Lumbar Spinal Stenosis

After battling chronic back pain for the last couple of weeks I finally went to the doctor.  The truth is, I've actually been getting bouts of back pain for the last few years, but I just pushed it aside and got on with my life.  Sometimes it was worse than other times and I couldn't move at all.  This time, I had pushed some heavy tables at school, felt my back go, and put that down as to the cause.
The fact is, pushing those tables only exasperated the problem I didn't know I had.
I knew my back was weakening and actually felt as if I was losing some of my mobility.  But I just put that down as being somehow related to the Tram Flap reconstruction surgery I had had in 2004 after being diagnosed with breast cancer, where they used my stomach muscle to create a new breast.
I had never thought that it might actually be a disease of sorts.  That had never crossed my mind.
My doctor asked lots of questions, poked and prodded my back, twisted me around and then declared that I had a classic case of Lumbar Spinal Stenosis and booked me in for an MRI to see how far it has progressed.
It turns out that various ailments I had been suffering from the last few years were all related to my lower spine.  But, myself and previous doctors had always treated them in isolation and never connected them together.  When you put them together, then you have a classic case of Lumbar Spinal Stenosis.  My advice to you, is if you are reading this and have been getting some or all of these symptoms, go and see a doctor right away and get checked for Spinal Stenosis.
These are the symptoms I have had the last few years;
1. Chronic lower back pain where I feel like I have been cut in half and not put back properly.
2. Burning pain in lower back.
3. Chronic hip pain.
4. Cramps in the calf muscles.
5. Finding it hard to walk properly and sometimes limping.
6. Completely imobilised thinking my sciatic nerve is pinched.
7. Pain and stiffness across my upper back, sometimes even my neck. Muscles go into spasm and tense up.
8. Numbness and loss of feeling in my feet.
9. Pain in feet when walking.
10.  Unsteady on feet, struggling to get balance especially when climbing stairs, stepping onto escalators and stepping over objects.
11.  Struggle to control bladder.
12. Difficulty getting up out of a chair, sometimes walking a few steps with your back bent before you can straighten it.
13.  Unable to stand for any length of time when washing dishes or hanging up washing, as your back starts hurting so badly you have to sit down.
14.  Not able to walk long distances without stopping somewhere and sitting down as your back hurts so much.
15. Needing to lean on a supermarket trolley when shopping, as your back starts to hurt if you walk around carrying a basket.
I have found, that my back hurts less when I wear a backpack as that makes me lean forward when I walk.
All these symptoms I thought was just a product of ageing, and I guess in a way it is as you tend to get this when you are over 50.
As I discover treatments and strategies to ease the back pain, I'll share them with you.
Cindy Vine is the author of Not Telling, The Case of Billy B, Defective, CU@8, Hush Baby and The Freedom Club.  All her books are available in both paperback and ebook format on Amazon.com.

Being Brave

I listened to a song this morning which, besides making me cry, caused me to reflect on my cancer journey.  I was one of the lucky ones.  My cancers were caught relatively early.  All I needed was surgery to remove the problem.  But what about those who need more than surgery?  What fear do they experience?  Cancer is such a nasty word.
I have been told it three times in my life so far.  December 2003, September 2006 and December 2010.  The moment you get told that word the fear you feel is incredible.  Overwhelming.  People try and comfort you but their words don't dissipate the fear.
Cancer is scary.
People tell you that you are so brave and you think, "Do I have a choice?"
I didn't choose cancer.  For whatever reason cancer chose me.
And you fight it with everything you have got.  You take on that fear and overcome it.  You do it because you are not ready to die.  You do it because you want to live.  You don't have a choice.  Fighting cancer is like an innate reflex action.  After the initial shock your mind just goes into survival mode.  Fighting cancer is all about survival.  For those not suffering from cancer it might seem like you are brave.  If being brave means pushing back your fear and fighting to survive, then I guess we are brave.
But at the time you don't feel particularly brave.  You feel terrified.
And sometimes being brave is not enough.  No matter the fight you put up, the cancer forces advance and slowly take control of your body, reducing you to a diseased shell.  There is no dignity when this happens.  Dying has no dignity.  It is the end.
Everybody who gets a cancer diagnosis fights it. We all believe we can beat it.  But it is a luck of the draw kind of thing.  For some the belief you can beat it is not enough.  And you never know until you get the all-clear if that lucky person who beats it is you.
Cancer is scary.
Early detection is your best hope of beating it.
Bravery is instinctive.
http://blog.thebreastcancersite.com/trulybrave/#sxZdbqLeupv55E4v.01

