Hold the line, please

Well it turns out my husband is a clot after all. He has a blood clot in his upper arm - and an infection. Quent never does anything by halves.

Apparently the infection is reasonably superficial and should clear up with antibiotics - 5 days worth to be taken four times a day, an hour before meals. This will be a challenge because he hasn't been awake that much, recently!

He also has needles, as he has to inject himself daily with something to thin the blood. For three months. It really does make me feel faint just thinking about it.

They still seem to be talking about Quent having more IL-2 next week. I haven't investigated what impact it might have on the lung operation. One step at a time. And the next step is going back to hospital today to have the line taken out - and resited next Tuesday in Manchester.

We are all a bit tired (and very tired of hospitals!), but otherwise we're fine.

2 a.m eternal

We got back home from the hospital at 2 a.m. this morning to find Julie, still up and reading her book, having done our washing up. I have said it before, but how we'd get through this without our dear friends and family, I don't know!

Last night, the area around Quentin's PICC line (which stays in for the 3 weeks) was sore and red and hard. We were due to see Dr Savage today anyway but Quent felt it couldn't wait 12 hours and we should go to hospital straight away. If Quent thinks things are worse than I do, I panic. We called Julie, who ran along the road straight away. Then we jumped into the car and got as far as the Hogarth roundabout before coming back again to gather our wits and paperwork.

We consulted the "Taking care of your PICC line" book and it said to go straight to hospital if it was painful, red or swollen. So we set off again (around 10.45pm).

Apparently such symptoms indicate either infection or blood clot. They took bloods from Quent's line and the other arm to compare and contrast. At 1.30am they told us the bloods looked OK so it was probably a clot. They gave him antibiotics and blood thinning drugs and let us go home.

This morning I had to drop Quent off at 9.30am for his special blood clot scan - followed by his appointment with Dr Savage. Oakley and I were going to see Charlie and Lola at the theatre. Although I have attended nearly every appointment with Quentin, none has ever clashed with Charlie and Lola before. Quent lost.

I spent a reasonably stressed morning trying to contact Quent to see how he was. I was getting very concerned by 2pm when Oakley and I got home. But I found an ansafone message from Quent saying I would not be able to contact him as Allied Telesis has switched off his phone. Aha.


All I know at this stage is that he sounded chirpy at 1.35pm when he was waiting to see Dr Savage. He didn't tell me anything else but I will let you know as soon as I hear from him again.

The week that was

Well, Gordon, you're not alone. Being soundly beaten by the Conservatives - and the media - can't be easy, but at least you haven't had a round of interleuken 2.

Quent looks as if he's had a brush with the Zimbabwean political scene. The Crewe bi-election has forced "blue by injection" out of the headlines, so I thought I'd bring you the full story in pictures below. It's true, it can be grim up north.

Before (taken last Sat at the wedding):

After (taken yesterday, when Q's mouth was too sore to smile):

Here are his "blue by injection" hands, shortly after a rigor - and the bruising on his back, arms and legs (which actually looks much worse in the flesh than on a phone camera).

The good news is that we escaped a day early. Quent was feeling - and looking - really terrible 12 hours after dose 8 and decided against another dose. He felt sick and had bad diarrhoea throughout the night. He has also developed some rather nasty sores on his palms and around his mouth. Apparently, Oakley was asking Lorna why Daddy goes into hospital to get better and comes out looking worse. It's a reasonable question and more pertinent than ever this week.

We haven't seen Oakley yet as he was very excited about his sleepover with Jack and Martha and we weren't about to spoil it. He didn't even want to speak on the phone last night. So we went to bed early and woke naturally at 9.50am, with Quent saying "Was that the best morning ever?"

I imagine Gordon Brown has a fairly tough couple of weeks ahead of him - but at least he knows the bi-election won't be re-run in a week's time, with even worse results.

Eight down, one to go (we hope!)

