Saturday, the first of day of July and the first full day of my holiday in Westward Ho! I wake up quite early and check my emails and messages as usual. My blood results are in. I plot them on my results sheet, a copy of which I was careful to bring with me. The crucial measure is the PSA and the good news is that it has decreased quite markedly given the limited time I have been taking the new chemo drug.

As for the rest of the results they are pretty much in line with my usual profile. My kidney function is slightly up, which is one I always look at given my history of the Jamaican collapse drama in 2019. I have enough Enzalutamide to see me through till the 7th of July, after that I will have to wait until I get back from holiday to start another cycle of it. In the meantime I continue to fight where I can.

I make tea for my partner and take it to her in bed and share the results. I take a a set of vitals and we both move onto have breakfast. We laze for a bit and then we go shopping for food. We do both local food shops to get what we want but cannot locate any zero percent beer. In the last shop we try we find a stack of it and so I am able to stock up. I crave something other than lemon squash, which is what I have been drinking since I gave up coffee because I did not want to aggravate any effect my new medication would have on my blood pressure. I do not drink tea and avoid carbonated drinks (except 0% beer) so I crave new flavours to drink at times when I am thirsty. Next door in the bakers we buy a cream tea in a box and then return to the apartment to unload and play a hand of the card game we are learning. My partner soundly beats me.

We have a cream tea as a late lunch and then go for a walk along the seas edge to the “haunted house” that stands on the edge of the cliff at one end of the resort. I am back in time to watch the second half of the England women’s football friendly against Portugal. Its a draw, during which my partner falls asleep. I start to draft the blog and then take my vitals again. I have noticed after the walk that there is blood in my urine. I suspect that this is a result of the walk. It is possible that walking, like cross training aggravates the situation that we know is worse from the MRI scan I had to assess me for radio therapy. The reason I did not get radiotherapy was because the prostate cancer is too close to the bladder and showing signs of affecting it. I think therefore I am becoming more susceptible to passing blood. I stay well hydrated and flushed and intend to take these two weeks of holiday easy.

The early evening is noisy as the waves roll in at high tide, the apartment door is open as I type and my partner reads the paper on our patio overlooking the sea and the ice cream van.

The evening is all Tacos and Crime on TV washed down with 0% beer. I slowly become spoonless but find myself fighting off hot flushes, the continuing side effects of my 28 day medication. I take my night meds and draft the blog before wearily going to bed. Its been a good first day of holiday. Tomorrow I need to paddle in the waves.

Friday and it up early to shower and get myself to the GP surgery to get my bloods done. Before I go there are my vitals to take. I trot down to the surgery and I am soon in with the nurse. She is an expert and I am out in a flash, lighter by two samples of blood. I go home have breakfast and then load the car. At 10:15 I am on the road with my partner to Westwood Ho!

Five and one half hours later we arrive at our apartment, we open the key safe and are soon inside unpacking our cases and food. It is raining and as we organise it rains harder, in fact is rains progressively harder as the evening goes on. I take my afternoon set of vitals, all good. Having like cats settled in and investigated the apartment we eat a pasta and learn a new card game, Backpacker. Having completed the novices three training open hands we resort back to watching TV before I take my meds, draft the blog and go to bed. I am shattered, which is why the blog is so short and lacks it sometimes more observational content. I am tempted to wait up to see if my blood results come through but I just too spoonless to do do that tonight, it will have to wait till the morning.

Thursday and I wake as the household goes out to work, yep actual out in the real world work. So I check my mail and messages then do my vitals. These are all in order of course. Breakfast follows and then I spring (more lope) into action. My drugs have to be organised for the next two weeks and beyond. My wallets are filled adn extra supplies packed in case we need to stop off to visit the expected new grandson. I take the car to the petrol station and fill it up. Of course I check the tyres. I stock up on wine gums, essential driving aid, and fresh bottles of water. I remember to buy a new flagon of windscreen wash. When home I check the oil and that to is tickity boo. As I am feeling pleased with myself I step out to the village shop to get some holiday cash and find the machine stares blank screenedly at me. I buy treats and a paper then head for the village café .I happily sat doing the crosswords and munching my way through a sausage and bacon baguette. I take my time thinking I am cruising toward my holiday tomorrow.

