The Last Taboo.
I don’t ‘do’ taboos; neither does my imaginary friend. Have you met my imaginary friend? She’s called ‘Contraria’; she starts every sentence with ‘On the other hand’, or ‘Looked at a different way’ – and I have lots of conversations with her.
She drives me nuts sometimes, like an old Jewess – I only have to say something innocent like ‘I should do the ironing’ and she’s in my ear…”Should, schmood, always with the ‘should’ – think of all the other things you could do with the next half hour”.
I’ll give her one thing though – she never shies away from any subject. We’ve been having a lot of chats lately. Mostly about the last spinning plate; my health or rather, lack of it. It’s refreshing to chat with Contraria; she doesn’t stick to the approved list of responses to matters of health.
Like Old Holborn; his first question on hearing I had cancer was ‘What does it feel like to know you are dying’. Whooo – Damn fine question, Sir, to which the answer was ‘Exactly the same as you, Flower’. For, of course, we all know we are dying, it’s just that once the dreaded word ‘cancer’ enters the arena, only the truly honest ever mention the subject of the self-evident outcome. Everybody else clams up with an instant ‘oooh, you mustn’t talk like that’ the instant the conversation veers in that direction. As though suddenly all bets are off, and it is possible to be immortal if you just delete half the Thesaurus.
I have lived with this cancer for as long as the Savile saga; three years now. Those two unwelcome guests in my life have alternately distracted me and demented me with their irrational twists and turns – I have never decided which one I would push overboard first if I got the chance – I was equally determined not to quit on either front; and in fairness, they have both played their part in making me so angry that I couldn’t possibly ‘give in’.
Every few months for three years, I have had a scan. On alternate Tuesdays with an ‘R’ in the month I would get a thumbs up, ‘yep, everything fine’ – but the following scan would be delivered with long faces and a ‘whoops, well that is unusual, but the last treatment hasn’t worked totally, and now you need ‘x’, ‘y’ and probably ‘z’ as well’. Apart from the constant roller-coaster of ‘plan for the future’, and ‘hey, not so fast, it’s not looking good’ that is emotionally exhausting, there is another element to it – and that is that you take all this ‘on faith’.
Apart from when I have been having treatment, I have always looked, and felt, exactly the same as I’ve always looked and felt. I’ve agreed to surgery and God knows what tipped into me purely on the basis of a man in a white coat saying ‘if you don’t, you’ll be dead in a few months’, or words to that effect. I’ve never yet had a symptom of anything beyond the result of their slicing and dicing, and pills and potions – and they have been pretty horrific at times.
The last couple of weeks, the men in white coats have been at it again; “this ‘ere cancer that you only have our word for, has now travelled to your lungs”. Actually, it was even better than that, because they allowed that ‘it might be a different cancer, we can’t be sure’ – in a tone of voice that I think meant they thought I might take this as being ‘good’ news…
They wanted me to go straight to the Royal Marsden and let them remove the offending bit of lung. Before Christmas.
Well, Contraria really let rip. ‘How about you lot just hold your horses’ she said. ‘Tell them to bug off, you’re going away for Christmas with Mr G, and anyway, what about comparing this scan with your last scan, they said you were fine, even when you said you were a bit breathless’. ‘You can’t argue with Doctors’ I said, ‘it’s not done’. ‘Why not?’ said Contraria. So I did. And they compared scans, and there it was again. Been there all the time.
I forget how they worked the conversation round to it, but the gist of it was a well rehearsed speech warning me against the dangers of going the ‘alternative health route’ of a teaspoonful of desiccated tadpole testicles dissolved in half a pint of organically raised celery, or having my tongue painted green in China, or living on powdered apricot kernels and chanting Haile Selassie whilst puffing on outsize spliffs, or any of the other 300,000 cancer cures that circulate on the Internet, most of which I have read about at some time or another – obviously the only scenario they could imagine to acquiescing to more surgery was a misguided faith in strange potions not available on the NHS – but Contraria was whispering a more quixotic solution in my ear.
“How about – you just do nothing” she said. “How about you give ‘you can have a cup of tea when Sister has finished the 6 am drugs round’ a miss – and stick with just stretching your fingers out that half inch or so to poke Mr G in the back when you wake in the morning, and knowing that a steaming hot mug of Yorkshire tea will be yours in minutes, eh? How about you give hiking down to London to be sliced and diced as a special favour before Christmas a miss, and stick to your plans – the Cooden Beach Hotel, good food, good cheer, a wonderful Jacuzzi, and Mr G to wake up to every morning instead of some sour faced Portuguese nurse eh? How about you remember that every six months they’ve reckoned that if you just donated another pound of flesh you could avoid this cancer travelling – and look where it’s got you. It’s travelled, that’s where!”
She’s pretty blunt is Contraria – but she does have a point. Everything they’ve done so far has been designed to stop this cancer doing precisely what it has done anyway. That’s not to sound ungrateful for the past three years – but who’s to say I wouldn’t have had those three years anyway, without the surgery, without the chemo, without the radiotherapy? I will never know – and so long as a ‘cure’ is being held out to you, who is ever going to risk finding out the hard way?
