New rack

I am so grateful to the women who, over the last year, shared photos with me of the  surgeries they had to have because of breast cancer so I've decided to share my own here. I hope it's useful to someone....

The first time I met my surgeon, I told him I just wanted a bilateral mastectomy, no reconstruction, just get rid of literally everything and leave it. I didn't care. I had cancer and I just wanted everything gone. As far as I was concerned, even if I lived, it would never be ok. I'd never be normal again anyway, why try and pretend? I'd also been looking at photos from the Under The Red Dress Project. Look at this woman. She looks happy, and she is beautiful. I thought maybe if I live, one day I could just look and feel something like that.

My surgeon encouraged me to think about it some more, speak to other women who had had reconstruction, and read all the information they were sending me away with. When he left the room the Breast Care Nurses jumped in. They strongly encouraged me to go for reconstruction. They said I was really lucky to have him as my surgeon because he was the absolute best, and would do an incredible job. I said no, I just wanted rid of everything. They told me to think about it some more.

A week later my cancer treatment plan was changed, and I was to be having chemo first instead of surgery. This gave me several more months before I needed to make a decision about surgery and by the time December came I'd changed my mind. My understanding was I could go for mastectomies with immediate reconstruction, and if it looked awful I could then make the choice to get rid anyway. I figured I'd see how it would turn out, but in all honesty I never had high expectations of it being ok.

Since then I have had three surgeries.

On my left side, in January I had a skin sparing mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using latissimus dorsi muscle flap and a temporary expander implant. My nipple was removed (the cancer was right there) and the reconstruction included a circular skin graft (using skin taken from my back). The expander implant got expanded a couple of times and the corner of it protruded. It looked ridiculous. My surgeon assured me that the permanent implant that would replace it would not be like that.

On my right side, in July I had a skin sparing mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using temporary expander implant. My nipple was removed but the areola skin was left. I had one straight line scar from the middle to the side. This implant also got expanded a couple of times, but it was still lumpy and bumpy and to me, looked and felt deformed.

Here's some photos from these first two surgeries. I know they're awful but stick with it - things get better.

This was 2 days after the surgery in January. You can see two of the drains I had coming out of the side.

This was about 10 days after the surgery in January when I had the big dressings removed for the first time. The wounds at the side are from the 3 drains. The dressing under my arm is from the lymph node removal. My skin is crinkly and yellow because of the dressings and iodine.

This was a month or so after the surgery in January. You can see the skin graft scar which was pretty dark at the time, and the shape of the temporary expander implant through my skin. The inside corner poked right out. It just got worse when it was expanded again.

This was about a week after my second surgery in July. The expander implant on the right side was only very partially expanded at this point. It was horrible! You can also see again the corner of the implant on the left hand side poking through.

A couple of weeks after the surgery in July. Flat and horrible and I still have a drain and my skin is falling apart.

 

 

More drain wounds

 

 

The wounds heal, the scars fade, but frankly the expander implants looked shit! I wasn't looking forward to more surgery - but I couldn't wait to be rid of them. That surgery was Wednesday - 3 days ago.

Pre surgery mark up.

 

 

The expander implants were replaced with permanent implants. Surgery was I think 3 hours. No drains! I came home the next day, covered in microfoam dressings to hold everything in place. Even with all that microfoam I started getting my hopes up...

1 day post implant exchange surgery.

 

 

And the next day the microfoam was removed. I still have a couple of dressings but when they were replaced yesterday I saw underneath them just a few steri strips covering the stitches. They are where the existing scars were so no new scars.

3 days post implant exchange surgery.

 

 

The difference exchanging those implants has made is incredible. I wanted to share it for anyone who has those horrible expander implants at the moment. I just wanted to say don't feel down about them! The surgery to exchange is easy, and the permanent implants look and feel amazing. (Well, I thought so anyway!)

I'm not quite done yet. There's the matter of nipple reconstruction/tattooing. I wasn't originally going to bother with that either but I trust my surgeon and his judgement 100% now and I am happy to let him do anything he wants haha!