I get home and settle down to take stock of what needs doing. I gather together some more items to pack and on a visit to the toilet note that it appears not to be flushing at the rate it should. I am a suspicious sort so I get my manhole cover keys and lift the lid. My heart sinks, it is blocked which means I am going to be rodding my drains once again. I gather together my rods, gloves and put on my work gear. I set to rodding with vigour and I pleased that I am able to clear the blockage quite quickly. In doing so I note that the inner seating of the manhole is eroded away and is no longer water tight. So I set about re cementing the affected area. This was the last thing I expected to be doing the day before holiday. I am on my knee trying to apply a new filler layer whilst stuffing old tea towels up one of the inlet pipes to keep things as dry as possible. Once the filler is in place I spend quite some time leaning into the manhole with my partners hair dryer trying to speed up the setting time of the filler. It comes to the point where I just have to leave it for a while.

My attention turns to the garden, in particular the green house where there are some very leggy seedlings. I get to work putting them in to the garden and potting up others. All the time I am conscious that there is a manhole drying, hopefully. Seedlings in I water the garden using my water butt water to ensure there is room in it while I am away. The bird feeders get filled and the squirrel feeder gets topped up. Finally the garden is done so I take a couple of pictures of the new flowers that have come out over the last couple of days.

With the garden sorted as much as it can be I now sort out the car ready for loading. With the wine gums and water stowed and the loading space readied there is no more to be done. The last thing I can do now is check my manhole and remove the tea towel plug from one of the drain pipes. I sense I am running out of spoons so get a move on. I inspect and judge I cannot do any more, so remove my tea towel plug and pop the lid back on.

At last I get to get my work kit off and settle down to tea with the family. I draft the blog knowing I have packing to do to night. My traveling “office” contains all the techno stuff I need to keep going and my journals to record what I do and need, so it is a crucial bag to me. By the end of the evening everything will be ready to be stowed and I shall do my meds and hopefully get an early night as tomorrow I have to be at the GP surgery for bloods, only then can I go on holiday. I hope to be able to keep the blog going.

Wednesday comes along to find me in the spare bed again after disturbed nights sleep. I check my vitals, me emails and my messages then head for breakfast. I’m settling down to do my meter readings when a friend calls on her way back from the dentist. She is clear and now home ward bound to continue her schedule of skill building to over come her long COVID. We say adieu and I get on with my meter reading. I am well chuffed at how low the gas usage is and for once I am happy sending my readings in. Almost immediately they show up on my transactions and I am pleased at the saving made. So is the supplier who is cutting our monthly charge by over a hundred pounds. This is a good win.

By the time I have pottered around doing more packing and preparation for the holiday there is just enough time to interrogate the garden camera to see if my hedgehog is still around. The Jolly news is that he is and also the local cat does not fancy messing with it. I replace the camera in a new position and then have lunch with my partner before she goes off to see her mother. As soon as she has gone I swing into action and gather up my hedge trimming tools. I set to work on the drive hedges that have grown profusely over the last two weeks. I do them by hand because I cannot be arsed to get the hedge trimmer our and mess around with the cables, it proves to be a good way to exercise as I am sweating and breathing heavily. Having finished the hedges I put the tools away and sit for a long time on the swing seat in the back garden. The garden is very green and verdant at the moment and has a very burgeoning feel about it. I like it, I find it comforting and do not feel the need to have it all straight lines and under control. When I settle down on the sofa there is tennis to watch as I fill my journal and begin to draft the blog. My partner returns and we plan to plan the plan for the last minute holiday chores and tasks. I’m still waiting for my last minute emergency twin pack of adult rain packamacs to arrive. The outlook for Devon next week is not a sunny one. I note I have not taken any paracetamol today as yet, which means my regime of only using paracetamol the day before, on and on the day after an injection is being stuck to without any feeling the need to prolong it. My injection site is sore but not pain killer sore, and I seem to have got through my “junkie” like post jab reaction. So its a good day so far.

I decide to train, and go to the garage and set myself up for a 45 minute session. It goes reasonably well and by the end of it I am pretty sure I’ve spent all my spoons for the day.