But this is different, it is no longer a ‘cure’ but a ‘bit more time – because you’re only 67’.
Hmmn, 67 is too young to die. 68 is better? Or 69? So long as you don’t mind half a lung, and a bit more chemo – so half a head of hair to go with it, and only half feel like Chrimbo dinner?
I’ve decided to go along with Contraria this time. Do nothing. See what happens. Whoo! I shall die! Well, I was always going to anyway – but this way I might get to enjoy the process a bit more.
I’m no different to the person I have been for the past six months – a bit more tired maybe. Can’t walk as far. But I was perfectly happy, living in pig ignorance of this lurgy now resident in my lung. Nobody would have suggested for one moment that I change any plans, why would I? Make the most of being ‘in remission’, they would have said.
So I shan’t be changing our comfortable bed with Mr G keeping me warm for a hospital bed. I shan’t be giving the Jacuzzi a miss because I’ve got a plastic drain hanging out of my back. Nor shall I be exchanging the delights of roast turkey and stuffing for a gob full of untold poisons, or even organically reared celery juice infused with desiccated tadpole testicles.
I’m going for ‘quality of life’ instead of ‘quantity’; frankly, the extra few months they had in mind for me didn’t sound like a bundle of fun, at all, at all.
Mr G is fully behind me – he’s had his fill of watching me go through the hospital mill. He’s as happy as a sandboy reconfiguring this cottage, and it’s coming on apace. We have an excellent pub next door, and a brilliant restaurant down the road – and a post office, and a village full of normal people and we are loving it. I adore the scenery round here, the wildness of it all – and the dog thinks the sewage works a bare half mile away is just the ‘dog’s something’s’ or other; infinitely superior to French ordure. We really couldn’t be happier, any of us.
The only difference you will notice is that I shall be taking a back seat on the blog. Ms Raccoon has a life, a spirit, all of her own – she isn’t ‘me’ – she’s all of you. Petunia Winegum will be operating her controls in future – Petunia has the same sense of humour (bleak!) as me, the same obsessive desire to write every day, and the same ability to take a contrarian view on just about everything. If you have something to say, could you please say it to Petunia?
I am really exhausted; mentally, physically, emotionally – I need to lie down in a darkened room for a long time, and sit and watch the sun go down, and read the Sunday Times from cover to cover, and watch the sun come up again, and tons of other things too.
One day, when my luck runs out, the blog will be Petunia’s…
I shan’t be taking it down. There has been too much good work done by too many people for that; it was a mistake to have taken it down last time. Gildas will still be around; and no doubt I will write from time to time, I doubt that Contraria will stop talking to me.
It won’t be my priority though. I have too many other things I want to do, and perhaps too short a time to do them in. We shall see.
Susanne.
- Chromatistes
December 3, 2014 at 4:17 pm -
Good decision, old girl. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. Live life to the full.
- Helen
December 3, 2014 at 4:23 pm -
DearSusanne.
Live, Love and Laugh with Mr G like there is no tomorrow. You are a remarkable woman and as I have said before, a complete inspiration. There are many of us I am sure who are better people for making your acquaintance even if it has not been in the flesh.
Helen x
- FrankH
December 3, 2014 at 4:26 pm -
I’d like to say thank you for the pleasure and information your writing has given me over the past however long it is since I discovered your blog.
And enjoy yourself, but I don’t think you need anybody to tell you to do that, do you?
- Andrea
December 3, 2014 at 4:35 pm -
I also get so much pleasure out of your blog. A breath of reality in an increasingly bonkers world.
Enjoy.
x - Joe Public
December 3, 2014 at 4:36 pm -
I’m lost for words ……. but I had to let you know that.
- Carol42
December 3, 2014 at 4:47 pm -
Good for you Susanne, should I have a recurrence or a new cancer I fully intend to make the same decision, give me quality over quantity any day. I have seen too many suffer from their desperate quest for remission and die anyway after a miserable time. Those I know who have made the same choice have lived a lot longer than predicted and a lot happier too. Whatever happens enjoy life to the full, I will miss your blog very much, you have been a true inspiration to us all. If you haven’t already read it google ‘How Doctors Die’ it is very interesting . Right now if you feel well you are well and make the most of it. My very best wishes for your future.
Carol - Ho Hum
December 3, 2014 at 4:51 pm -
When it’s my turn, I hope that I can be as dignified.
Thanks for the legacy. Our children, and theirs, will doubtless benefit from it in the future, when most of the present madness is finally seen for what it really is.
And, meantime, I’m sure that the prayers of those of us who indulge in such, go with you
- Alison Moore
December 3, 2014 at 4:55 pm -
I’ve only just discovered your blog, and have been enjoying it for perhaps two months, having found much to inspire even in that short time. Nevertheless, I really feel for you making the decision to ‘do nothing’. It’s 42 years since I was given an uncertain prognosis with the likelihood of a shorter rather than a longer life, and at 23 years old, I seized then on any treatment they wanted to put me through. Now at 65 I am suffering the late effects of radiotherapy and chemo in the 70s, and should a new cancer arise, I’d like to think I had the equanimity and courage to make the decision you have. I know more than one person who’s done the same, and they have been able to enjoy life to the full . They certainly haven’t to my knowledge, regretted their decision. As the saying goes, and as you’ve acknowledged, birth is fatal, and life is a terminal condition right from the start. You go, girl!