And when I feel shit about my scars I just try and remember this:

"Never be ashamed of a scar.

It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you"

I've cracked open the Stellisept again....

I'm washing myself in Stellisept, sticking weird gel up my nose and digging out the big cotton knickers. This can only mean one thing!

I'm back in hospital on Wednesday for Surgery #3! Eek!

If you don't want the gruesome details stop reading right now!

A recap:

The first surgery I had in January was (deep breath) a skin sparing mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using LD muscle and expander implant, plus full node clearance. In plain English, the surgeon cut a circle of my skin out all around the nipple which was home to the cancer, then chopped and scraped out all the breast tissue from that side, leaving just the skin. (It all had to be removed, what with me being a genetic mutant of the crappiest kind - ie no known superpowers, just boobs that aim to kill me). He then sliced my back open, took some of my latissimus dorsi muscle and swung it round to the front of my body. He wasn't happy with shape or size or something though so he also stuck in a temporary expander implant. (More on them in a minute). Then he took skin from my back and did a skin graft where that circle of skin/nipple had been removed. He then took out all the lymph nodes under my arm because that's the place cancer cells temporarily squat in before going on their travels around your body. And then he stitched me back up. It took 8 hours, I was in hospital for 5 days, and I had 3 drains for a week. I thought it would be hell and it was actually, overall, a piece of piss and I strangely enjoyed the stay in hospital.

The next surgery was in July, and dealt with  the right side. Skin sparing mastectomy (but taking away the nipple because I now seriously distrust nipples what with their ability to let cancer cells set up camp and breed there) and immediate reconstruction using a temporary expander implant. Again - this surgery was to prevent me getting any more breast cancer in the future. It was a 3.5 hours operation, 2 nights in hospital. I thought it would be a piece of piss. It was HELL. I spent 3 weeks with drains in, and a few weeks off my face on tramadol to deal with the pain.

This surgery:

This is to exchange the temporary expander implants for permanent ones. The reason I was given a temporary expander implant on the cancer side is because I needed radiotherapy asap after surgery. Radiotherapy often damages your skin (in some cases it can break down entirely leaving you with open wounds like serious burns). Expander implants can be put in empty or nearly empty, then filled over time with saline, to stretch the skin gradually. (As it happens, despite the fact I can get sunburn within ten minutes even when covered in factor 50, my skin didn't react at all to radiotherapy. Big up to my hardcore skin for not putting me through the horror that some of my friends have been through. Shout out to Miranda here).

The non-cancer side had an expander too so that the surgeon could basically fiddle about with adding and removing saline from the expander implants on both sides until they match. Symmetry is the goal!

The thing about expander implants is they are horrible. They are rock hard, lumpy, bumpy, and there's a big metal port on them for where the needle goes in to pump them up (technical medical term). Once you're all healed, they get exchanged for permanent implants which from what I understand are all like soft and natural and stuff (here's hoping).

So that's what's happening Wednesday. Surgeon goes in via existing scars, takes out yakky, horrid temporary implants and replaces with lovely, nice new ones. The operation takes 2 hours (so in the case of my surgeon maybe 3 because he's a perfectionist - one of the many reasons I love him to bits), I should be home the same day and get this.... NO DRAINS!

I repeat: NO DRAINS!

I'm hoping to only be off work a couple of weeks. And then... all being well.... no more boob-related general anaesthetics. (I daren't think too much yet about the whole matter of "nipple reconstruction" and tattooing although for those of you that I've discussed this with previously, I have some good news. 1. They're only local anaesthetic jobs. And 2. I've been pissed off that the circle skin graft is too big and I asked Mr K if he could just chop it out and leave me with a line scar like on the other side. Turns out that the skin graft is for the nipple recon. Which is weird. The whole thing is weird, obviously. But this is definitely not as weird as the foof option. And so, fuck it, since he'll not be going anywhere near my vajayjay, I think I'm gonna go ahead with nipple recon. - For anyone that I have not already had this conversation with (which is probably all but about 5 of you).... Yes you read that right. Nipple recon is often done using skin from your foofoo - because you didn't lose enough dignity when going through all the original cancer treatment. Anyway... I'm not gonna think about it right now. Save that joy for the new year.)

