Tales from Lourdes

Prologue

This blog is about my recent personal experience of going on a pilgrimage to Lourdes.

Let me say straight off that I'm not religious.  The extent of my religious experiences as far as I can remember was going to Sunday School.  I also prayed every night by the side of my bed as a small child.  It was usually about wanting God to protect my mum and dad and the hope that I would marry Donny Osmond one day (look him up, kids). 

I hated going to Sunday School to be honest but my mum made me.  I'm not really sure why she did but I guess she wanted me to be brought up having a good Christian faith. 

Oh and I will be changing some names in this blog to protect the innocent/guilty (you know who you are).

Why did I go to Lourdes?

I'd seen a Facebook posting about a pilgrimage to Lourdes where there were places still available.  It intrigued me.  I had visited Lourdes for a half day back in 2001 when I was on holiday in France and for some reason, which I still can't explain, it had had a considerable effect on me.

I had also been thinking about doing voluntary work after my cancer treatment had ended.  So I thought that it would be a great opportunity to go on the pilgrimage as a helper.  I quickly realised however that it probably wasn't a good idea to manage the demands of being a helper with my medical history (plus I went on to get a fractured vertebra several weeks before the trip so lifting and running around would have been out of the question anyway).

I therefore decided to go as a pilgrim.  I knew some of the people who were going so I reckoned there was nothing to lose.  It might also help me get some spiritual and physical healing following the trauma of cancer and treatment.  Who knows, I thought, perhaps the holy water might help to protect me from getting cancer again. I was willing to give anything a try.  I told myself I would go with a open mind and that I would opt out of all the religious activities.  

I put my name down and so on Thursday night of 13 September I stayed with my cousin Nuala for a 03.00 am departure to Dublin Airport.  Three o'clock in the morning!  I told myself it had better be worth it.

The journey to Dublin

We left the departure point at 03.30am, half an hour later than expected as there had been some confusion over the departure time.  Heck, I could have had another 30 minutes in bed.  So that made me a bit grumpy.  On the way, we picked up an elderly woman who was incredibly perky.  It was 04.00 and even though there were spare seats on the bus, the woman asked if she could sit next to me. I was a little put out by this as I was shattered and didn't want to strike up a conversation.  I closed my eyes and lay my head against the window.  Ten minutes later, the woman poked me in the arm and said 'What's your name then?'.  Aargh. 

That woman turned out to be a revelation to me and I grew to love and respect her enormously.

About 04.30 in the morning, one of our group led everyone in prayer.  I couldn't believe it.  None of us had had much sleep, and everyone was praying.  I couldn't even join in as I wasn't of the same faith and I didn't know the words.  Had this been a big mistake on my part?  No, I thought, give it time and keep that open mind.

We arrived at the airport at 05.30.  After checking in we headed for the café and Nuala headed for a cigarette.  I got stuck into a big Irish breakfast and finished off what was left of Nuala's toast.  Waste not, want not.

We boarded the flight at 08.00 and an hour and a half later we landed at Lourdes airport.

Next time...

The adventure begins.

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A mini mountain walk and another chemo delay

Every day on a cancer journey brings something new.  Take this week, for example.  I did a mini walk up a mountain, I was tested for another blood clot and chemo was deferred, again.

Divis mountain walk

The Macmillan Move More group I go to met up with other groups across Northern Ireland last Friday for a walk up Divis Mountain.   

This is how the conversation (the bit suitable for public consumption) went with my husband before I left home that morning:

Husband: Karen, it's not a route march, just take it easy.  I know what you're like.  It's not a race.  If you get out of breath, then stop.

Me: Yes, I promise I'll take it easy.  I'll walk slowly.

Husband (clearly believing I'm not listening): It's not a route march, just take it easy.  It's not a race.  And if you get out of breath, then stop. 

Me (through gritted teeth): YES.  I.  KNOW.  

Husband (still not believing I'm listening): Just take it easy. I know what you're like. It's not a route march.

...and so on.  You get the drift.

Oh, I also found £20 in my walking trousers too.  Wey hey!