Alison
- Bill Sticker
December 3, 2014 at 5:22 pm -
You know, I think Contraria might be on to something. If all the slicing and dicing hasn’t really slowed the spread much, perhaps I might offer the following;
A number of people have just ‘KBO’ for several years following a Cancer diagnosis that promised only months. How? By throwing themselves wholeheartedly into what they do. A positive mental attitude (Which you have in spades) and a propensity for hard work is a plus. Oh, and a high protein diet seems to be useful too. Not that the aforementioned are the way to outliving the Doctors dire prognoses, they’re simply more enjoyable strategies than oatmeal and surgery every three months.
Wishing you the best of luck.
Best regards
Bill
- Micky
December 3, 2014 at 5:26 pm -
Dear Sue. We’ve know each other for a couple of years and I still distinctly remember the day you called me to tell me you’d been diagnosed with cancer. I’ve been crying all day. It wasn’t fair, that something like that would happen to a person a vibrant as you. Unfortunately we fell out with each other about something, which was in retrospect a minor thing. And even more unfortunately we’ve never been able to restore contact. I do hope, though, that you read my message here now and know, that you’ve always been on my mind ever since. I salute you for your decision. It shows again your superior character and stance in life. My thoughts and prayers [Maman’s too] are with you and the great Mr. G. If there’s anything, just anything I could help you with, you know where to find me. Bisous, Franca.
- theyfearthehare
December 3, 2014 at 5:31 pm -
Wishing you all the luck in the world, you deserve it
- Cascadian
December 3, 2014 at 5:55 pm -
“We really couldn’t be happier, any of us.”………..that is the essence of our existence. Enjoy the Cooden Beach Hotel, and your new surroundings (a post office AND a pub-what kind of strange place have you found). May you live a long and happy life to confound the experts, just as you have confounded the “professionals” on many issues.
Since you seem not to mind slightly abnormal comments, I will be taking bets in the bar, I say the landlady makes 85 years.
Like many here you have made my life more enjoyable and educated me at the same time. I thank you, and under the circumstances perhaps it is not too early to wish you and Mr G a Merry Christmas and a long, happy life together.
- amg
December 3, 2014 at 5:57 pm -
Only you can make the decision, but, for what it’s worth, I think it’s the right one.
When my late wife had breast cancer and it went to her liver, the (French) doctors told her she should have further treatment to which she (we) agreed. We didn’t know, because we weren’t told, that it was already too late and so wasted the last few weeks of her life.
Because of their reticence, she died alone in the night in a small room in a foreign hospital.
Thank you for your blog; I wish you everything you wish for yourself.
- Opus
December 3, 2014 at 6:26 pm -
Saddened
- Peter Thomson
December 3, 2014 at 6:29 pm -
Dear Anna -or should that be Suzanne – this is just to say how much I have learnt from your posts over the last eighteen months or so, and how bitterly I regret that your return to these shores should coincide with this depressing prognosis. For what it is worth, I salute your altera ego’s attitude and urge you not to give up the good fight; there are thousands of us behind you; with my love Peter
- The Blocked Dwarf
December 3, 2014 at 6:33 pm -
For shame, Anna, for shame!
Don’t get me wrong, of course I wish you all the best in all regards and I know for a fact that I am not the only ‘believer’ here who offers up daily prayers to God/Allah/Buddha/Odin/Kali/The Sky Pixie/The Zombie Jew (delete as appropriate) for your continued well being. I also think Petunia has proven herself a worthy replacement and shown that she has the ‘heart’ for it -as Gildas the Soul.
But God/Allah/Buddha/ Odin/Kali/The Sky Pixie/The Zombie Jew (delete as appropriate) has given you a gift and if HE had meant for you to spend the rest of your allotted time on this earth sitting in some tap room somewhere buying packet after packet of KP Nuts in a vain attempt to uncover the model’s tits (do they still have those in pubs?) or attempting to drown out SKY WIDE SCREEN SUPER SPORTS by listening to the village drunk (“my life in the SAS”) or debating with the pub bore -who knows exactly what is wrong with the economy despite not being able to balance his own check book- Then the LORD, in his unending wisdom and bounty, would have made you 1.Male and 2.given you a fascination with whether brewers now use a bottom or top fermenting yeast.
You have the gift of being able to change things by your writing. Pretty much everyone here would describe themselves as ‘cynical’ I guess but one paragraph from you and we reach for our E-wallets. I, We, might disagree with something you write but I guarantee you that everyone who disagrees also then rechecks the logicality of his own position. You speak out for those who can’t speak for themselves by dint of being dead or imprisoned and , perhaps more importantly, you give voice to the genuine victims -to those caught under the wheels of the Juggernaut of Karma or The whimsically misnamed Court Of Protection.
Your blog has changed things and people….and I include myself in that multitude.