Quent has just had his 8th dose and is reading the paper, before the rigors start. He's doing very well - he looks and feels pretty terrible, but is battling on, as ever.

When we came for the scan results I distinctly heard the Prof say we should take it a little easier this time and maybe go for just 9 doses. I think the Prof has selective memory as everyone seems to be talking of 10 again now. We'll have that debate later, no doubt. Last time around, Quent had 10 in the first week, but was very poorly in the second week. Not surprisingly I am favouring a cautious 9.

Either way, he has already had a massive running total of 60 doses. I would not be surprised if that were a record - I'll ask the Prof when we see him.

A day of two halves

As you know, we are not huge footie fans but even I realise it's only a few minutes to kick-off. In fact, to Quent, Manchester United means the team spirit at Christie's and Chelsea means flower show. Talk of Wed's team tactics and he'll think you mean The Apprentice.


Still, the Nurses have been Russian around all day and Red (blotchy) Squares have been breaking out all over Quent's legs, so we do realise something is happening.


It has been a busy day. We have seen the Nurse Practitioner today (one step away from Critical Care) as Quent's stats have been a little worrying - though by no means the worst we've seen. Quent is feeling pretty rotten at the moment and is having to sit bolt upright in bed (to help his breathing) with an oxygen mask.


However, he had a lovely massage this morning and he did manage a little lunch. He would have been up to a film earlier, but the DVD was missing from the box. I went to a very interesting speech Prof gave about his research and I might even be able to explain the basics on another post.


We have more than one injured player on our team today - Oakley fell at school today and is now limping (though this may be due to 4 year old dramatics, rather than medical condition). He (and we) seems to think we are into extra time already - "Why did you make this week so long, Mummy" he said to me, this evening. I know how he feels.


That exhausts my corny jokes - and the news for the day. Keep everything crossed for us overnight. By the time the match is over, Quent will be nearly due another dose.

I wish good luck to all footie fans, but admit I am saving all my positive vibes for my own star player.

What IS that noise?

Quent is sleeping soundly after dose / rigor 3. His snoring is causing some hilarity amongst the nurses. In fact, if you listen carefully, you can probably hear it yourselves.

He was very sick yesterday, but he managed breakfast and a sit in the chair this morning. I am hoping he will be up to watching a film when he wakes this afternoon.

Chequing in to Christie's

We had a great cousin-filled weekend. We came up north early to go to Quent's first cousin's wedding. It was a lovely day and Oakley had great fun with all Quent's cousins' children. Yesterday, Quent and I went to my first cousin's baby's (first) birthday party, while Oakley headed back to London, via a play with one of his first cousin's sons, who are 3 and 1.5. Oakley may be an only child, but he'd give Rabbit a run for his money on "friends and relations".


Now we are back in Christie's and Quent has had his first dose - and rigor. He also managed to fit in a photo call with the Prof this morning, handing over a cheque for £24,500. Thank you to everyone for your amazing generosity. The Prof and the Fundraising team were delighted - the Fundraising team want to clone Quent and, with Prof's t-cell research gathering pace, I guess anything is possible.

The great escape

Full of ant-icipation, Oakley and I ran downstairs yesterday morning to check the pets. I noticed straight away that there seemed to be fewer of them. Just 10 in fact. Then Oakley noticed one on the outside of the container and another squeezing its way out of the tiny airhole at the top. I hope Nasa space shuttles are more secure than their ant habitats.

Having watched both Nemo and A Bug's Life, it didn't seem right to put them back in, after they'd made their escape. Those Disney / Pixar people have got a lot to answer for.

So now there are 10. They are digging and meeting, but I can't help feeling they are missing their friends. I know, it's ridiculous! They look as if they lack purpose compared to Sunday (risk assessment was obviously route planning). Quent tells me I tread on 30 a day without even knowing it, but somehow, I feel a bit cruel now, keeping 10 of them trapped on and in the gel. The whole thing has been a terrible ant-i climax.