My partner and I have a late tea and settle down to watch the Great British Sewing Bee followed by some episodes of Above Suspicion. I take my night meds and return to drafting the blog. I am apprehensive about sleeping tonight so even though I am tired I drag my metaphoric feet to bed.

Tuesday and I wake up at 10 o’clock after a torrid night of non sleep or broken sleep. I feel sludgy and dopey. I get up and down a muesli breakfast and cranberry juice. I try to count how many spoons I have for the day but I’m not sure I get the right number, my spoons seems to be small today. I pick a task and try to get on with it. My task: begin to pack for holiday. I set about getting my case out from its hiding place and begin to select the clothes I will take. Part way through I check the weather forecast for the holiday period. It is a depressing exercise as the forecast is unremittingly overcast and wet. I return to the packing and checking I have enough warm and waterproof clothing. Of course the ubiquitous pack a mac becomes part to the plan and the books get bigger.

At lunch time my partner makes me sandwich which I eat on the patio which watching the squirrels feed. Then its back to the packing and the tricky calculations of how many pairs of socks and underpants the holiday is going to require. Eventually I get to the point I can do more so I take my afternoon vital and get ready to train. I feel very tired but I need to train to ward off the side effects as much as I can. So I get into my kit and head for the garage and set myself up for a half hour gentle row. It turns into a crap session, my nose runs, my earphones fail and I do not meet my usual standard goals. I clamber off the rower and head for the sofa to recover.

My partner finishes work and we co-ordinate to get the bins out and I then get out of my kit. Inevitably at this point I go for a piss. This is now an anxiety provoking activity. I now have a new definition of a good day. If I train and do not piss blood afterwards, its a good day. It keeps things simple and grounded. Today, thankfully, is a good day. I eat tea with my partner and then draft the blog. This evening I intend to rest having taken more paracetamol to dull the injection site soreness and watch TV. It won’t matter what as long as it gets me to bed later on. I know I have some London business to take care of but it will have to wait until tomorrow.

Monday, Injection Monday to be precise and I wake up from a deep nights sleep with a jerk. Its 7:30am and my jab is in an hours time. I take my vitals and then I dress, choosing easy jab clothing before taking my morning meds and preparing to walk down to the GP surgery. I am there on time, punch in and wait for a few minutes until called. Its a stand in nurse so there is the necessary chat about which side she is stabbing me in and how lumpy I am. Niceties over she jabs me with the comment “there is a lot of it”, too which I reply in my head “Its a depot, what do you expect?”. What comes out of my mouth is “Mmmm”.

I go home via the newsagent and have honey and toast and more lemon squash. The crosswords are a bit of a wrestle today and I wonder if the chemo drugs are slowing me up. I do more family archiving. There are several sets of EPNS tea spoons and apostle spoons which need to be cleaned but that will have to wait. A new pair of cheap holiday trainers arrive so I take time weeding out some old shoes and trying on the new, before moving the car off the drive so Tesco can deliver later. A friend calls and we chat for a long time as she waits in a queue to get her blood test done. We chat through the seventies and eighties until the early nineties arrives at which point my friend get into a prime waiting room position for her call. My partner provides me with lunch and then I go to the Shed to write letters. By three o’clock I am back on the sofa awaiting the Tesco delivery and drafting the blog.

Tesco deliver in time so there is a flurry of grab and run followed by a period of squirrelling. With the goodies out of sight I return to my mission of getting my letter posted. On my return from the post box I can feel my spoons drain away so I go to do my vitals for the afternoon. Before I can get them done there is a message from my youngest about an email to us from the solicitor. I deal with it and then get on with my vitals. All good as usual. Its tea time, which my partner has cooked. Its time to take pain killers as I can feel my junkie withdrawal like symptoms coming on. Always after a the 28 day jab I get this reaction. I get cold and tired and shaky as my injection site gets progressively more sore. Its not a good time to ask me how I am. I draft the blog irritably and change into even baggier lounge pants before watching Van Der Valk and trying for an early night. It will be night drugs and the spare bed for me tonight. I’m sick of it really but there are limited options so I choose “Jolly”, LGBT+J.