So hie you to the Nineveh Arms and let us know how that works out for you, Jonah says ‘hi’ btw.
Raccoons are persistent little buggers. - Wigner’s Friend
December 3, 2014 at 6:41 pm -
What they all said – in Spades. I have no doubt that you will get withdrawal symptoms from this blog in short order and I will look forward to the occasional offering that will inevitably appear. In the meantime, I will appreciate the offerings from Petunia and Gildas and think hard on the many nuggets you have laid before us. I’m glad you have the support of Mr G. Stay strong as you always have.
- John Galt
December 3, 2014 at 7:01 pm -
Yes, I have to admit that there comes a point where you are fighting against an opposing current, you can’t win, but you can’t quit either.
My mother was in the same position in 2010, after the 3rd round of Chemo facing a cancer that had metastasised into cancer of the liver, blood and aorta, she knew she was fighting a battle she couldn’t win. Saying “Thanks for everything you’ve done, but no more” was not a defeat it was a simple acknowledgement that all of us have an “Appointment in Samarra”, which may be avoided but never evaded.
She past away in February 2011, but we both knew that she made the right decision.
- Eddy
December 3, 2014 at 7:28 pm -
A very touching post, I was hoping that it would be better news after the first two posts. Perhaps its a different sort of better news. You are a remarkable raccoon and I hope you have many days ahead enjoying life to the fullest. You have touched many hearts, mine for one.
Eddy - macheath
December 3, 2014 at 7:39 pm -
Since I fully expect you to talk the hind leg off the Grim Reaper and then persuade him to go for a walk elsewhere, this is merely ‘au revoir’; best wishes and much love.
(Given the internet’s contribution to Life imitating Art, I expect there will soon be a plethora of charlatans peddling tadpoles’ testicles to unwary hypochondriacs.)
- Robert Edwards
December 3, 2014 at 7:56 pm -
Zapata (allegedly): “Better to die on your feet than live on your knees…”
You are fearless and splendid. Whatever you decide will exist forever (this stuff lurks around, after all) and will, or should, serve as a Vade Mecum to anyone who reads it.
But I fear there is no counterpunch; I wish there were…
God bless, and stay with us.
- Michael M
December 3, 2014 at 8:08 pm -
Dear Anna (Suzanne) — Having hung around here listening to the conversations for some time in silence, I’d like to add my voice to those who thank you for your courage, sanity, perserverance and sense of justice. Completely understand your decision, in spite of a world obsessed with the physical and material processes of life and reproduction. You’ll be sorely missed; no one can replace your inimitable voice. But have a really enjoyable time for now!
- Mudplugger
December 3, 2014 at 9:32 pm -
As decisions go, it’s one we probably all hope we would have the courage to face and to resolve, but we’re not sure until we have to. Only you and the admirable Mr G can make it, but your friends will back your decision to the hilt, even though it may shorten real-time friendships somewhat.
Chances are that you, and no-one else either, will ever be able to account for the full breath or depth of impact that your web-presence has had, such is its pervasive reach, but whenever it comes, you can rest assured that this place we share would have been a worse one had you not popped your head above the parapet and faced down so many slings and arrows of outrageous fortune-hunters. I thank you on behalf of all those who know not whom to thank or why they should.
My thoughts are with you both as you take well-deserved pleasure in each other’s company for as long as it lasts – I just hope it lasts and lasts and lasts……..
- gareth
December 3, 2014 at 9:35 pm -
I think that is the right decision and the one that I would hope that I would make were I in your place, but of course I am not (yet?).
God bless you and I look forward to your continuing occasional posts which I greatly value. - JuliaM
December 3, 2014 at 9:54 pm -
Good for you! Enjoy yourself, none of us really know what’s around the next corner.
- Woman on a Raft
December 6, 2014 at 12:23 am -
+1.
- Woman on a Raft
- Micky
December 3, 2014 at 10:10 pm -
This looks very much like you …
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=trueview-instream&v=Lv2xBJfqybE - You must be Joe King
December 3, 2014 at 10:25 pm -
x
- DtP
December 3, 2014 at 10:34 pm -
Dear Susanne (gosh, that feels strange)
If writing is the highest form of art, which it is, and blogging is what the internet was made for, which it should be, then you really have been top of the game. Smart, funny, unbelievably polemic (I totally disagree with jaundiced), humble, accurate, generous, inspirationally riveting, educational (my mum’s got me down as power of attorney thanks to you and the case studies of these shitty governments we get) contemporary to the point of clairvoyant and just bluddy exemplary is what this cyberpub and digital tap-room has meant to me. I got a hyper taxi here from OH’s electronic S&M club well before the last election when I was tossing it off working 80 odd hour weeks for the Tory Party, blinded by my hatred of Brown and Labour and I find this fucking arcadian boozer, having wandered in as you threw Assumption out on his arse shouting “you’re barred for ever this time” and learned more in a thread than any broadsheet in a week. Needless to say, I jacked in the job 2 months after the election – that I knew for a fact I was bullshitting myself as much as anyone was all too obvious from your forensic pwning which is/was more valuable than a hundred confessionals with my political allies.
