It’s time for my favourite Christmas story!

Those who have been reading this blog for longer than a year will know this is not your standard Christmas story. In fact, it’s not a real Christmas story at all. It was over twenty years ago when I first heard this story, and when the holiday season rolled around, this was the first thing that popped into my head. So I’ve been posting it every year, and will do so until further notice. Scroll if you’ve heard this one and you have too much to do to read it again—the good wishes are still for you:

One night, Confucius had a dream about chopsticks.

In the dream, he was transported to Hell (which I wouldn’t think was a good start but just wait), where he saw multitudes of people crowded around enormous tables set out with wonderful foods of all kinds. There was so much food that the tables were actually groaning under the weight and the various delightful aromas made the mouth water. But while the people sitting at the tables were obviously hungry (and hangry), they had yet to touch any of it.

The problem was, they had been told they could eat as much as they liked but only if they used chopsticks that were five feet long. (That’s Hell for you—always something in the fine print, whether there’s any actual print or not.) None of the people could figure out how to eat with five-foot-long chopsticks—it was impossible, a problem that couldn’t be solved. All they could do was stare helplessly at the delectable yet untouchable feast only inches away and cry in hunger, misery, and despair.

Then Confucius was taken to Heaven where he again saw people crowded around enormous tables laden with glorious foods. They, too, had been told they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted but with the same proviso: they could use only five-foot-long chopsticks. 

These people, however, weren’t crying with hunger and misery and despair. They were eating their fill, talking and laughing together, enjoying themselves.

Because in Heaven, they were feeding each other.

My friends, whatever holiday you celebrate, however you celebrate it, I hope it’s heavenly.

So I’ve been a little busy for the last little while—for the last few years—and my cancer check-ups went from quarterly to every six months to annual. The latest one was—well, a surprise.

My oncologist broke up with me. 

We were never exclusive, of course. But it’s not simply that she wants to see other patients—she feels that we’ve come to a point in our relationship where neither of us is benefitting from the relationship.

*chuckle*

Okay, okay, what it really is: after ten years of stability and incremental improvement, it’s Macmillan’s policy to discharge the patient back to the care of their regular GP, even if they’re not actually in remission. 

Yes, that’s right, it’s been ten years since the Diagnosis of Doom, as detailed in the January 2015 post https://patcadigan.wordpress.com/2015/01/18/this-was-going-to-be-a-funny-blog-and-then-my-cancer-came-back/ (sorry this is so clunky, I can’t remember how to hide a link behind a phrase; I blame chemo-brain, but I digress). During that time, my cancer has slowly and steadily been shrinking. It’s not gone but I beat the son of a bitch into submission. 

When I started this adventure, I’d just entered my 60s. Now I’m in my 70s and I still have cancer but I’m no longer terminal. Cancer and I had a ten-year-long staring contest; cancer blinked. I beat it up and took its lunch money. Nyah, nyah, nyah, cancer, you drool, I rule.

Of course, beating cancer up every day for a decade does take it out of you. I tire a lot more easily. I can’t always go out late in the day or in the evening. If I do go out during the day, I have to be sure I’ll have enough energy to get home without imposing on friends or innocent bystanders. I need a new exercise program for old geezers. No, not chair yoga—I need a mix of cardio and strength training. (I have a few jars of Crepey Skin Repair Cream and I think it’s working.)

Well, I’ll figure it out. In the meantime—green bananas!

It’s time for my favourite Christmas story!

Experienced readers will know this is not your standard Christmas story. In fact, it’s not a real Christmas story at all. I first heard this story over twenty years ago, and when the holiday season rolled around, it was the first thing I thought of. So I’ve been posting it every year, and will do so until further notice:

One night, Confucius had a dream about chopsticks.

In the dream, he was transported to Hell, where he saw multitudes of people sitting at enormous tables set out with wonderful foods of all kinds. There was so much food that the tables groaned under the weight and the various delightful aromas made the mouth water. But while the people sitting at the tables were obviously hungry (and hangry), they hadn’t touched any of it.

They had been told they could eat as much as they liked but only if they used chopsticks that were five feet long. None of them could figure out how to eat with five-foot-long chopsticks—it was impossible, a problem that couldn’t be solved. All they could do was stare helplessly at the delectable yet untouchable feast only inches away and cry in hunger, misery, and despair.

Then Confucius was taken to heaven where he again saw lots of people sitting around enormous tables laden with glorious foods. They, too, had been told they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted but with the same proviso: they could use only five-foot-long chopsticks. 

These people, however, weren’t crying with hunger and misery and despair. They were eating their fill, talking and laughing together, enjoying themselves.