So - I'm in hospital on Wednesday, then hopefully home that night. This might not technically be cancer any more but fuck it - if you've read this far you can see why I'm fully entitled to still be playing the cancer card. If you're local and you fancy stopping by and walking my dog for me during the next couple of weeks please do!

Lotsa love xx

Kate

My beautiful, kind, bright, fun, sparkly friend Kate died on 26th October. Today was her memorial service, and I was honoured to be asked to contribute to it. I found it difficult to write about Kate, because it felt like no words were enough - she was truly one of the most amazing people I've ever met.

xxx

***********

Less than a week after I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself last July, I started chatting to Kate online through the Younger Breast Cancer Network. Like anyone newly diagnosed with cancer, I was terrified. She realised I lived in Leicester and suggested we meet up, so we went for a drink a few days later. I will never forget that day because meeting Kate changed my life. All I could think when I went home that night was, "I want to be just like Kate". And that has stayed with me ever since.

In the couple of hours I spent in the pub with Kate that evening my whole perspective changed. It went from one of fear, dread and assumptions that I'd be leaving my bed only for visits to the hospital, to one of hope, positivity and determination that like Kate, I'd be out and about and living my life to the full. She was truly inspirational. Kate had not quite finished her initial cancer treatment herself at this point- she was still having radiotherapy. But you wouldn't know it. I'm sure that everyone here will know what I mean when I say I thought she sparkled. That incredible sparkle is what made Kate stand out in a crowd.

While I am the one stood here speaking, I am really doing this on behalf of the whole Younger Breast Cancer Network. YBCN has well over a thousand members, but there are a few who really stand out. Kate is one of those, and I know she has made so much difference to countless women, through her thoughtful posts, kind, supportive and positive comments, and funny, up front and honest blog. Myself and Laura along with many others all know how lucky we are to have really gotten to know Kate and be able to call her our friend.

Many of my happiest times over the last year have included Kate. As I think back I realise that most of them have involved drinking wine or cocktails and talking extensively about important matters such as men! Newly single for the first time in 12 years, I loved listening to Kate's stories of online dating! One in particular of course... I am so glad that Kate and Adam met - the first time I got to hear all about him was when Kate visited me in hospital at the beginning of January after I'd had surgery. It was early days but I could tell from Kate's complete inability to stop smiling that Mr Gibraltar was someone special. I mentioned to Adam that one of my favourite Kate moments is when she told me and Laura all about the art print he had bought her. Adam summed it up better than I could when he said "She was so kind but she also had that little bit of devil in her that I loved - I remember when she told me she hated the picture - I loved that honesty!" (Kate did absolutely wholeheartedly hate that picture!)

Alongside Kate's honesty and sparkle, one of the things that really stood out was her kindness and compassion. Kate was incredibly active on the YBCN forum, constantly reassuring others that treatment was do-able and that they'd get through it. As a friend she always remembered when you had something going on - a scan, a chemo appointment, a meeting with the oncologist. She'd always get in touch with words of encouragement and support.

She also gave great perspective. Kate told us about how when she was initially undergoing treatment for her primary breast cancer, she was in touch with another woman who had had a secondary diagnosis. This woman had told Kate that she regretted spending the time between primary and secondary diagnosis worrying so much and letting fear about cancer take over her life - even when she was well and not having any treatment. Kate took this on board, and made sure the rest of us did too. When she got her own secondary diagnosis, she told us how glad she was that she had made sure to live life to the full every single day, something that she absolutely continued to do. 