Saturday and I wake to do my vitals, have breakfast and take my morning meds. The basics over I and my partner go to the garden centre to buy food. I am feeling very tired after a poor nights sleep and by the time we are loading goodies into the boot of the car I am feeling almost spoonless, fatigued and and on the floppy end of the pert to droopy continuum. I flop on the sofa once home feeling “off”. The next time I go for a piss there is blood in my urine. It was there yesterday after I had trained but had cleared as usual so this is a resurgence. I drink a lot of water and keep retuning to the loo and checking. This was my life for the rest of the day, through Queens tennis semi finals, through tea, through Aquaman, through several episodes of Redemption and finally into Guns and Roses at Glastonbury, topped off with Christine and the Queens performing topless apart from Elastoplast crosses covering her nipples. Now full of cranberry juice, dark chocolate, and of curse night drugs I go to bed with a flagon of water. My intention is not to sleep till I am pissing bloodless. At to o’clock my wish comes true and I let myself try to sleep. The body is willing but the bladder isn’t due to the amount of liquid I have drunk. Eventually I do fall into the waves and sleep restlessly till 8 o’clock on Sunday morning.

Sunday and of course my first thoughts are “is there blood in my piss” and “how much do I weigh?” The answer to the first question is no there isn’t, (hurray go me) and the 97.1 kilos is the answer to the second question. Of course I feel knackered after a shit nights sleep and all the blood anxiety but I get up to breakfast with my partner on the patio. There we enjoy the thoughtless arsehole of the neighbour with the world loudest lawn mower/hedge trimmer and the joys of making holiday packing lists. There is good news in all of this, my friend has a date for her scan and my youngest daughter who is expecting seems more chipper and organised for her time. I prepare to do some more archiving before I watch the men’s final at Queens this afternoon.

I do not watch the Queens final as I spend all afternoon archiving, digging out yet more photos of relatives generations ago. In the end I have to give it best and eat tea with my partner who has returned from the gym. I’ve been drinking copious amounts of water and cranberry juice to fight off passing more blood, so far so good. The evening finds me watching Glastonbury culminating in Elton John allegedly last English. performance. I take my night meds, and pain killers and do the Tesco order. Tomorrow is injection day, so I have to be ready for my 8:30 injection. I am hoping for a trouble free night. The next couple of days are likely to be rugged post injection. Some how squaring the circle of exercise and drug side effects is becoming more challenging. I think my response to this makes me less of a person that people want to be around, which I think is understandable. Just four days and I get to drive to Devon for a holiday by the sea and the sound of the waves.

Having gone to bed early I wake in the same bed on this Friday morning. Its quite late so I take myself into the spare room and do a set of vitals (all good as usual). Time for breakfast and then there is more work to be done on the family tree documents. As I work away my new certificate binder appears and so I set to filling it. I have all sorts of death, birth and marriage certificates to file and to interrogate. Its a fruitful exercise as I discover that I have a not so distant relative who was a “zoological gardens porter”. I’m chuffed to find a zoo keeper in the family. I have lunch with my partner on the patio.

Post lunch I get messages and an email about the house in London. The estate agents have noticed the boiler is leaking. The agents are getting someone in to see it is secured an the estate will have to foot the bill. At least they are showing people round it after it being on the market for two days. I return to the family tree and email one branch of he family and tell them what I am doing and request missing information. I am soon getting enthusiastic responses and new data. By the end of the afternoon I am data full adn drive my partner to the hairdresser attached to the gym. I take the opportunity to pop in to the gym and do an hours session on the cross trainer. As sessions go it is okay.

I go to the changing rooms and shower and then to the lounge for a hot chocolate and triple choc cookie while I wait for my partner to emerge from the hairdressers. I go for a piss and find I got blood in my urine again. I just can’t win. Either I stop training and do not mitigate the chemo side effects or I continue and risk occasionally passing blood, which may not be so bad as it does not persist, its just distressing, which can be coped with as well. After all Muhmmed Ali pissed blood for a week after his rumble in the jungle. Me not being a prize fighter, just an ordinary Jo trying to stay fit am not prepared for such outcomes. I drive my partner to the chippy and then home for a Friday night chippy supper. We watch a new TV series until my partner goes to bed when I watch Artic Monkeys at Glastonbury while drafting the blog. I down my night drugs and go to bed having written my to do list and packing list for the coming holiday.

