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Monday 30th January

Macaroons and races to the finish line.

01:48am - "...According to Bank Policy we have to inform you that we have rebooted your server and require you to check out your applications"
"Umm no, not at 2am on a Monday morning chum"
"But you have to.."
"No I don't, good bye" <click>
05:30am - "...Due to a memory problem, we have had to reboot your server again, if you could just send us an email.."
"Not a chance, you're going to have to take my word for it, I am not logging on just to send you an email"
"And what about the rest of these applications..."
"Well just as well I didn't waste my time logging on earlier then wasn't it, I wish you the best of luck, please don't phone me again as I am not in work today..." <click>

Spring is approaching in London and it seems that all the arseholes are racing the flowers to be the first to appear in the New Year. Our less than favourite tube trip into Harley street was made more difficult this morning by a suited moron, who quiet frankly was old enough to know better. This dude spent the entire journey leaning against the only free pole on the carriage. I did the appropriate thing and asked him if he could reorganise his posture so that Tash could hold on to the pole so as not to be catapulted backward as soon as the train moved, only to receive a simple and rather abrupt
'Your wife can hold on to the overhead pole like everyone else'
With the benefit of hindsight, there are of course many clever retorts to this, 'She can't mate she's a midget' being my favourite, but obviously an unusable suggestion. I did seriously consider addressing the whole carriage, before bringing up the 'Big C' card, but was rescued from progressing this encounter by a timely reminder of my role as 'Wife Support' this week, which requires me to try and keep the girl calm. 'Recumbant-man' was standing with his back to her so missed the 'eyes of death' that were burning into the back of his head.

To be honest I was very hungover and tired (see above) this morning. Marisa had popped over to catch up last night and as we hadn't been out all weekend she got whirlwinded up in our need to drink and be social, thus my short fuse, and consequently being very close to belting him. However, I have seen fights in a tube carrige and it really is not a good move, purely from a self preservation point of view you understand. I could hardly just get off if things didn't go my way, now could I? (Man rule No.106 - Only start fisticuffs (a fight) with people smaller than yourself unless, they are asleep, in a wheelchair, or are too young to fight you back).

Tash attempted to restart the day with a stop off at a French coffee shop on our way to the clinic. Sadly for our attempts at a day-reboot, she had to deal with a dysfunctional barister who simply could not manage to get the right coffee order to the right person;

Three people, three drinks and the clue is that they are all in order - how hard could it be?

Goodbye to old friends

The other side of the camera

The girl loves the tray

Tray put to work

Sunday 5th February

Sleeping beauty fights the Sandman

Tash has spent most of this week in a conscious dormancy or just outright asleep. The cumulative effects of this particular flavour of Chemo have finally caught up with her producing a chemically induced knock to the head before it leaves us.

Tash would like to say thank you to the 'London girls' for her 'end of Chemo' flowers, as you can see they are lovely

It would be hard to say which weeks have been the most difficult in the last seven months, but I can safely say this week has been the most draining for both of us. With T out of the game I have been left to me to run the HMS Dean single handily (HMS, what is that?). In doing so I have learnt many things and am full of admiration and respect for those of you that have raised children on your own, particularly if you are trying to keep a job down as well. Not that caring for Tash equates to looking after a child I should point out, but she does need to eat, and then, here was my biggest surprise, was not able to clean up my cooking mess afterwards, having to retire immediately to the sofa... It was a shock, the cleaning, not the curious pull of the 'Bermuda sofa triangle' - I have got used to her progressive fatigue throughout each cycle, though in describing it to people, I realise that it is difficult for most of you to comprehend how a whole days energy could be expended just by walking down some stairs

We have just been discussing over dinner; a rare (in our house) lasagne ready meal, which I bought as I couldn't face any more cooking and cleaning on my own... If Tash had been like this every cycle, then I doubt very much that we would have coped.