I will think of Kate every day, and it will remind me to be bold, to be bright, to love with an open heart, and most importantly to have fun and enjoy life. None of us know how many days we have left. But I cannot think of any better way for each of us to honour Kate than by going away and making sure each one of them counts. 

 

 

 

 

 

Limbo

Figured out what's up. I've been feeling in limbo. I hate that! You know me. I'm a control freak.

The other day I wrote a really whiny update. It was unsatisfying to write, unsatisfying to share, and to be honest I'd quite like to delete it. But I'm sticking to my rule of never deleting my posts, however much I hate them when I look back at them. (The reason being, for anyone who reads this blog who is newly diagnosed or going through cancer treatment, I want to show that while you have your lows - sadness, fear, complete lack of dignity - those days do pass. You're still you in there, even if sometimes it's hard to see that clearly through the current melt down. It's all just part of the process.)

So I've been unpicking what's up and as always I'm going to share with the whole world because as you all know I lost any sense of pride or dignity a looooooooong time ago. Here are some of my limbos.

1. I'm all about that bass. I've never been body-confident but last summer I was probably feeling as good about my body as I ever have. I was exercising every day, including running 3 or 4 times a week, and looking back, I'd become well skinny. Some of my friends have commented since then that they thought I was at a point where if I lost any more weight they'd start to worry and take me to one side to say something. Sadly my feminism doesn't stop me feeling like this is actually a huge compliment. I know that's wrong, I'm slapping my own wrists for being so influenced by the unobtainable photoshopped images of women everywhere in the media, but it's true. I felt only pride. (I was eating properly - it was just the exercise had me fit, healthy, slim and dare I say possibly even toned in parts.) 15 months later, a stone and a half heavier and I feel like a disgusting, flabby blob, which deep down I know is ridiculous for several reasons. First of all, I'm not even actually overweight (although someone did recently say to me "Ooh! Someone's getting round! I thought cancer made you thin?" - No. No, it doesn't. It makes you fat.) Secondly putting on weight is a pretty small price to pay for having your life saved. I have so much admiration for the women who manage to continue with running during breast cancer treatment because after the third chemo I simply couldn't. I was either too ill or tired from chemo and radiotherapy or banned from running by my surgeon. But the chemo, the surgeries, the radiotherapy - those are the reasons I'm able to sit here writing this now so I can't really complain. And thirdly - it's only temporary. I have started running again and I think that's actually the root cause of my recent I-hate-my-body funk. I'm not exactly known for my patience. Now that I can do something about the arse other than sing along defiantly to Meghan Trainor ("I'm bringing booty BAAAAAAAACK!"), I desperately want everything to be back to how it was before, right now.

2. Titanium. So yeah, I've started running again which makes me SO HAPPY, but I feel like I'm back at square 1 with it. Last summer I'd come home from work and run for about an hour, about 6 miles. I enjoyed it. One of the songs on my playlist was Sia, Titanium. I really felt like I was. I'd run along, singing it loudly (in my head). "I am titaaaaaaaniuuuUUUUUUUUUMMMMMM!!!"  One of the roads I crossed on my little circuit has quite a high pavement. Each time I'd get to it I'd make a point of effortlessly and gracefully springing from road to pavement (Nike Airs baby!) as I went round the corner, secretly showing off to anyone who might be around. (I know. I'm rolling my eyes at myself right now.) Oh how things have changed! My current personal best is a 42 minutes 19 seconds 6km which I sweated and panted my way through while wondering the whole time if my legs were made of actual titanium they felt so heavy. I thought fitness would be my problem but I think the biggest issue is that my leg muscles have disappeared meaning it's a lot of effort hauling all the extra junk in my trunk around the west end.

