And so it goes...

My apologies to Billy Joel for the plagiarism. I’m not sure how this is going to go. It’s Monday morning now. I’m hoping to finish this tonight, cause tomorrow’s surgery day. We’ve had a few days of stops and starts with a little bit of miscommunication thrown in. I’ll tell you about that in a bit, but first… once more I have to say that the staff in this DHB are wonderful, thoughtful, caring, empathetic, and they smile a lot. But; it’s got to stop. Every sad face, wince, sharp intake of breath or whine gets a “Sorry”. I’m going to find a Swear Jar and change it to a “Sorry” Jar. Every time one of the caregivers says sorry to me I’m going to put their name in the jar. When this is all over, the nurse whose name is in there the most might just get a strip-a-gram when I leave.

Adam??? Are you busy that day???

Auckland, the city of Sails. All I want to do after spending the weekend here is – sail Away, sail away, sail away, as Enya used to say

Auckland Carpark

Remember that eight minute walk from the hotel in Auckland to the hospital? (If you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention.) Well, turns out it’s more like 25 minutes. Not that I’ve actually walked it. Denise has. Every-time we’ve needed to visit the hospital over the last few days I’ve found an excuse to catch a bus or a taxi.

Amsterdam Carpark

 “What about the car”, you might well ask. Well, that’s probably a subject for a very different kind of blog that involves lots of swearing. Let’s just say, at Twenty-One Dollars per day it turns out that bringing a car to Auckland when you ‘re staying in the city is a really bad move. Anyway, you live and (sometimes) you learn.

So, Friday afternoon we rock up to the MDM (Multi-Disciplinary Meeting) and after the obligatory ID process and a short wait we’re shown into a consult room and the parade of doctors starts. The upshot of all this is that, I’m not being admitted on Monday as we were previously told. I’m being admitted right now. The reason: they want to do another CT scan over the weekend to see if the cancer has progressed. Because it’s travelling along my infraorbital nerve, if it’s reached my right eye then it’s gotta go as well as the nerves and bones. It’s a good thing I’ve got a spare.

Now, we didn’t actually get to see the Ward on Friday. As soon as my personal crew of doctors had finished with me at the MDM I was dismissed and told to report back at 08:00am. Saturday morning. They didn’t have a time for CT Scan yet, but I would need to be ready to go first thing in the morning and no food or drink after 6:00am. And, ready I was. So, 11:00am. rolls round and here comes the “Hop-On, Hop-Off” wheelchair. Off we go for a tour of the hospital and I’m kicked out of the chair at Radiology.

“Welcome. Welcome. Come in and lie down here while we get you sorted out.” So, like a good little patient, I do. After getting me all set up, ready to have my “head examined”, another Tech comes in and starts apologising…

“Sorry, sorry, sorry” she says. “I’ve just spoken to one of the doctors and they want the CT Scan done tomorrow so it’s closer to the day of operation.” 

“Cool”, says I - as they got me off the table with what I thought was undue haste – and sent me on my way. Back in the Ward I’m told: “Go home. You can come back tomorrow morning. Just be here before 8:00am. and remember, no food or drink after 6:00am.” So off we go to spend the afternoon with the kids.

Groundhog Day. Next morning, we turn up around seven-thirty and settle in. Mid-morning and once again we hear…

“You can go home if you want. The CT Scan is booked for tomorrow morning, but you’ll have to be here before 7:00am.”

“What the…” and I didn’t even get to ride in the wheelchair today. Anyway, we decided the best thing to do was for me to stay in the hospital. That way, there’s no pressure on tomorrow morning. Whoops – there’s a slight flaw in this plan. I haven’t ordered any dinner or breakfast. We have a chat to Nurse Verrr YBusy and she assures me she’ll make a plan. “What would I like for dinner?” She asks.

“Sausages and mash,” is the reply. No mention of breakfast, because once again I’m not allowed to eat after 6:00am. But that’s fine. Remember me – the eternal optimist?

Anyway, off we go to spend some more time with the kids in the Domain – and that was Sunday sorted.

So, dinnertime rolls around and there’s no sign of any food for Chris. Now, I know there’s no point in whinging about this to the nurses, ‘cause they ain’t the cooks. So, initiative kicks in, and Subway, here I come. Nothing like a Teriyaki Salad to satisfy the worms.

This morning, and here’s the plan.