On a much more positive note, the fatigue has not stopped her eating chocolate, sorry, knitting and has even slowed down her number of online purchases on a daily basis... and I can proudly inform you that she has managed to complete her first woolly 'thing!'; that being a scarf for Mr Vic. This is a very big thing for me as I am always telling her to stop procrastinating over which course to do ( cooking/knitting/Italian/sewing - take your pick ) and just make something for once!. So, I am very proud that she.. has..... knitted ...... another .......... man ........... a .......... scarf ?

<eh!> hold on, that's not right!

Sunday 19th February

Journey's end

This is the end of the last cycle of this eight month foray into the more stressful and difficult area of our life. Tomorrow Tash is back at the LOC for her Herceptin treatment, no Chemo, just her hormone based treatment as before.

The end of treatment scans took place on Thursday of last week with a follow up visit to 'The Slev' to pick up the results on Friday. During the last Chemo treatment we had mentioned to him that 'we had a few questions' - I imagine that this phrase strikes fear into the hearts of most Oncologists, signifying long drawn out emotional consultations with fearful patients. We however wanted just to ask what sort of treatments may lay ahead for us.

So best laid plans and all that..., somewhere between that conversation and standing outside the LOC on Friday afternoon I forgot that we had simple questions and had to deal with the now rather familiar 'stone in my stomach' feeling that signifies the uncertainty of scan results. As I pointed out to a colleague at work, this scan is rather simplistic, we are either going to be completely OK or seriously in trouble.

Despite Tash and I being utterly unable to work in harmony in our day to day life (if any of you have witnessed our 'Mark tries to cook whilst Tash decides to clean up around him' comedy kitchen routine, you will have an understanding as to what I mean) - we are exceedingly lucky in that with all things difficult, her health being the most obvious, we work seamlessly. By Thursday I could not manage to be any more apprehensive about Friday, so got drunk and was considerably better on Friday, whereas Tash had been calm right up to having the scans and only then felt concern afterward.

So there I am waiting for her outside on Friday afternoon, wearing a suit as on this occasion I decided that the best way to approach adversity was to be smart, polite and with a faint whiff of 'C'est La Vie'. Tash was late, she was supposed to walk form Oxford Street, but by standing outside I clearly saw her exit a cab, citing high heel boots as the excuse. The appointment was for 15:20, we were there for 15:10, still sitting in the waiting room at 15:30, read all the papers by 15:40, several glasses of water down by 15:50. At 16:00 the call came from above (upstairs, that is).

'The Slev' is a Techo-god, being in his office reminds me of being in the lair of a James Bond villain, but without the hollowed out Volcano option, this is Harley Street after all. So we were surprised when he admitted that he did not have any details of the CT scan nor the Cardio Echo (a new friend as Herceptin can do some unpleasant things to your heart). His only comment was that if she had had the scans at the London Clinic then he would have them, as they would come through electronically on 'THE INTERFACE'- it seems to require capitalisation as he makes it sound utterly futuristic. As Tash wasn't at the London Clinic 'The Slev' gave us a truly exceptional display of Consultant to Consultant communication - 'Hold on' he says, pulls out this mini computer that is masquerading as a telephone and dials the Radiologist to ask him. The Radiologist, or Reznek, as he called him, (this being his surname, rather than Oncologist slang), was not so responsive. So, never one to be caught without a Plan B, Slev disappears out the room for a minute or two and then returns triumphantly declaring that everything is OK, it is being faxed, he has told someone off.

We can finally report that She is good, we are fine and for the first time in 8 months I feel calm, we have passed the last test. After a quick chat about 'next time' the Dean's exited into the street, relieved and then straight onto the phones delivering the news to those of you who live in the right time-zone.

The Tao is going to stay, as this post isn't going to be the last (though for a while it may be only monthly) as though the heavy treatment has stopped there are still things that we have to deal with that may be of interest for you to follow or just plainly too humourous to keep to myself. Tash made some really bad hairstyle choices whilst her hair was growing back last time and if I have to suffer them, then so should you.