Probably NOT the Last Post – Who knows?
As some of you have gathered by now, the Leiomyosarcoma cancer, or Leo as I call it, has returned. Bugger, Damn, Shit and Blast, from the woman who swore she would never swear on her blog, is all I can say.
I still look in the mirror and see the same woman I saw three weeks ago; suntanned, fit and healthy. I still feel like the same woman.
However, I have spent the past two and a half weeks undergoing endless tests; being ‘counselled’ in how to accept the inevitability of accepting ‘palliative care’ and the arrangements that will be put in place for me, or – possibly – undergoing one last test that might, just might, lead to the surgeon deciding he can do something that might give me another year or so – if I survive the procedure…
I felt like writing this morning. Putting down on paper what it actually feels like. Nothing like the adverts for cancer research, I promise you. Willing hands picking you up off the floor; a bit of chemotherapy, probably throw up a few times, and then – there you are, smiling for the cameras and pleading for £2 a week, so that others can follow the same painless path. It ain’t like that at all.
They don’t tell you of the decisions you have to make. Decisions that no one can make for you. Decisions that you actually can’t make for yourself. But you have to. People are waiting to see what you want to do, and if you say nothing, you won’t get either choice.
So, ‘palliative care’, with a gentle managed decline over a couple of months in that dignified French way, a million miles away from the brutality of the Liverpool Pathway; my own wonderful Doctor calling in daily – absolutely never, ever, any pain or suffering, for the French are positively paranoid at the idea of anyone suffering. Time to spend with Mr G, watching the Doves – who did nest in the Cotinus tree after all, in the tiniest nest you ever saw – feeding the baby they produced. Watching the bief tumbling over the Mill stream, listening to the rhythm of French life – for maybe a month or two.
Or maybe the surgeon will phone on Monday when he has seen the latest scan, as he promised – and offer me another operation, almost the same as I had two years ago. But two years ago I was fit and strong; three weeks after the operation I was home, a bit wobbly, but laughing it off. Little Ms Invincible. Gloria and Sous-chef; and Gildas, dressed as a Monk; even Obnoxio who had driven an incredible 1500 miles overnight to be here, all gathered with other friends, and we dined and laughed into the early hours by the side of the river. Mr G fed everyone, and found them all at least a horizontal surface to sleep on. Some had more salubrious resting places than others! Would I be able to laugh that operation off again – it will be the third time and I look like a noughts and crosses board as it is…
And the chemo that comes after it? Lesson number one if you are reading this and have just been diagnosed with cancer yourself. Never, ever, take the blindest bit of notice of what other people tell you about their experience of chemo. There are so many different cancers, which affect so many different people of all shapes and sizes, in all sorts of states of health from other matters, diagnosed at all sorts of stages – that you have more chance of winning the Euro millions than you have of coming across someone who has the same chemo as you will be having. Chemo is a recipe, starting with ‘throwing the book at you’, and working downwards through ‘we have seen this sort of cancer at this sort of stage before, and we don’t need to throw the book at you – you can have half as much and it will be fine’, right through to ‘take this tablet every six days for six months and it will go away’.
Just my bloody luck that I managed to get a ‘we haven’t got a clue’ type cancer in a unique manner for which ‘throwing the book at it’ might or might not work – and it nearly flattened me in the process. Truthfully, I wished I were dead many times, just to put an end to it. I was never sick though – yah! boo! all those people who told me ‘it will make you ever so sick’…..just about every sort of drama you could imagine instead, and some you couldn’t. Mr G had a loyalty card for the local A & E. Of the six of us who started on this haute-density chemo – there were only two of us left after six months. We didn’t just mourn the most intense friendships there are; we mourned the loss of innocence that had led us all to believe that you just ‘had the op, manned up to the chemo’ and everything would be OK. It’s more profound that that, it changes you for ever. Can I handle it again, knowing that it might not work, might see me off faster than the cancer? I don’t know.
When you sit in a restaurant and overhear the sort of conversation at the next table that goes ‘perhaps next year when the children go to university, we might go to Greece, I’ve always wanted to go to Greece’ – you have to physically prevent yourself from taking them by the scruff of the neck and saying ‘what’s wrong with tonight – get on a plane, go on, do it’. You have to remind yourself that other people have the right to dawdle through life, putting things off; thinking the next pair of shoes they’ve promised themselves are more important than going to see their Mother; that they can be as shallow, and as superficial; tell lies, procrastinate, bullshit their way past the important things in life, as they want.
It’s only you that has had to wake up to the reality that ‘tomorrow’ is always a bonus.
So I don’t know how you chose between the two options, if there are to be two. I have made my decision that if more treatment is offered, I will take it; because I can’t look into Mr Gs eyes and know that he knows that I turned down that chance. It does mean that I have had to spend the last couple of weeks taking all sorts of grown-up actions, like making wills and other profoundly depressing things that any normal person would much rather ignore.
One of them, is what to do about this blog. The blog that gave me so much strength and support through the last five years – distracted me; gave me a space to be someone else; a outlet to write; and most of all, the company of some of the most intelligent, interesting, articulate, evincive, erudite, individuals I have ever come across. Do you know Guido told me he daren’t look in his comments? ‘There be dragons there’ he said. Me? I can’t wait for the comments on each post I burble out. What a fantastic crowd you have been. It matters not whether you agree or disagree. I have learnt from every last one of you.
The problem is, this isn’t one of those free ‘Blogger’ type platform that could just float round in cyberspace for ever, regardless of what happens to me. I pay for the bandwidth, I pay for the domain – and if I pop me clogs, then it becomes Mr Gs legal and financial responsibility – and he wants it like a hole in the head. Who can blame him, it’s like a bucking bronco on steroids at times. So my solicitor holds the reins now – and if I am not around to nurse my baby – he will pull the plug on it faster than you can blink. That is a gentle hint that if there is anything on here that you think you might want to refer back to – there is no time like the present to download it. Wayback machine will always pull up individual pages, but you will no longer be able to browse as you can now. It’s been a hard decision, because I know there is a lot of information on here that many of you refer back to time and again. I know also that many of you would have offered to keep it going and even pay for it – but if it disappears, it will be because it has become Mr Gs decision; his future life, his decision to make. Not mine. He deals in wood, not words. God bless his size ten feet planted firmly on the ground.