3. Curtains vs Mullet. Oh man. It's bad. People learned pretty quickly when I was diagnosed with cancer that I have no time for sympathetic head tilts, so I've not seen many of them. Til now. Last time I went to get my hair cut, I got several from MY HAIRDRESSER! "It's getting to that stage isn't it..... Where you won't really know what to do with it.....[sympathetic head tilt]" 
By "that stage" what she means is the in between stage where you are simultaneously growing out your curtains while growing in the early stages of a mullet. Sexy. And no I don't know what to do with it. I generally try clipping it back, even though I've been told I'm doing my hair like a toddler's. (My "friends" are such vicious bullies.)
I saw this on Facebook the other day. It made me laugh hard. Mostly because if I brush my fringe forward now, I have the exact same hair as Peter. FML.

4. My lovely lumpy lady lumps. The boobs were trying to kill me, so they had to go. No brainer. The kind of surgery I had was called a skin sparing mastectomy, with immediate reconstruction. In plain English, the skin is pretty much left alone, but all the insides are scooped out and replaced with implants. The implants I have at the moment are temporary. They are hard and lumpy and if I were to go through security at an airport they'd set the alarms off. On the one hand I cannot wait to get them swapped for the proper implants. On the other hand it turns out I can't face another surgery yet. I got a call on Wednesday asking me to go in for pre-op assessments on Monday. I said no, effectively keeping myself in lumpy lady lumps limbo. I think I might now be regretting postponing it. I just can't be fucked with more surgery at the moment as much as I genuinely love the dinners at Glenfield Hospital and need some  dedicated time on the sofa to catch up with Homeland. 


Pretty shallow I guess. But when I look in the mirror, I just want to see me again. Because my life itself is returning to normality (and I will never, ever take that for granted). In fact, I LOVE my life. I have the best friends in the world. Ever. I've said it before and I will keep saying it. I have the BEST FRIENDS IN THE WORLD, EVER! I'm having so much fun, and doing things I've never done before. I met Drew Barrymore! (Swoon!) I love my job, and I love the people I work with. I've got tons of stuff to look forward to.  

So anyway. There's only one way to deal with limbo and that's put a plan in place. If in doubt, make a list and a plan and everything is sure to be ok.

1. A stone lost by Christmas.
2. Running 10kms 3 times a week by end of November.
3. Experiment more with hair accessories for the next 4 months until I have a bob (while sticking tongue out at Andrea).
4. Take the next surgery date and get it over and done with.

Sorted.

Current mood

A few people have asked recently if I'm ok because I've been quiet here. The reason is simple, I've been busy getting on with my life. But in keeping with my general life approach of overthinking and then oversharing, here's what's going on...

I'm well. It's 6 months since I finished treatment for a cancer which I really thought would kill me. I honestly thought I'd die. But here I am, alive, well, no sign of anything wrong at all. I'm really lucky and I don't know why I get to be a lucky one. I'm lucky because instead of getting the typical aggressive breast cancer that young women tend to get, I got the bog standard old lady kind which is so much easier to beat. I'm also lucky because it was caught early. And I'm lucky because I was well enough to have the full on belts and braces treatment and compared to pretty much everyone else I know who's gone through the same, my body stood up to it really well. Before I was diagnosed, I wasn't well and no-one knew why. I was tired, and low, and my hair was thinning and blood tests showed my immune system was struggling. (Now we know why.) But now - I feel well. My hair has grown back and it's ridiculously thick and healthy. I take that as a sign that all is well inside. I started running again just recently. Obviously I've lost a lot of fitness over the last year but I was pretty pleased with the 6km I ran on Sunday and the 4.5km on Monday. I know speed and distance and fitness will improve soon enough.

So I'm one of the lucky ones. And that should be at the forefront of my mind all the time. It would have been my friend Rosie's 39th birthday today, but she died in June after her cancer spread to her liver. That was a month to the day after our other friend Jo died, because her cancer spread to her liver. And right now my friend Kate is in hospital, unable to return home, because the cancer that spread to her liver is taking over.

For some unknown reason, things have turned out differently for me and I know I have no right whatsoever to feel anything other than grateful, and happy and lucky. I am alive, well, I have incredible friends who I love SO MUCH, a job that I love, a roof over my head...