Off we go

We all arrived at the mountain car park.  It is a very exposed area and the wind was whipping around us.  I had a bandana and a Winnipeg Jets [Canadian ice hockey team] baseball cap on my head but didn't have a scarf on and my neck was freezing.  One of my friends on the walk very helpfully suggested that I unwrapped my bandana and let it hang loose under my cap thereby protecting my ears and neck.  I looked like a choice of a) Lawrence of Arabia or b) Deputy Dawg (look both of those up, kids).  We nearly wet ourselves laughing so much.  I refuse, by the way, to put up a photo of what I looked like as it was pretty horrific and I might scare young readers.  

There were two walks to choose from: a short one and a long one.  The short walk was just to the coffee shop about 20 minutes up the path and the longer walk was another 20 minutes further.  

After a group photo, we set off.   With my husband's words still ringing in my ears, I plumped for the short walk even though I reckoned I could push it a little further but I didn't want to tempt fate.  

The coffee shop (circled)

After some deliciously warming drinks at the Divis Coffee Barn, we then walked back down again to the car park where Macmillan had laid on sandwiches, soup, tea and coffee for us.

Macmillan's soup and sandwiches

It was a brilliant event.  There were about 100 people there and I met so many wonderful, inspirational folk who are going through their own personal cancer journey.  It was an uplifting experience.  

I honestly did take it easy and I made it back in one piece.

Chemo deferred...again

I woke up this morning with some blood pooling around the entry point of my PICC line, with some painful swelling in the area.  Oh, heck.  Not good.  

Anyway, I went along to my pre-assessment this morning and told them about the pain and swelling.  After much taking of blood, prodding and inspection of my arm by nurses, sisters, doctors etc, the oncologist broke the news that it could be another blood clot and that chemo couldn't go ahead until she was sure what she was dealing with.  I would need an ultrasound scan of my arm.  

I was so cheesed off as I had psyched myself up for chemo and was worried another delay could have repercussions for the success of the treatment (not so apparently).  Whilst waiting for confirmation of the ultrasound appointment, I cheered myself up by reading a book by Alan Partridge in the waiting area.  I'm sure people thought I was a bit odd as I kept laughing out loud (I forgot to be quiet).  

I also replied to a tweet by Paris Hilton where she had asked her followers, 'What's on your mind?'.  Despite not being one of her followers, I tweeted back, 'The pedestrianisation of Norwich city centre.' Top Partridge banter.

The ultrasound

I went home and then came back for the ultrasound.   It was carried out by a doctor who looked about 12 years old but boy did he know his stuff. He explained everything he was doing and what he could see on the screen.  It was fascinating.  I kept asking him what various things were on the screen like some irritating big kid.  Bless him, he had the patience of a saint.

The doctor took screen shots of my veins and arteries in their 'normal' position and also when he had compressed them with the ultrasound device.  If a vein compresses, then apparently that's quite a good sign because that suggests there's no clot there. 

It bloody hurt when he had to compress the painful bit in my arm.  He also showed me my jugular veins (massive) and carotid artery (less massive) in my neck.  It was like looking into a secret world.

The results

Phew.  No clot.  The most likely diagnosis is that I have something called 'mechanical phlebitis' which is a sort of irritation caused by the PICC line. Treatment is just some brufen to settle the inflammation.  I won't be able to have chemo until my next planned appointment on Tuesday, so I'm really hoping that nothing else happens in the meantime.

So there you have it.  Another week of the unexpected.   There's never a dull moment when you're dealing with cancer, that's for sure.

PS

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Change to my chemo regime

I went to my pre-assessment this morning where they took my bloods and weighed me.  Phew, my weight has stabilised.

I saw an oncologist (I seem to see a different one every time) and told her about my two trips to A&E, including the blood clot in my lung.  Her face was a picture and she kept telling me that I was 'very lucky' and that I must have a good heart and lungs.  I didn't like to ask how lucky, or if I was lucky because I hadn't actually died.   Sometimes it's best not to ask a question you don't really want to know the answer to.

Brain scan

The oncologist is also going to arrange for me to have a brain scan. This is to see whether there was any damage from when I knocked myself out a few weeks ago (see Games Without Frontiers), not to see if I do indeed have a brain.  Many folk do wonder about that.

You know what?  My body will have been checked out thoroughly as a result of having had cancer and going through treatment.  That's got to be a good thing.

Change of drug

Because of the side effects from the docetaxel, I am now going to be switched to weekly chemotherapy on a drug that will seemingly be less harsh on me but just as good.  It's called paclitaxel.  I'll be getting weekly infusions for the next six weeks.  They are also going to try to merge my day for pre-assessment with my chemo day so that I don't have to go two days in a row to the City Hospital.   That will save me making an extra round trip every week and I won't have to hang around for two consecutive days.   Every cloud and all that.

