Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,000 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 33 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

I gave it my best shot. I did what I do best – delivered a great session I believed in, with passion, humour & energy.

And it got me thinking about WHY I do what I do, and why I love it so much.

I was never what you would call naturally ‘gifted’ at school – clever, yes – but I had to work at it. I responded best to teachers who recognised I needed to ‘get it’ and find relevance in a topic to do well. Sadly not many could be bothered. But the few who did still stick in my mind every time I get up in front of a room of Learners.

As do the many who couldn’t be bothered. Who just went through the motions. Who had no interest in whether I understood what the hell was going on. Who ridiculed me often and with relish.

I often hear trainers in my field of expertise moan – ‘not another Excel intro’, ‘I hate teaching basic level’, ‘apps training is really dull’……

Needless to say they don’t work for me.

I want to be bothered. I want to pass on the passion I feel for learning. I want the Learners I engage with to be energised and excited by the new stuff they can do after a training event.

I get a chance to do that every time I step into the training room, put my headset on to deliver online learning, take a booking from a client and get my butt out out there to make it happen.

I love that moment when it all clicks for a learner and their face lights up with knowledge. Because I know how good that feels.

I work hard to be good at what I do, so – rather than think I’d never be able to rank alongside the really big training companies, that I should rest on last years Freelance Trainer of the Year award, I thought about it, then I gripped it, ripped it, and put a submission together…

How cool is that? To get the chance to stand up and be judged alongside some serious competition was a fantastic opportunity.

Whatever happens now I am so proud of what I have achieved, ably assisted by TDB, chums & the lovely trainers who work with me and share my passion to show people that they can do it. After all, I have.

So – why do I do what I do?

Because learning is fun. Because helping people learn is fun. Because it picks me up every time I see someone’s light bulb come on. Because its wonderful to change someone’s mindset from ‘I can’t do it’ to ‘I bloody well can’.

Now – the awards dinner is in Feb 2012. I have the most fantastic pair of shoes. I’m a winner already on the shoe front. This time I can wear what I want without worrying about chemo related nonsense. This time I wont have to wear a stupid beanie hat. This time I won’t have to have chemo the day after.

This time, I can really, really enjoy it. Bring it on!

I’m still glowing like I’m a Springfield reject – & as time marches on, am getting better at dealing with it. Mostly.

I haven’t had a full nights sleep since I finished chemo in February. I am more familiar with the middle of the night than I would like to be. My eye bags have their own excess baggage allowance for goodness sake.

My first set of annual mammograms on the remaining boob came back clear.

This time last year I had just about recovered from the mastectomy. What a difference a year makes.

I have thick, blonde curly hair.

I have a fabulous reconstructed cleavage.

I am short listed for Trainer of the Year 2012.

And I get a bit hot. A lot.

Life is good. Very good. Onward, and upward – sunlit highlands x

My sister’s 10^th wedding anniversary, and a year since I first turned up at York Hospital with what became Boob Rot.

I’m back there again for my first annual check up – basically this is making sure that the other one isn’t rotting, and that the tamoxifen is doing it’s job, etc, etc. I am consoling myself by going out to dinner with friends afterwards.

I feel a bit odd about it all really. It’s been a while now since I was at the hospital – I now have a full head of blonde, curly hair (which it never was before!), bushy eyebrows and luscious eyelashes. I am fully reconciled to the changes in the way I look, and how my body feels, and am pretty damned happy with the results. I could do without the weight gain and hot flushes courtesy of tamoxifen, but it’s all part of the greater good, and I’d rather be doing everything possible to stop any cancerous cells getting the idea that they may be in charge. Step it up there tamoxifen. Stop ‘em at the pass.

So going back is just a stark reminder of the fact that I’ve still got a long way to go. The Wellness Fairy is doing a great job – but I have to consciously remind myself that this is a long term game plan, and not a quick fix. On average, they reckon it takes you at least a year to recover from chemotherapy, so I’ve time to do yet.

Having my energy back is fantastic – I’m loving being able to get back into the swing of things – I can do more, and am making sure I do. I’m rebuilding the business, which understandably had gone a little quiet over the chemo period, and have lots of exciting new challenges to look forward to.

So, 28^th July had better be a good day. Keep your fingers crossed that the remaining boob has behaved itself – I shall report back.

Here we are, 4 months down the road after getting off the chemo bus, mojo restablishing itself, and general health improving.

I am getting better every day, in every way.

Well.  Apart from one.

Lack of sleep.

During chemo, I was constantly fighting a losing battle to stay warm.  I was cold all the time, to the bone, and would often go to bed fully clothed, with hat, under a 13.5 tog duvet and still be cold.  I longed to be warm.  To not have to bundle up like an eskimo all the time.  To be hat free and operating like a normal human being.

Yes, well.  Tamoxifen put paid to all that.

I was having the odd hot flush during chemotherapy which the lovely consultant said was just my body reacting to the treatment.

Compared to what is going on now – they were a walk in the park.

