2010 14th November -

I took Izzy to the hand car wash on Friday - and got them to hoover the ridiculously small interior.  £7.50 which I probably could have spent better, but seeing my lovely little red car all shiny (given I polished her, then waxed on a regular basis before the pain got too much) was worth it.  My friend Peter, who is sadly nearer the end of his life than I am, bought himself a Porsche as his "end of life" present to himself.  Bec and Ol also decided to spoil themselves and drive around in style in a sexy sporty Mazda.  Lady Deborah bought Baby, her Street Ka and Faerie, working stupidly unhealthy hours as a legal professional has a rather lovely SLK.  These convertibles were not end of life cars, but celebration of not having cancer any more cars.  And yes Cindy, girls DO just wanna have fun.  It's no surprise then, that after yet another procedure in March under a general anaesthetic made necessary by cancer treatment, I wanted to join in with having a less sensible car.  I'd been driving a Kia for a few years, purely because I had a 70 mile round trip to work every day and they are very economical to own and run.  

Izzy as a convertible

Izzy as a coupe

The pain started perhaps the day after that op on 1st April 2010 and I managed to find my dream car (dream car within budget that is) just a couple of weeks later.  Tony asked me recently (hello Tony) what I do for fun and after thinking about it, what I used to do three times a day when working, was drive Izzy as fast as I dare to and from work.  I drove home with the top down every lunchtime because I live less than 4 miles away so my fuel consumption was still minimal even by doubling my journeys.  Every time I drove her I had a smile on my face.  Of course on sunny days it was more of a lunatic grin.  I washed her every week, sometimes twice and made sure she got some decent layers of wax (I have more car care products than I do beauty products).

 

Since I don't leave the house much, except to go to hospital it's less of a joy, more of a "God, am I really safe to drive the way I feel?" event.  But on Saturday I braved the 30 odd mile journey to Lincoln to have a nosy round St Barnabas Christmas Craft Fair with Susie.  Susie doesn't have a car and there is NO local transport between Lincoln and Boston.  Well I think there's a weekly bus on a Friday for shoppers from here, but that's no use to her is it?  The drive was good!  It's not a bad road, a few hills and bends (Izzy loves bends) and greenery.  There wasn't much traffic either, and in an MX5 you can actually have as much fun at 50 as you can at 80 (ahem, that's 80 in France obviously.....not in UK officer!) so it never bothers me if there is traffic.

I'm really as weak as I thought I was though, because after walking only a few yards the pain kicked in, my fault, I don't remember to change my Fentanyl patch when I should (suffering nausea, headache, drowsiness and general drugged up feeling today from new one last night - urgh).  We wandered around some antique shops looking at lots of pretty sparkly things but I wasn't really in a shopping mood and I've got as much stuff as I need (costume jewellery obviously) so it was a cheap day!  Bonus.  Most of the time we just sat nattering in Susie's lovely apartment on squashy sofas.  She'd got a BT engineer there (5 hours poor bloke) on and off trying to sort her broadband and TV out.  

Susie is brilliant for funny stories, I'm convinced it's just her way of retelling a story that makes me giggle, rather than the content, but then again....she does get into some hilarious situations.  Also she doesn't hide behind "Oh...how are you, are you OK?  Oh you poor thing.  You'll beat it this time, you did before." or any other trite remarks that really make me want to punch people on the nose whilst wearing VERY large sharp edged rings (I don't really feel quite so strongly any more).  Susie is real, like all my other true friends.  She says it like it is, but isn't hurtful.  I can talk to her about dying in the same way we talk about anything else, not the actual dying bit, just the fact that I know it's a lot nearer for me.  I know I'm going to get a lot worse in the small hope I'll then be able to rebuild myself and feel a lot better for longer.