Tag Archives: life

The Fear – Part II

You have stopped responding fast enough to traditional Myeloma treatments’.

Fuck. 

Few things warrant the use of such foul language, especially in the written form, but a ‘fuck’ or a ‘bugger’ is definitely suitable in the situation I found myself in last Thursday afternoon. I didn’t say it out loud; I was still able to maintain some level of decorum.

I think I know what that statement means. It’s not the worse news I could have received, but it is not far from it. It wasn’t what I was expecting. It is a polite way of saying that my treatment isn’t working. Not working. Stupidlyhow could I have thought my treatment was working when I was in so much pain? In fact, after my first full cycle on the recently licensed drug I was on, I told a Medically Trained Person that I did not think it was working. I wish, with every weakened bone in my body that I was wrong. I wasn’t. 

 Am I dying? 

I don’t think I thought all of this or processed it when I was in the Medically Trained Person’s office.  I was in shock and I was trying to hold myself together. I didn’t hold myself together. I couldn’t speak, not initially anyway.  The first words I uttered, did not sound like fully formed words. It was an explosion of emotion. I tried to say that I wanted my hip fixed but that became a sob about how overwhelmed I was with the news. That’s right people, in this circumstance, I simply chose to yelp ‘I am so overwhelmed!’. Then I sobbed. It was not a cry, it was a snot-producing, face-pulling sob that was softened when I saw the tears in the eyes of the Medically Trained Person.  

I haven’t had long enough.

Thank goodness for my Big Sister. I had no doubt that she would step up in this kind of  situation and step up she did. I think I had become deaf to what was happening around me. To me, everything that happened in that room was a blur, but she wrapped me up in metaphorical love and got on with what needed to be discussed. It could not have been easy for her. It is one thing to be afraid of something, but facing that fear head on, whilst holding somebody else up, is on another plain entirely. I know that it was not just my fear either. What is happening to me, what was said in that room, is a fear held by everyone I know (and happens to like me). I will readily admit that I lost control. For the rest of that afternoon I repeatedly tried to compose myself, but failed miserably. I didn’t know that tears could flow so uncontrollably. Nor did I know that I was capable of talking such complete and utter drivel. But, for the rest of that afternoon and evening, I had my sister sitting next to me, looking after me and discovering the many benefits of a banana milkshake.

Am I a failure?

Anyway, let’s move on from this emotional mumbo jumbo; we have some real business to get to. In a nutshell, despite three stem cell transplants and many, many rounds of treatment my disease is currently active and my paraprotein is on a rampage. It is so active that I have to have radiotherapy on the distruction it has created in my body. Whilst the drugs I have been taking including the one I changed to in January are doing something, the cruel circumstance is that they have not been doing enough. This leaves the question I asked just a few months ago, what else is there?

Is this the end of the line? It now seems an almost rhetorical question. 

I do not wish to bore you with the history of Myeloma treatments, largely because I’ll reveal how little I have chosen to know about it. I’ve been deceiving, most of you will know far more than I do on the subject. For where we are in my story, all you need to know is that new myeloma drugs tend to be derivatives of older drugs. They are related.  This means, in a shake-your-head, we’re-out-of-ideas sort of way, the Medically Trained People do not think that such medications will work on me for much longer. It’s hard to process that, I almost have to sound it out in slow motion. And then repeat it. And repeat it again.

There are too many things to say about all of this and I don’t have the distance or the benefit of an adequate pain and drug feee sleep to eloquently describe how I feel. I know I am angry. Since I was diagnosed, I did everything I was asked to do. Almost anyway, I haven’t lived in a complete sin free bubble, but I have lived and I have done what I have been told to do. I took my various treatments, I coped with the disappointment after disappointment and still, I get out of bed almost every day and take the pills I have been prescribed. Yet it has still gone wrong. I used to joke that given my age and the flocks of people trying to help me, that I was a medical marvel. I willed myself to be, terrified that I wasn’t. It now transpires that the only thing marvellous about my treatment history is in how powerful my Myeloma has been. Perhaps I should have gone gluten free as one nosy Parker once offered as superior soundbite.