I can’t pull the plug on it – I’m too proud of all the amazing things you have done, the work you have put in. Raising near ten grand in a few days to get Nick Hogan out of prison? Incredible, it had never been done before. Battling away with Sandwell Council, flooding them with e-mails until they agreed not to prosecute Sheila Martin for leaving cigarette ash on the pavement…the only known time they have backed down from a prosecution. And Steven Neary? You retweeted that post so successfully round the world in the tens of thousands that the judge hearing his case said he would open the Court of Protection to the media for the first time in 900 years ‘owing to the widespread social media coverage the case had attracted’. Brilliant! Graham Mitchell? Thrown in jail on a Portuguese murder charge – until you helped track down the ‘victim’, alive and well in Germany! Blimey, we’ve had a few haven’t we? I’m sure I’ve left some out.
Last, but by no means least – the Savile saga.
I spent many years interviewing ‘patients’ of the Court of Protection. Sadly, in Wales, my area, too many of them had been victims of sexual abuse. Sweet, innocent, trusting, Down’s syndrome girls. Lads who had suffered brain damage and fallen prey to unspeakable abusers. Their stories will haunt me for ever. The young girl raped by her uncle in front of her helpless, paralysed, Father. Was she damaged by what had happened to her? I don’t truly know – she didn’t have the words to tell me if she was – but her Mother will be traumatised for ever. As will the parents of the girl ‘fiddled with’ by the bus driver who took her to school everyday, by order of a government that decided in its wisdom that ‘every child’ should have full time education – even though in ten years she had never even learnt her name. How do they let her get on another bus knowing it could happen again? I don’t know. And the young lad I met who I suspected was being abused by his ‘carer’ – reports were written, months later more carefully worded requests were sent to social services to ‘investigate possible…etc…etc’ and the next time I saw him, two years later, he was in hospital, with a bandage the size of a rugby ball in his lap. He had poured boiling water on his own penis. He couldn’t wait for the endless meetings and inter-departmental conferences to solve his problem for him. I felt so physically sick I nearly ended up losing my job over that lad; I took the law into my own hands and made a couple of phone calls that resulted in the hospital refusing to release him until he was given a place of safety – they have a duty of care that overrides all the cautious – ‘might get quoted in court’ – reports that the various departments bat between themselves.
Why do these thing happen? Because there isn’t enough money around to pay enough good hearted people who are prepared to work on minimum wages with awkward, unhelpful, truculent, brain damaged individuals who pee in their pants, and even break your arm on occasions – there simply aren’t enough of them to make sure there are always two adults on that school bus; that the paralysed Father doesn’t have to rely on his bastard brother to ‘babysit’ him when his wife goes out; to ensure that suspect carers don’t get to work on their own, unhindered, in a grotty flat with a vulnerable lad. It costs money to provide that sort of care to such deeply vulnerable individuals. Bucket loads of money.
The sort of money that newspapers make out of printing salacious and unfounded stories of alleged child abuse by dead celebrities; the sort of money that journalists get to take home at the end of the week when they’ve dreamed up more ways to get a celebrity’s name alongside the words ‘child abuse’ in print; the sort of money that television companies earn out of salacious programmes with no foundation of truth; the sort of money that pays for expensive advertising so that charities can pay their inflated wage bills; the sort of money that ex-coppers make out of flogging such stories to the papers and television companies; the sort of money made out of flogging trashy miseri-lit books to the supermarkets; the sort of money that lawyers make out of filing ‘compo’ claims for middle aged women who once met a celebrity; the sort of money claimed by women who see this latest charade as no different to claiming for whiplash or ‘PPI’; the sort of money you make out of flogging Child line to a charity as though it was just another commercial package; the sort of money you save by buying Jimmy Savile’s belongings on the cheap after his reputation has been trashed; the sort of money you make out of running ‘child-protection courses’ for every Tom,Dick and Harry that might be required to work on a building that a child might enter; the sort of money you make out of chairing endless ‘Inquiries’; the sort of money you make out of writing up ‘serious case reviews’ on the latest scandal – even the sort of money you make out of carrying advertising on a blog detailing more alleged abuse.
All that sort of money. It’s blood money as far as I am concerned. Money made out of turning child abuse into light entertainment and a means of paying the mortgage. It sickens me to the core.
Every penny of it is a penny not available to put boots on the ground, on the school bus, in the ‘supported living’ apartments; befriending vulnerable children.
One of those amateur ‘journalists/child protection’ activists called me a ‘child abuse supporter’ last week. Nah! Not I, flower! I’ll fight to the death for vulnerable abused children. I don’t make my living out of publicising so-called celebrity ‘child’ abuse. ‘Tis you that depends on continually feeding famous key words into the ether to put food on your table. How do you live with yourself?
These profiteers, charlatans, fakers, frauds, opportunists, sham emoters, fictitious ‘survivors’, quack ‘protectors’, bandwagon jumpers, should be put out of business. This multi-million pound ‘industry’ closed down. It should be against the law to make one penny piece out of child abuse. No more prime time TV; no more advertising on newspaper pages reporting on cases; no more books published for profit; no more slyly written articles hinting at more arrests to come for political advantage; no more claims for compo; no more high paid lawyers; no more mortgages being paid for by getting just the ‘right shot’ of the wide eyed child that ‘£2 a week can save’; no more any of it.
If there is a crime more heinous than child abuse – it is making a financial profit out of its existence. Shame on the lot of you.
I’ll make one exception. The unsung heroes who are actually out there, boots on the ground, underpaid, under-appreciated, actually protecting vulnerable children.
Too damn few of them. Society is too busy throwing money at the charlatans. Daniel Pelka starved to death for want of boots on the ground whilst this multi-million pound industry danced its endlessly profitable jig.
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On the other hand, of course, l’il Ms Invincible might just manage to pull her chestnuts out the fire again, you never know, I’m bloody minded enough; and if that happens, I shall be glad I didn’t pull the plug on the blog, I’ll want somewhere to write again one day…..
Postscript: Wow! My lovely surgeon just phoned, he’s seen the latest scans – my lungs are clear as a bell, and he reckons he can remove this latest tumour. So it will be surgery and more chemo, it will be some months away from the blog – but Hell that is sooo-o-o-o much better than the alternative.
I am henceforth officially the cat with nine lives. Only used up two of them so far.
I debated whether to say anything before, but here goes. Apart from a shed load of wonderful e-mails I received this week, which mean so much, and I couldn’t possibly answer them all; I also received a very unexpected parcel. Boxes of Yorkshire Tea with a most surprising addition. The Savile family sent me Jimmy Savile’s own personal crucifix. It is a beautiful thing. Now I think everyone knows that I am a Quaker, and don’t hold with middle men or icons…but I appreciated the emotional value the family placed on this memento of Jimmy and I was very touched by the gesture.