7:00am. –           Doctor’s rounds.

10:00 am. –        CT Scan.

12:00 Noon -     Lunch.

Sometime after that – Consult with the Specialists to discuss CT Scan results.

What actually happened…

8:00am -             A chauffer arrives with a wheelchair and I’m off for a CT Scan. Now, did you know – ‘cause I didn’t – there’s two Radiology centres in this hospital. One on the second floor and one on the sixth floor. No prizes for guessing that the chauffer dropped me off at the wrong one. No biggie. Once they discovered my real identity they took me to the right one, so it all worked out in the end.

8:45am. – I’m back in the Ward and YAY!!. There’s my breakfast.

12:00 Noon – Lunch. Hang on!! I hadn’t ordered any lunch. What the…!! Remember yesterday when I ordered Sausages and Mash for Dinner? No… you’re wrong. The Sausages and Mash had been crossed out on my menu sheet and replaced with – Cauliflower and Broccoli covered in a cheese sauce. Yum!! Luckily, I found some Mushroom Soup on the tray as well. Also, my wonderful wife wandered off and came back with all sorts of goodies from the Café downstairs. So, I’m a happy camper.

It’s now 2:15pm. with no sign of the Specialists, but that’s cool. I’m off to work on my jigsaw now.

Well, time marches on...

Now, I haven’t told you the story of the Intravenous Line. I wasn’t going to but now it’s developed into a central character. Last night about midnight my right arm started to get my attention around the site of the IV line. By 3:00am. I caved and wandered off to ask the Night Nurse what she thought. Seems it “tissued”. Apparently that means the IV had moved, lost the vein, and was playing havoc with the tissue around the site. (It’s good to have a wife who’s an ex nurse.) So, that IV was removed and they put another one into a different site. All good – problem solved.

Well…!!!

Bugger!!

This afternoon they noticed the redness – took a swab and it turns out I have an infection in my right arm from the IV line. GGGggggreat!!! About ten minutes ago the anesthetist came to check me out, spotted the infection and raced off to tell the Surgeon. So, the weather forecast from here us looking pretty bleak right now. Storm clouds are gathering over us and there’s lots of thunder running round in my head. It’s 6:30pm – surgery’s supposed to start at 08:00 and the only person who can make the call is still working. I hope they haven’t filled the original spot for the 12^th. March. Anyway, time will tell.

Time for me to stop writing now. Am I gonna have surgery tomorrow? Dunno!! I’ll keep you posted. I'm now getting an IV for antibiotics to try to wash the badies away. So that's me for tonight. 

Don’t forget… When you’re frustrated, recognize the mood and make sure you remain kind to those around you.

Surprise!!!

You know when you make a plan that’s going to unfold over a period of time - at the start of the plan things normally progress at a pace that you set with the end game in sight. So, what do you do when those in charge change the rules?

I guess you have two choices. You can panic or you can get excited. We panicked for about two and a half minutes then got a bit excited. The event that caused this heart flutter was a phone call from Toni yesterday morning (Tuesday), who is “somebody” to do with “something” at Auckland DHB. (Still haven’t quite worked out who or what.) Anyway, she was calling to tell me my surgery date has been changed. The panic started before she said anymore, ‘cause I thought it was going to be delayed. The excitement set in when she told me the date was being brought forward by two weeks. I’ve now been scheduled to report for pre-admission stuff on Friday, admission on Monday and surgery on Tuesday.

So, after about ten minutes of getting our heads around the changes, Denise and I started making new plans. To be honest, the planning we’d already put in place pretty much covered everything, so apart from some business stuff – which we worked through and finished today – the only things we really had to organise was for someone to collect the mail, (thanks Donna), and to pick up some fuel vouchers for the trip to Auckland tomorrow. Easy-peasy!

When I phoned the Transport Lady at the hospital, the idea was to arrange for some fuel vouchers for the trip up, and accommodation for Denise for the two weeks I’ll be lounging ‘round the ward.

“Sorry”, said she. “We haven’t got any accommodation available in Auckland. All the places we deal with are fully booked. You’ll have to arrange your own accommodation and claim for it later.”

(What the?? What’s happening in Auckland??)

Not a problem. We can sort this out easy.

Yeah, right!!  