Medical woes

At the moment I have so many different meds in me I rattle when I walk.  I'm almost at the stage of opening up my own pharmacy.
Wrongdiagnosis,com should pay me.  I could be rich my now.
On the 7th January I had lipofilling injected into my left breast.  That should be where the story ends.  One week back in Tanzania I had a large abscess and very swollen lymph nodes in my left armpit.  I dutifully went to see the GP down the road.  This was his last chance after cocking up so badly the previous year, that I ended up going into septic shock and lost my breast implant.  He said it wasn't an abscess but folliculitis and that I should squeeze it morning and night to get the gunk out.  He also said I didn't need antibiotics for folliculitis.  I asked him if he was sure as my lipofilling surgery had just been three weeks previously.  He said definitely no antibiotics needed.  He's the doctor, what do I know?
My left breast began to feel hot and had a faint red rash on it.  It seemed to be getting harder, but I was so busy at work I had no time to take notice of what was happening with my breast.
Then one night acute pain in my breast made me think I'd pulled a muscle or something while trying to swim a couple of lengths of breaststroke.  Frantically swallowing painkillers turned me into a zombie for a day and a half.  I blamed it on over-exercising while trying to strengthen my right shoulder.
How wrong I was.
The breast grew slowly, sneakily, trying to avoid being noticed.  Then I got large boils on the side of the breast.

Typical, by the time I realised how big, hot and hard it was, was when I was camping in the middle of the bush with 27 children.  The pain was intense.  I was uncomfortable, could hardly move.  The campsite managers took pity on me and let me sleep in a new luxury tent overlooking the lake.
A friend phoned my surgeon in Cape Town, he prescribed a seriously strong antibiotic, I managed to get the school driver to pick it up from a pharmacy and bring it to the campsite.
Nausea.
This was not good.
I decided to go back to the local GP when I got back from the camp.  He took one look at my breast and said, "Classic case of chronic mastitis."
Seriously?  Are you kidding me?  I had a mastectomy 2 years ago.  I have no breast tissue, I can't get mastitis.  Even my healthy right breast doesn't have breast tissue.  Two bouts with breast cancer, two mastectomies.
"Then it must be a large breast abscess," he continued undeterred.  "I'm going to send you to a radiology friend of mine.  If there's fluid I'm going to get a local surgeon to cut open the breast and drain the fluid."
"Do you think this is related to the abscess I had a month ago?"
"Definitely not," he said trying to convince himself.  "It's just a coincidence."
The radiologist had a small office down a dark alley.  He felt my breast without washing his hands or wearing gloves.  This did not sit well with my soul.
He was amazed at the amount of fluid.  My heart sank.  That meant a local surgeon would have to cut my breast open like a can of baked beans.  "Oh my God!" he shouted nearly falling over with excitement.  I strained my neck to try and get a closer look at the computer monitor to see if there was a large tumor or something.  "I have no more paper!  I can't print the pictures!"
Seriously?  You have to be kidding me.
But at least he was a creative thinker.  He got his receptionist to dig through the waste bins to find a small piece of paper that could take three pictures.
There was no way I was going to let a local surgeon touch my breast.  That was settled when the local radiologist printed the pictures on paper from the waste bin.
My friend managed to stalk my surgeon in Cape Town and get his mobile number.  He called me at 11pm last Friday night and told me to get on the next flight to Cape Town.
I did.
They aspirated 300ml of fluid and gave me more antibiotics.  The breast is still not right, more doctors' visits next week.  Apparently, both surgeons who saw me stated that they were 110% sure my breast went bad because I wasn't put on antibiotics for the abscess.
What can you do?  You trust medical professionals, but they are human just like us.  They make mistakes.  Nobody is perfect.
Cindy Vine, a breast cancer survivor, is the author of Not Telling, Defective and C U @ 8.