However, setting off for the last scan a few days ago, I thought, ‘what the….’ and popped it into my handbag at the last moment. Listen, I needed all the good luck going. Don’t knock it.
I did idly ponder at one point that day how bizarre my life has become, sitting there listening to a Doctor explaining in French how they were planning my last few months – with Jimmy Savile’s crucifix in my handbag….you really couldn’t make it up.
But something has worked. I’ve had incredible luck as anyone with any medical knowledge will know. I’m not prepared to rule out ‘Jimbo’ as my little friend is now known. He’s going everywhere with me for the foreseeable future.
I’ll be back.
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September 26, 2013 at 23:25 -
Best of luck Ms Raccoon
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September 26, 2013 at 21:54 -
Golly.
Best of British, of course. But this is by far the best and most powerful thing I’ve read in months. I’ve dipped into your blog before, but now I find I really need to dig through the archives and sprinkle in some comments.
I really hope you will be strong enough to keep up the fantastic work.
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September 26, 2013 at 17:21 -
As an occasional ‘dipper in’, much saddened.
My very best wishes.
Good fortune to you. -
September 26, 2013 at 17:15 -
Phew! By ‘eck, lass, but you can write!
You are in my thoughts, Anna, and so is Mr G. May your God go with you both.
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September 26, 2013 at 15:23 -
You have my sincere sympathies Anna.
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September 26, 2013 at 11:37 -
My very best wishes and all the luck in the world to you. Your blog is a rare place of honesty, common sense and compassion. I look forward to reading more from you.
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September 26, 2013 at 08:56 -
I have been off on a monastic retreat for a few days – so I have been out of the loop, for a bit. However, I am proud to know you Ann, and I remember that evening and that weekend with great joy. Bless you Anna – I only have my prayers, but I give them most freely. Indeed, don’t knock it…
Meanwhile, I think the number and tone of the comments say it all.
Bless
G the M-
September 26, 2013 at 16:31 -
Hang on – “Gildas, dressed as a monk”. Well, what did you expect me to be dressed as!? Napoleon?! Its my blooming job!
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September 25, 2013 at 18:54 -
As a near neighbour and a generally lurking blog reader I wish you absolutely all the best wishes and fundamentally more profound, prayers to your complete recovery. As has been commented the Surgeons and specialists are second to none in this part of the world and I know Bordeaux is full of them. When you are fully recovered perhaps we might meet again ( we met once some 3 or 4 years back ) to have a wine tasting at the Chateau Monbazillac or a coffee in the small cafe next to the church in Issigeac. My treat this time.
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September 25, 2013 at 18:36 -
I only started reading your blog a couple of months ago because which it was recommended to me by somebody I tweeted with. Reading the posts is very demanding for me partly because I am not a native speaker and partly because the posts are intellectually challenging. Well worth while the effort though even if my political views very often differ from those presented.
I just wanted to say that I keep you in my thoughts and wish you all the luck you need to continue fighting this terrible illness. Lots of love from Germany xx-
September 26, 2013 at 08:51 -
Thank you Suse
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September 25, 2013 at 15:42 -
More tigress than raccoon; Anna, you are beacon of honest and fearless thought in a festering night of dishonesty, keep going! God be with you, you have a sea of prayers and good wishes to carry you through this.
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September 25, 2013 at 13:06 -
Anna
If you will forgive me from sounding a bit like the prison cell scene from “V for Vendetta” I absolutely love this blog and you along with it, so fight like the devil and (more V for Vendetta) one year from tonight, post another blog. Make that promise.
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September 25, 2013 at 11:19 -
What a horrible situation! Keep fighting Anna and good luck.
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September 25, 2013 at 10:10 -
Good luck Anna, I hope everything goes well and you are able to be back to your old self soon. All the best x c x
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September 25, 2013 at 08:39 -
Very best wishes to you. May you continue to derive the strength to win your battle.
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September 25, 2013 at 08:17 -
Dear Ms Raccoon,
I enjoy reading your blog; I don’t always agree with you, but I always find you interesting and thought provoking, and on the side of the just.
I look forward to having you around for awhile yet.
Good luck & God bless.
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September 25, 2013 at 07:20 -
My friend – and yours – in the Tavern said I must write. I was crying in my beer.
I am not amongst you best mates. I am not in the august crew you speak of whom your words galvanise into action. But the very thought of the loss of Anna breached the walls of a deep well.
I am so glad to read the last part of your account, my dear. Be well. Be fighting. Be a beacon to so many. It is a calling not born from genes. The Man at the Top Whom you refuse to go through middle-men to speak with has tasks for you. And my bar-keeper in the Tavern just up the hill here tells me that your name is written in light on the base of that stone he keeps in the cellar.
You are Blessed amongst women, it seems.
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September 25, 2013 at 04:19 -
I’ve never commented before but always read you. Be well Anna – ”Over every blade of grass is an angel that whispers ‘grow, grow’ ”. You are one of the tallest blades and may you grow taller.
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September 24, 2013 at 23:19 -
I’ve posted on this on twitter – Margaret Jervis @mscjervis – broadside at the MSM etc. But how many here are really prepared to stand up with Anna? – who is Susanne Cameron-Blackie living in etc as made clear on her blog. I give my own name and so do a couple of others – the rest hide behind a mask.
As a matter of fact – the msm journos we love to hate and who pretend not to notice do give their real names.
Standing up for truth and justice means just that – you have nothing to lose but your chains!
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September 25, 2013 at 10:03 -
@Margaret Jervis
Anyone in reach of Roundhay Park in Leeds on Tuesday October 29th can make their anonymous presence felt, with Boots on the Ground.“Justice Should Feel like a Walk in the Park.
Just Treatment for One means Just Treatment for All of Us
YOU the people are invited to walk around the Lake in Roundhay Park, Leeds between the hours of 1pm and 3pm on Tuesday 29th October 2013.”
http://jimcannotfixthis.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/time-to-walk-talk.htmlIf you cannot make it, why not just leave comments of support?
All the FACTS are on the Blog.If you don’t give yourself a voice, you will remain subject to Journalist’s Law.
http://jimcannotfixthis.blogspot.co.uk/2013/09/journalists-law.html
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September 24, 2013 at 22:45 -
I just want to add my best wishes for a positive outcome and hope your excellent blog a long future.
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September 24, 2013 at 22:37 -
My wife had it three times, three operations, spread over the years.
She is still here (the French medics here in the south are brilliant!).
She still gives me a hard time whenever I step out of line and I like it that way.
Good to read that your lovely surgeon has given you a searchlight of hope.