My heart, I thank you so very, very much and wish you & Mr G the blessings and love of a tearful friend. If I seek your monument I shall look around here. I’m sure when they mentioned homeopathy they didn’t mean Yorkshire Tea – evry fule kno that can fix owt.
It’s been an absolute pleasure
Richard xxx
- Lysistrata Eleftheria
December 3, 2014 at 10:54 pm -
Good for you. I too have terminal cancer (as I think I mentioned here before); I too am on ‘palliative’ care rather than being offered a cure; I too have read with white hot anger the suggestion of powdered apricot kernel as a sure-fire cure for cancer. But I’m not quite ready yet – was only diagnosed in January this year and would like to see a couple more seasons if possible.
Enjoy Christmas and Cooden Beach. The finest of festivals and one of the finest of places. - Pat
December 3, 2014 at 11:16 pm -
What to say?
Thanks for the inspiration over the years. Wish I’d commented more (though you seemed to have most things covered).
a brave decision. Hopefully the doctors are being pessimistic- I have known it happen.
best wishes
Pat - carol42
December 3, 2014 at 11:23 pm -
Reading your post again, I too was totally asymptomatic, the cancer was found when I had a CT for a totally unrelated matter. As I felt perfectly fine I was astonished, so much so that I insisted, after one PET scan, to wait three months and have another before consenting to the surgery. Because of the position it was not possible to have a biopsy, it didn’t even show on an x ray. I also wonder what would have happened if it had not been found but I will never know, maybe it would just have stayed there indolently or by the time I had symptoms it would have been too late for, hopefully, curative surgery. Cancer is one strange disease, there are so many types even within one kind like lung or breast cancer, I didn’t know that before. I did tell the surgeon that if it wasn’t cancer he had best not let me wake up!
- Alex
December 4, 2014 at 5:22 am -
Dear Sussane, oh what an evocative name that is. I can’t ever hear it without thinking of “Suzanne takes you down to her place near the river……”, and being transported back 40 years to my first and only true love. I’m totally with you and ‘Contraria’ on this – what do doctors know anyway, eh? From recent personal experience I know that a lot of the time they mis-diagnose and hold out false hope – they pretend they know a lot more than they really do. I remember the late Bernard Manning saying, when his lifestyle and diet were being criticised, “I eat what I like, and drink what I like, and when I die I’ll go with a bloody big smile on my face! Who wants an extra 10 miserable years if they can have 5 really enjoyable ones?”. Enjoy life while you can – that’s the spirit!
- Moor Larkin
December 4, 2014 at 6:45 am -
* they compared scans, and there it was again. Been there all the time. *
And that is where Contraria was just using the power of Reason, and it seems to me the advice and the reasoning is sound. I had wondered if the word “Finale” had more meaning than just relating to the Duncroft thing as I was reading Pt.2. How fantastic that those Duncroft staff are all now free of the cancerous idea that one morning Plod will burst in at 6am to do their hysterically historical duty, and that is because of you I suspect.
Those that do good deserve a good life and that goes for you too. I look forward to seeing how the Petunia flowers and was also glad to read: “no doubt I will write from time to time” … That is also what I had hoped to read too. It also crossed my mind that you will still be hanging out quietly in the Snug too, just like the rest of us; which is also just as it should be.
Like thay said in the movie, “If you build it, they will come” and the Raccoon Arms is proof that sometimes, life can be like the movies.
Be Seeing You… in all the old, familiar places.
- Ljh
December 4, 2014 at 7:00 am -
Never believe a doctor : their arguments are based on the varied fates of utterly different individuals homogenised to a number. Contraria has it. Thank you for your sane voice. I do hope the urge to write intrudes periodically, Ms Raccoon, while enjoying your new cottage and Mr G.
- Machiii
December 4, 2014 at 7:08 am -
Dear Susanne,
Thank you for sharing your thoughts and plans with your readers at this difficult time. I have no view on what the right thing to do is, but you have thought things through and made a decision, based on what you think is right for you. Bravo!
I have enjoyed reading your blog for many years. I have hardly ever commented but that does not mean that I have not relished your thorough analysis of issues you wanted to address. You have but been afraid to take a contrarian view in what you have written on and I am not in the slightest bit surprised to see you adopting the same technique again.
My thoughts are with you and Mr G.
Kind regards
- Sackerson
December 4, 2014 at 7:43 am -
Makes complete sense to me. Dignity. Best wishes for your shared happiness, however much more of it there is.
- Robert the Biker
December 4, 2014 at 8:27 am -
All the best to you and Mr G, hope the quacks are wrong again (I have little faith in anything they tell me)
If the Reaper comes calling, just tell him to bugger off, you’re too busy to go; I have an axe you can borrow to wave at him
Robert - SagaxSenex
December 4, 2014 at 8:52 am -
God bless and thanks for all the inspiration. I’m certain your decision is the right one.
Personally, I always swore that when I was diagnosed with cancer I would start smoking and boozing again.
A couple of cigars get smoked a day now, and I seem to have developed a taste for Grappa Invecciata.
Perhaps the New Management would consider laying in a crate (or two)?