After hours and hours and hours of searching through Booking.com, Book-a-Bach, Air B&B, Trivago and Expedia – ok, maybe it was a bit less than that - we found a double room in a hotel in the middle of Auckland City. So now we have a place to stay, which according to the famous Geographer, Mr G Maps, is an eight minute walk away from the hospital.

Another road trip. Tomorrow morning we’ll pack up the car and head off to Auckland yet again. The problem we’re facing tonight is… which car do we take?

Mine’s the most comfortable, but Denise’s has more whistles and bells and we can patch our music into the car system. I guess the question comes down to whether we want to listen to music or talkback on the trip. This is a quandary. What to do? I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight.  This is a real issue. If I get it wrong, it might have major ramifications for our ears tomorrow.

Man!!! This is too much pressure.

But, I’m looking forward to the mushrooms!! I think I told you about this before. There’s a little café in Cambridge (opposite the old church) that does the best mushroom and bacon dish in the world. Denise can never finish her’s… Bonus!!

Now, I’ve been writing rubbish for the last couple of paragraphs but, we need to sort this next little issue out.

NO TEARS!!

We’ve talked about this before. We’re struggling with this so it might be time to go “off-grid”. We understand and truly appreciate the love and support we are constantly receiving from all of you. But, NO TEARS!! That’s the deal. We would rather hear about your lives and the things that make you laugh, ‘cause these are the things that make us laugh. The positive, the funny and the normal. These are the things that truly help.

I’m not sure how the next few days are going to go, but I probably won’t get back to this for a while. Until I do…

Remember…

It's a Competition

To everyone who read and commented on my last post. Thank you, thank you, thank you!! Some of you commented on the blog post, some of you on Facebook, and some of you sent text messages. They were all very gratefully received.

Did you realize when you commented that you were automatically entered into a competition? 

No?

Well, you were. The competition is ongoing and there may, or may not, be prizes given out with each new post. The prize categories for the last post were...

• The one that caused the most laughter.
• The one that caused the most tears.

The winner of the first category was my bro, Tane. He read the blog and then sent me a text asking if he could borrow the boat while I was in Auckland. His prize - he gets to shout next time we have a coffee together.

By the way, I don't have a boat - but if I did...

The winner of the second prize is still being considered, so this category will carry over. The prize winner of this category will receive a strongly-worded telling off, followed by banishment from this blog. 

To change the tone a bit, let me tell you about a "dining table conversation" we had. The we being - yours truly, my wife, Denise and her sister Robyn. I'm not sure how we got to this subject but, we talked about what happens in the unlikely event that cancer wins.

Feeling uncomfortable yet?

Upon reflection, I've realized that this is a very necessary conversation to have with those closest to you. I've kinda had a version of this conversation with my children already, but that was before cancer reared it's ugly head again. Over the next little while, as opportunity arises, I'll check to make sure we're all on the same page when it comes to working out who's going to look after the shrine for my ashes when they're not on display.

Another interesting, and necessary item we ticked off, was a meeting with our Solicitor. I think we asked all the right questions. These were all focused on making sure that my wife wasn't going to have to worry about things like property or money. We worked out that Denise is going to miss out on everything I own, but she'll be able to carry on with everything we own. She's pretty upset with the outcome 'cause she'll have to fight to get the title to my fifteen year old XR6.

As someone said before, it's the little things. For the past forever, I've owned two pairs of PJs. One winter set and one summer set. They normally go  through the washer and dryer with the sheets. Realizing that won't work during my "vacay" in Auckland we had to go on a shopping trip - so now I'm the proud owner of two more pairs of PJs.

Spoiled, right?

So, how am I doing? I'm pretty fine actually. I'm sleeping a bit too well which means the pain meds are wearing off through the night, but the Panadol/Ibuprofen cocktails are doing the job. Denise and I have been out walking a bit. That's something I need to do more of. For me, the day-to-day stuff's great. It keeps me from thinking the wrong kind of thoughts - which reminds me, I must empty the garden waste out of the trailer tomorrow - and I'm enjoying writing this. Strangely, I've lost my appetite for reading. Not sure what that's about. I gotta say, I am getting a little impatient though. I'm not actually looking forward to the line going into the back of my hand, but the sooner that happens, the sooner it'll come out again.

Anyway, how're you doing? Let me know, eh? Tell me all about the good stuff in your life. Lee, I'm expecting a joke from you. No excuses.

As someone, somewhere said: Keep trying to  do the right thing.

How did I get here??? – The Diagnosis.