October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month

How did Breast Cancer Awareness Month start
The first National Breast Cancer Awareness Month (NBCAM) took place in October 1985 and was intended to increase awareness of breast cancer issues, especially the importance of early detection.

During NBCAM, women are encouraged to educate themselves about the disease, perform regular breast self-examinations, and schedule an annual mammogram.

The pink ribbon symbol
The first known use of the pink ribbon was in the fall of 1991, when the Susan G. Komen Foundation had handed them out to participants in its New York City race for breast cancer survivors. In 1993, Evelyn Lauder (of Estée Lauder Inc.) founded The Breast Cancer Research Foundation and used the pink ribbon as its logo, popularizing the symbol and its association with the disease.For the past two decades the world every October swathes itself in pink and turns attention to a deadly disease. In the U.S. alone a quarter of a million women are diagnosed while nearly 40,000 die from breast cancer each year.  And that's just the US!

Stars That Battled Breast Cancer:

Kathy Bates, Maura Tierney, Judy Blume, Ann Romney, Edie Falco, Suzanne Somers, Olivia Newton-John, Giuliana Rancic, Wanda Sykes, Christina Applegate, Melissa Etheridge, Robin Roberts, Kylie Minogue, Sheryl Crow (list from the Huffington Post

What Breast Cancer means to me

My grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer way back in 1969 and had a mastectomy.  In those days they didn't worry about reconstruction or leaving a nice scar.  They just hacked off the breast in the most brutal way.  I remember as a child going to visit her in hospital, and seeing her hands tied to her neck to stop her from touching the wound where her right breast used to be.  She used a bag of bird seed as a breast prosthesis.  One day after quickly taking washing off the line when the rain started, the seeds in her prosthesis started to germinate.

My own story with breast cancer started in 2003.  You can read about it here.  I had reconstruction done at the same time.  My problems from the tram flap reconstruction were not pleasant.  In my hub I write about the pros and cons of it.  My second bout with breast cancer was in 2011.  I went for an implant but that has not been without complications.  In August this year I got breast cellulitis and had to have the implant removed.  My breasts have proved to be a curse.  What I once thought was my best feature became my enemy.  excess, have always been a conservative social drinker.  I have never smoked or taken drugs.  I breast-fed my three children for a total of 5 years.  I did everything right, so why did I get breast cancer not once, but twice?  I have come to realise that sometimes bad things just happen to good people.  There doesn't have to be a reason, it can just be in your genetic make-up.  It can also just be shitty rotten luck.  Whatever the reason, you just have to deal with it as best you can.  Be grateful it was picked up early.  Be thankful that you are one of the lucky ones that survived.

Cindy Vine is the author of the novels Not Telling, Defective and C U @ 8.  They are available on Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobel.com, Sony and the Apple iStore.

 

 

Flying from the wheelchair to see U2

Everybody has a bucket list, things they want to do before they die; I'm no exception. Near the top of my bucket list was to see U2 live in concert. I have to admit, I've been a die-hard fan ever since I saw Bono with his mullet, dressed in his Little Drummer Boy outfit strut his stuff on stage in the late eighties at the Free Mandela Concert they had at Wembley. I think it was that concert, I remember I was living in Swakopmund, Namibia, at that time. Wherever I've lived in the world, I've always just missed out on seeing U2.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer for the second time, my always missing U2 was set to change. They were going to be performing in Cape Town a week after my scheduled mastectomy. As I live in Tanzania, if it wasn't for the mastectomy I was having in Cape Town, I would have missed them again. As it was, it would be touch and go whether I'd be out of the hospital and in a fit enough condition to attend the concert.