I do not believe in any kind of divinity. I have nobody to prey to and nobody to blame. A stranger once told me that my lack of faith was the reason I had cancer, but let’s face it, there are a lot of knobs in this world.  When I add it all together, I just think something bloody awful has happened to me and no matter how much I have fought it and continue to fight it, it’s stronger than I am. Long gone is my bereavement for my lost children, old age and a picket fence. My fears now seem so much more urgent.

I don’t know why this happened to me, but for the last week, I have felt ashamed. I know that I did not bring this on to myself, even if I do love white bread too much. I do not believe that somebody’s willed for this to happen to me. And yet, I feel like I should have told my body to do more. Fight harder. Forget about being polite and smiling at everyone, I should have been a total bitch, constantly in attack mode like the scary army captain I met once in the cancer centre who made me cry when she announced it was her sheer willpower that caused her continued remission. I have willpower. I have multiple reasons to live, and yet I currently live in a world where I cannot do up my shoes.  

I should have reacted better to my medication and treatment plans. All those odds, all those odds and I was always on the wrong side. I’m angry that all of this is making me think about what this world will look like without me in it. I didn’t realise I have so much to lose. I watched my mum run around after me at the weekend, making me food and making sure my neck was adequately supported by my pillows, I listened as my nieces nervously tried to make me laugh as I tried to rewind my tears, as their Mum tried to keep us strong, and with every vibration, I could feel my friends trying to cheer me up or express their anger. I feel like I have let all of them  down. 

I made so many half promises about my treatment. This one will work. We will go on that trip. I can make it to that pub. Seeing the waves of broken promises scatter around me is my new definition of fear.

But what the hell is all of this? I cannot stop yet. I must not stop yet.

The Medically Trained People aren’t quite ready to stop and nor should I be. Last Thursday, when Big Sister’s concentration powers really kicked in, I was told of a clinical drug trial at St Bart’s involving antibodies. I could give you the medical blurb, but I think I should save that for a rainy day. All you need to know is that it is completely separate to all other treatments I have had. It might work, it might not, but the space on the trial could be mine. It took a few days, but I can now firmly say that I take back everything negative I have said against that hospital. 

A lifeline. 

It may sound foolish, given my very limited options, but the thought of leaving the comfort of UCLH once more added to my devastation. That hospital, in both my successes and failures have held me up. I have no other point to make on this subject, but it’s important. Ever the pragmatist however,  as I said last week, I think I said it anyway, if it is not clear to you yet my memory is a haze; ‘it is what it is’. I have to get on with it. 

On top of all that has come before this,  we had to discuss my need for radiotherapy. The practicalities. You can imagine how long this one clinic appointment felt. So much to take it in, so much to fathom. Ahead of last week, when I was suffering from worry filled sleepless nights, I thought the good and bad news hinged on the what was found in my MRI.  Clearly they did not, and now it seems easy to forget that I need some fairly urgent treatment. I have something in my neck that shouldn’t be there for crying out loud. And yet, the radiotherapy feels like it has become secondary to the ‘big news’ despite how quickly I have once again found myself increasingly immobile. 

I do not know if it is in the form of lesions or tumours or the generic term of bone disease, but I require treatment in my neck and my hip. The area in my neck has caused the majority of my recent problems in my upper back and my arms. Again, this may sound minor, but wondering why and how I have lost the sensation in half my hand for the last month, is a blood-curling. To even consider how the knee bone really is connected to the leg bone is mind blowing. If anybody has seen me move in the last month, you would have witnessed how much this pain has made me squirm. The pain and this is something that has not happened in a long time has been at a cry inducing level. I have cried not because I feel sorry for myself, I mean I have done that too, but because the physical discomfort has been so great.

It’s a juggling act though. As I am now due to start a new treatment at a different hospital, my doctor was reluctant to also zap (a term I have used a lot over the last week when discussing my radiotherapy, mostly because I can use an emoji) my pelvis. It may lower my blood counts and it will make me feel groggy, but even in the whatever state I was in last Thursday, I knew I needed my hip fixing. To get through my next, I have to be as fit as I can be.

I think it goes without saying, but the last week has been a whirlwind. It doesn’t feel like a week. In whatever timeframe I am now working in, and I guess it is a new timeframe now, I feel like my world has been turned upside down. I have so many things coming from so many directions, that I laugh at the meagre everyday complaints I have been able to read on social media. I used to think I was a great multi-tasker, but when it comes to affairs of my life, and the time that is left in that life; I do not have the foggiest.