Blood thinning injections

As for the blood thinning injections the oncologist reckons I'm going to be on them every day for six months.  Six months!  My stomach is already starting to look like I've done ten rounds with Floyd Mayweather (he's a boxer, right?).

PICC line

I also got my PICC line put back in today.  I won't tell you exactly what one of my friends with cancer calls the line, but let's just say it rhymes with PICC as in 'PICC the ****'.  She really makes me laugh and is an absolute tonic.  

The nurse who put the line back in jokingly called me a 'sensitive critter' when she did it to me last time (see Second chemo and its aftermath). So I got my own back and took the opportunity to rib her mercilessly today.  Boy, we had some craic.

There was another nurse in with us and we started to talk about holidays and travel when all of a sudden I felt a sharp stab in my left arm.  The nurse had taken the opportunity when I was distracted to inject the local anaesthetic into me.  'Hey, you didn't warn me!' I said.  'Yep, I knew you'd be distracted by talking, you sensitive critter.'  Cheeky.

Sad songs

There was one incident whilst I was waiting between sessions that did upset me a little.  I went into the ladies loo and could hear gentle singing coming from one of the cubicles.  A young woman then emerged, with red rimmed eyes, and apologised to me.  I told her not to worry as it sounded lovely.  'I sing because it's the only thing that stops me from crying,' she said.  I didn't want to pry but she explained that she had been on chemo and radiotherapy.  

My heart just went out to the woman.  I wasn't sure what to say so did my best to reassure her, probably not very successfully.   I felt so sad. 

A week's chemo holiday

This afternoon after I got home, the hospital rang me to say that my white blood cells were far too low to proceed with my pre-planned chemo the next day.  It would be too risky and so they needed to defer my chemo for a week.  Heck.  

On the plus side I am now getting a week off chemo/side effects, my taste buds will hopefully improve further - and most importantly - I should feel well enough to go the Belfast Giants first home league game of the season on Saturday after all.  Get in!

PS

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Donate to my step-daughter's fund-raising page for Macmillan

I'm no longer scared

So, I've had cancer and am still going through chemo.  It's an interesting journey I have to say.  At the beginning I felt terrified, lonely and overwhelmed but now I'm on my journey I feel much more positive and realise I have lots to look forward to.  

I know that the drugs that are hammering my body to help keep this horrid disease at bay are doing me good, even if they don't have very nice side effects.  I know I've had a wake up call and I feel I've dodged a bullet.  It's like I'm finally waking up and smelling the coffee.

My new normal

The lumps, dents and scars in my armpit and boob will be the new normal, according to my oncologist.  I have to get used to that, but you know what?  Those things will be a reminder of what I've been through and will surely help me not to take things for granted again.   I aim to tackle life a bit differently now and to not sweat the small stuff.

I've even started to like listening to country music.  What's THAT all about?!

Holidays abroad may be more expensive due to more costly travel insurance because I've had cancer but, hey, staycations may be the new normal.  Talking of which... 

A wee break

I managed to get away for a couple of days last week with my husband and son to Warrenpoint, courtesy of a lovely friend from ice hockey.   The break from my four walls and a change of scenery helped to recharge my batteries and as my tastebuds had returned (albeit temporarily), I was able to eat normally again which was heaven. The scenery was stunning with buzzards flying around between the mountains.  It was absolutely wonderful and so peaceful.  I felt invigorated when I left.

Looking over Carlingford Lough at the Republic of Ireland

Carlingford Lough

Warrenpoint looking across from Republic of Ireland

Changing my outlook

Cancer is a very serious disease but it has touched my life in a way that I could never have imagined - both bad, and strangely, good.  It continues to change my outlook on things, but I have to admit that some of my pre-cancer thoughts and behaviours are still ingrained so they will take time to adjust.  But I'm determined to approach things differently now.  

There's a quote that one of my new found friends with incurable cancer says makes her feel strong:

"The devil whispered in my ear, 'you're not strong enough to withstand the storm'.  Today I whisper in the devil's ear, 'I AM the storm.'"

Take that, cancer!  Nothing can scare me now. 

