A day in three parts

I had a total cancer day yesterday - and I really enjoyed it!!

My morning was taken up with an accupuncture appointment, which sounds really indolent but it was in the middle of the morning (in my defence). Also, it wasn't just any old accupuncture appointment. My friend Moss and her mother Wendy, who herself has fought off kidney cancer twice, rang up with the suggestion that I might like to see a very highly sought after Vietnamese accupuncturist who they had both seen and would highly recommend. 

Shi Yan Zhen is a Shaolin monk with a waiting list of months, a man who was trained in Vietnam, came over to Britain in the 70s and had to retrain - much to the embarrassment of the board who considered his talents far and beyond most of them. He also isn't cheap, but with recommendation and a history like his - what would you say??

Sadly, it emerged that he was ill but his apprentice Shi Yan Xiu was continuing his practice - was this good enough? I agreed it was and Wendy arranged various people's appointments for them and I was slotted in. I felt like a Hollywood starlet, minus the hair, lifestyle, salary and sunglasses.

The practice itself is in a nondescript house in St John's Wood. A young monk let me in and revealed himself to be the apprentice, Shi Yan Xiu read about him here. The receptionist had asked for the day off to do a drawing class (!), so he was manning the desk himself.

I filled in a questionnaire about my health - gone are the days when filling in these forms would take minutes. We went through to the treatment room, which held a couch that could be raised or lowered, a desk with a little shrine on it and a tiny sink in the corner. In short a run of the mill, beige treatment room. The session itself was anything but beige

Shi Yan Xiu took my pulse, asked me about myself, I cried as usual, told him then he left the room and I undressed and lay down on the couch. The session began with him sitting down beside me and saying, 'Don't be frightened', which I thought was rather odd. Then he said, 'Anything you feel, tell me', which was more understandable but I didn't understand all the... like... warnings... 

Then he placed his hands on my arm, near my elbow, and I nearly jumped through the roof. It was as if an electric current was trailing from his finger tips. Absolutely amazing, I've never felt anything like it. Shi Yan Xiu said he was adjusting my 'channels' and he did it all over my body. It didn't feel dangerous, but at first I did wonder if he was using some sort of electric wand - cynic that I am - and I tried to see if he was trailing a cord behind him as he moved around the couch. The session also involved a rather rigorous foot massage and toe pulling session, which I survived. 

I later looked up his website and googled tui na which is the form of Chinese medicine he practises. Apparently it's a front line defence in Chinese hospitals and used for all sorts of complaints. Shi Yan Xiu said that he has many cancer patients and that tui na can slow down the growth of the disease. I don't see any reason to disbelieve him - the man's electric, after all. So I'm going to book some more sessions and we'll see. I'm going to get B to go for her sore neck as well, maybe this will shift it!

I'd been warned by Moss that I might feel tired by the session, but I felt invigorated and ready for my early afternoon appointment at the Royal Marsden, in the rehab unit. I'd been looking forward to my 'Look Good Feel Better' session for months. I'd originally booked it when I was fitted for my Danni wig by Jill the hairdresser who had suggested that I do the class. Basically, LGFB is a charity run by the beauty industry which aims to help women with cancer get to grips with their new 'look' ie. bald/fat/pale/skinny/yellow - all the wonderful side effects that cancer treatment can create. It's a light hearted fun two hours of playing with makeup. And it's not just any makeup - all the big brands have signed up and donated products - it's beauty heaven. And you get to take your makeup home - free stuff!!

There were six of us, in various generations of cancer treatment, and three beauty therapists. What the two-hour session consists of is basically a make over. We each had a goodie bag of cosmetics and we were shown how to apply a 'look', from cleanser through to foundation, lipstick and eyebrows. For those with no eyebrows (I still have mine but they're thinning) we were shown how to draw them on using either eyebrow pencil or powder. I made the mistake of trying to thicken mine with powder but it didn't work, I looked like an extremely heavy browed Armenian cleaning lady. For those low in eyelashes, there was a detailed conversation about the pros and cons of false eyelashes and the benefits of mascara, even if there are only a few lashes left.

What the class made me realise was that I haven't looked in the mirror, really, since I started chemo. It's such a strange treatment, with such volcanic side effects, that looking at myself had become almost too much. Sure, I saw myself when I cleaned my teeth or had a last look that nothing was stuck to my face before I left the house, but I hadn't really subjected myself to much scrutiny. But, here I was with a bunch of mainly baldies, looking in my own mirror and getting makeup advice!! It was a really fun two hours. And, in case you're wondering, I now have a Chanel mascara (yes!! Chanel!!) And I know how to blend my foundation into my scalp (just keep moving on up and blending.....)

So, waving good bye to the sisters, I ran downstairs for my late afternoon appointment. It was my first meeting of the sarcoma support group - I didn't know what to expect. There were about 10 patients, some from UCH hospital, and the sarcoma physio. Because the group is held at the Marsden, there always has to be at least one member of staff in attendance, which can be quite good for procedural questions. 

When I arrived everyone was chatting about their holidays, which made me want to shoot myself. Who cares? But as everyone relaxed the talk became more personal. One girl there, really young - maybe under 30 - has had open heart surgery twice after being diagnosed with a sarcoma in her heart. That would be scary, wouldn't it? It did make me realise how very rare some sarcomas are and how lucky I am to be under Professor Judson, who is such an expert. One of the women there, diagnosed with something unpronounceable unless you have it, has become a world expert herself on her condition and sarcomas in general, attending conferences, speaking at conferences and feeding back to the group and the UK sarcoma website this is it

Listening to other people talk about their cancer - the good and the bad - did make me feel lighter somehow. Going for hospital appointments, having chemo, being ill - it all becomes so isolating. And even though I can see that I'm not the only one on this path - I go to a cancer hospital after all!! - it sometimes feels like it. So talking about each other's cancer, diagnosis, side effects blah blah, was somehow liberating. Also because it was about sarcomas. What one woman said was that normally she was someone who looked everything up on the internet but she's stopped doing it because everything she finds is so dreadful and scary. I really understood what she meant, there's not much good stuff written about sarcomas - so why go looking.

I'll definitely go to the next meeting and I'm going to take B with me. Partners are welcome. So, from my big cancer day out B is getting accupuncture from Mr Electric and an evening out with my new cancer chums! Wig out!!!