although it is a small one. Surgery now on 18 November rather than the 11th, as there is some sort of conference next week and they wanted all the surgeons to be around.

I am also having a bone scan on Tuesday - I have had some discomfort with my coccyx and so we agreed that it was a good idea to be a bit radioactive for a day just to double check. Of course it could be anything but a certain amount of paranoia kicks in.

I've finished work for a while - it was becoming too stressful for various reasons and Matt put his foot down when I was a wreck last week (as a mild mannered chap when he does put his foot down I tend to listen!). So I will probably need to have 2 or so months off as this surgery, even though not as radical as a hysterectomy, us that it effects your whole core so recovery is slow. Though I believe that the Royal Marsden physios are rather scary and they will have me moving asap. I'm glad of this - I don't want to be sitting around for two months and hope that I will be able to move around a bit. Apparently pottering is ok, but housework not!

I also wanted to add that I don't see myself as brave, I don't feel it really. You just have to get on with things the best you can. I'm grateful for all the love and support that I'm getting (though still not convinced about cabbage juice!) from friends and family, and from work. The other thing is, all the books that you read are about breast cancer and other types of cancer. On the whole most of the websites for cervical cancer are very dry and medical and you don't hear much about other women's experiences in terms of surgery (most women I know have had less radical treatment). So my hope is that eventually this will be useful to other women who might find themselves in my shoes. I had found a website called Hyster Sisters (only in America!) which is for women who have had hysterectomies and I found it very positive and informative - though I feel a bit of a fraud now!

As Ann said, with cancer there are a lot of silver linings. I guess that I am a secret Pollyanna - I'm not very good at feeling sorry for myself all the time (though with this cold it's easier) and she's right, there are lots of silver linings to be found. The fact is that this experience is in some ways life affirming - the good is very good and the bad is awful, but a lot comes into focus - I'm afraid I'm not very patient with people who are negative about the smallest things at the moment!

I've learnt three things this week.

1. My coping mechanism is grinding to a halt. I'm finding it really hard to put up with work cr@p and the epic battle known as commuting. I don't have the energy to keep acting as if everything is fine.

2. I have developed cancer "tourettes". When people ask me how I am I just can't say "fine thank you". Before I know it I've said "well actually I have cancer". It's involuntary and then I feel awful that I've said it.

3. People are evil. Tired of people posting utter bollox as comments to my thread I have changed it so that only registered users can comment now. I figure if people don't want to be open about who they are then tough. I'm baring my soul here.

I had my CT scan yesterday. Results in clinic with Mr Ind tomorrow.

Discovered that Butler and Wilson have a shop near the hospital so bought some earrings - and yes I spent money on something frivolous. But hey, sometimes a girl needs cheering up.

And in response to Nancy's comment I have set up an Amazon wishlist - mainly rather camp DVDs (well if I'm going to be flat out I may as well catch up on show tunes) and lots of silly books I loved as a girl.

I'm not going to apologise to anyone for writing this blog. For me it's a way of keeping people aware of what's happening to me without having to phone lots of people or sending emails. I go through lots of different emotions and feelings and to be honest even with this medium it's hard to explain just how I feel at any given moment.

I also am aware that it's very public and that people who are not really interested in how I'm doing are going to read it and make comments and that's fine. Personally I think that demonstrates their own inadequacies if they need to be nasty. I'm also rather aware that perhaps I'm more sensitive about certain things than normal, and I can't explain it except to say that the only people who really truely understand all of this are the people who have sat in a doctor's surgery and heard the words "you have cancer".

It's like being punched and the next moments are like watching television with the sound turned off, in slow motion. It's hard for Matt because he's dealing with the pain of me going through it all, and is also watching me go through it all and I know that he feels helpless. And he also has to deal with me feeling angry or grumpy or unwell or sad and me not being able to express why I'm feeling that way at that moment.

I'd like to recommend a book that I bought the other day - I think it should be required reading for anyone who might ever know someone with cancer. It's written by Deborah Hutton and is called "What can I do to help?" And explains basically practical things that people can do or say that really help. It also explains gently why somethings that are said don't help, even if the person saying them means well.