Being a somewhat positive person, I purchased three tickets for General Admission Standing. I thought my son Tony and eldest daughter Kerri could accompany me, and stand on either side of me to block my new breast from getting bumped and squashed in the mosh-pit area. To top it all, I still had my drain attached, which I cleverly disguised under a loose-fitting shirt. It did make me look as if I had a tumour on the belly which wobbled from side to side when I walked, but nobody seemed to notice as I never caught anybody staring at me. Friends in Tanzania had suggested I hire a wheelchair, which I jokingly agreed to; but after only leaving the hospital on the Tuesday and the concert being on the Friday, I was starting to think it might be a good idea.

Tuesday to Friday passed in a flash! I seemed to rush from one thing to the next, no time to rest and recuperate. My mother is a bit like the energizer bunny, and staying with her in the small flat behind Tygervalley didn't give me time to take a breath. Wednesday night, Kerri and I went to see a movie - The kids are alright. We loved it! Very different, completely unique story-line, we discussed the movie in-depth for over an hour afterwards. There were some decidedly raunchy bits, which would have been extremely embarassing if we'd gone to see it with my mother. Not that she would have minded. She's a very different kind of seventy year old to the norm. Now I have to tell you, that the whole purpose of going to the movies was to collect a paper coke cup, so that I'd have something to pee in for my 24 hour urine collection. Sounds frighteningly disgusting, I know. But it would have been more discusting if I used something from the kitchen to collect my samples. The paper coke cup was the right size. And it had a lid. So if I was out and about shopping, then I could carry the cup in my bag, and just fill it when needed and decant it into the large collection container when I got home. But I digress, back to U2.

All Thursday night, I had recurring dreams about arriving at the U2 concert only to discover that I'd forgotten to collect the wheelchair. It was a terrible night's sleep, as you would expect with dreams like that. First thing Friday morning, after depositing my container of 24 hour urine samples at the pathology lab, I drove to the wheelchair hire place. The wheelchair they gave me looked old and well-used, but I wasn't going to complain. Hopefully, it would do its job and help protect my breast and the drain still hanging out of me.

There are no words to describe the excitement I was feeling about realising my dream and seeing U2 live on stage. The plan was, for Tony and Kerri to take turns pushing the wheelchair. We'd parked in the Granger Bay Undercover Parking at the Waterfront, and planned to use the Fan Walk to get to the stadium. Crowds of people were already arriving. I don't believe in painkillers and had stopped taking them the Monday. As a result, I could feel something wasn't quite right with the breast by the heat that was emanating from it, and the 'about-to-explode' kind of burning pain. I was going to see U2 live, the breast could wait another day. Neither Tony nor Kerri had ever pushed a wheelchair before. I didn't think that this would be a problem. Until Tony started speed-walking as he pushed the wheelchair, dodging in between the crowds making their way to the stadium. He was going so fast, Kerri was having to trot next to him to keep up, and I was beginning to feel giddy. The first pedestrian crossing we came to, the traffic cop manning the crossing told Tony to slow down and have patience. Tony being Tony picked up speed to get me across the crossing quickly. The kerb does have a flattened section for wheels to cross over. However, it is not completely flush with the road, there is still a small bump. Tony hit that bump at speed and I literally flew out of the wheelchair and landed on the ground. As he was behind me, I couldn't see his face, but did see the expressions of shock on the crowd around me. They probably thought I was paralysed and was wondering how they would help lift the large woman back up onto the wheelchair. I quickly scrambled to my feet and climbed back into the wheelchair. I wasn't sure if the tears flowing copiously down my cheeks were from laughter or pain. Probably a mix of both. It must have been a funny sight - this large woman flying through the air and landing on her bum on the sidewalk. Kerri was furious with Tony for being so careless, but I couldn't stop laughing. It was funny and I still laugh about it while writing this.