PS

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Hair loss and headwear

A bit of a light hearted 'photo' blog this time as I'm feeling a lot better today.  I thought I'd share some of my headwear with you, some of which I've had for years.  I'm going to start with a picture of me with a bald head for comparison.  For those of a nervous disposition, look away NOW!

My 'Dr Evil' look

A silk scarf that a friend with cancer gave me

My 'Monty Python/Englishman on the beach' look

A deep green wig from a good friend

A purple wig from same good friend

A wig I bought for fun years ago

My Cher wig from a fund raising event

God knows why I have this one

A gift but I have no idea who from

My teal (for the Belfast Giants) bandana

My Belfast Giants teal wig

My sleep cap

Someone made me this ice hockey helmet #47 #workbootson

My NHS wig

PS

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Ups and downs

This latest bout of chemo has hit me harder than the earlier ones.  I've had no energy and when I walk I find I get out of breath quite easily.  I just want to sleep or sit on the sofa and watch box sets on Netflix.  I couldn't even face the thought of writing a blog.  But I feel quite a bit better today.

Infections

Although chemo can be a life saver, it can play havoc with the body.  For example, over the last couple of weeks, I've had thrush in my mouth, a tongue like a sponge and an infected little finger.  I've been desperate not to let the infection get worse as that could have serious implications. As my body can't fight the infection on its own due to compromised immunity, I'm now on my third course of antibiotics and second lot of ointment.  

That'll teach me to try to pull out a hangnail (if you're on chemo and tempted to do it, DON'T!).

White blood cells

I also had to have a white blood cell injection because my white cell levels were low.  It went into my stomach fat (I've plenty of it) and was pretty quick and painless.  My bone marrow should hopefully start to produce more white blood cells in time for my next treatment.  

I was a bit nervous about the injection as I'd heard some grim stories about the side effects such as bone pain but luckily I had nothing of the sort.  I was a bit alarmed however when I looked at the composition of the injection and 'e-coli' was mentioned.  Bloody hell!

Food and drink

There's one thing that has really pissed me off: food generally tastes disgusting.  I love my food so this is a particularly unwelcome side effect. It has been especially bad during the first two weeks of this latest chemo cycle.  Every mouthful has been like eating cardboard.  

The thought of certain foods and drink also makes my stomach turn. Last week the only things I actually wanted to eat were salty items such as roasted peanuts, crispy onion rings, Ritz crackers followed by Starburst as dessert.  Healthy, eh?  

Even tea and our tap water, which usually tastes crisp and pure, tastes weird.  As for chocolate (including a lovely homemade chocolate cake a neighbour gave me), it feels far too rich and cloying and I've struggled to eat it.  I never ever thought I would say that about chocolate.

  

I did manage to meet up with a couple of work colleagues for a few hours.  Whilst they knocked back cocktails (with my blessing even though I was as jealous as hell), I stuck with the mocktails.  Even the bubbles in the mocktails made it feel like I had a million tiny needles shooting into the roof of my mouth every time I took a sip.

Listen to your body

What I am doing though is listening to my body more.  If I feel tired, I take a nap.  If I can't walk too far, I stop and sit down.  I try not to rush around as much as I used to but I sometimes forget and then my husband has to nag *remind* me.  

As my taste buds have been slowly recovering, I have actually felt like I want to eat more fruit, salad, vegetables, olive oil and brown rice.  It's strange how the human body seems to know what it needs.

I look forward to the day I can start to taste the delights of food again.  I intend to savour every mouthful. 

PS

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You are loved

The support I have had from friends, family, colleagues and even strangers since my diagnosis has been truly wonderful.  I want to give you a flavour of how kind and thoughtful people have been. 

My husband and son

My husband and son have been amazing.  They have put up with me during some incredibly dark moments.  I do try desperately hard not to get irritated or upset by things but it's a challenge sometimes.  

My husband and son help to keep me sane.  They haven't yet asked for any support from anyone for themselves.  But they know that if they need it, it is available to them, both from other relatives and also many cancer support organisations.

I love them both very much and I honestly don't know what I'd do without them.

My relatives

My relatives (both my immediate and extended family) have been fantastic too.  They have been all so very kind, sent me lovely messages of support, lit candles, sent flowers, said prayers and have made me laugh endlessly.  They are truly brilliant and I am lucky to have them in my life.