Within two weeks of starting the tamoxifen, I was ‘glowing’ regularly – medical advice said to give it a month or so to settle down, so I wasn’t too concerned.  I carried on ‘glowing’ until you could quite easily fry an egg on my head.

Then the night sweats kicked in and life hasn’t been the same since.

I get so hot that it feels like I am in a sauna.  I break out in an instant sweat of biblical proportions and thrash about like a demented and de-bowled goldfish in an attempt to get some cool air to my fevered skin.

I toss and turn to try and get comfortable whilst constantly feeling like the Ready Brek kids.

In recognition of my now legendary power surges (you could run a small town off me), my friend and fellow cancer battler Nadders got me a ‘Chillo’ – specifically designed to remain cool and provide relief in these situations to avoid the curse of the broken nights sleep.

Well, dear reader, my night hots get so hot, the Chillo becomes a Hotto.

A full nights sleep seems a distant and fond memory.  TDB feels the same.  And he saves the western world from terrorism etc for a living.

Being cold is now wishful thinking………

Not least of which – the final bit of surgery to replace the BullworkerInMyBoob with a proper implant jobby.  Now that’s posh.

Reading back through my posts, it seems that TDB and I pop off on our hols before each bit of surgery, and this time was no different – I took my baldness on holiday to Tenerife for a week and tanned it.  It was the first outing of the baldness without a hat/headscarf/pith helmet – and I was a bit nervous of how folks would react, but compared to some of the other sights around the resort, I had nothing to worry about.  If I ever say that I think a thong is a sensible idea of poolwear when I am 75+ and most definitely don’t have the figure for it, stop me.  And that was just her husband.

I digress.

The holiday also brought another momentous event – my first Gin & Tonic since chemotherapy had started back in November.

I love my G&T.  In fact, I haven’t really met an alcoholic beverage I don’t like.  Apart from melon vodka.  But the chemotherapy did odd things to my tastebuds, fizzy drinks were just too difficult with all the indigestion, and so, dear reader, a glass of Gordons finest had not passed my lips in some time.  I was hoping not to have a ‘yuk’ reaction, so decided that the first one would be on the balcony of our apartment in Tenerife, bathed in sunshine.

I am happy to report that it was WONDERFUL.

I also made up for lost time by eating my body weight in things that had been verboten during chemo – pate/shellfish/raw meat/blue cheese, although not all together on the same plate, obv.

We flew back into the UK on the Friday, and I headed back off to York Hospital on the Monday for the final countdown.  I was at Ward 27 for 7am (ouch), in the sexy stockings and backless gown by 9am, on my way to theatre at 9.30am, and back in recovery an hour later.

WOW.

It was a wopper.  I hadn’t quite been prepared for the amount of swelling – and for a little while was a bit worried that I would have one Jordan-esque boob and one normal one.  Thankfully, I am happy to report that the swelling has now settled down and both seem to be around the same size and position.  And they look fantastic.

Together with getting my hair back (currently at about 3/4 inch), my eyelashes & my eyebrows too, I really hadn’t considered how much it would sky rocket my self confidence back into normal orbit.

I thought I was quite happy with the BullworkerInMyBoob and the shape it gave me.  I thought I was dealing quite well with having the facial definition of a boiled egg and a bonce to match.  I thought noone really noticed the slightly grey pallor and luggage stack that was under my eyes.

But now that has all done, it is so fantastic to look in the mirror and see me again.

I’m going out tonight to a Ladies Guest Night dinner here at RAF Linton.  This involves a posh frock and dressing up for the first time since chemotherapy was over, and my new boob was fitted.  I can’t wait.  My nails are varnished, I have a new lippy, and new mascara (claps hands) to use, and a dear friend coming to join us who has come back into my life over the past year or so.

Man.  I feel like a woman.

FANFARE!!  POM POMS!!  DANCING GIRLS!!

Looking back over the past few months seems completely unreal, and I’m not finished yet – however, the last chemo trip went well…….

Having spent the early part of chemo treatment being constantly early for the appointments, TDB and I made up for it by being late for the last two.

The previous one was not our fault – delayed train back from the IITT Awards in London meant a very rushed dash from the station at York to the hospital.

This one was our fault as TDB’s pudding wasn’t done.

Let me explain…..

Regular readers of my blog will know that the cancer team at York Hospital have, in our view, been utterly brilliant.  Supportive, realistic, caring and no-nonsense in ways that have helped us immensely.  So, TDB wanted to do something for them to express our thanks.

Not for us the box of chocolates/tin of biscuits/card & flowers.  Oh no.  The Pudding Meister was on the case and noone was stopping him.

TDB has always been an excellent pastry cook – so Pear & Almond Tart was the choice and the baking kicked off mid-morning of Last Chemo Day.  Plenty of time.  We needed to leave about 1.15pm, so all was good.

At 1.25pm I was getting a little nervous.

At 1.30pm I was getting bundled into the car, with a red hot Pear & Almond Tart on my lap held in an oven glove.  It’s a twenty minute journey at the best of times, along little country lanes, the A19, the dreaded ring road.  The road works at the dreaded ring road.  The eejits who block the roundabouts on the ring road.  The mad fools who try and force their way through the blocked roundabouts on the ring road and cause more trouble …

So, we get to the hospital and explode out of the car with a red hot tart in our hands.  Not something I thought I would ever say in this blog.