Because in heaven, they were feeding each other.

My friends, whatever holiday you celebrate, however you celebrate it, I hope it’s heavenly.

Yesterday I had my oncology appointment, the first one in person and not over the phone in five years, so I could meet my new oncologist. My previous oncologist has retired, so I have to break in a new one. She’s lovely, and I would think so even if she hadn’t given me the usual great news—i.e., the level of cancer in my body has fallen again. Still not gone but not putting up much of a fight. At this rate, I may well die with cancer but not of it, if you see what I mean.

This year marks ten years since the Diagnosis of Doom. They told me I might have two years but here I still am, struggling along with everyone else.

Imagine that.

It’s time for my favourite Christmas story!

This is not actually a Christmas story at all. I first heard it over twenty years ago, and when the holiday season rolled around, it was the first thing I thought of. So I’ve been posting it every year, and will do so until further notice:

One night, Confucius had a dream about chopsticks.

In the dream, cosmic forces transported him to Hell, where he saw multitudes of people sitting at enormous tables set out with wonderful foods of all kinds. There was so much food that the tables groaned under the weight and the various delightful aromas made the mouth water. But while the people sitting at the tables were obviously hungry (and hangry), they hadn’t touched any of it.

They had been told they could eat as much as they liked but only if they used chopsticks that were five feet long. None of them could figure out how to eat with five-foot-long chopsticks—it was an impossible situation, a problem nobody could solve. All they could do was stare at the delectable yet untouchable feast laid out in front of them and cry in hunger, misery, and deprivation.

Then Confucius was transported to Heaven where he saw the same kind of scene: lots of people sitting around enormous tables laden with glorious foods. They, too, had been told they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted but with the same proviso: they had to use five-foot-long chopsticks. 

These people, however, weren’t crying with hunger, misery, and deprivation. They were eating their fill, talking and laughing together, enjoying themselves.

Because in Heaven, they were feeding each other.

My friends, whatever holiday you celebrate, however you celebrate it, I hope it’s heavenly.

You know you’re busy out of your mind when you look at your blog and the latest post is from last Christmas.

Well, all the way back at the start of this blog, before it even was a cancer blog, I said I didn’t know how people found time to keep blogs, keep up with Twitter (back when it was still Twitter), Facebook, life, work, sleep, and the unexpected. Let’s hear it for the unexpected!

This time last year, I was struggling with what I thought was the onset of a new problem: IBS (yes, irritable bowel syndrome). It was like one damned thing after another. I finally had teeth again. Thanks to the pandemic, I couldn’t go to the dentist for non-emergency work, so my upper teeth followed David Cameron’s example and abdicated their positions and responsibilities. Tory teeth! How awful!

Their replacements were fashioned by a lovely lady who made them look pretty much like the old teeth in size and colour, although they have much a better work ethic, of course. But they took some getting used to. The lady who made them helped me get acquainted with them, showed me how to apply adhesive, and sent me home with a few tubes of Fixodent and a few toothbrushes.

(Trust me, we’re getting to the good part.)

And then, for some reason, I developed a problem very much like IBS. I couldn’t figure out why, and it just kept getting worse, to the point where I was being careful not to eat or drink anything on those rare occasions when I went out. Because bad, bad, bad things would happen if I did.

Finally, my gp referred me for a colonoscopy. Three out of my mother’s four brothers died of some kind of cancer in that region, all before their 70^th birthday, and mine was coming up. We had to postpone when I tested positive for Covid. First time ever—I figured the zinc supplements had helped along with the immunisations. I had a minor cold and got over it.

Anyway, I finally went in for the colonoscopy earlier this year. I won’t bore you with the details except to say, I have no medical training but even I know healthy tissue when I see it. I was very glad of that but I was wondering what to do next, even though, unbeknownst to myself, I had already done it.

While I was fasting for the colonoscopy, I had decided to look for a different denture adhesive and as a result, I started reading the package inserts more carefully. Fixodent made a quick mention of being careful not to use too much denture adhesive as it might cause digestive or intestinal upsets. Eventually, I noticed something interesting: Fixodent contained zinc; some other brands made a big deal out of being zinc-free. So after the colonoscopy I looked a little more closely and did some research, and realised that I was actually suffering from zinc poisoning. ‘Digestive and intestinal upsets’—talk about understating it!

I stopped taking zinc supplements and changed to a zinc-free denture adhesive, and yeah, you guessed it: no more IBS symptoms at all. Zinc-poisoning goes away as soon as you stop ingesting it.