Keep that light burning. -
September 24, 2013 at 22:22 -
Bloody hell Anna!
With all the various distractions in my own life at the moment (not the least of which is the demise of the letter ‘A’ on my keyboard) I wondered what was going on… but never thought that you would be fighting the good fight again.
Bless you for giving it your best.
I do not know you personally – and yet I feel that I do know you well, from the heart and soul that you convey across the ether, courtesy of this blog, all of which leads me to believe that you are too crossgrained and bloody minded just to knuckle under. Tough? You better believe it!!
‘Do not go gentle into that good night’… My best regards and good thoughts attend you.
Frankie
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September 24, 2013 at 21:59 -
Anna, thanks for that. Integrity is in short supply these days and it’s good to see that sometimes those who really matter recognise those who have it. In spadefuls.
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September 24, 2013 at 21:25 -
Best wishes to the best blogger.
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September 24, 2013 at 21:17 -
I join all your friends and well-wishers. I too have had a brush with the ‘Big C’ – thankfully, not such a dangerous type, but malignant nevertheless. Easily removed. The news surprised me when it was diagnosed, but, for some reason, I was not afraid. I quietly went about putting ‘my affairs in order’ and waited for the news, good or bad. It turned out to be good, and I was glad, but I had already come to terms.
I trust that all will be well and we can look forward to many more years of fun! -
September 24, 2013 at 20:19 -
Best wishes from Down Under!
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September 24, 2013 at 20:24 -
I had forgot my previous post! Apologies for double posting but not for doubly wishing you all good things!
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September 24, 2013 at 19:28 -
Good luck, I hope the operation goes as well as it possibly can, for what it worth metaphorical fingers crossed
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September 24, 2013 at 19:27 -
good luck
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September 24, 2013 at 18:56 -
The bit about Jimmy’s cross brought a lump to my throat and tears to my eyes. How lovely of them to do that! You must have been very touched.
Keep fighting.
x
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September 24, 2013 at 18:54 -
Having just stumbled on this blog at this time I’d like to say, wow, what writing; whatever happens I wish you and yours the very best.
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September 24, 2013 at 18:53 -
So glad to read to the end of your blg and find you have 9 lives.some people just do and I felt you should be one of them. You do fantastic work but taking a bit of a break seems necessary. Best of luck
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September 24, 2013 at 18:01 -
A brave and moving post. I hope, if I am ever in the same circumstances, I shall be able to contemplate matters so calmly.
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September 24, 2013 at 17:05 -
Well, Anna, if laughter truly is the best medicine, then I hope Iain Dale’s Fight Club has given you a few giggles today…
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September 24, 2013 at 18:00 -
September 26, 2013 at 22:30 -
The first rule about Iain Dale’s Fight Club is that you don’t talk about Iain Dale’s Fight Club…
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September 24, 2013 at 16:51 -
How can anyone add anything meaningful to the posts of all your friends hereon?
Sadly I found you only a short time ago but you have provided inspiration for me and a much needed boost to my own efforts to put right what little I can in my own crusade. Please come back safe and sound. Your voice is one that is needed by the voiceless.
Please add my heartfelt thanks to everyone else’s. A googleplex of thank you’s to you and yours. See you in due course!
PS: This blog represents a valuable resource. Is there no-one with a blog that could mirror/carry a copy for you?
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September 24, 2013 at 16:25 -
How any returned threat is greeted can make a colossal difference.
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September 24, 2013 at 14:33 -
God bless you Anna and we are praying for you down here in Australia.
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September 24, 2013 at 14:11 -
If this blog is to be no more, then so be it, but it will have made a difference. Since the World Wide Web came along as a mass phenomenon, still only about 15 years ago, blogs or Weblogs have become part of everyday life for many people, but there are few blogs truly worth reading.
I can lay claim to having one of the first blogs ever. In 1997 I opened my first Internet account on which one was allowed a “home page”. My first instinct was to make my home page a place where I would give my on take on the news stories of the time in Florida, where I lived, for example I blogged about the paid petition signature collectors at post offices collecting votes for corporations that wanted casino liberalisation.
The problem, of course, was finding a readership. One had to write one’s own HTML code, and writing the code to set up reader comments was way beyond my capacity then and now. The blog (as it would now be called) lasted a year or two and then my Internet provider was reorganising its service, so it just wiped my blog off its servers one day. Tant pis!
Even to this day the majority of political and news blogs are not very successful in terms of being influential, respected, and containing original content. I believe the Anna Raccoon blog has succeeded on all these counts, is read by influential people, and as a bonus has succeeded in attracting a core of very perceptive and knowledgeable commenters.
The number of blogs anywhere in the world that have been equally successful in these terms is actually miniscule and I can’t think of anything I have read that has matched the deconstruction of the Savile/Duncroft allegations.
Well done, Anna!
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September 24, 2013 at 13:53 -
You will fight.
I thought that after three surgeries and ‘adjuvant’ therapy that I could stand no more and wanted to just lie down and die painlessly.
Something must have been there to stop me doing that.
Over one year on and having suffered throughout all that time I am still here. Life will never be the same again and I will be permanently ‘damaged’.
Was it worth it ? I don’t know yet. The will to live is strong and outweighs the desire to die.
Perhaps this new me will go on to survive with some dignity and no pain. I do hope so.
It’s a bloody hard battle and one that not many people understand.
Good luck. xx -
September 24, 2013 at 13:34 -
I’m so glad the odds have swung firmly back into your favour again. You should put up a sign, “I aten’t dead”.
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September 24, 2013 at 13:07 -
So, so relieved to see the postscript.
Anna, I only recently lost my mother to this horrible group of diseases, so I will have to be brief. There are clearly so many people who love you and your writing, but forget about us all. We don’t matter. At this moment, you matter. Look after yourself, keep fighting, and focus on whatever is important to you and Mr G. We’ll be watching for when you’re ready to come back and write, we’ll be thinking of you throughout.
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September 24, 2013 at 13:03 -
The fates reach out to cut the thread, but looking back at the bright tapestry it has woven, pause.
Dear Mrs Raccoon I hope you are with us for a long while yet. -
September 24, 2013 at 12:58 -
A wonderful coda to your post. I wish you all the very best.
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September 24, 2013 at 12:29 -
Another lurker here.
I had a lump in my throat & tears in my eyes ’til I read your postscript.
