My beloved Anne was licking me tenderly and constantly. Its a dog thing apparently, they intuitively know when summat is up and try to lick it better. I'd like to think she was trying to tell me something.

2010 BC (before cancer) I was in the car going home over Chelsea bridge when I heard a man on the radio describing how his wife (another graphic designer) was diagnosed with cancer. She had a lump that was descibed as secondary cancer, but they couldn't find the primary cancer. She was 43 and died within 4 months of diagnosis. Primary, secondary, what the hell is that ?

I was seeing the doctor the next day (last visit 22 years earlier) about the 'How to get ahead in Advertising' sized lump on the side of my neck. I had an idea what she might say. 

There weren't any tears, I listened but didn't hear. It was as if I'd broken a nail. I wasn't going to die. My Vincent cried when I wasn't there to hear. 

Turned out it was primary in my lymph glands and secondary in my tonsils. Or was it t'other way 'round now ?- chemo addles your brain.

Anyway I was euphoric, almost born again, (the drugs I imagine). How so, so, lucky was I to have been diagnosed when others may be just walking around without knowing.   

I bought a thick 1 page per day A4 diary to keep a record of events/feelings etc. Day one started with 'Yesterday I was diagnosed with cancer' By the time it got to day three I couldn't be arsed because I was too hyper doing other stuff. 

1 week in the Royal Marsden for a spot of chemo. 2 weeks out. Well that was easy (but boring) - what's all the fuss about.

Another week in RM on the chemo. Not so easy this time, although I don't think I'd been 11st since I was about seven. So there was something good coming out of this.

Then I felt really ill, which coincided with radio ga-ga every day for 6 weeks. I also didn't know that confined spaces gave me panic attacks until I'd been in that big Breville thing.

Then I was at my worst. I couldn't eat, I was throwing up constantly. Half an aspirin was too big too swallow, no teeth, less hair than usual, mouth ulcers, the wrinkled arms, legs and torso of an 80 yr old on a beach in Spain. I think its what's know as a 'cumulative effect'.       

BC I was about 14 and a half stone now I was 8st 9lbs and lessening. I was readmitted to hospital and put on a drip of liquified Mars bars, Coco pops and M&S millionairs. In spite of this, for a few days when I went to sleep I selfishly didn't care if I never woke up.

About 2 months later after the tenderest care and attention from my beloved V, and Sue coming round with New York style Jewish chicken soup (only it was leek and taytie) I was feeling well enough to have the tubor removed from my tonsils, the disease hadn't gone to my lungs and it had successfully been zapped from my neck.

I looked a right old codger with my walking stick, stopping for breath every 3 paces and planning life around the needs of my bladder. Anyway, WE did it.

This is the Gwynnie Oscar bit coming up zzz......

I couldn't have done any of this without St Vincent and all of yuse lot out there, you know who you are. Every single visit, phone call, posies from Oz, card, text, email, prayers, crotcheted blanket, (porno mags from Sweetpea, Julian and Phil)  etc (I'm filling up now) really did mean so very very much to me. At one point there were so many flah's in our (funeral) parlour here I thought I might've passed over.

My darling Anne didn't live long enough to get another walk with me but she is definately reincarnated in Janice.

I'm boring myself now. So now that you've all helped so much I'm going to ask you for even more !

Dosh please. Its for an extremely good cause, and they need all you can afford to give.

Lots and lots of gloves, Rx

PS I hope those that come to see me finish(ed) bring a respirator and plenty of M&S millionaires- forget the Lucozade.

For Angie and Len R.I.P. 

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