I have to give myself a few passes. Firstly, I have been put on a ‘pulse’ of steroids, that is controlling my pain and will hopefully hold the myeloma whilst the Medically Trained People are doing their juggling. It is a ten day course of as much steroids as I can take. That’s right, ten days, decreasing by half every other day. It’s a well known fact that I cannot take a lot of steroids, but to put it into perspective, the first day’s dose was more steroids than I usually take during a full cycle on my old treatment and each weekly dose of that put me in bed for two or three days. I am awaiting for the inevitable crash increasing alarm and dread.

Secondly, I am currently on a lot of pain medication including sedatives. I basically rattle. 

Thirdly, I am once again struggling to look after myself more than I usually struggle to look after myself. I cannot bare weight in my left arm, my right arm is starting to go the same way and every activity, whether it is washing, eating or cooking seems impossible. In this mindset and the physical prison, I have to arrange my forthcoming radiotherapy sessions and attend the necessary testing for the clinical trial. And don’t think for one second, I have done any of that without my lipstick on. On Monday, which again is a story for another day, Mamma Jones and I spent 12 hours in London waiting, meeting new people and satisfying my steroid induced hunger. Today, I have seen a doctor, looked at some scan results, been measured and had two radiotherapy tattoos. 

Lastly, I just ask you to add everything up, consider everything I have said in this here blog and attempt to fathom where on earth I can begin. I have to begin somewhere after all. Welcome, to another volume in my possibly soon to be ended story of my life. 

To clear my head, Mamma Jones took me on an epic adventure to a National Trust property last Friday. I thought you might appreciate the evidence that I am still here. Getting out of bed.

So, there it is my current story. It’s not cohesive, it’s all over the place because I am all over the place. It’s new. It’s daunting. And my goodness, it is fucking scary. 

EJB x

P.S. Kudos, and I mean bucket loads of the stuff must go to my Medically Trained People and the NHS in general. In just seven days, they have seen me transferred to St Bart’s for (hopefully) the start of a clinical trial. UCLH somehow got my name into the mix of said clinical trial and St Bart’s seem to be moving whatever needs to be moved to accommodate me (no jinx yet though). They have also liasied with the radiotherapy department, resulting in an appointment today which included all my pre treatment measurements, ensuring that all areas requiring treatment are attended to. The treatment for which is starting tomorrow and will conclude next Thursday.  I have no more words in me to describe my gratitude.

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30

I am thirty years old. I have just turned thirty years old. It is no coincidence. Today, the 24 May, happens to be my birthday.

Great Stuff. Super. Cool..

I would prefer if it were not my birthday today. I would have said the same thing last year, but I will say it again, I no longer feel like celebrating my birth. Sure I like the cards, attention and presents but I have cancer to fill that void.* My birthday to me, represents not that I am getting older but that I am getting closer to my death. You might say that this is the same for everybody, for that is what ageing is. I think, the difference is that myeloma odds tell me, I have had more birthdays than I am still to experience and that is not something my peers can say. I do not feel like celebrating that.

. Don’t believe the stats, don’t believe the stats. Hypothetically, if I were to allow myself a brief period to fully embrace the stats, the birthday would be the time to do so. Along that line then, I have eight birthdays left. Eight whole birthdays. Add in a milestone birthday into this mix of negative thinking and what do you get?

I have experienced over three quarters of my life and I have a mere quarter of it left.

This of course, then begs the question about whether I wasted my first 30 years. I am sure it is normal to go through some sort of reflection, even if it is only to consider the cause of non-existent wrinkles when one turns 30. I have tried to go through the usual, getting older type of reflection, but the problem with reflection is that it leads to planning or some sort of hope, and I cannot do that long term.

I cannot buy a house, have a family, maintain a garden if I had a house and I am perpetually single. There are so many aspects of my life that on the face of it, makes me look like I have not grown up at all. Some of these things are not caused by My Myeloma, but they are not helped by it. Going forward, they will prove much harder or even impossible to get and that is because of myeloma. When I reflect, like I am today because I am forced into it by the date, I would say that I should have got myself these things when I was ‘healthy’. It is all one big cycle that I do not need to bore you with. Needless to say, it does not make me feel good about myself. It usually ends with me being jobless, single and living with my mother supported by the State, before I die prematurely because that is what myeloma does. It kills people as well as ruining their birthdays.