Wishing you you luck and sending out positive thoughts.
delcatto. x -
September 24, 2013 at 11:47 -
I’ll agree with others – cancer is a bastard, which ever way you look at it. It took my father just over 2 years ago – in his case things happened very quickly. Thanks to our lousy local health service the disease was terminal by the time they spotted it. He was 83, didn’t have the fighting spirit that you clearly have, and passed away at home surrounded by his family just 10 days later – there was no time for palliative care or much in the way of planning. Clearly you’re more fortunate in your circumstances, and I would like to add my best wishes for a successful outcome and speedy recovery.
MD
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September 24, 2013 at 10:38 -
I have had a horrible year (for one reason or another), but this made me feel very, very humble indeed.
You are a light in the darkness, and I trust that you will shine brightly for many years to come.
Best of luck.
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September 24, 2013 at 10:34 -
Anna,
Struggling with my heart in my throat this morning. Best of luck for your road ahead, you are right to fight as much for your beloved Mr G. as for yourself. Love is stronger than the foundations of the world.
Regards,
John -
September 24, 2013 at 10:08 -
Dearest Anna
Fuck me sideways with a pineapple and call me Alice – I could hardly read that for all the fucking tears (i’ll swear enough for all of us if you don’t fucking mind). There’s gotta be a joke somewhere in ‘Jimmy fixed it for youuuu’ or something! Stay strong, have a bucketful of love from me and put off going to Greece for a while yet.
All the very best
xxxx
DtP
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September 24, 2013 at 10:17
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September 24, 2013 at 09:45 -
Another lurker here… good luck to you.
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September 24, 2013 at 09:44 -
I have followed your blog for ever. It is one that I return to on a daily basis and look forward to your words. You really are a tremendous writer with a most incisive mind.
I don’t always agree with you but I always respect what you say.
My heart goes out to you and I shall be thinking of you as you take on your next big challenge and look forward to reading many more articles from you.
All the best Anna
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September 24, 2013 at 09:44 -
Glad to hear the quacks over there can bestir themselves and sort you out!
I along with several million others will be thinking of you -
September 24, 2013 at 09:43 -
You are so right…good luck can come from so many directions, one keeps an open mind. In our case Anna, I think much comes from how grateful others are to you for writing about what they cannot express so well or cogently. For giving a voice to the voiceless.
Unfortunately.. for the majority money, minute or disgusting amounts, means more than empathy and connection and care of others… it is all around us. That is why those of us who ‘live on the margins’ so to speak need to not to remain silent.
Being deemed sympathetic to child or vulnerable adult abuse is the abuse we suffer when we challenge a self protecting, self interested system that takes in a large part of the British public sector/ charitable workforce.
We do need caring people with feet on the ground.. It has taken me years to find some for loved ones and it has taken a lot of stress away. But the system of health amd social services ‘professionals’; who harm with impunity the most vulnerable still remains. A few head roll…ocassionally- but the attitude changes not. I am both disgusted and disraught at what I have experienced in regard to the vulnerable,
Finally, I have a family member, much older than you, who has survived 7 years when no one expected person to last long from the big C. Now like you has had ‘the book thrown at’ by doctors as some spread noticed. The relative feels no change – still has a high quality of life.. has been told it is only because of this ‘quality’ further treatment is being offered. Like you relative is not over joyed at chemo.. as lat time it laid the body low… but knows something has to be done as is not ready to leave the mortal soil yet. At 80+ years still sees more work to be done!!!!!
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September 24, 2013 at 09:19 -
Just read you post to my wife. Mrs D is on her fourth bout of skin cancer. Not the same degree of seriousness as your’s I know, but it’s stuck a chord. She also sends her best wishes.
We have friends who go on holiday and then don’t do things this year because they can come back next year and do them. I don’t understand that. George Silver once asked me how I justify all the money we spend on expensive holidays. The answer is that I don’t. I just spend it because, as you so aptly demonstrate, you only get one live and it’s finite. Last year, I outlived my father and I haven’t even had my first heart attack yet never mind the fourth one that killed him at 61.
Carpe diem
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September 24, 2013 at 09:13 -
Worst news, then the best news I’ve had all summer, in the space of one post; keep on keeping on, and know that we are all rooting for you!
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September 24, 2013 at 09:07 -
What they all said. I hope for both our sakes that I am reading this blog for many years to come as I find your words to be moving, inspirational and thought provoking.
WF
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September 24, 2013 at 08:53 -
Another who’s lurked here forever and looked almost every day. I will pray for you.
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September 24, 2013 at 09:23 -
I will too.
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September 24, 2013 at 08:47 -
God speed, Anna. If anyone can beat this, you can.
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September 24, 2013 at 08:37 -
Thank you Anna, for all you have written and all you have done.
The world is a better place for having you in it.
Bless.
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September 24, 2013 at 08:36 -
I never comment but always read this blog. Wish you all the best.
A -
September 24, 2013 at 08:34 -
What everyone else said, Anna. There is little I can add; I just wanted to visit.
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September 24, 2013 at 08:32 -
Praying.
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September 24, 2013 at 08:29 -
Anna
Glad to see there is something to go for and that you are going for it.
Can you feel the tsunami of good wishes flooding across the French countryside?
If caring could do it you would be better already.
Good luck, stay strong and come back.
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September 24, 2013 at 07:13 -
Anna, there are so many people who love you.
And quite a lot of people who hate you!
That’s what I call making an impact.
xx -
September 24, 2013 at 06:57 -
God, I read most of this post on an RSS reader and came here to express my best wishes in a very inadequate manner and I saw
“Wow! My lovely surgeon just phoned, he’s seen the latest scans – my lungs are clear as a bell, and he reckons he can remove this latest tumour. So it will be surgery and more chemo, it will be some months away from the blog – but Hell that is sooo-o-o-o much better than the alternative.”
and was incredibly relieved. Thank goodness for such news, good luck with your treatment and keep on fighting.
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September 24, 2013 at 06:28 -
Best Wishes to you
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September 24, 2013 at 06:24 -
Glad to have you back again
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September 24, 2013 at 05:50 -
Oh, wow! Heartbreak to elation in one post. If anyone can shake this off, you can! Good luck!
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September 23, 2013 at 22:38 -
Cancer is a bastard. It is no respecter of age, social status,sex, wealth or anything else. My daughter is a superintendent radiotherapist so I used to talking about this crap disease and am comfortable talking about it. I am told that this is rare. Most people think ‘Thank Christ that’s not me’ and then become embarrassed to face the victim because they feel guilty. It’s an odd thing…
When my daughter was training, she spent a week in a hospice – the home of the dreaded palliative care. On her second day she had to lay out a seven year old girl who she had been chatting to the previous day and who had died during the night. Despite this, she went on perhaps moved by the experience to determination to help anyone else suffering from cancer. In her last post before taking time off to be a carer for her son she worked clinics for MacMillan. She was the poor sod who took the patient through the treatment options after the doctor had just delivered the bad news. She was trained in counselling and, I suspect, might well have had some herself.