I’ve been thinking about all the gaps in my journey that I haven’t written about, and there’s one in particular that keeps coming to mind…

How did I come to be diagnosed with cancer?

I thought there might be some merit in sharing this particular aspect of my situation with others, so I’m beginning this tale at a point where I was somewhat embarrassed and hesitant, and concerned that I was wasting everyone’s time, trying to explain away a numbness and a very minor ache in my face. Just so we’re clear, this story covers a four month timeline, from early October 2018 until early February 2019.  

Like most other males I know, I hate shaving. Don’t really know why. I think over the years maybe I’ve just talked myself into not liking it, so I only do it every three or four days. I’ve got a full beard – I’ve had it since I worked in New Guinea in the ‘70s – but I still have to shave around the cheeks and neck area. It’s kinda the only time I stare at myself in the mirror and lately I’ve been noticing my right lower eyelid drooping more and more. It’s also drying out and giving me a bit of grief. I’ve also noticed that the razor feels strange against my right cheek. You know when you’ve been to the dentist and had novocaine - it’s wearing off you feel a numbness in your lips and the surrounding area. That’s what it feels like.

The eyelid drooping started after I had a BCC removed from the eyelid in 2014. I can still remember the surgeon at the time commenting on it and telling me he wouldn’t do anything about it ‘cause he didn’t think it would be a problem. He was right – for a couple of years. But I kept telling myself: it’s not going to get any better. Time to do something about it. So, after about six months of telling myself to sort it out, off I go to my GP.

When he checks me over, he decides it’s worth a referral. But, because it just needs a bit of tightening, he doesn’t think the Medical Team at the DHB will give it a very high priority. He tells me I might be waiting awhile. I’m not too bothered about that and I wander off back into my everyday life.

About a week later I get a letter from the hospital, telling me they’ve assessed my situation and have classified my procedure as Class 4 (non-urgent) and I will be scheduled for corrective surgery within the next three months.

Cool…

Feeling relaxed.

What the…??? About two weeks after the letter the Booking Clerk at the hospital’s chasing me, telling me he has an appointment date and time for me to see an Eye Specialist.

(No complaints about the Public Health Service from this little chipmunk.).

A few days later and I’m sitting in front of the Specialist waffling on about my eyelid issues, then I started whingeing about pain under my eye. The Specialist wasn’t happy about all the noise I was making so she suggested she take a couple of biopsies from around my eye while she’s sorting out the eyelid. Yep, says I. Sounds like a plan.

Skipping right along… less than two weeks after the appointment and I’m booked in for a Day Surgery procedure that fixed me right up. Two weeks after that and I’m back in the Eye Surgeon’s Clinic for a follow-up. The Specialist looks over her handiwork; she congratulates me on my superhuman healing properties; I congratulate her on her needlepoint, and then we start to talk about the biopsies.

All clear; No problems; Everything’s fine, and she tells me in a few other distracted ways that the biopsies have come out clean. But she’s frowning at me. She’s not happy. She tells me she thinks something’s going on and wants to refer me back to the Maxiofacial Surgeon that did some rust removal and panel beating on my nose back in 2013. Wonderful, we thought. He’ll sort me out. A few weeks later and I’ve had an MRI and a CT scan, all arranged by Dr G and his remarkably talented sidekick, “Ann the Clinic Nurse”.

Now, here’s where things get a bit tricky. I want to tell you how things went a bit pear shaped but I don’t want to appear to be a prat, or ungrateful, or an arse. At the end of the day, I think we can just attribute the next little interlude to a clash of personalities.

I had one and she didn’t.

Instead of being referred back to Dr. G, I was referred to Dr. B (a locum). From the first meeting with her Denise and I weren’t happy – to such a degree that the wonderful, amazing “Ann the clinic nurse” picked up on it and tried to smooth the waters and got smacked down (in front of us) for her trouble. Anyway, Dr B fumbled her way through the consult during which time it became very clear that she had no knowledge of the pathway I had followed to date, no clue as to which tests I’d had and hadn’t really looked at any scans, nor read any recommendations.

She started off by giving us a very condescending smile and then telling us my eye was fine and the biopsies didn’t show any problems. (Talk about deja vu!!) She then went on to show us a CT scan and pointed out a growth under my right eye. We were told of a plan where the removal would be done through my mouth – a concept I still can’t comprehend. We asked a few questions and received vague and confusing replies, but by then we’d pretty much lost interest in continuing the conversation.