Enjoy your local pub, write letters to keep the Post Office alive.
Walk the dogs down to the sewage farm when you want.
(They say the tomatoes that grow round sewage farms are the very best. Care to verify that?)
Above all, enjoy your Christmas!
One thing: when the Raccoon Arms is under new management, don’t wipe your finger of the tops of the doors and start to say things like “Will you just look at the dust in here”. - Jim
December 4, 2014 at 8:57 am -
Susanne, we’ve not been the best of friends, but don’t let that let you doubt, for a moment how saddened I am by your news. I have shut up lately, but I have always carried on reading, as I’m sure you know.
You’re still the best writer out there, so I salute you.
My son is an ICU doctor. He would make the same decision as you for himself, the rest of us may fight against the inevitable for a while. You have lived well and made an impression, which is a lot more than I have done. Best wishes.
- Backwoodsman
December 4, 2014 at 9:22 am -
Anna, I fully understand your decision. However, I have spotted a flaw in your cunning plan. I defy you to read the Sunday Times from cover to cover, without feeling the urge once again to take up the cudgels over some lunacy or other !
- walter
December 4, 2014 at 10:11 am -
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nk2ldtCFCKc Get your husband to build one, and all the best
- walter
December 4, 2014 at 10:19 am -
Its an hyperbaric chamber supposed too increase oxygen in blood and defeat cancer cells, My former wife died of cancer three years ago, and she never had chemo, just an operation, and a bit of radiation, She had every natural concoction known to man, But she lasted nine years
- Jeremy Poynton
December 4, 2014 at 10:46 am -
We love you to bits. You know that, don’t you?
- Ms Mildred
December 4, 2014 at 11:43 am -
Sorry to see that you are withdrawing from this long battle with scheming story tellers and purveyors of falsehoods, but not surprised . I am really pleased that you have decided not to have more surgery. Enjoy the jacussi and your husband’s and friend’s company. We have had 6 years of similar hassle. In August my husband asked to be let off the further probings in the urology department. We came to an arrangement with his consultant. Two close friends opted not to have further surgery some years ago. I’m sure your energy and sheer bloody minded determination have carried you this far Anna. Have as good a time as you can from no onwards.
- Cloudberry
December 4, 2014 at 11:50 am -
You show exemplary character. Very best wishes for the future. Thank you for your wonderful blog and I hope you return to knock over the dustbins occasionally!
- Penfold
December 4, 2014 at 12:00 pm -
It is a regret of mine that it was only in my late forties and as I passed fifty that I learned how to understand media, how to read and watch with the right sort of scepticism. You have helped in that a lot.
Of course, it shouldn’t be about Contraria telling the doctors to bugger off, it’s simply you – the person being treated – making a choice about your treatment. Look forward to your occasional posts.
- Peter Whale
December 4, 2014 at 2:11 pm -
Contraria puts the options but the Raccoon acts them. Have a great time life is for living, the moment now is all any of us have got.
Love and best wishes.
- Anon
December 4, 2014 at 3:28 pm -
Duncroft in the news again, for the right reasons tho
- Ted Treen
December 4, 2014 at 5:24 pm -
I couldn’t add anything more heartfelt (or eloquent) than the foregoing posts: so I’ll just add my echoes to them, with thanks.
All the best to a terrific lady. X - Caedmon’s Cat
December 4, 2014 at 5:26 pm -
Anna – Your honesty in sharing these developments in your life in such a public forum is inspiring. You have always been an inspiration to me, even though we’ve never met. Your humour in your writing is a testament to your indomitable character. God bless you – and may your days be prolonged and happy.
- psok
December 4, 2014 at 6:12 pm -
your blog is brilliant. do not stop posting after you have had a rest. kind regards, p sok bournemouth
- The Jannie
December 4, 2014 at 7:17 pm -
Have a lie down . . . then jump up and come out fighting. It’s worked before now!
- GildasTheMonk
December 4, 2014 at 7:18 pm -
Good decision. The Monk wants to visit, Boss. What say you?
- Engineer
December 4, 2014 at 8:57 pm -
Dear Susanne.
I read this post yesterday, but just couldn’t think of the words to reply. I still can’t, but I’ll type anyway. Such sad news, and yet at the same time, glorious and uplifting – the final affirmation of life and humanity. You can look back on a life well lived, turning difficult beginnings into a full and positive success, especially as you did so much for others. Not to mention more recently the blog’s forensic analyses of the cant, obfustication and fog that infest the media, the nation’s body politic, and that world of which I know so little – the legal world, which you can clear like few others to allow the spotlight of truth to shine through. Your future writings may be scarcer, but they will be welcomed all the more. I can’t thank you enough for the chance to share a short time most days with writers far more astute than I, and with commenters of deeper wisdom, humour and insight than I will ever possess – a candle of sanity in a mad, sometimes bad world. I have learned so much from all of them, thanks to you and the virtual pub!
And now? Savour every moment, every sunrise, every jewel of morning frost on the tree branches, every robin’s trill, every meal, every last drop of existence itself. How fitting you can do so in the land of your birth, and with the support and comfort of a fine and decent human being by your side. Savour the gift of time and laughter with good friends, debunking the absurdities of life, and relishing the good things it can bring. Enjoy every moment – you’ve earned it!