I have no idea how she copes. I know I couldn’t do her job.
I’m told LMS is a particularly nasty bastard because it can occur anywhere in the body. Like most cancers, it really comes down to luck. I’m sorry to say this in your circumstances, but let’s tell it like it is. From the final section of your post it sounds like you might just have got lucky. I sincerely hope so.
We have never met but with out wanting to sound patronising I feel I have got to know you a little. It takes guts to opt for surgery. I’m not sure I could do it and if I’m honest that’s because I’ve not been in your position. I wish you my sincerest best wishes. I’m not religious but if I were I’d pray for you. I’ll just offer my hope that you pull through and may your God be with you.
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September 23, 2013 at 22:28 -
I really can’t say anything that hasn’t already been said – by others more eloquent than I, but there are none more sincere in wishing you every success with your superb surgeon. And our sincere thanks to Mr G who must have been, and no doubt continues to be, a true rock of support at this time.
In our thoughts & prayers, as ever.
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September 23, 2013 at 22:24 -
Best update ever!
Mr P Snr has been reading your stuff for a while as I send him links regularly, enthralled by all of it. He’s a confirmed lurker, constrained by limits of IT know-how, but will be equally happy to read your good news (I’ve just sent him this).
Get well soon and keep fighting the good fight, Anna, you know very well you’re firmly on the side of the angels.
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September 23, 2013 at 22:13 -
I was so delighted to hear that this cancer was treatable that I treated myself to one of my notorious cartwheels! Unfortunately, I snagged the ankle of my 1000,0000 denier support tights on the butcher’s hook in my ceiling and ended up thus suspended, housecoat akimbo, until old Smuddy came home and cut me down with his penknife so that his singed dinner wouldn’t be entirely ruined. Unhappily, on the way down I caught the strap of one of my K-Skips on the handle of the Avalanche cupboard and the leg of my bloomers on the pickaxe he keeps strapped to his shoulder, resulting in a bit of kitchen chaos and Smudd in a horrified faint. Now, some hours later and with the aid of some smelling-salts, order is restored and I am able to add my own sincere thanks for the good news and to send my love to Ms R and Mr G.
xxx Glo
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September 23, 2013 at 22:10 -
Anna,
You gave me hope when I had almost given up.
You gave me your time the most precious thing of all.
You cared even before we had first spoken.
You gave my voice a home and let it be heard.
I cant write, not like you can but I hope the words above give you a glimmer of how valuable you are, you have made a massive impact into my life and i could never thank you enough.
You are an angel that walks amongst us, a very rare angel.
To the wonderful Anna I send you; hugs and loves and happy thoughts o and some sweets I love sweets. Bacon sandwiches and cups of tea.
I will await your return
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx-
September 24, 2013 at 01:01 -
Well said “S”………
E xxx
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September 23, 2013 at 21:25 -
Anna,
What terrible news but there is that big ray of hope at the end. I pray that, yet again, a miracle will be worked. I will be thinking, hoping and praying for you at least until you reappear to announce your victory.
May god be with you, fight with you, support you and, when necessary, comfort you. I know he will.
p.s. the only response I want is your victory post.
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September 23, 2013 at 21:14 -
Wonderful, wonderful news!! – we’ve spoken on the phone several times but we’ve never met. My point being?…… it doesn’t matter, you have become such a big part of my life and that of my family, I don’t know what I would do without your friendship, wisdom and advice – we all pray for you and KNOW all WILL be well – there is work still to be done Anna, and we can’t do it without you.
Much love and the biggest most enormous cyber hug for both you and Mr G.
E xxx
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September 23, 2013 at 22:10 -
XxX
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September 23, 2013 at 21:14 -
Only when I got to the postscript did my heart and breathing restart.
I’m going to have to lie down now.
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September 24, 2013 at 13:03 -
what he said
and all the rest….
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September 23, 2013 at 21:13 -
I don’t pray often, but I’ll pray for you, Anna.
I have a workmate who’s just been diagnosed with bowel cancer, and I still remember the look on my mother-in-law’s face when she was told that her lung cancer had metastasized, and there was no hope of recovery or cure. Cancer sucks.
By the way, you actually had Obo round, and you still think that bugger, damn, shit and blast constitute real swearing? F*ckin b@llocking hell! Maybe he should team up with DK to give you some proper lessons…
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September 23, 2013 at 21:02 -
Wow, what a post !
Read it with a tear in my eye and thought that it’s very sad and I’ll miss her, but at least the lady’s going out in style. And then the update.
Brill, you stay with us Anna.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:56 -
Delighted you’re back. I repeat what someone has already written. Bless you Anna.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:52 -
It takes a lot to elicit moisture from aged Yorkshiremen’s eyes, we can even now survive dropping a 50p coin into an inaccessible chasm without exuding evidence of the trauma by optical leakage, but the welcome re-appearance of our Landlady with that switch-back blog of despair-into-hope immediately got through the inherent cultural block and set those rare juices running.
If I were not an atheist, I’d be praying for you – if there indeed is any God out there, I hope (s)he’ll overlook my ignorant and puerile doubts and apply the full range of support services to ensure the most positive result. Apart from our select devotees of the Raccoon Arms, the rest of the world still needs this channel to bring cool logic, informed debate and clear humanity across the spread of rampant idiocy it so often exposes. The job’s nowhere near finished yet, Anna, and neither should you be.
Yorkshire Tea is always best enjoyed in Yorkshire: it’s the special water, you see – as ever, you are invited up here with Mr G to prove that any time, I hope you take up that offer at least a decade from now. The kettle’s already on ……… make sure you make it.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:50 -
Best wishes and prayers for smooth surgery and swift recovery.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:46 -
As is always the case at times like this mere words are utterly inadequate but, whilst the tears running down my cheeks probably say more than words ever can, I shall try nonetheless.
This blog has been an absolute must read for me over the last 3+ years even if I have not commented anywhere near as much as I should and I very much hope that I shall be able to read it for many years to come. I know I have said it before but I shall never forget reading the email of support you sent after I’d dared stick my head above the parapet to challenge one particularly obnoxious individual.
I may have eschewed religion many years ago but the thoughts of this particular atheist go with you and the ever supportive Mr. G as you ready yourself for another round of surgery and treatment. May your fate be better than a close friend of my parents who fought like billy-o but, sadly, finally succumbed during the treatment for her third primary cancer at far too young an age.