I have received many nice cards and in some, the sender has asked whether I can believe I am thirty in the way I put it in theirs. The answer to the question is a yes, I do believe I am 30 but I do not believe I will make it to 45.

And that is the 24 May.

Anticipating these fine thoughts, I decided the best thing to do was to invite myself to Berlin today. I can almost trick myself into thinking that that is what my day is about.

Happy Trip to Berlin Day. I’m going to the airport!

EJB x

* I think I need to be absolutely clear on this point. I may not enjoy the act of my birthday nor the reminder that it hammers to my forehead about my life being different now, but, the attention and messages one receives on their birthday are welcome.

It’s complicated and I am needy.

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Disbelief

For the last fourteen days, I have wandered around the corridors of my flat in a state of disbelief, doubting my ears and those belonging to the head of Mamma Jones. When I was bored of that, my brain waited for the other shoe to fall, because in my world, it almost always does. The shoe drops to the ground, damp and covered in holes, and myeloma wins some more in this game we call My Life.

Let’s face it, since the 17 August 2012, my life has hardly been the warehouse party I would have liked it to be. There have been ups and there have been downs. There have been good cylinders and bad cylinders. There has been treatment and after treatment and setback after setback. I feel like my stoicism, made way to a pessimistic realism disguised with a smile and nifty wordplay.

The last 15 months have not been easy, just in case you were in any doubt. Anybody who wants to know that can know that, because I have recorded them for all the world to see, accompanied by a plethora of grammatical errors and melancholy. The fault there belongs to the drugs and not to me, I assure you. I was once as hard as nails.

The last 15 months has changed me irrevocably. Sure, much of the old me is still about, but to be dramatic, I am not what I once was and nor will I ever be. My Myeloma and me will be forever entwined; the blood sucking, life zapping, filthy bastard that it is. We’re together now and that is how it has got to be.

Two weeks ago, I heard something, four times, that defied my expectations. Unlike many people, who I wanted to greet in a dark alleyway with a pair of nunchucks when they opened their mouths or touched a keyboard prior toy transplant, I did not believe that my transplant would give me a remission. At some point, I was told that in all likelihood, this would not happen. To protect myself, that is what I had to expect. After the dogged stubbornness of my disease, the chances of my transplant failing right off the bat, were high. And still, I went in fighting, backed up by my Support Network, waiting there like a fleet of Lancaster Bombers, with teddy bears on board to protect and comfort me.

And here we now are, back to that pesky disbelief. I did not want to write it down for fear of jinxing it, thinking that I would force the gods that be, the Medically Trained People that is, to shout “CORRECTION, it’s not over, we’re giving you another round of treatment because we have to, and thus, you cannot resume your life.” I definitely did not want that to happen. I do not want it to happen.

I may have uttered the words to one or forty people close to me, but I have not believed them. At a time when I imagined I would be singing and dancing and prancing, I walked around like I was suffering from concussion. I cried. Even Mamma Jones drew a tear and that just plain freaked me out. I have made practical steps that somebody in my position might do, like plan a return to work, spend a few nights pretending I am 21 again and slept, but it did not sink in. I would not let it sink in until I received it in writing. Until I had the proof I needed to know that for however long I have, that I am in remission. There I said it. I am in remission. I don’t think I am in remission. I am. It’s not how I imagined it, nor did it come as quickly as I had wished, but it is here. I now have evidence that there is no evidence of myeloma, and that made my day yesterday.

20131121-115739.jpg

I am in remission. I might just say it again, because even with the proof, I still don’t quite believe it.

That damp, dirty shoe is going to fall at some point in my future, but for now I am going to exhale like I have never exhaled before and relish in this feeling that after 15 months of illness, sickness, treatment and limbo, I am free. Well, as free as I am ever going to be from this. And that fact makes me do something I had yet to experience and that is to cry rivers of joy. Joy and relief.

Those of us unfortunate enough to have myeloma know that the magic word of which I speak does not mean a reversal of fortune and a physical rewind to a pre myeloma life. Everything that poisoned my innards, has left a mark, and now the challenge is to learn to live with that. I still experience pain, I am still in recovery following the Big T and I am still required to attend the hospital and receive the fortnightly injection of Velcade. This is why we are intertwined. The story goes on, and hopefully, on and on and on.