Friends and work colleagues

My friends and work colleagues have been ace.  They are based all over the UK so their support and kindness has manifested itself in all sorts of ways.  They've sent me cards, flowers, messages, healing vibes from the chalice well in Glastonbury, gifts, kisses, given me hugs, lit candles, took me for meals and prayed for me.   

The chalice well, Glastonbury

I've also managed to meet up with friends from work, including a former work colleague who had breast cancer 11 years ago.  She's such an inspirational role model who never allowed cancer to get her down and didn't give a stuff about going out with her bald head.  

One of my former work colleagues also played me a tune on his radio show.  The song was 'Bananas' by a group called Man.  The first time I heard it was about 20-odd years ago when the same chap let me listen to it on his Walkman on the train into work.  I nearly wet myself 'cos I laughed so much at the words.  I still do whenever I hear it.

Social media

What has been a revelation is the reaction on social media. 

I was initially reluctant to tell people on Twitter and Facebook about my diagnosis.  Breast cancer seemed to me to be quite a private thing to go public about.  Then I thought that if I was open about it, people might not feel awkward engaging with me.  I wasn't ashamed or embarrassed about having cancer and I didn't want others to be either.  I also thought that it could be mutually beneficial to reach out to other people with cancer.  

I was a bit worried about being trolled but thought 'so what'.  I told myself if I did get trolled, I would deal with it.  The social media reaction has been totally amazing.  People (many of whom I've never actually met) have reached out to me, sent me many wonderful thoughts and messages and in some cases have privately shared their own personal experiences with me. 

Hockey family

People like me who love ice hockey, for example because they watch it, play it or officiate, often describe themselves as being part of the 'hockey family'.  

The support and kindness I've received from the hockey family has been fantastic.  I've had lovely messages from people connected to ice hockey and the Belfast Giants (my favourite ice hockey team) and fellow hockey fans.  Again, many people have shared their own personal experiences of cancer with me and I feel privileged to be part of that.

What I have learned

I have been deeply touched by everyone's incredible love, warmth and generosity.  The kindness of people has far surpassed anything that I could have ever expected or hoped for.  

Knowing that people are thinking of me as I go through this crappy journey feeds my soul.  It makes me appreciate that I'm not going through this experience on my own.  

What cancer has taught me so far however - and I know it sounds like a cliché - is that life really is too short to do anything other than treat each other with love, kindness and appreciation.  It can make all the difference to someone, especially if they are going through a tough time.  I know it has for me.

You are loved.

PS

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Second chemo and its aftermath

Take your PICC

I had a 'PICC' line inserted last week.  It's a thin, flexible, tube that goes into a large vein above the bend of your elbow until the tip is in a large vein just above the heart*.  Sounds gross doesn't it, but the thought of getting it put in was worse than reality.  

Having a PICC means I can now get my chemo drugs injected and bloods taken through the line.  That's such a relief, as the vein I had the chemo put in last time was starting to hurt and harden and that was only after one treatment.  I didn't need to have a PICC but with limited choice of arms to use for needles, I wanted to go for the easiest and most sensible option.

I had some local anaesthetic in my arm and as the nurse threaded the tube into me, I said to her 'Is it supposed to hurt?'  She smiled and said, 'Hmmm, not really, but you're probably just a sensitive critter!' 

The chemo the next day went in much more quickly and easily than last time.  Phew.

Sleep or lack of

I found it so difficult to sleep the night I had the chemo.  I was tired but wasn't tired, if that makes sense.  As I lay in bed trying to drop off, I could feel my heart palpitating.  I was genuinely becoming more frightened by the minute and was worried that if I went to sleep I wouldn't wake up in the morning.  I kept trying to rationalise things by blaming the steroids.   Yes, it had to be the steroids, didn't it.  Didn't it?

I kept waking up in the night and my heart would be fluttering unevenly and I felt on the verge of panic.  I was tempted to get up and phone the helpline, but told myself that if I still felt like this the next day I would ring them.  I tossed and turned all night long. 

The next day I felt absolutely knackered but the palpitations had subsided a bit.  I refused to take a nap despite feeling so bone weary.  I was angry, ratty and irritated at every little thing that I felt, thought, saw, read and encountered.  Things seemed to be conspiring against me too: I dropped clean washing on the patio, I grated my thumb on my vulnerable arm on the cheese grater, I stomped angrily round the house looking for my glasses until I realised I was already wearing them.

I went to bed at 8.00pm that night and slept a bit better. 