Fare ye well, Madame Raccoon, fare ye well.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:19 -
I have missed the blog dreadfully over the last week or so and hoped for the best and feared for the worst. I guess this is a bit of both. The very, very best of luck with the surgery. Obviously we haven’t met, but I feel like I have got to know you a bit and it intrigues me how so many of us have led parallel lives in the same decades in the UK without meeting, and how the Internet has made it possible for us to link up with old friends and new friends even over distance.
You are right. No one can ever tell you what your experience of chemotherapy will be like.
It’s only you that has had to wake up to the reality that ‘tomorrow’ is always a bonus.
This is very true. A decade or more ago I was diagnosed with acute ulcerative colititis and while the steroid medication worked, except for leaving me with osteoporosis, I was also advised to have my large bowel removed to save more problems (cancer) later on. They would construct some kind of fake anus for me and I would only have to go to the loo five times a day. This seemed very drastic and I disregarded the advice, but I also decided to live every day as if it was my last on earth for the rest of my life.
I haven’t regretted it yet, but I cannot be sure that I will ever see my little baby girl grow up to adulthood.
If we don’t hear from you again, all the best.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:17 -
So happy for you for the upbeat postscript. It’s wonderful that you have the good fortune to be under the care of the French health system. All the best for the next few weeks or months and we all look forward to your return to the Raccoon Arms.
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September 23, 2013 at 20:14 -
{{{Anna}}}
The ending of this blog entry was truly amazing m’lady…. and much happy-bringing!
I wish you the VERY best of luck and expect to see you blogging here twenty years from now! (If *I* happen to still be around to see it then! LOL! Y’never know when that trolley’s gonna fly off its tracks and put a serious dent in my bicycling career!)A thought though: You *should* be able to find some way to perpetuate your blog’s existence independently of having to crawl back from a netherworld year after year and haunt someone into mailing a check. There ought to be some sort of (at least supposedly) perpetual “trust” arrangement you can make for it. Your personal tales of dealing with your life and illness are so strongly and clearly told they certainly have and will have value to many other people many years into the future and shouldn’t simply disappear with a short tab.
Keep on fightin’ m’lady! We’re in your corner!
Michael -
September 23, 2013 at 20:07 -
Le bon Dieu vous bénisse, Anna. La lutte continue..
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September 23, 2013 at 20:04 -
More power to your elbow Anna, and good luck with the surgery and follow up treatment. Hope to hear from you when you are feeling well again. I did ‘fill up’ a bit when I was reading it. Thinking of the last 5 years of my other half’s long tussle with his cancer. Hope the crucifix has the power…….
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September 23, 2013 at 19:57 -
I’ll be expecting to emplace my annual Christmastime “Thank you for [y]our posts” again. And again Anna.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:55 -
My dear Anna, Your story touched me, made me cry, I have been a lurker for ever, may have posted a time or two, I am relieved that your PS said so much!! Fight On! You are gonna be fine, I know it, God is watching over you, you have so much more to do yet!!
God Bless Anna
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September 23, 2013 at 19:53 -
Great news for you and yours – and us and ours! A sharp piece of writing, too. More’s the pity the sharpness won’t pierce the self-centred targets you refer to; they see themselves as above common decency and truth. Character assassination of defenceless – preferably dead – individuals will continue to be the MSM’s stock in trade until they are really caught out, exposed and ruined for doing it.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:52 -
Say not, the struggle naught availeth,
The labour and the wounds are vain,
The enemy faints not, nor faileth,
And as things have been they remain.If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;
It may be, in yon smoke concealed,
Your comrades chase e’en now the fliers,
And, but for you, possess the field.For while tired waves, vainly breaking,
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Comes silent, flooding in the main.And not by eastern windows only,
When daylight comes, in the light,
In front, the sun climes slow, how slowly,
But westward, look, the land is bright! never give up best of luck -
September 23, 2013 at 19:49 -
I hadn’t seen the Postscript when I made my first contribution.
Blimey!
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September 23, 2013 at 19:47 -
Wonderful news from your surgeon, Mrs Racoon.
Best of luck. -
September 23, 2013 at 19:47 -
Best wishes for everything to you and to Mr G.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:46 -
“some of the most intelligent, interesting, articulate, evincive, erudite, individuals I have ever come across”.
Oi! You forgot ‘and the not very bright one’ – for me!
I am so glad that the latest news is good. Thank God for the lovely French surgeon and your very own home grown resolve. I am sorry that you’ve had so much to go through over the past few weeks, I just can’t imagine how horrible it’s been for you, and truth be told I hope I never have to. I fully expect to hear reports of the dove’s little nests for a good few years to come (I don’t plan to shuffle off for a while either).
Reckon with plenty of Yorkshire tea, the mighty strong medicine, Mr lovely French surgeon, Jimmy’s crucifix, Mr G’s TLC and some bloody mindedness you’ve got it licked kidda! Oh, yes and all our love.
All good wishes for the weeks ahead and get well soon. -
September 23, 2013 at 19:41 -
If you was a fella, I’d say “Keep your pecker up”.
—————————–
“But something has worked. I’ve had incredible luck as anyone with any medical knowledge will know. ”
It’s not ‘luck’ Anna; its your dogged perseverance to continue fighting the causes close to your heart. In both physical & metaphorical senses.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:39 -
Keep strong – a tad schmaltzy, but this song springs to mind http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_Llt-7PIUs
Though I’m a relative newcomer here, it’s a fantastic bank of people who’s mere existence offers comfort in a society that has taken leave of its senses. This time last year I didn’t expect my harmless niche interests to land me in the middle of a national conspiracy, but so here I am. I don’t even have a credible online alias with which to peddle controversy (or common sense as it used to be known)
The crucifix is a lovely anecdote, bless you, bless Jimmy and bless his beleaguered friends and family. Karma should steer you through this with ease! -
September 23, 2013 at 19:39 -
Anna. Yours is the only blog I read. It’s authentic, caring, funny, painful, insightful and terribly well written. Your great personality shines through it all the way. I look forward to reading more. God bless.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:37 -
So glad it is happier news than expected.
All the best to you both.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:37 -
I loved the post script, made my day
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September 23, 2013 at 19:32 -
I was feeling quite depressed until I came to the Update.
Do get well. -
September 23, 2013 at 19:30 -
Dear Anna, so glad to have you back and still fighting the good fight. I’m sure your faith will keep you strong. My thoughts with you.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:18 -
I was wondering where you’d gone. Glad the news is as good as the circumstances allow. Keep it up. And welcome back.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:03 -
Very good news!