In time, I will learn that this first all consuming 15 months were only part of my story. I have to learn to live with My Myeloma now, I have to properly enter the big wide world and discover my limitations and exceed its expectations, and I hope that I will continue to be surrounded by the people I love for the ride.

Right now, however, and I mean right now, at this instance, I can officially say that after so much, so much time, so much pain, so many needles, so many stem cells, so many drugs, that this chapter, this volume, this tomb, and whatever else I have called it, is over. It’s done. It’s closed.

The only thing left to say is, my name is Emma Jane Jones and I am in remission.

EJB x

To be continued… For sure.

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Happy Birthday

It is my birthday. I am now a 29 year old with myeloma. This time last year, I was just a normal 28 year old. Normalish. Today, well, really tomorrow when I wake up, marks my first birthday with myeloma and this depresses me.

I have always been one who enjoys the birthday. A three day celebration that is all about me; what’s not to like? More people contact you than normal, you get post that is not a bill and if you are lucky, you may get some actual presents to open. Some people may not care about the birthdays, but I do. It’s My Day and I just absolutely, positively, love me. I am fabulous. I am awesome. I am great.

Your average person, after a certain age, may worry about getting older on their birthday, look back on what they have and haven’t achieved, and review what they have and haven’t got and come up wanting. I hear this makes people feel blue, so they get drunk. I don’t really feel like that is a concern for me anymore. Life as a 28 year old changed that.

Last autumn, I looked ahead at this birthday and saw it as a target date. A date by which time, this chapter would be over. I have known for a while that this would not be the case, but that has not prevented me from thinking about it a teeny, teeny, little bit, as my birth date drew closer. I am not where I thought I would be, where I want to be, and my birthday is a reminder of that.

I am now 29. I would imagine most people hitting 29 would be worried about reaching 30. Not me, I just keep thinking, how many more of these have I got? Not as many as I thought when I turned 28, and that is the sad truth. This is not where I thought I would be, not where I want to be, and my birthday is a horrible reminder of that.

Of course, I know all of this everyday, just because it is the 24 May doesn’t mean I have had an epiphany. No way. Today is just a big fat reminder about it all; the passing of time and preciousness of the time left.

Happy Birthday!

All that said, it would be absolutely inconceivable for me to spend my birthday wallowing in self pity. I will not let My Myeloma ruin My Day. I am stronger than that, at least, I hope I am. So, no more self pity today. When I awake, I have a busy day ahead of me, celebrating my birth, as I have done every year before this one. I will see people and I will smile. I have been very clear with myself that this must happen and I have designed the good times so that I do not have time to entertain the bad thoughts. If my celebrations happen to roll into the bank holiday weekend, which they will, then so be it. My birthday is pretty much the definition of organised fun and I am forcing myself to have fun. My logic behind this is simple really, if my future birthdays are numbered, I’d be better off having fun during them than the alternative. No matter how bittersweet I may find it. It makes perfect sense. It should do mind you, for I am now, officially, older and wiser. Just look at my birth certificate.

EJB x

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Firsts

After my diagnosis, I found that my life has become a series of firsts. Simple, and not so simple things I did in my life pre-myeloma, I have had to build up to doing again in a body that is cancerous and painful.

The firsts or milestones have been slow coming, and they have been made more difficult by my physical limitations. That in itself then creates a whole heap of psychological worries. Some have come about intentionally through my dogged determination and some have been a pleasant surprise. These successes are always a pleasant reminder that I am improving. I am not talking about the medicine, I do not know whether that is improving and it is best not to think about that. What I mean is that I am improving and with that comes my growing confidence and independence.

Some may consider my milestones to be minor, but each one is an indication that I am not, will not be wholly defined by My Myeloma.

The first time I had a bath, the first time I walked up a flight of stairs, the first time I went to the cinema, the first time I got on a bus, the first time I could use the oven unaided, the first time I could walk into town and do my own shopping, the first time I went into work, the first time I had a pint, the first time I did a starfish in my bed, the first time I went to the BFI.

All of it equates to some normality and recognition of something I feared was lost.

There is still a way to go. I am looking forward to the day I can change my own bedding, but I know that that day will come.

