Happy brithday!

And no, smartypantses, that is not a typo. That is how I used to say it as a child - I think it's what one of the mouses says to Cinderelly - the other mousie says 'No, no, stupid'. It's when she's all dressed up in her ball dress. Then again, it has been many years since I've seen the movie (Sophie doesn't own it, I think), and I may be making it all up and living in a fantasy world that only exists in my own head. Wouldn't be the first time.

And I know it's mice, not mouses. (I've gone all paranoid now that all my deliberate grammatical and orthographical deviations are now going to be laid at the door of ignorance or error. Although I have to admit, being a show-off with a big word and then finding out you spelled it wrong is really really dumb. Proverbs 16:18. Although if I'm going to quote that verse I shouldn't use words like orthographical. Even though I orthographically-checked.)

ANYWAY, happy brithday to me! I love brithdays. I always have. I'm not old enough for them to be a depressing thing yet - and I'll lay a motorbike on the fact that I never will be depressed about getting older on my birthday. (Take that, whingers.) I get that same childlike joy out of my brithday that I've always had.

Although I have to admit that I was a bit depressed the day before my birthday. Not about turning older, but I started reflecting on where I was the previous year, how happy I'd been, and how much easier my life had been. How carefree. How much more in line with what I had planned for my life. Because where I am now is certainly not what I planned for my life. This is not where I wanted to be. This is not where I want to be. And it doesn't look like anything I did plan for my life is going to happen. And that is very depressing.

But that brings me to the reason I love brithdays. I was not depressed at all on the actual day. I had the most amazing day yesterday. And you know why? Because I am so loved. And yesterday everyone showed it. I had six text messages before I even got out of bed. (Admittedly, a mixed blessing, that one.) I had so many calls I didn't get round to returning them all. (Sorry.) People took the time out of their busy schedules to send cards and presents and flowers. (Thank you Palace dwellers!) I went out to lunch with all the non-working layabouts I could rustle up and then out to dinner with my family and friends. I love brithdays because it's the day of the year that I feel most loved. Thank you all for making it so special.

So what did I do? I woke up to read lots of texts, but didn't actually bother getting out of bed till about nine (hey, it was my brithday! Oh alright, that's standard practice íf I'm not going to the hospital). There was a note from Mama saying that if she's not there, to go back to bed. I am a good, obedient daughter. I got up again when she got home. The kitchen was full of balloons - Ben had come home in the middle of the night, blown up balloons and gone out again. Mama had gone shopping - and I am now the proud owner of a very nice new watch. It even glows in the dark! Very excited. Mama had toyed with the idea of a smoked salmon breakfast, but knows me well enough at the moment that it's Fruity-Bix or it's Fruity-Bix. Then we toddled off to Dad and Beata's to pick up Beata and Sophie to go out for lunch. It was Sophie's first ride in the little yellow car (aka the Pimpmobile) and she was very excited. However, we got to the restaurant (my favourite Japanese restaurant at Southbank, Ginga)and Sophie was unimpressed to see a strangish man sitting at our table. Now Sophie does kinda know Michael, but last weekend Michael did the Shave for a Cure. And looks much meaner and scarier. I really like it. So Sophie sulked all lunchtime. Turns out later she was sick, as well.

After lunch I toddled off to the Korean bathhouse for a facial and a head massage... to find that not only had Bella (my therapist there and my friend) come in on her day off, but her present to me was a scrub and a massage as well! So I had a lovely two hours, and it was the first time ever that my head has had a facial. I'm sure it's very good for it.

For dinner we went up to Le Classic (sorry, no website, not that anyone really needs to actually follow my life quite that closely), which is a restaurant I used to go to with the French crew at uni. I haven't been for a long time, mostly due to an incident that occurred there, but I overcame my moral objections because the food is fantastic, the atmosphere is great and it is very French. Plus they serve foie gras, and I was adamant that that was what I wanted to eat on my brithday. ABC came, but were very discreet and didn't stay long at all. The food was great, the company was awesome, it was a wonderful night. Not quite so great for Dad and Beata, since Sophie started vomiting in the car on the way and did so repeatedly throughout the night. Good thing I carry sicky bags. They think she had a virus, or she's been eating too many lollies left over from her birthday, but I think she was just disrupting my brithday party cause it wasn't hers. (No reason sibling rivalry can't flourish even if there's twenty years gap between the two, and one of them should know better.)