The area we were supposed to enter was not wheelchair-friendly. The righthand wheel was wobbling like mad and appeared ready to fall off at any moment. There was no way that Tony would be able to push the wheelchair with the wobbly wheel over the bumpy and rocky gravel path. I stood up and walked through the turnstiles, but the security wouldn't let Tony push the wheelchair through. They must have thought that the wheelchair was just a con, until I lifted my shirt and showed them my drain filled with blood and seroma, still attached to me. When it comes to whether or not I can go in to see U2, I have no shame. We had to wait 45 minutes, while they sent someone to find out what they could do about me and the wheelchair.

I was determined I was going in, one way or the other. Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, the security guard returned. We had to go all the way around the stadium to the McDonald's entrance where they had wheelchair access. Tony was not amused. His hands were already covered in blisters from holding the handles so tightly. I have to say, the Fan Walk is not really wheelchair friendly. The cobbled pavement is hell for a wheelchair with a wobbly wheel. However, Tony only nearly sent me flying one more time - I managed to quickly put my feet on the ground before flying off again, before he realised that he had to pull the wheelchair backwards over the bumps.

Once at the wheelchair access ramp, it was a piece of cake. Once we arrived at the stadium, we quickly found a steward and asked how we could get the wheelchair down to the standing area. They said they didn't advise us to take the wheelchair there. Kerri explained that I'd bought the standing room tickets before the op. The stewards were very friendly and helpful! I was moved to a specially-designated wheelchair area with two other people in the wheelchairs, and Kerri and Tony were allowed to stay with me. This area had an unobstructed view of the stage, no people shoving against us as the area was cordoned off. If I'd bought tickets for that level I'd have paid 3x the price I paid for the stranding tickets, so it was a bargain. To make it even better, we had disabled toilets right behind us. When I needed to go, the security would bang on the doors so that the people illegally using them would vacate them in a hurry so that I could enter. Every queue we were moved to the front! By this stage, my breast was very sore, so it was just as well I was in a wheelchair. There was no way I would have survived intact in that mosh-pit!

72 000 People attended the U2 concert in Cape Town, and I was one of them. It was amazing, brilliant, awe-inspiring, absolutely incredible. The 360 degrees show was the best I'd ever seen and I don't think I'll ever see anything better. The huge 'claw' set was amazing, with the light show it was unbelievable. We sat and watched, completely awe-struck!

With this ticked off the bucket list, I'm ready for the next item. Wonder what that will be? Driving around the coast of Africa!