Each time I experience something for the first time all over again, I feel stronger, regardless of whether my decision to do it was medically or mentally sound. And most the time, I wonder what the big deal was in the first place.

With that in mind, last night I slept using just two pillows. It was a first.

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Diagnosis

I remember the moment I was diagnosed like it was yesterday. I remember lying on my bed on the Acute Admissions Unit on the second floor of UCLH, on a Friday afternoon, with Mamma Jones and Big Sister at my side, with the junior doctor sitting by my feet on the righthand side, telling me that I had myeloma. I remember crying. I also remember Big Sister crying, the doctor crying and the two nurses leaving their station. I remember the medical stuff that followed on the days after, my formal diagnosis, the tests, the pain and then the visitors. I do not really remember telling the people I love that I had cancer.

I know I have thought about what it was like for them before, but I have never really thought about it. I have not had the time. In my current limbo, I have a lot of time.

There are many people in my life who are dear to me, and try as I might, I do not remember telling them. Apart from the above, I remember telling A Twin on the phone. I remember telling a Lali as she sat at the bottom left of my bed, for her to repeat over and over again ‘okay’. I remember GB calling me, for me to finish my happy news for him to tell me that he had to perform in five minutes time. And I remember my friend Katy calling me crying, not knowing why I was in hospital for me to pass the phone onto Mamma Jones on the Saturday morning because I could not speak the words again.

I know there were a lot of people that passed the message on for me like a communication tree. I do not remember my conversation with the Barber of Northampton, but I know I tasked him to inform people, and I know that Middlesborough and WM told the work folk about My Myeloma. I could not do it myself.

I do not know what happened when I was not around. I do not know how my family took the news nor what they said to each other. I do not know what my friends did or whether they discussed it with each other. I found myself reminiscing about the happy August of 2012, with some friends and they told me about how they managed the early days. I can smile now about the pain I experienced before I was admitted to hospital, not knowing the cause of my pain and how I joked about it being cancer. I cannot joke about how people managed my diagnosis. I do not know what people did or said out of my view. I do not know if it is wise for me to think about it. I found out yesterday that my best friend managed it by crying under a hand drier in a toilet, she was probably inebriated, but I know her, and she probably would have done that with or without the beer.

I think the shock of finding out that somebody has cancer is something many people would wish to never experience. The shock of finding out that somebody young has a cancer with no cure is something else. It is unexpected and it is a tragedy. I experienced that reaction. I was overwhelmed by it. I experienced it with everybody who came to my bed, sent me a card, wrote to me or were kind enough to send me gifts. My diagnosis pulled the rug from under not only my feet, but the feet of all those people in my life, especially those who love me.

My friend said to me that she thought it is easier for people to understand what has happened to me now, if they had seen me during those earlier days at UCLH and watched how I become accustomed with it. I do not know whether she is right. My sister said people would forget about me once the shock of my diagnosis had passed. I do not know whether she is right either.

Six months on, My Myeloma continues to have a life of its own. Every day it tugs a little bit more wool away from below my feet and everyday is a struggle whether I show it or not. I live it everyday. It is with me everyday. Big Sister, Mamma Jones and My Myeloma are my constants.* My Myeloma really is with me everyday. I cannot see a day when it will not be with me. Now, however, six months on, the daily impact of my buddy, is not felt by the masses who came to my bed, sent me a card, wrote to me or were kind enough to send me gifts. Their lives have moved on and now the shock of my diagnosis is a memory. They do not live it everyday. The fact my life has been put on hold is not news anymore.

My Myeloma was far easier to manage when it was.

EJB x

* It should be said that I have people who are my weekends and those weekends are like a hot water bottle and EMan’s paw rolled into one.

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Geminis

Every year, three of my friends and I get together to review our Horoscopes for the year ahead. It would be fair to say that what happened to me in 2012 was not predicted, but then, I doubt the publication would sell as many magazines if it said all Geminis were going to get an incurable form of cancer, break a few bones and have a lonely bed. I am not cynical, I am sure there are some Geminis out there who had incredibly successful, marvellous and orgasmic 2012’s. Mind you, I am not inclined to do a survey.

