03.03.26
During the half term, I delivered an in-person public health talk for Breast Cancer Now in New Romney. Sadly, only two people joined me but we had a very good chat as I was working my way through the presentation.
Bonnie is continuing to have the Senvelgo to try to help control her diabetes. I've switched her to low-carb food which she seems to be enjoying. Elsie and Suki are ok. Suki is a weird one. I'll add some photos of her - she lays in the most peculiar positions 😂.
I had an MRI on my hip today, just to rule out if anything sinister is going on as the pain is still there - that's been since Sandy's funeral in January 2024.
Finally, for now, all of my psychology sessions have finished. I've learnt lots of strategies which I am going to have to try to employ over the next few months...
04.03.26
After some chasing and my psychologist contacting Nessy, I had contact from the chemo unit today to book in my Zometa. Blood test on Monday, infusion on Friday. I am seeing the dentist on Friday and I will get a letter to say that I am ok for my medication - as long as there is no sign of osteonecrosis of the jaw. Hurrah! Let's get this show on the road!
13.03.26
I spent the day at the hospital today - I was due to have my Zometa infusion at 10.45 but they were running very late. I went to see Mr C - all was fine; that's my yearly check up out of the way. I went back to the chemo department and waited for a bit - finally, I was called in. My veins wouldn't play ball and I needed to be cannulated under ultrasound - got it done in the end.
19.03.26
I had my follow up with the ENT team today - all is good. No evidence of anything nasty. I'm now signed off.
Later today, I gave a little speech at a meeting giving my views of how the National Cancer Plan could have helped my experience when I was going through treatment. Here is what I said:
"My name is Julie and in March 2023, at the age of 47, I was diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer. There is no history of breast cancer in my family, so the diagnosis came as a complete shock.
I had found a lump by accident and saw my GP the same day. I was referred onto the two‑week‑wait pathway and seen at the one‑stop clinic at The William Harvey. Within seven days of that appointment, I was told I had cancer. The treatment plan was outlined immediately: lumpectomy, chemotherapy, and radiotherapy. Seventeen days after my diagnosis, my tumour was removed with clear margins and no lymph node or lymphovascular involvement, meaning it was stage 1.
Chemotherapy began at the end of May 2023, around two months after surgery. I had four cycles of fortnightly EC, followed by eleven weekly paclitaxel treatments with four carboplatin doses alongside. My white blood cells—especially my neutrophils—were unpredictable, which led to delays. I found these delays incredibly difficult. I could often anticipate when my bloods would be low because I had taken an active interest in the patterns and had created a spreadsheet, but I didn’t always feel heard. The delays meant I missed one round of paclitaxel, though I completed everything else.
Throughout treatment I repeatedly raised the possibility of further surgery, and thankfully I was listened to. That decision meant I did not need radiotherapy. My active treatment ended in December 2023, and I am now nearing the end of my Zometa infusions.
For me, more personalised care, as is mentioned in the National Cancer Plan, could have been a little different. I was trying to continue working through my treatment, albeit virtually, but when appointments were changed at very short notice, this directly impacted on my ability to complete tasks or attend meetings. For me, work was a priority as it helped to keep a sense of normality.
I also didn’t always feel fully involved in decisions about my care. At times it felt as though I was being “done to”, rather than being done with me. When I was listened to, it made all the difference—I felt like an equal partner in my own treatment. When I wasn’t, or when I had to fight to be heard, the frustration was enormous. I feel strongly that patients should be involved at every step, even in seemingly small decisions like when and where appointments take place or medication reviews – shared decision making is essential.
Furthermore, I live in Lydd on the Romney Marsh, a rural area with limited transport links. I am fortunate that I can drive, but for my weekly and fortnightly chemotherapy appointments my partner had to take time off work to drive me, in case I had a reaction. I was able to drive myself to Canterbury for pre‑chemo checks and PICC line flushes, but if I had needed to rely on public transport, I genuinely don’t know how I would have managed. By bus, The William Harvey Hospital in Ashford is around 1 hour 50 minutes each way, and Kent and Canterbury Hospital is around 1 hour 40 minutes each way. I wouldn’t have been able to afford taxis and I saw how long people had to wait for hospital transport (often it was hours).
I’ve read that the National Cancer Plan aims to reduce inequalities through targeted screening and diagnosis, tackling geographical barriers, and improving personalised care and digital inclusion. Delivering services through community hubs would make a huge difference to people living in areas like mine. Bringing screening to the Romney Marsh through mobile units would almost certainly increase uptake. Having specialist nurses available locally in, for example, dedicated clinics or support groups—without needing to travel to Ashford or Canterbury—could be transformative. Although East Kent has a mobile chemotherapy unit, it is based in Cheriton, Folkestone, which is still over an hour away from Lydd. If cancer services could be brought onto the Romney Marsh itself, it would make access more equitable and the burden of travel would be greatly reduced. It would reduce the pressure on families. And it would mean that people like me—who are already dealing with the shock of a diagnosis—aren’t also battling geography.
For people living in places like the Romney Marsh, the National Cancer Plan’s ambitions to tackle geographical inequalities and to strengthen personalised care—where patients are genuinely heard and involved—are not abstract ideas. They shape whether care feels accessible, respectful, and responsive, or whether it becomes a struggle. When you reduce inequalities and ensure patients’ voices are central to their treatment, you don’t just improve outcomes — you improve the experience of care and, ultimately, people’s lives."
It seemed to go down well. 😀
20.03.26
Today was the third anniversay of when I had the cancer removed. I didn't do anything to mark this day other than crack on.
FINALLY, MY MRI RESULTS CAME BACK (AFTER A LITTLE CHASING) AND IT IS REPORTED THAT THEY ARE CLEAR. MY HIP LOOKS OK, THERE WAS A LITTLE INFLAMMATION BUT NOTHING MORE NEEDS TO BE DONE TO IT AT THE MOMENT.