Bedpans, breasts and birthdays

My mother has to be one of the most beautiful women in the world, and this week she celebrated her 70th birthday in style with a fabulous dinner for over 100 guests at the One and Only at the Waterfront in Cape Town.  The ambience was fantastic and it was great to catch up with family and friends not seen for years, all people whose lives my mother had touched in some way.  She is a remarkable woman and I pray that one day I might fit into her very big shoes.
The week flew by so quickly with visits to different doctors each day.  The plastic surgeon on Monday; endocrinologist Tuesday, pre-admission Wednesday, sentinel node mapping and the breast surgeon Thursday; and before I knew it, it was Friday and the day of the op.
There was a slight hiccup when the hospital phoned me and told me that I hadn't come in fo my blood-thinning injection to prevent blood clots.  The plastic surgeon had forgotten to tell me he'd made an appointment for me.  No worries, I popped into the nearest pharmacy, got the doctor on the phone to tell them what |I needed and then administered the injection myself.
I'd be lying if I didn't confess to being nervous.  Even though I'd gone through a mastectomy before, it made no difference.  I hardly slept Thursday night, and of course reading John Grisham's The Confession before I went to sleep, all I could think of was death chambers.  Not good thoughts before going for surgery.  The waiting in the hospital for them to call me for surgery was the worst as I had no books or magazines to read to take my mind off things.  They brought my ballgown and nifty paper panties and I dressed myself for the operating theatre.  Prof Apffelstaedt, whom I always refer to as Apffelschnapps, held my hand lightly stroking it as the anaethetist put me under.  If it wasn't that I was getting a breast chopped off, I might have found it quite romantic.
I can't tell you anything about the surgery.  I was there, that's all.  It's amazing how there's this gap missing, almost as if time stops.  One minute they're staying go to sleep and the next they're saying, wake up.  You sort of wish they'd make up their minds, even though three hours passed unaccounted for in between.
From the top my breast looks normal.  I even kept my nipple which of course, is now just a facade.  As my double chin gets in the way, I can't see the actual operation wound which might be a good thing.
I have to tell the story of the bedpan, embarrassing as it may be.  Just before three pm, when Tony and Thekla had just arrived to visit me, I had to pee.  They brought the bedpan, closed the curtains around me and I did my thing, but not all my thing.  I have difficulty completely voiding my bladder while lying down.  I need a bit of gravity to get things going.  As a result fifteen minutes later, I had to pee again and Tony went to call the nurse to come and assist me.  Once again, it was only the excess that leaked into the bedpan.  Fifteen minutes later, I needed to go again.  As it was ten to four and close to the end of visiting time anyway, they shooed my visitors out, and closed my curtains, put my bed in an upright position, all with very hardcore stern looks on their faces.  They were not impressed, that was obvious.  In a sitting position, my bladder emptied.  They did not come and remove the bedpan, I was in too much pain to move and couldn't reach the bell they had left conveniently far from my grasp.  I was stuck on the bedpan for over an hour.  I think my bladder went quite frequently, because when they finally returned to check on me the bedpan had overflowed.  Their sneaky move had backfired on them, as they had to remake the bed.  However, when you spend an hour on a rubber bedpan, the rubber tends to stick to your bum like a second skin.  It took three of them to pry me off that bedpan.  That served them right!
I did get the most awesome photo of my skeleton from the nuclear physician who did the sentinel node mapping.  It's in 3D and simply amazing to see what I'd look like dead while I'm still alive.
Have an awesome week ahead!  This week, I need to get some serious writing done.  Am working on 3 books at present!
love
Cindy

Breast Cancer again!

The first time they told me I had breast cancer was on the 24th December 2003.  It had come as such a complete shock that it devastated me.  I'd had a blocked duct removed two weeks earlier and I can still remember the breast surgeon saying, "Well at least you know its not cancer."  How wrong he was.  Christmas and New Year was spent in deep depression as I thought I was going to die.  My gran had died from cancer, so for me cancer equated with death.  My operation was set for the 19th January 2004, and after the op I had so many complications, resulting in me suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder.  Although I survived the whole unfortunate and unpleasant business, it was not something I would ever have liked to go through again.
In September I had a strong gut feeling.  I didn't have a lump or anything nothing to merit my concern, but I just new that there was something wrong with my so-called healthy breast.  I tried to find out about getting a mammogram done in Moshi, Tanzania where I live.  The hospital down the road had a mammogram machine, but nobody who knew how to work the machine or read the films.  In Arusha, 90km away, they had someone to work the macxhine but their machine was broken.  During the October break I traveled to Nairobi to have a mammogram at Nairobi Hospital.  Unfortunately, they lost the films somewhere between the hospital and the doctor.  Obviously, there was nowhere in East Africa I could go to with any confidence.
Searching online for a breast specialist in Cape Town, South Africa, I stumbled upon Prof. Affelstaedt, whom I always refer to as Prof Apfelschnapps.  The mammogram and ultrasound both showed a suspect area in the spray of calcifications they'd picked up in China in 2008.  The good Prof immediately performed two fine needle aspirations.  The results were inconclusive.  The Prof suggested a core biopsy.
Having had a miserable festive season seven years earlier with the spectre of cancer looming over my head, I wanted to avoid having to go through that again, so I told the doctor that I'd have the core biopsy after the festive season.  I think I just knew what they would find.  The first results came back and they were only 70% sure.  The pathologist had to stain the cells and then the results came back.  100%!  Even though I'd been expecting it, even though I'd gone through it all once befiore, it was still a shock.  My mom saw I was upset so took me shopping.  The cure for all woes in her book.  At first I handled the news that I'd need another mastectomy quite well.  They can't do another tram-flap reconstruction, as they'd already used my stomach muscle the first time.  This time, I'll be having an implant.  As the time looms closer for the surgery, I can feel myself becoming more anxious.  The Prof suspects that I carry the cancer gene as bilateral breast cancer in a woman under the age of fifty is not common.
Last time I went through it in a strange country with only my children for support.  This time, I'll be surrounded by family and friends.  Even though I know it won't be as bad as the first time, I still feel scared.  I can feel myself disassociating as a way to cope.  Like part of me is here going through the motions, but my spirit has gone to some zone to hang out until this is over.  Like I'm an observer watching what is going on but I am no longer a part of it.  I guess, that's just how I cope.
Cindy
                                                                  