Now, I’m not entirely sure how things progressed from then on. All I know is that we came away with the impression that the growth would be a “schwannomas” tumor – which are almost always benign but, would still have to be removed – through my mouth.

Anyway, a week or so later and again I’m on the phone to my new best friend, the Booking Clerk at the Hospital. He tells me I have another appointment, this time with Dr G. Well… that put a spring in my step and when I told Denise she immediately got her Mojo back. So, the next week finds us fronting up to Dr G.

After the conventional meet and greet he explains to us that he wants to do a biopsy. He goes on to say the reason is that he doesn’t agree with the diagnosis. He thinks it’s Squamous Cell Carcinoma - the same thing I had in 2013. A biopsy will give us a definitive answer and we can then plan the way forward. I think we surprised him a little then, with our quick agreement and nods and smiles all round.

Tuesday 8^th. January - I’m all gowned up and ready for Surgery.

Wednesday 9^th. January – I’m dressed and waiting in the ward after a relaxing overnight stay.

Dr G wants to see me before I go, so off we go to Villa 3. We have a chat so he can explain the way forward, presuming it’s SCC. This includes a trip to Auckland to meet with the Multi-Disciplinary Team, most likely followed by surgery and radiotherapy in Auckland.

“Ann the Clinic Nurse” is already five steps ahead and tells us her part of the plan. She’s going to arrange another full CT scan for the MDT, accommodation for Denise and I in Auckland and a fistful of fuel vouchers for the road trip. She then tells us she’s not going to “pull the trigger” until they get the biopsy results, but she’ll ring us as soon as she has them. Sounds good.

Two days later – Thursday - and Denise and I are at home when I receive an email from “Manage My Health”. This is the Patient Portal that connects me with my GP. The email tells me I have new records from Manage My Health, so I login to have a look. It’s the biopsy results. It’s confirmed. The lump is Squamous Cell Carcinoma.

So, there it is.

Since the diagnosis I’ve been asking myself: “What are you going to take away from all this?”

In the middle of lots of good things happening, there was one sour note. I guess I could focus on that and think about my path if we had progressed with Dr B. I imagine it would have resulted in having the lump removed while everyone assumed it was benign. Most likely finding out it’s malignant after the surgery and possible then needing another surgery to dig out any bits left behind. Who knows? But whatever… that’s negative thinking so it stops right here.

Now, I’ve also thought thought about this question a lot...

What was the difference between the two surgeons that made me feel uncomfortable with one and not the other?

I’m pretty sure it was the difference between a “question and answer session” and a “conversation”. With Dr B I thought the information offered, whether instigated by her or as a result of questions, was superficial and generic. With Dr G, it was a conversation – a real back-and-forth - where his credibility and knowledge was on display for all to see.

So, I think I learned two things from this…

If you’re not satisfied with the information you’re getting, don’t settle.

And…

If you understand the message, no matter how life-altering you think it might be, try to find the positive, and when you do, hold on to it… tightly.

Remember... no act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted.

A different kind of road trip

To much spare time. That's going to be something I need to come to grips with. Waiting an extra week for the MDM was frustrating. But I've realized that this is just the start. Throughout this journey there's going to be numerous periods of downtime. I think finding and doing things to keep busy is only part of the answer. I know I have to become more comfortable within myself so I can manage the quiet times without constantly dwelling on the "maybes" and "what ifs". 

Wow!! This got pretty heavy really quickly. Onto the road trip.

So... the plan we had originally that we postponed when the MDM was put back a week is still in place and as I write this it's Sunday night and we're sitting in a motel in Auckland after spending the day with the kids.

The first night we arrived in Auckland - Thursday - we were booked in to the City Towers Motel in Epsom. This was arranged (and paid for) by the HB DHB. Another reason to congratulate our Public Health Service. The lady (Carol) at reception was very friendly and helpful and the motel was great.

The next morning we wandered up to the hospital - about a ten minute walk - and found our way to the sixth floor. As soon as we walked out of the elevator we thought - been here, done this. 

Back in 2013 we attended an MDM in Auckland to formulate a plan to remove cancer from my nose. I don’t think it had an acronym then. It was just called a meeting with the multi-disciplinary team. I think the acronym they use now isn't right. It should be called the MDT meeting.