With the deepest respect and admiration for your courage, decency, dignity and humanity – I salute you.
And whatever else you do – keep that stripey tail held proudly high!
David.
- Alan Scott
December 4, 2014 at 9:42 pm -
Engineer says it all. With tears and love
Alan - Carl
December 4, 2014 at 10:56 pm -
I hope I have your courage when my time comes, you are an amazing woman and I hope you and Mr G have many more happy moments together. I will miss your words but will keep coming back in the hope of more from you. My very best wishes for you.
- alan1803
December 5, 2014 at 12:41 am -
I’m another who has only discovered your blog in the last few months. I’m a bloke only marginally older than you, and have had relatives both older and younger than me who have lived with cancer. I’m having difficulty finding appropriate words, Susanne, but I respect you decision and fervently hope that you prove the doctors wrong. Your stance against the Savile hysteria has been a inspiration.
- sally stevens
December 5, 2014 at 3:08 am -
Sue, an honor to have run at your side in the search for truth. Duncroft will loom large in the history of British jurisprudence. You cannot defeat habeas. Enjoy your freedom, get well, thank you. A race well run.
- Not Long Now
December 5, 2014 at 5:56 am -
Susanne
“..Everybody else clams up with an instant ‘oooh, you mustn’t talk like that’ the instant the conversation veers in that direction…”
Yes I still haven’t got used to this response, so irritating is it (probably unreasonably but if I can face facts, why can’t they) that I find myself vetting everything I say before actually saying it in an attempt to avoid being exasperated by well intentioned people. But it is really difficult to discuss most everything involving plans and the future without alluding in some way to reality. It puts most conversations off limits sooner or later.
I admire your decision regarding treatment, luckily my diagnosis was incurable from the outset, but would like to think I would have had your courage to make the same decision. It certainly has focused my Lady and I on spending as much quality time together as possible, which because of the lack of treatment and it’s side effects, means all time is quality time. Way to go!
- Bill
December 5, 2014 at 10:04 am -
I lost my mother in October, to cancer.
She had it 4 years before, was supposed to be cured, but it came back.
Like you she was offered more treatment, to “prolong” her life. Her oncologist promised, “I can give you another 6 to 12 months… blah blah blah”. She was sceptical, “Six months of what?” but agreed to give it a try. Six rounds of chemo were planned over a five month period. The first one made her so ill she nearly died and spent a month in hospital. But still the oncologist wanted to push on. At this stage my old mum said “Fuck it, enough”. She lived another few months but they were far better months than she would have had with the chemo. I think it was a good choice, and a brave choice.
Very best to you Susanne.
- Carol42
December 5, 2014 at 3:35 pm -
The oncs don’t seem to like people making their own choice. When my friend Jeanne said she wanted only palliative treatment once she found the cancer was in her bloodstream, her Onc. was furious. She was given 3 – 6 months at most and lived for nearly two years frail but happy with a wonderful black sense of humour until the last two weeks when she slipped into a coma. She never regretted her choice for a minute.
Carol
- Carol42
- Den
December 5, 2014 at 10:27 am - AndyM
December 5, 2014 at 1:56 pm -
Anna
As another recent new discoverer of your blog, along with all the others I thank you for bringing logical light to some of the dark corners of this world, and doing so in such an entertaining and instructive way. Along with Ho Hum, and others of our persuasion, my prayers for you – and for Mr G.
- Lisboeta
December 5, 2014 at 4:17 pm -
Thank you for all those provocative, compulsive daily reads. You are a woman of remarkable courage and honesty. Spoil yourself rotten over Christmas. And I do hope you will be popping in, albeit occasionally.
x
- John
December 5, 2014 at 4:38 pm -
As a long-time reader and sincere admirer of our Landlady’s pluck, grit and inexhaustible appetite for the truth and nothing but the truth, your latest contribution touched me very deeply.
I should put my cards on the table and say straightaway that I am not a qualified physician, nor am I a big fan of conventional medicine, having seen at first-hand what ‘proper’ treatment did to my father and mother (both diagnosed with different cancers).
With those caveats, I am firmly on the side of ‘Contraria’ (beautifully written and conceived alter-ego, btw!) and humbly submit that you have little to lose by following Contraria’s advice for a few months and possibly much to gain.
In the longer term I would ask Anna if she has considered visualization as a possible ‘alternative’ treatment? This has been successful in a number of cancer cases, and if memory serves, is practised in some hospitals, both here and overseas, though I am afraid I don’t know their names offhand.
The ‘technique’ basically consists in visualising the tumour (or tumours) in great detail, rather as if one had x-ray vision. Good medical scans showing the size, shape and location of the tumour, and an ability to concentrate without distraction are obviously essential prerequisites, as it is important to really ‘see’ the tumour as clearly as possible and hold that image for several minutes. One then needs to image the white blood cells gradually and very slowly nibbling away at the periphery of the tumour, cell by cell, working inwards from the outside cell layer by layer.
