A Lot Of Money For Honey

Exactly three years ago I had a lobectomy after finding out I had carcinoid cancer, so today has been a bit of an emotional mixed bag.

Mainly elation that I'm alive, to be honest, but also a little disappointment that I still don't feel back to my bouncy old self.

I'm still not at my best in the morning, although those who know me well have never felt I was great first thing and have tended to steer clear until I've inhaled a few cups of coffee. I still seem to pick up whatever germ / virus / cold / lurgy is doing the rounds and at the start of the year even managed to get pleurisy, which sounds like something I picked up in the Debtor's Prison and hid under my petticoats. And, I'm still struggling to get my exercise programme up and running (just picking up my trainers and looking at them doesn't count).

So, in a bid to boost my health and get myself fit, fun and feeling fab I've started with the basics - vitamins and feel good supplements. This has, so far, meant the purchasing of Echinacea (to clear the latest lurgy), Cod Liver Oil (no creaky joints here), Berocca (if it's good enough for the dancers on Strictly) and Manuka Honey (how much?!).

I can appreciate how hard those little bees are working to provide me with a jar of antibacterial wonder-stuff but at just over £15 a jar, I'm expecting it to contain properties that will make me look like I've had a full face and body lift, and give me enough energy to leave Lance Armstrong trailing in my wake.

(P.S. - a big thank you to my other half for paying for the Manuka Honey after I fainted on seeing the price, although I felt that dragging me from Waitrose by the ankle back to the car was a little excessive)

One In A Million!

I mentioned in my last entry that I hadn’t taken part in the Great Gazebo Drag of 2009 and that I’d get round to mentioning the reason for that, so here goes...

I’d always thought that if someone told me I was ‘One in a Million’ I’d walk around all day with a great feeling and a big smile on my face, but last year I was told just that and I can tell you, the last thing I felt like doing was smiling.

You see, around one in a million people get a carcinoid tumour in their lung and I had just been told that I was that one. Nestled in my right lung was a tumour about the size of a squash ball.

My Dad had died at the age of 39 from cancer, and here I was at the same age wondering if fate had a very similar end in store for me. I know that might sound a little melodramatic, but fear and the thought of maybe not reaching 40 does that to you.

Just two weeks later, I was coming round from my anaesthetic in the High Dependency Unit of the Royal Jubilee Hospital with half a lung less than I arrived with. The operation is called a lobectomy - friends and family who previously told me I needed a lobotomy to curb my shopaholic tendencies find this hilarious - and I admit I laughed a little myself when the pain eventually started to wear off.

It’s taken me quite a while to get over the operation - I’ve only recently managed to get back to work full time and it’ll be a while yet before I can participate in lugging gazebos around with Mother.

But I have made it to 40 and I don’t intend to stop there.