Cancer is hateful

I've started to get a really uncomfortable sensation in my throat and upper chest too.  I can't even begin to adequately describe what it feels like.  It's like I've swallowed a bunch of gigantic fishbones that have lodged sideways in my throat and that my neck and collarbone have got a tight band wrapped around them.  It almost feels like I've got some sort of rheumatism in my upper chest and throat.  I've spoken to the helpline, described the symptoms and they've given me advice.  But it is incredibly uncomfortable and disconcerting.

See cancer?  It is shit.  It is a bastard.  It is evil.  I never knew there were so many implications from having cancer.  I hate what I look like.  I hate feeling crap.  I hate the fact it has happened to me.  I hate the thought of living in the shadow of this awful disease possibly returning some day. 

You don't ever think cancer is going to happen to you.  But it can.  And it does.  My advice to you is to do all you can - as far as possible - to prevent it.  Please don't put yourself through what I and numerous others (in worse situations than me) have to go through.

To finish on a lighter note, here's a picture of me with a stupid homemade chemo cap.  I was having a 'good' (in relative terms) day that day but I'm finding that my sense of humour is starting to dwindle.

PS

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*source: www.macmillan.org.uk

Tiredness, a double take and pre-chemo check

I've been feeling really tired of late and there have been times very recently when I've felt a little under the weather.  I find myself blinking rapidly to keep my eyes open when I'm talking to people.  

I want to go to sleep about 2pm but I'm trying to resist the temptation of a nap so that I can sleep better at night.  I should give in, but I know that an hour's nap (which is what's recommended) would simply not be enough.  I tend to be like a bear with a sore head if I'm forced to wake from a nap of under two hours.  Just ask my husband.

On the plus side, my mouth has healed up which is great news.  

Double take

I met a friend from work on Monday and we took ourselves out.  I had to use the loo at one point but I'd forgotten that I didn't have my chemo cap on and that I had very little hair.  

As I walked into the ladies loo, I must have given the two women chatting in there a real shock.  They genuinely did a double take.  I thought, feck, they must think I should have gone into the men's room. When I came out of the cubicle, I held my fuzzy-felt head high and gave them a friendly smile.  I got one back.

Pre-chemo assessment

I got my bloods and weight done at my pre-chemo assessment yesterday.  Unfortunately, the nurse struggled to find a vein in my left arm.  It took about six goes to find one that yielded any blood and afterwards, the crook of my arm was looking a little black and blue.  Next time, it won't be so difficult. 

Battle scars, plus my PICC line (more about that next time)

My weight


I was gutted to find out that my weight had gone up by two kilos in three weeks.  Oh dear.  I must admit that this last week has been challenging. Hardly a surprise considering I was celebrating my wedding anniversary with my husband and son and had a delicious three course meal.  I didn't have any booze either.  

After my bloods and weight were taken, I had a chat with the breast care nurse.  She gave me a bit of a friendly 'talking to' about my weight increase, in the nicest possible way: go for walks, avoid the Northern Irish way of having a piece of cake/a bun/a biscuit with a cup of tea etc, etc.  But I do!  And I don't!  Okay, so the last bit's not completely true.


The 'look'


I nervously asked the breast care nurse about whether I could get away from the same four walls of my house for a break.  It was at that moment I realised that cancer nurses have a look that they give you*.  The first look was 'don't-put-weight-on-but-I'm-being-nice-about-it' and the second when I asked about the holiday was 'you-can't-be-serious-right?'.  

The look in the nurse's eyes, the tilt of her head and the arch of her eyebrows made my heart sink.  I lost my nerve a bit and said, 'Well it would only be for a couple of days...and it would be on the same island...and I'm sure I'd be able to get to a nearby hospital if I needed to.' That last bit clinched it.  As long as in an emergency I could quickly get to a hospital in Northern Ireland that had an Accident and Emergency Department coupled with a cancer unit, then it would *probably* be OK.  

The thought of a very a short break away from the house provides a glimmer of light at the end of a long tunnel right now.  Only if I feel up to it of course...and I don't stuff my face.



*I think I should clarify. The nurses are absolutely lovely, they really are and I don't want you to get the wrong impression of them.  The look isn't a scary look - it's sympathetic yet nicely assertive, if you get my drift.

PS

Please feel free to leave a comment or suggestion below for a topic about my journey you'd like me to write about.

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