It’s time to tackle Richard Smith’s third request for information about living with advanced cancer: what’s maddening about it?

Hmmm … where to start? There are so many maddening things about cancer.

Some are obvious: not being able to control your destiny in the illusory way you are used to. Not being able to work. Being too tired to see friends. Not having children. Not being able to adopt children because they’ve been through enough trauma, usually, without you dying on them. more…

We moved. We are now living between piles of boxes and unpacked, random items: spoons; piles of sports socks; a wooden statue made from a tree in Oxford; the iron; a huge Herend teapot.

The first day was totally chaotic. It took me an hour to get dressed. I put on my socks. Then realised I had no idea where a shirt, trousers, or indeed any useful item of clothing might be. I hopped about the boxes and suitcases, freezing cold (it is mid-winter here), trying to locate anything wearable. Stuffed toys, ink cartridges, garbage bags and sleeping bags (all of which I managed to find before I found a shirt) didn’t count.

more…

Apparently, we are moving to our new apartment on Thursday. Only we haven’t completed the sale as planned, on Monday. This is our fault, sort of. The bank didn’t send documents in time before we went on holiday in Tasmania. So we signed them late. more…

Oh dear. I’ve just been to another funeral. The third one this year. Death swirls its big mysterious cloaks around us (what colour? black? rainbow? purple?), sweeping change to all of our lives. At this rate I’m going to outlive everyone. more…

We have finally bought an apartment. A home in Sydney. We’ve been renting since October. Being in limbo on two fronts, health and home, was getting a bit much. So we bit the currency-exchange-bullet (our money is in sterling and the Australian dollar is at a 23-year high) and bought something. more…

Latest dilemma: how to behave with chronic, serious disease? I’m finding it difficult to know how to present myself. I don’t feel like an invalid, whatever that means these days. Yet I’m too tired and preoccupied to participate in the world in a normal, here-and-now way. more…

I’ve promised to explain why advanced cancer is humbling. There are many reasons.

more…

A few days ago, my scans came back. My liver looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. Blobs, blotches, lines everywhere. Three weeks ago, it had looked quite neat. No longer. It’s been attacked by a mob of graffiti artists. My lungs were a bit better, but heading the same way. Chemo time! Oh yay. more…

I’ve spent the last week reading. I haven’t done much else, because my cough has reached the point where it’s slowing down my movements: constant coughing fits are tiring. On Friday night, I declined an invitation to a cocktail party and on Saturday, to a dinner party, for fear of coughing all over the guests and hosts and having to take cough drops with the vichyssoise. I’m having more scans today (I’ll soon be glowing in the dark) to see what’s going on. To see if it’s time for more chemotherapy. more…

Thank you again to people sending such encouraging comments. I can’t tell you how uplifting it is to wake up to such lovely responses.

A few people have asked me to explain why I wrote that having cancer is “fascinating, humbling, and maddening.” So I’ll try to oblige. Not all in one blog. more…