I called my gp and told her all about it. The two of us marvelled over the circumstances. I was a new denture-wearer and so of course I was using too much denture adhesive—I imagine everybody does in the beginning. But when a patient goes to a doctor with symptoms of IBS, who would think to ask, ‘Say, you haven’t just started wearing dentures, have you? Does the adhesive you’re using have zinc in it?’

Now, I might not have had the problem if I hadn’t been taking zinc supplements but even so, I avoid denture adhesives containing zinc—anything you rub on your gums goes right into your bloodstream—and I don’t take any vitamins or supplements with zinc. I think I’ve had enough zinc for one lifetime.

This is some holiday post, isn’t it? The Golden Years: The Denture Adhesive/IBS Boobytrap waiting for the unwary. You can’t make this sh!t up.

It’s time for my favourite Christmas story!

Experienced readers will know this is not your standard Christmas story. In fact, it’s not a real Christmas story at all. I first heard this story over twenty years ago, and when the holiday season rolled around, it was the first thing I thought of. So I’ve been posting it every year, and will do so until further notice:

One night, Confucius had a dream about chopsticks.

In the dream, he was transported to Hell, where he saw multitudes of people sitting at enormous tables set out with wonderful foods of all kinds. There was so much food that the tables groaned under the weight and the various delightful aromas made the mouth water. But while the people sitting at the tables were obviously hungry (and hangry), they hadn’t touched any of it.

They had been told they could eat as much as they liked but only if they used chopsticks that were five feet long. None of them could figure out how to eat with five-foot-long chopsticks—it was impossible, an unsolvable problem. So all they could do was stare helplessly at the delectable yet untouchable feast only inches away and cry in hunger, misery, and despair.

Then Confucius was taken to heaven where he again saw lots of people sitting around enormous tables laden with glorious foods. They, too, had been told they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted but with the same proviso: they could use only five-foot-long chopsticks. 

These people, however, weren’t crying with hunger and misery and despair. They were eating their fill, talking and laughing together, enjoying themselves.

Because in heaven, they were feeding each other.

My friends, whatever holiday you celebrate, however you celebrate it, I hope it’s heavenly.

Good news can come at strange times in the oddest places. Yesterday I was crouching on a stoop in Islington near a bus stop, listening to my oncologist tell me that the level of cancer in my body has—you guessed it!—fallen again, by more points than last time.

Once again, the universe reminds me: While cancer is a serious problem, I still have my foot on its neck. Hypertension is also a serious problem but my foot is on its neck, too. Apparently my feet are so big and mighty that I can fit more than one serious problem under each one.

Whereas something like part of our ceiling falling down—that’s a technical difficulty. Technical difficulties are frustrating, even infuriating, but ultimately fixable, (even if that doesn’t happen as quickly as we’d like).

Meanwhile, the green bananas are ripening and I’m made of !!!WORK!!!

Here I am again thumbing my nose at that little bitch cancer as it runs away, whimpering.

And just to clarify: No, I’m not in remission. I still have cancer. The level has dropped a tiny bit more—two points but it’s a drop. Cancer continues to retreat, terrified. Not today, cancer, and don’t count on tomorrow, either.

Even hypertension has given me up as a lost cause, leaving me and my blood pressure in peace.

Looks like it’s green bananas all round! Unsalted, of course. 😉

It’s time for my favourite Christmas story!

Experienced readers will know this is not your standard Christmas story. In fact, it’s not an actual Christmas story at all. I first heard this story over twenty years ago, and when the holiday season rolled around, it was the first thing I thought of. So I’ve been posting it every year, and will do so until further notice:

One night, Confucius had a dream about chopsticks.

In the dream, he was transported to Hell, where he saw multitudes of people sitting at enormous tables set out with wonderful foods of all kinds. There was so much food that the tables groaned under the weight and the various delightful aromas made the mouth water.

But the people sitting at the tables hadn’t touched any of it.

They had been told they could eat as much as they liked but only if they ate with chopsticks that were five feet long. None of them could figure out how to feed themselves with five-foot-long chopsticks—it was impossible. All they could do was stare helplessly at the delectable feast before them and cry in hunger, misery, and despair.

Then Confucius was taken to heaven where he again saw multitudes of people sitting around enormous tables laden with glorious foods. They, too, had been told they were allowed to eat as much as they wanted but only if they used five-foot-long chopsticks. 

But these people were not crying with hunger and misery and despair. They were eating their fill, talking and laughing together, enjoying themselves.

Because in heaven, they were feeding each other.

My friends, whatever holiday you celebrate, however you celebrate it, I hope it’s heavenly.