Now, back to packing and sorting childcare. We head north on Friday.

Pets, pirates, pancakes.

It goes without saying that we've had a good week or two. Once we stopped humming "So lung, farewell.." that is. We are not looking forward to the next bout of treatment, however. A week today we'll be back in Manchester. I know it's the last lot, but somehow that isn't helping. It gets worse each time and last time was already very bad.

Meanwhile, we have been enjoying the sunshine. Having come back from Manchester on Tuesday, we went sailing for the day on Thursday, with Robin, Gill and Helen Taunt. What a wonderful day. Rain was forecast and there was certainly plenty of wind, but the weather was impeccable as we bounced across the waves. On Friday, we went to Devon to spend the Bank Holiday with Ros (Quent's sister) and Ian. Again, we had good weather. Again, we had great fun. It was a tiring week, with a lot of driving, but every trip was worth it.

Oakley is a bundle of laughs at the moment. He gave me an appraisal the other morning at 7.30am. Out of the blue. "Mummy, can you try to be a little bit more like Camilla?" Camilla is slim, blond and Scandinavian and has long been a object of Oakley's affection, but apparently it was her pancake-making which put her on the pedestal this time. I am sure that Camilla (being perfect) would have been more gracious than I was about such honest feedback. As I told Oakley at the time, we are all different - and all lovely in our way.

This weekend, we went to the Scout Summer Fair. The Odyssey team had taken the BMW and the Jag down and were doing a fundraising "Guess the number of balloons in the cars". Oakley, who is increasingly becoming Quent's "mini me", was bold, decisive - and wildly over optimistic. "One million", he said. I asked him if he thought a few hundred might be a better guess (it was my fiver, after all). "No", he said emphatically. Sadly, he didn't win.

He's not totally like Quent yet, though. When I heard Quent asking Oakley if he wanted to climb on the roof* with him this afternoon, I was relieved that Oakley had said no, before I vetoed it. "Quent, he's four. That's a ridiculous idea", I shouted up the stairs. "I agwee, Mummy", came the only other voice of reason in the house at the time. I have spent (quite a large!) part of this week completing a risk assessment for a school tug of war. Goodness knows what Adam from Hounslow Council would have made of Quent's idea.

Instead, we pruned the pirate counter (pyracantha). It seemed quite tame in comparison. Oakley has had pirates on the brain since the May Fair, when he won a cutless, hook and eyepatch - all of which are in bed with him now.

We have also finally given in to Oakley's requests for a pet. We have got him no fewer than 18 .... ants! This afternoon, we transferred them from the front path to their NASA style ant farm. No mean feat. One goes in, one escapes - and one gets squashed as Quent slams the lid on. Anyway, hours later we seem to have 18 survivors. They are very prone to "meetings"- or maybe they are risk assessing their new environment. Every now and then, they leave the huddle and burrow into the gel for a while. It's very exciting.

* Yes, our roof! Quent was adjusting the DAB aerial

Filling up in Stafford Services

We stopped off on the way home from Manchester for petrol and cup of tea. I wanted to tell everyone our fabulous news - so I told the lady behind the till at Roadchef! She said she was delighted and, as she wished Quentin a fantastic life, her eyes filled with tears. That set me off and before we knew it we were half-laughing and half-crying while Quent looked on, slightly perplexed.

She then re-appeared, while we were drinking our tea, with a chocolate muffin for Quentin, which she and her colleague had just iced with “All the best”. Which set us all off again - even Quent filled up this time.

If you are passing Stafford services, please stop in and tell Trish that you’re a friend of the cancer survivor and that you’ve read about her on his blog. We didn’t tell her our names (or even that Quent has a blog), so she may be a little surprised, but I’m sure she’ll remember us. And we will always remember her. Throughout this journey (and I don't mean the M40), the kindness of everyone around us has been very touching.

Here's a photo of Quent, with his cake - and wannabe Muffin muncher.