Actually, a more correct acronym would be… “AGFPPFPROM” – or, to give the meeting it’s full title… “A Gathering of friendly, professional people, focused on planning the right outcome for me”.

The way in which this team goes about dealing with us mere mortals is, in my mind, simply magnificent. During yesterday’s meeting Denise and I were spoken to by ten different ladies and, without exception, from the receptionist, to the lady who offered us a cup of tea, to the dental specialist and the ever attentive nurses, we were treated with respect, empathy and consideration during every interaction. Over and above that, we were interviewed by three different doctors who discussed the situation with us in a very attentive and considerate manner, while giving us time to absorb and decipher the information we were given.

At the end of the day we left with a comprehensive understanding of where we are now, but perhaps more importantly, a clear understanding of the way forward. We couldn’t have asked for more, so here's gist of it...

On Monday 11^th March Denise and I will go to Auckland and I’ll be admitted that day. The next day, Tuesday, I’ll be busy all day, lying on my back. The surgery is going to take between 10 and 12 hours and will be performed by two different teams.

The first team cuts out all the cancer they can find by taking away my right cheek and upper cheekbone, and the lower part of my right eye orbit. They then cut the Infraorbital nerve back as close to my brain as they can get.

When they’ve done that they get to go home, and the next team takes over.

They’re going to construct a new lower orbit and cheekbone from titanium and superglue it into place. Then remove skin, fat and blood vessels from the inside of my left arm, almost from the elbow to the wrist, and use that to rebuild my cheek. They’ll also cut up into my neck to connect the artery from my arm to an artery in my neck to create a blood supply for my new cheek.

The next step is to remove a long strip of skin and fat from my left thigh and use this to rebuild the inside of my left arm.

Are we all clear so far?

Finally, when everyone’s finished the sewing bee, I get to spend a day or so in the High Dependency Unit and if I’ve been a good little patient, they’ll move me to a ward.

Now… the thing that’s really bothering me – given my wife’s navigational skills – is how Denise is ever going to find me in a ward? So, if anyone’s planning on visiting me, as you come into the hospital keep your eye out for a pretty little blonde/pink haired lady with a confused look on her face, carrying a handbag the size of a small truck. Take her in tow and bring her with you.

Right, so now that we've got that out of the way, let me tell you about the worst Motel on the North Shore. When we left the MDM and collected our car from the motel in Epsom, we drove to the motel we'd booked for the three nights in Auckland. We're usually pretty good at picking motels, but this was a total failure. The fridge and kettle were both poked, only one towel in the bathroom. No shower curtain and the cutlery drawer was falling apart. But the biggest failure, in my mind, was the stained wash cloths and the dirt and grime throughout the kitchen and bathroom.

When I went down the next morning to tell them about the fridge not working, this was the response... "Oh! we know. It's going to be replaced soon. You can bring your food down here and put it in our fridge if you like."

We didn't, so after a few choice words they decided to move us to another room. We went and had a look at it - seemed OK so we moved our stuff over. It was a stinking hot day, so we turned the aircon on and went out to spend the day with the kids.

When we got back, the room was stinking hot and stuffy. The aircon had been busy all day blowing hot air into the room.

Back to reception and another discussion with the poor lady behind the counter. This discussion resulted in the Owner/Manager of the motel having an animated discussion with an aircon tech in a language you might often hear on the sub-continent, in our room as Denise and I watched on. After what seemed like a few days, they decided it was a lost cause and our options were...

1. They would bring up some fans for us to use overnight.
2. They would move us to another room.

"Why don't you come and have a look at the other room?" they asked.

So we did... 

What the...

The upshot of all this was that we packed our bags, put them in the car and drove off to book into a real motel. 

A rather interesting side note to this story is: when they tried to refund the accommodation costs on my credit card, they couldn't because they had reached their credit limit. Does this mean that while we were busy whinging and playing "Let's swap rooms again" that other guests were getting refunds?

Now, here's another sad tale of woe. Google have decided to stop Google+. That means that I'll have to change blogging platforms. It's probably going to be Wordpress, but time will tell. Once I've sorted myself out I'll let you know the plan going forward.

When this journey I'm on comes to an end, I think I'll get a tattoo - probably on my arm where they've taken stuff to rebuild my cheek. Here's what's caught my eye. What do you think?

In a world where you can be anything...

Be kind.