We scorch up the stairs and go to the waiting room – and I’m called straight in for my oncologist appointment.

Hmm.  What to do with the tart??

We’ll take it with us.  Excellent plan.

You try having a sensible conversation with your oncologist whilst your Dearly Beloved is holding a warm Pear & Almond Tart in a pair of red flowery oven gloves.

So – the low down on my prognosis was duly delivered by the oncologist – ‘Your prognosis is good.  Have a nice life, pick up your tamoxifen from the pharmacy before you leave.’

And that was that.

Next up.  Caped Cancer Crusaders for the last time.  I don’t think I have ever wished away an hour of my life faster than I did that one.  In they went, one at a time, all the same old side effects kicking in – prickly tingly ness of the nether regions, freezing face, eyeballs out on sticks, slow descent of fug.

BUT I DID NOT CARE.

Because I wouldn’t have to do it again.

I finished my post chemotherapy drugs yesterday for the last time.  I got a bit emotional about that.

I got over it.

Next up, new boob on the 11th April.

So this part of the journey now ends.  Thanks all for being there with me on the Crazy Chemo Charabanc – your support has been awesome and the comments have really cheered me up.

But now it is time to focus on getting better, and the focus of the blog will reflect that.

Onward and upward.  Broad sunlight uplands.  All that.

I am guessing it is a natural progression from having a head full of ‘what is happening to me now’, to a head which is starting to be full of ‘what happens next’.

Looking forward has been something that I haven’t really done since chemo started back in November.  Remember – the tumour was removed during the mastectomy, so this chemotherapy has been all about stopping the bastard cancer coming back.  Stopping it at the pass.  Whipping the rug out from under it.  You get the picture.

But every day has been groundhog day since treatment number 2.  Here is how that works:  Get up.  Feel like shit.  Stumble through the day feeling cold/tired/over emotional/bit more tired/cold.  Await return of TDB for light relief.  Cook dinner.  Eat all of it, plus a bag of Haribo Tangfastics/bar of chocolate/bag of jelly babies, or pick at the food depending on what stage of treatment I am at.  Sit in front of television. Feel like shit.  Go to bed.  Repeat.

With the odd bit of sanity saving training work thrown in.

Next week is my last chemo treatment.

On the 24th February the caped cancer crushers will be injected into my long suffering (and now mostly collapsed) veins for the last time.

I am having to consciously remember that the 3 week cycle of crapness will still happen and the Wellness Fairy won’t just wave her wand and have me at full fitness immediately afterwards.

I can now start to think about what happens afterwards.  Which is mostly getting my life back in some shape or another.

Things I am looking forward to most are – feeling warm again, tasting things properly, not being utterly exhausted all the time, getting my hair back, being able to drink more than one glass of wine, using mascara, getting out in the garden, not having to wear 15 layers of clothing, and not having to wear stupid head scarves & hats.

Simple things really.  I don’t ask for much.

I am counting the days.  Who’d have thought I’d look forward to chemo??!!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mUW1SGF7bR8&feature=player_embedded

Seems apt.  Both song and artist!!

Chemo number 5 looms next week.  The penultimate treatment.  And in some ways I am dreading it.

The dread comes from the knowledge of how difficult these treatments are becoming.  My poor little veins cower in fear each time, which involves much excavating with very large needles.  This is not only painful, but makes me feel a bit sick too.  Further up the vein, once treatment starts, the veins are fighting back, involving excruciatingly painful spasms of the valves.  Which also make me feel a bit sick.

I guess it’s just payback for not having had any nausea at all during the treatments so far.

But mostly, I am now just impatient for this whole chemo parlarky to be over.  I can see a life without chemo in it for the first time, and I am ready for it.

My treatment is on Friday, a day later than normal, as TDB, Mum & I are in that London on 3rd February as I have been shortlisted for Freelance Trainer of the Year at the Institute of IT Training Awards.  Oooer.  We are going the awards ceremony, via a champagne reception at the Dorchester.  I have yet to resolve my clothing dilemma…..

As a Plus One of an RAF Officer, I am not short of posh frocks suitable for a black tie dinner.  I have quite a selection of uber glam frockage.

However, they are all designed for women with two boobs.  Not one and a half.  They are also not designed for women who generally wear two thermal vests, a long sleeve top, a fleece and a gilet with the heating on at 24 degrees.  Not forgetting the attractive beanie cap.

Even my fake fur evening jackets are short sleeved.  And I really don’t think that wearing my puffa jacket over the top is quite the done thing.

So I have a challenge on my hands over the weekend.  Along with trying to work out how to get the false eyelashes on (complete with diamante) that TDB got for me.  I shall report back.

So a big week for #teamwhyattbeatscancer.

Keep your fingers crossed for a suitable outfit choice, and for a good result on Thursday.  Stay tuned for the results.