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September 23, 2013 at 19:01 -
Get better, and soon.
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September 23, 2013 at 19:00 -
“sitting there listening to a Doctor explaining in French how they were planning my last few months – with Jimmy Savile’s crucifix in my handbag….you really couldn’t make it up.”
Sure beats the UK alternative of listening to some Kid-inna-white-coat just out of the Punjabi School of Medicine explaining in broken Hinglish about the latest Care Pathaway-with a OAP Bus Pass in your handbag.
May whatever deity the Quakers do/don’t/maybe believe in, watch over you and your surgeon’s hands.
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September 23, 2013 at 18:56 -
Fantastic news!
All the very best wishes to you!!!
CR.
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September 23, 2013 at 18:56 -
Lovely to see you back, I have been checking every day and feared the news was not good. What a beautiful gesture by the Savile family, I hope somehow one day his name can be cleared. That’s the curse of this damned disease, unlike others you can never say cured. I am ok for now but always have the knowledge it may come back. I was delighted to see your postscript you go for it Anna, we are all willing you on and you have the strength to do it. Wishing you all the luck in the world.
Carol -
September 23, 2013 at 18:49 -
So beautifully written, as ever. All our love and hopes go to you.
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September 23, 2013 at 18:37 -
Didn’t think you were ready to give up yet!
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September 23, 2013 at 18:37 -
Tears tell all. Best of luck, Lady.
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September 23, 2013 at 18:35 -
Words fail. You are in my heart. Give it hell!
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September 23, 2013 at 18:35 -
Not sure what your views are on cancer remedies but bugger it at least you can have a butchers… My wife had Thyroid cancer eight or nine years back (a pinhead sized tumour spotted by a pair of eagle eyed truly brilliant consultants sadly now practising in Australia (nice one NHS management) which was ‘fixed’ by radiation and the removal of all thyroid however having read an awful lot about colloidal silver, hemp oil, alkalising the system, fruit juice etc and having watched chemo kill otherwise healthy immune systems whilst having no effect on the tumours in family and friends it’s the cures we will pursue should cancer show its ugly mug round here again.
http://thesilveredge.com/pioneers.shtml
http://www.phoenixtears.ca/
http://www.mindbodygreen.com/0-9904/10-cancer-fighting-juice-smoothie-recipes.htmlWith apologies if you have already researched and rejected these but my 20 year old son is convinced that we or rather our body is able to fix most things if we put the right things in our mouths and no he is not a doctor (neither am I) but he oil pulls with coconut oil every day, drinks four tall tumblers of water a day, reduced refined sugar to a minimum and lo and behold his late teens acne vanished and two holes in his teeth are repairing themselves.
Regards
Bill -
September 23, 2013 at 18:29 -
Yes, doves do make the most strikingly small nests; like the slimmest of a chance. Yet they too manage a happy ending.
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September 23, 2013 at 18:25 -
A Righteous essay by a Righteous Lady. I can say no more without being silly.
Bon Courage…
X
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September 23, 2013 at 18:12 -
Your irrepressible spirit shines through this tale with its thankfully more positive ending.
I’m sure Mr. G will have a(nother) bacon sarnie and a fag handy for you post-op!
May you have the very best luck with the treatment. -
September 23, 2013 at 18:07 -
Congratulations from a lurker on here!
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September 23, 2013 at 18:01 -
…and on the third week, She rose again..
Could there be a more moving story of generosity of spirit and sacrifice than that of the crucifix? It must have taken so much for the Savile family to part with this – a souvenir in the French sense of physical embodiment of the memory of the person and much more besides to a believer. And now that sacrifice has been turned to joy – and hope for us all. What little miracles there are in the everyday – if only we care to notice.
Welcome back Anna – we’ve missed you.
And many thanks to the Savile family – who never betray their trust.
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September 24, 2013 at 23:54 -
Weeell, although the Savile family, I agree, are beyond rapproach, the crucifix bothers me. You don’t see many of them at Quaker meetings, so it’s possible Anna’s being very accomodating to avoid any confrontation.
(My personal position is why would your Lord want to see reminders of his demise?)
Well-meant gestures are a problem – discuss-
September 25, 2013 at 01:09 -
“Weeell, although the Savile family, I agree, are beyond rapproach, the crucifix bothers me. You don’t see many of them at Quaker meetings, so it’s possible Anna’s being very accomodating to avoid any confrontation.
(My personal position is why would your Lord want to see reminders of his demise?)
Well-meant gestures are a problem – discuss.”Anna took the gift as offered. She said herself that it was not something that Quakers generally recognize, but decided to take “Jimbo” to her consultation. Not long after, there was a much more positive medical finding. You can make of it what you will. If Jimmy Savile had been a Mormon and she had been sent a pebble from the Great Salt Lake that he once owned, would that do? It’s not about ornaments, it’s about faith.
I understand that when Jimmy was a young boy, he was sick enough that his mother feared for his survival and, being a devout Catholic, she asked the Venerable Margaret Sinclair to intercede. Obviously, it worked – though will we ever know if it was simply fate at work. Margaret Sinclair is a very interesting person. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Margaret_Sinclair_%28nun%29 – she was known for her saying “Dinna give up.”
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September 23, 2013 at 17:53 -
Personally Anna I think cancer is shit…… I saw what my wife went through last year, and what ever cancer it is…. it’s all shit….and the treatment is no better….. but I wish you well with your next round of treatment[s] and I wish you well for a recovery that brings normality back into your life….. what ever normal is in the world of cancer.
My wife was smiling at the weekend. I think you will be smiling again too.
kind regards RDC
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September 23, 2013 at 17:50 -
XX I’ll be back.XX
You better bloody had be lassie!
GREAT P.S there.
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September 23, 2013 at 17:49 -
Just live every day the best you can until you can’t – whether that’s sooner or (I hope) later. I think you make a pretty good fist of that anyway. My best wishes to you and my sympathies to your husband. I can only imagine what you are going through, but I know what it’s like for him.
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September 23, 2013 at 17:42 -
Boots on the ground made me think of old Blood & Guts for some reason.
“If everybody is thinking alike, then somebody isn’t thinking.”
http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/370054.George_S_Patton_Jr_
“To be a successful soldier, you must know history.” -
September 23, 2013 at 17:39 -
Like an old fool I cried, then laughed, reading your latest news Anna.
Delighted to say, welcome back, Girl.
Tony -
September 23, 2013 at 17:35 -
Wow Anna!
Go for it girl. Take any chance you can, we can’t afford to lose you.
And I implore all readers to download Anna’s whole blog if
xx
Comments are closed.
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