Woo hoo Cape Town!

After a hectic sports weekend with swimming gala and kiddie triathlon, last Monday saw us up at 3am to leave at 4am to get to the airport for our three flights to Cape Town.  Kilimanjaro to Nairobi, only a 45 minute flight and we saw amazing views of Mount Kilimanjaro rising above the clouds.  It really is a very very big mountain.  At Nairobi we boarded our flight at the stated time, ready for the next leg to Johannesburg.  Unfortunately, they had a problem with the air traffic controllers, so we had to wait on the runway in a queue for an hour and a half.  Luckily, the plane wasn't full so I could stretch out next to me and sleep for the period we were delayed.  Unfortunately, that meant that we were an hour and a half late getting into Johannesburg, so instead of grabbing a quick lunch at the airport Spur Steakhouse, we had 20 minutes to run from the International Arrival terminal to the Domestic Arrival Terminal.  Everybody said we wouldn't make it, but we did, arriving huffing and puffing, stinking with sweat, ready to board.  Of course, there was no way that they could remove our luggage from Air Kenya and load it onto Comair in 20 minutes, so we arrived in Cape Town without our luggage.  This is getting to be a bit of a habit for us.  My Mom took us shopping for clothes until our luggage arrived, so that was a bonus.  It did arrive the next day, we collected it and hired a car, a little KIA with enough boot space to hide a mouse and that's all.
Wednesday I saw the breast specialist and he found a problem with my 'healthy' left breast.  Two fine needle biopsies later, two mammograms, several ultrasounds and the results were still worringly inconclusive.  Seven years ago almost to the day, I went through all of this with the right breast, ending up with a diagnosis of two kinds of cancer and a tramflap mastectomy.  I'm not sure I can mentally and emotionally go through all of that again.  I do feel like hitting well-meaning people who tell me I'm strong and can handle it, when they weren't there the first time and never witnessed what it was like, and never experienced it themselves.  I've decided to wait until after Christmas for the core biopsy they want to do, where they remove some of the tissue.  With friends visiting, I don't want to ruin Christmas.

Yesterday, we explored the Cape Peninsula, and although I took them along Chapman's Peak because I know the scenery is stunning, I couldn't look at it myself.  For some reason, Chapman's Peak terrifies me, I keep feeling as if I'm going to drive over the edge.  It might be something to do with my fear of heights

Shopping, sight-seeing, splashing in the waves.  This is the life.  Until the money runs out. 
Sunday we had one of those eaarly family Christmas lunches, the ones you do when you have step-siblings.  Two families, you only can spend Christmas day with one of them.  It is hard.
Off to explore the wine route today!  Hic!
love
Cindy