This is VERY difficult, but gets easier with practise, especially if it is combined with regular meditation. But it can and DOES work. It is not ‘hocus-pocus’, for even the most dogmatic scientists now acknowledge that the MIND can and does affect the body. And if we concede that the mind can make us ill, it follows that it can make us better too. Moreover, this technique requires no weird nostrums or potions, no expense and no risk. All it takes is time and mental effort.
If you google ‘cancer visualization’, you will find 28 MILLION results, many of which provide useful information on this technique, and rather better explanations of the methodology that I have provided in this brief post.
It is entirely up to Anna whether she wishes to give this a go or not. But I have been so very moved by her struggle against cancer and her immense courage that I felt compelled to stop lurking and post this. I hope it is of some use.
Even if it is not, I hope that it will cheer Anna up to know just how many complete strangers there are out here in Cyberspace who truly care about her and the tremendous work she has done and is doing to wake people up to the truths she has uncovered that affect us all.
God bless you, Anna!
- Juliet 46
December 5, 2014 at 5:24 pm -
Echoing all the above good wishes, love and respect to you. Will a card addressed to Anna Raccoon at The Cooden Beach Hotel find you at Christmas? I hope so, it will be on its way tomorrow.
- Ian Reid
December 5, 2014 at 6:32 pm -
As someone who has also recently chanced upon your blog I can only echo the thoughts of other posters. Holding as I did an already low view of the British Establishment you have caused it to plummet further. Lest some think this is purely groupthink where we just seize upon writing which reinforces and reflects our exisitng prejudices, you have the gift of conveying things in such a way that I know I’m reading an honest appraisal of what you have found.
I think keeping the site up under new management is a good idea which will allow all the work you have done to continue to be of use to many people in the future. I’ll look on it as your gift to your public in your will. “All my writings I do leave to the blogosphere.” Not wising to end on a morbid note I wish you all the best in your future, and thanks for the gift of your writing.
- Frankie
December 5, 2014 at 6:54 pm -
And finally, sanity prevails…
I have enjoyed your ramblings over the past few years, marvelled at your forensic examinations of very difficult subjects and have been glad to be a part of what is, essentially, the best blog in the business.
But… all of this excellence comes at a price and you have got to focus on your health. No one knows the future but it would be utter madness (or at least madness in the same vein as you have been exhibiting by, for example, ‘upping sticks’ to an uninhabitable house in the middle of winter) to continue to write this blog on as regular basis as you have been heretofore.
I send you all of my best wishes and prayers for the future. We would like to be kept updated, however, as it is important to most of us here punters.
- PeeweeTheCat
December 6, 2014 at 6:08 am -
Oh Anna. I’ve been reading you for ages but only made a couple of comments.
You’re an inspiration and a warrior. Take time now for yourself and Mr. G.
Enjoy your Christmas. Eat, drink and be really merry. You deserve it.
Love from the Cat.
- Tony
December 6, 2014 at 10:10 am -
Dear Anna
You have been an inspiration to many people over the last few years, and although you gave us fair warning we still didn’t really believe a day would come when you might actually say goodbye.
Please keep in touch whenever you feel able, but please don’t think of it as an obligation. You deserve to clear your mind of any stress; relax and enjoy your allotted time.
The last straw for me was your signing off as Susanne. That did it, I blubbed! - suffolkgirl
December 6, 2014 at 6:25 pm -
I’ve always been amazed that you had the energy to blog with such verve and enthusiasm despite your illness. Now you rightly save your energies for yourself and Mr G and we shall miss you. I wish you the best possible health and all happiness and hope you look in from time to time.
- Henry
December 9, 2014 at 8:48 pm -
I don’t blame you in the slightest. To state the obvious: hospitals are bleeding awful places, getting treated like a kid by stressed nurses who exercise this weird kind of pressure on anyone who wants to get up and walk about on the ward, Doctors who are either unwilling or unable to talk anything other than double dutch.
Anyway thanks for all your fantastic work- though I’m sure there will be more. Take care
- Clarissa
December 17, 2014 at 10:04 pm -
Dear Susanne,
Apologies that this is a bit late but I’ve fallen slightly behind on my reading.
I won’t say anything as daft as I support your decision as, quite frankly, it was between you and Mr. G. and none of my business as to which way you jumped. What I will say is that I wish you all the best and hopefully you will confound the doctors and survive for many years to come.
In relation to my own family, I suspect (but can never prove) that my Nan, when informed of her breast cancer in her late 70s, probably decided that whatever she was offered in the way surgery/chemo/radio wasn’t worth the extra months or years it may have gained her. She also insisted that the knowledge of it be kept from her grandchildren because at that time I was in my final year at uni and my brother was in the upper-sixth. As circumstances had it, I found out the day after my final exam and she died the following day. My brother wasn’t so lucky and had found out a day or so before me thanks to a blunder by the admin department of the hospital (Mum was making arrangements for Nan to see out her final days in her own bed and had left strict instructions that all calls were either to be to work or mobile but someone screwed up). He ended up resetting his A-Levels the following summer.
Enjoy your Christmas break and fare thee well x
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