Thursday and for a change I wake up in the same bed as I went to sleep in. I get up and have breakfast before putting my washing in and checking my mail and messages. In a moment of positivity and thinking about holiday I order new trainer socks. Its a tradition, I buy new holiday socks and my partner steals them on holiday. This year I am prepared. Business down I go to the Shed where I settle down and write letters till late morning. I begin to feel a bit off so retreat to the house for a drink and a fat rascal. The post arrives and turns out to be a letter from a friend and two letters to the GP from the radiology oncologist explaining to my consultant and my GP why I cannot have radiotherapy. Life has obviously moved on by now. I am about to return to the Shed when my eldest daughter brings in another parcel from the porch. It is a box of Betty’s Fat Rascals. It has a note to say it is an early birthday present but no indication of who has sent them. So if you are reading this, Thank You very much, they are greatly appreciated.

I return to the Shed and continue to write my letters. I finish my letters and then close the Shed up and have lunch. My letters get posted and I pick up more stamps. I am cutting it a bit fine as I am due to be at the chiropodist. I drive off to my appointment conscious that the skies are darkening and threatening, my thoughts are about the washing that I hung out earlier. Arriving at the chiropodist’s I am soon sitting with my feet in a warm solution chatting to the foot angel. She scrapes, clips, buffs and lotions my feet, which makes them sing and I bounce out on feet that are holiday ready . I drive home quickly for fear of the rain but I am relieved to find my partner has taken it all in before the rain can start. I feed the squirrels and then take time to measure my vitals. Once again I am normal, healthy in fact. I read through some more documents from my sisters estate. There is one item that I share with you. At the catastrophic 60’s comprehensive that I went we had to write a post card to ourselves with the O level subjects we were taking and on what exam board. The results were then written on it and sent to you. Mine was sitting in the box I was sorting through. Its a measure of how being dyslexic just was not recognised, so I failed miserably.

Believe it or not the comprehensive was so desperate to have a six form that they let me stay another two years to do physics and chemistry A level. I didn’t get those either but I did get an English O level resit along the way. I suspect staying in that school for an additional two years kept me out of trouble with the law. I’m touched that my mother kept the evidence of my thickness, and probably the disappointment. I am called to tea and eat my Thursday tuna pasta and melon and then head for the sofa to draft the blog. My partner has her singing lesson tonight so I expect I’ll find something to occupy me. I did take a couple more pictures of some of the amazing flowers that are out in the garden.

I slide into the evening aware that I have not trained and know I have not got the spoons to do so. So this evening will be a time of being kind to my self. This will have to be enough for this day. Actually I end up filling my dugs wallets for the next two weeks, abandon watching something about a child in a family who has some chromosome defect, which is unremittingly miserable despite the witty script, at times, take my meds and go to bed to try and read. I’m tired and irritable, but my feet are happy.

Wednesday and I struggle to the surface after another disrupted nights sleep. Once again my Fitbit thinks I have had two hours less sleep than I thought. I do my vitals, go and have breakfast and then potter around doing things like bringing in bins. Some stuff arrives to help me archive the family so I squirrel away my grandfathers medals and regimental insignia. I also put all the house documents that span the time from acquiring the land for the building to the acquisition of the property by my parents. The post man arrives and I have a parcel. It is a double present from my friend who has made me a T shirt for my rearmament and Chemo II phases, which I can open, and something for my birthday. I of course immediately open my “now” present and try it on. It lovely and I message my friend to thank her. The dark waves are appropriate but also contain beauty. I like it a lot.

I get myself ready and drive off to the gym. I find my usual spot in the changing room taken so use another more exposed locker. Up on the gym floor I grab a cross trainer and set up an hours session. With Ramstein loud I get under way. It goes reasonably well and I burn over 600+ calories.

After a shower I sit in the lounge with a hot chocolate adn order a certificate folder for my continuing document organisation. I drive home and sit on the garden swing seat chatting to my partner. She goes off to make tea and I do some weeding and tidying. The family eat late and I slink off to do my vitals before watching the Great British Sewing Bee. The evening ends as my family drift off to bed and I take my night drugs and draft the blog. The night has become a tricky time for me at the moment as I am not sure that I can reliably sleep. Its a strange feeling.