I'd also like to say to the people who are reading this who care about me - please feel free to add comments. And also remember that just knowing you are there and hearing from you is really helpful, as long as you understand that I might not respond to all your letters and emails. Just know that your love is really appreciated. It may be that we ask you to do other practical things after I've had surgery and am stuck at home recovering.

Z xx

I had acupuncture on Monday and am feeling rather "zen" at the moment. Joss let me have his appointment which was great as the acupunctureist is so popular that there is a waiting list to see him. He's a vietnamese doctor who used to be a surgeon at Kingston Hospital of all places.

He works like a doctor rather than, so apart from the many buddhas that he has around the practice, it's very pragmatic and not at all "alternative". I was glad for that as whale music and incense tend to make me a little anxious (can deal with incense on it's own but not in combination with the whale music and crystals and such).

He said, rather bluntly "You have hysterectomy. You have keeds, you die. You have hysterectomy and adopt, you leeve." Strangely I was comforted by this honest and down to earth approach.

Acupuncture is not about having needles poked into you painfully, but they sit on top of your skin so you don't notice them and if you do it's more of a case of a slight tingle. I had needles to relax, energise, strengthen me, to stimulate circualtion and sort out my kidneys. Oh and to clear the spots.

He checked my pulse and once he was satisfied with it let me doze for a while. Afterwards I felt a bit lightheaded and as if I'd had a good night's sleep. Am going back next week to be prepared for surgery.

Last night Matt and I talked about everything and at least I know that we both are prepared for the worst and ready (or at least as ready as we can be) to face things together.

On more domestic matters I spent some of our wedding gift vouchers from Graham & Green on a pouffe so that when I'm home I can sit on the sofa comfortably (sadly my feet don't touch the floor when I'm sat back on it).

I'd also like to ask people to please give money to the aid appeal for Pakistan - there are people dying there and governments are not paying their share - please help and save some lives. I'm adding the link to the Disasters Emergency Committee. SO next time you feel the urge to buy hair straighteners or other such items remember that there are people who have lost their homes.

I woke up today to discover that I am covered in red, itchy spots. Now is not a great time to discover that I am allergic to penicillin. Ho hum. Have antihistamine and things to keep the itching at bay.

It's been a stressful week what with various things at work and not knowing what was happening - compounded by the surgeon's PA having less than adequate bedside manners. All sorted out thanks to Nichola who is lovely and really helpful. She apologised for the confusion and I now know when and where I need to be - a scan on 1 November, clinic with the surgeon on 3 November and admission to hospital on 10 November. At clinic we'll find out the results of the tests and know what they will need to do - am not looking forward to that at all, but at least then we'll know what we're dealing with.

But there have been some highlights to this week, all my friends who have called and emailed and met me (you know who you are) and made me laugh and talked about normal things, and the pixies who posted chocolate through my door and other pixies who are sending me things from the US. A random bottle of raspberry vodka. It all helps a lot.

We had dinner with Lawtie and Cliff and Faith and went to Rules. We introduced the Americans to British game birds (wild duck and grouse) and hot sticky puddings. It was a lovely evening - lots of laughs and good conversation, an amusing waiter and some random fellow diners celebrating Trafalgar. I'd forgotten how much I like Rules - you get the tourists like the table of Japanese men eating oysters, and stuffy old English men, and young bloods in stripy shirts and clipped vowels, and botox blondes, and English eccentrics and the obligatory table of dandys. It's the oldest restaurant in London and really despite a few modern conveniences has not changed much in terms of atmosphere and clientele.

I've had my hair cut to a bob, figuring if it's ok for Sienna and Paris it's ok for me. Though admittedly mine's not a breakup cut, more a cancer cut. It's going to be much easier to handle in the hospital. Didn't get my highlights done as while it's unlikely I'll have chemo, I'm not paying £100 for it all to fall out (which would be just my luck) . But I'm pleased with the cut, even if I did have to tell the hairdresser that I was covered in spots and not infectious.