Lip up fatty

Chips, mushy peas, lashings of salt and vinegar,
and a pint of Boddingtons... a guilty pleasure!

Three long months ago I discovered I had cancer whilst doing some sit-ups, hoping to squeeze into a suit I had bought in 1997. I'd persuaded myself that I'd look quite dapper at the wedding, because fashions would have come full-circle over the last fifteen years.

There's an incongruous British fish & chip shop near Ilse's flat. I'm normally a 'when in Rome ..." traveller, and quite scathing of the Brits abroad mentality, so I felt a bit guilty about my snowballing craving for a proper bag of chips. I dropped my principles and stuffed my face.

Incredibly, and with a warm feeling of poetic justice, I tried on my suit afterwards and it fitted! If there's a moral to this story, please write it on the comments page because I'm at a loss. In the meantime, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F6fQnTyEniM.

Budgie smugglers

Stuffing Trev up the inside on the F1 track

Trev and Janice came out for a week to (a) help build my strength and (b) give Moniek some much needed rest. It worked wonders, and we can't thank them enough.

Although I'm officially a tourist in Singapore, I hadn't seen much. Chemo was a seemingly endless cycle of medical treatment, leaning my head against taxi windows, and staring at Ilse's ceiling.

I had lost 28% of my lung capacity. My red blood cells, haemoglobin and white blood cells were all extremely low. This meant I had difficulty breathing, processing oxygen, and fighting infections. I was sick and tired of being sick and tired.

A local walk (well, shuffle) now starts my day before anyone else is out of bed. I worked hard to increase my energy levels before Trev & Janice arrived, and even managed to meet them at the airport.

"Slap-slap-slap-heeeeeeeed" near Chinatown

It was time for some sightseeing and a few beers. I wore my special Singapore Sling for the occassion. I nearly split my stitches with laughter when Janice referred to such underwear as 'budgie smugglers'.

We spread out a tourist map, covered a lot of ground, and ticked off many of the main attractions. I could feel my stamina building every day. Just walking over a footbridge without collapsing with exhaustion (or chafing) felt like a major achievement.

I was scheduled for lung and blood tests, plus a CT scan for tumors on the day of their departure. The respiratory doctor was 'very, very happy' with my jump from 72% to 83% lung capacity. Dr Wong pointed at my scans on her lightbox and explained that although two of the four tumours in my lungs had disappeared, two dots remained. Thankfully, my beta-HCG count showed that - for now - the dots look like benign scars and I'm still free of Chorio. The only bad news was that my cholesterol levels had spiked due to Trev's appetite for fried eggs.

During chemo, I was tested for everything under the sun on a continuous basis. The recent 10-day hiatus actually heightened the tension as we awaited the results. We have come to realise that such tests will be the new 'normal' for at least the next 12 months. It's going to have a big impact on our lives at many levels.

Moniek and Janice in need of more Singha beer

Moniek got me through the last 3 months. I've only got half-conscious recollections, but I fully appreciate the level of care I needed around the clock. Trev & Janice relieved the pressure for a while, and Mo slept for the entire week. She finally emerged to join us for a Thai meal and wave them goodbye.

The doctors have given me the green light to travel to the UK on the 28th for Elaine's wedding. It's been my #1 objective since I was diagnosed with cancer. The feeling of joy and relief is hard to put into words. I'm bald and weak, but I don't care - I'm getting on that plane!

As I mentioned in a previous blog, this song gave me comfort mid-chemo and the lyrics haunted me during cold turkey: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_cPxKq-gMDo&feature=related. It's one of dad's favourites. Rick Wright (who sings this introduction and also wrote 'The great gig in the sky') died of cancer in 2008. Trev now plays it with an amateur band at his local pub. I can feel a few pints coming on ...

Feeling good

I don't have cancer! Dr Wong has just given me the all-clear, and I'm now officially in remission. I'm physically battered and emotionally drained but, thank God, there is currently no Choriocarcinoma in my body.

I now need to re-build my strength, avoid any sickness or injury while my defences are down, and pray that the cancer doesn't come back.

I'm elated, but it's mixed with other emotions. I'm exhausted and relieved. I'm also deeply aware that many of my co-patients didn't get such good news today, and a sad feeling of guilt casts a shadow over my euphoria. There's also a daunting recognition that, although I've finished chemotherapy, huge challenges lie ahead.

Pour a drink, and turn today's song up LOUD!

In addition to today's blood test, Dr Wong gave me the green light to have a beer. Plus the obligatory health warnings about alcohol. But, as my dad maintains, you meet more old drunks than you meet old doctors.

I'm going to take Moniek and her two sisters for a celebratory dinner (Corinne's here too). They got me through all this and I will never be able to thank them enough.

Chemo is history, the future's a mystery and - wow - I'm feeling good. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h8tuTSi6Sck

The greatest comeback since Lazarus?

I'm happy, but DVLA won't accept smiles

I've had a good couple of days. Adopting my well-proven technique for shaking a hangover, I've purged the residual Bleomycin from my system. Mountains of healthy food have been washed down with rivers of milk and fruit juice. A couple of decent walks have re-built my strength. And I've pissed, poohed and perspired the poison from my frail body. Detox was completed by scratching and farting whilst watching a documentary on sharks. Normally I'd have a 'hair of the dog' too, but chemo doesn't come in cans.

There's a poncy spa round the corner offering holistic rejuvenation & purification at $200. It includes hot stones, whale music and smelly candles, but I think I'll stick with what I know.

My approach seems to be working. I had more blood tests and a status/strategy meeting with Dr Wong this morning. She said I'm doing "as good as we could possibly imagine". She gave me more jabs and pushed my final chemo session into tomorrow. There's still a long stony uphill path ahead of me, but I'm overjoyed and more determined than ever to stage the greatest comeback since Lazarus.

I was shocked when Moniek took this photo to renew my expired UK driving license. I'm a few kilos skinnier, with a black eye, and my anaemic bald head blends into the obligatory white background. It's OK, I'm just stuck in a moment ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A_hw1xcfylI&feature=related ... but, in the meantime, I'll look for an earlier picture with hair. I have enough trouble with traffic cops already.

Oh yeah ... you and who's army?

For more than 20 years, this rag-tag collection of recidivists have swerved their way through towns and sporting events across the UK - leaving empty glasses, full ashtrays, and a whole lot of confusion in their trail.

Remember seeing twenty-five rhinestone-jumpsuited Elvis look-alikes at a televised Edgbaston cricket match back in 1997? We made the 6 O'Clock news. Often imitated, never equalled. (Anyone got a photo?)

Just before Christmas, the boys lifted the atmosphere (and many pints) at the world darts championship in London. I would have given my right arm to join them, but it was full of plastic tubes in Singapore at the time. The following morning, Moniek bounced up to my sick bed with these photos.

They'd shamelessly plugged my blog with multiple world champion Eric Bristow MBE. The crafty cockney is grinning at their darts shirts emblazoned with 'Rick Magill's Chorio Busting Army'. I was quite moved and had to wipe away a few tears wiv me perked up right pinky.

Sincere and heartfelt thanks go out to EVERYONE who's lifted my spirits during my hour of need. You know who you are.

We've re-kindled friendships after my wandering in the wilderness for too many years. I've received gifts and cards at my bedside; a wealth of new music, touching messages of support, incredible acts of generosity; and a choice of sofas around the world where I can convalesce and think about what to do next. I'll never forget what you've done.

When it gets really dark, you can see the stars. Take it away, Tom ... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjOsca6UXtg