2013’s Prediction Session is on Thursday of this week. I am somewhat nervous about it, it could literally all end in tears (sorry Guys), but as I have always done it, I shall do it again. Just another case of me sticking my fingers up at the stupid myeloma. I’ll live my life goddamit. Maybe not by horoscope… but it is quite a fun thing to do on a school night . You never know, I could receive some really good news, which will definitely come true over the next 12 months. Mos def.

In preparation of Thursday night’s ritual, I have just reviewed last year’s key points, which I could do because I felt the need to minute the event. To be clear, it is not because I am a geek, it is because I had just received at iPad for Christmas. At the time my notes seemed clear and concise, but reading them today has made me worry that all the minutes I have ever taken are essentially a stream of consciousness of somebody starved of sex. You’ll see what I mean… I also took a photo.

Enjoy.

Love and romance

Jupiter in your sign from 11 June until the end of the year.
Good times. safe sex.
3 April – 7 August – Venus.
15 May – 7 June – reverse
Question whether I am in lurve.. Rethink.
Love is going to get better and better. Butterflies. Orgasm. Stink flower.
Love will find me on the Southbank.
4 June – a bad day in love.
No threesomes.
Follow heart. Instinct.

Career and cash

A prosperous year thanks to Jupiter.
Inspiration. The friends will support from the sidelines (Livvy)
June is good.
Lots of confidence.
Luck is your friend.
Meat.
3 February – 27 June 2026 – good stuff will happen.
Be true to heart.
Have honour. No corruption.

Friends and family

Mars is around until 3 July.
DIY. Get a servant.
I am conceptual, not practical.
Tantrums. Passions will run high with the family. Be passive aggressive.
Sprinkled with extra glitter – get to travel.
New foreign friends

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If I am reaching, some of this has come true. Evidently, Luck has been a very, very, very good friend. I am, however, somewhat worried about what will happen on 28 June 2026…

Must dash, I have to assess the progress of those who were born in the year of the Rat.

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Resolutions

Hello 2013. 2012 is dead.

It is customary at this juncture, for one to make resolutions in an attempt to improve their quality of life. I have no quality of life, so there is no need for me to make any resolutions. There is one thing and one thing only I want to happen this year and no resolution from me is going to make it happen. I suppose I also want a cure for myeloma, but at this point, I would just settle for remission or whatever it is called for those of use with myeloma. Please. Really.

Clearly, I was joking when I said I had no quality of life. I meant to say that nothing about me needs improvement apart from the cancer inside, and I can do nothing about that. That is why I do not need any resolutions. I am almost Mary Poppins, practically perfect in every way, my Mum told me so. As I do have extra time on my hands these days, I have time to observe, research and ponder. I now know that there are people out there who do need some minor improvements, but are too busy to think about how they can better themselves, so I give you me at my most altruistic, and below I have drafted a few suggested resolutions, which I think could make your 2013 better. Feel free to tweak them as you see fit.

Now, I know you may have already sorted your resolutions for this year or think that they are a pile of hooey, but it is not too late. I am constantly being told how many people love or like me, so you know it makes sense to listen to me. I am Yoda.

1/ Live each day to the fullest, for you do not know when your ability to do so will be taken away. If this means you want to spend your weekend watching television, then so be it. That takes me to my next point.

2/ Do not judge. Or failing that, keep your judging to yourself. The latter works for me.

3/ Donate money to any form of cancer research.

4/ Be 50% selfish. Everybody needs to be selfish, but only partly.

5/ Must not complain of minor medical ailments as if they are like the worst thing that could happen, like ever. There is always somebody suffering from something worse than you. Grow some.

6/ Save money for a rainy day/take out life insurance. It’s only practical.

7/ Get a donor card. Give blood. Give away your baby’s chord. Do anything that can benefit the sick without interfering with your life too much (see point 4).

8/ Be a fan of all forms of stem cell research regardless of the ethics (see the first half of point 4).

9/ Stop smoking. Just because…

10/ Watch at least one non-Disney film made before 1980 a month. Educational.

11/ Don’t go for second best baby, put your love to the test. You know, you know, you’ve got to make him express how he feels and then you’ll know your love is real. Express yourself.

12/ Embrace your sensitive side, so you can read number 13 without retching.

13/ Put a little love in your heart.

No need to thank me. You are most welcome.

Happy New Year. 2013 will be where it is at.

EJB x

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