So it was a wonderful day, and thank you to everyone for making it so.

All that aside, what else has been happening? Well, my last post was short and to the point - chemo was pretty sucky this cycle, but not too bad. Definitely nauseous, definitely tired, but I (and my steroids) now make sure I eat whether I want to or not, and having something in my tummy definitely makes the nausea more bearable. I got my needle on Wednesday, so had bone pain for the rest of the week. Started getting a temperature on Friday, but it didn't go above the danger mark. Still, I was absolutely exhausted and didn't make it to a Bullwinkle meeting (Bullwinkle is our chess club for cool people. No really.) Saturday I was still exhausted but rallied for Soph's party, which was a big success. Rest assured IOM, I will not be pursuing a career in facepainting, unless I can specialise in flowers (amorphous blobs), butterflies (a few lines around the eyes) or rainbows (now my rainbows were tops). Sunday we went to church, where I started getting some chest pains. HOCA (Haematology and Oncology Clinics of Australia - aka my other home) is shut on Sundays so I would have had to go through Emergency to get it checked out. So I ignored it. Always so sensible, me. Even had a lovely evening with Annette at the French Film Festival (typical French film - everyone started miserable and ended miserable, although it was the first French film I've seen in awhile where no one actually had sex.)

Anyway, I went in on Monday for my dressing change, which usually takes about an hour. Mentioned the chest pains, at which my doctor pointed out that I had had my picc line put in the previous week, and that there was 50cm of line in a vein pointing towards my heart. If I'm having chest pains it possibly means that blood clots could be forming in my lungs. (Oops. Should have dones something yesterday.) So off I toddle for a cardiopulmonary CT scan. Now I have CTs all the time. They're dead easy, apart from the teeny tiny matter of finding a vein. The veins in both elbows are now pretty much dead and buried. They don't work any more. They made two very painful attempts to get a line into my right wrist, and thankfully the second one worked. It was very painful though, and I have some lovely bruises. Anyway, there was no clot in the lungs (whew). The pain is probably just the old radiation damage, that I used to hold at bay by exercising every day. Now that I'm falling out of shape and losing aerobic fitness, I'm having the same breathing problems I used to have after my first surgery. Which is actually a very unencouraging thought, if those old problems are going to come back. It is very frightening and frustrating to not be able to take a full deep breath and for it hurt when you try. So I'm really disappointed? worried? not happy that that problem looks like it will eventually come back.

Although it could be worse, the dressing change usually happpens on a Tuesday so we changed the booking to Monday for this week. Otherwise I would have spent all of yesterday in hospital instead of all of Monday!

In other exciting news - I drove a car today! For the first time in six months, I am not under the influence of morphia! This does mean that my usual excuse for paraenthesistic problems is gone, but it also means I can drive a car! My neck is good enough, I'm not doping anymore... next week while I'm up in Mackay I'm going to check out motorcycles! I won't get cleared till I do the MRI (Monday) and see the doctor (after Easter), but doesn't mean I can't look!

And we all know I'm a media tart, but here's a little snippet for those of you who can't wait for the ABC... just don't tell them I'm moonlighting. HOCA was shooting a promotional video to lure unsuspecting English nurses over to Australia for people like me to puke on, and asked me to be a good little sick patient. Check it out. It also gives you a look at where I spend most of my time and what it all looks like!

Now, there is a bit of a dogfight going on as to which Michael posted the 'gambolling like a fat spring lamb' comment. There are currently two claiming ownership. I'm currently going for Michael J, but Michael VP is adamant that was his. Unless Michael F, you'd like to throw your hat in the ring from England as well? I do love a good stoush.

Now that is an epic post, so I'm going to leave it there.

Thanks again for making my brithday special. I love you all.

God bless,

Jess xoxox

PS. Remember, vote Jessica Disteldorf for the next PussyCat Doll!