I was sure that if I lived, I should just use all my energy and time to try to do things that are worthwhile. I really tried. I've fundraised. I've volunteered. I've joined in campaigns to save the NHS. I set up a blog site for other young women with breast cancer. But something has been missing and I'm realising now I'm actually pretty selfish. I don't want to campaign. I don't want to run that blog anymore. It's making me feel stuck in breast cancer world when I don't need to be in that world. I'm done with cancer. I just want to forget about it and get on with my life.

I want to have fun with my friends. Do well at my job. Work hard, play hard, go for a run, go to the pub, walk the dog, watch tv, sleep in late, go on a holiday. I want to feel safe, feel loved, love back.

Someone needs to give me a good slap and make me pull myself together.

xxx

Bad fatigue haiku

Sandbag torso sinks
Anchors weigh down arms and legs
Mind hibernates.

My grandad was a refugee

My grandad was born in Latvia in 1921.

Growing up, he liked the outdoors. He'd go cycling and fishing with his friends. I remember him telling me about how they used to go fishing and collecting crabs at a big lake, but one day they went to the lake, and there was a dead cow at the side of it, decomposing, and crawling with crabs that were eating its remains. He said he could never eat crab again after seeing that!

In the 1930s, he moved with his mum, dad, brothers and sisters to a big farm in Saldus (Latvia). He was planning to go to university to study agricultural engineering. One day he was playing out on the farmland, when, in one of the empty buildings, he saw two figures. He ran back to his house, screaming at his mum that he had seen ghosts. She silenced him quickly and said he must never mention them again. They weren't ghosts. They were a Jewish family (3 people in total) that my grandad's parents were hiding from Nazis. (I am sharing this, simply because I am so proud of my great grandparents for doing this.)

Another day, there was a loud knock at their front door. It was two armed Nazi soldiers. My grandad, fit and healthy in his late teens at the time, was told to be waiting at the end of the street at 5pm. He was being taken to work (in agriculture) for the Nazi's. He had no choice but to go. That was the last day he saw any of his family, although through the grapevine he heard that his parents and siblings had also ended up in Nazi camps, and also that his mother had contracted tuberculosis.


At the end of the war, he was transferred to a displaced persons camp in Wahlstedt, because after the German occupation, Latvia was once again occupied by Russia. It wasn't safe for him to return home. My grandad always described the Nazi occupation as friendly in comparison to the Russian. So, my grandad was brought to Britain as a refugee. He described to me his train journey across Europe towards Britain. He told me he, and the other refugees travelling with him, were each given a suitcase with some clothes as well as things like cutlery, playing cards and cigarettes. He thought he was treated like royalty. When I was little and he'd tell me about this I felt proud - proud that I lived in the nice country that helped other people who needed a safe home.

My grandad had always wanted to return to Latvia once it was no longer under communist control - but that didn't happen until he was 70 years old. So he stayed in the UK. He got married, had two children. He worked in factories, unable to fulfil his plans of studying at university, but he knew he had everything he really needed. A house, a garden, a family. Enough money to buy food and clothes. Safety. Although - he still had nightmares about the Second World War years every single night that had him shouting and crying out in his sleep.


I've copied here an excerpt of a letter he sent to him which he had kept his whole life, which someone kindly translated for us a few years ago. This describes the Russian occupied Latvia that he could not return to (and treatment of Latvians in the Soviet Gulag's that they were sent to) :

*********

I only have half an hour to write a letter to you. I can no longer think straight nor write.

From the first Russian entry day we were horrified by seeing all of those bastards riding in our streets. They were riding on horses through the streets drunk and doing all the worst things that you can possibly imagine. If you think that they are as in 1940/41 and that things are as they were back then, then you think wrong. It was nothing compared to everything that is happening here today. From day one they began looting, killing and raping and it continues every day. When it gets dark, only Russians are outside on the streets.

Do not think anything about my rough way of expression, because now I can only curse and endlessly hate all the vermin bunch, that destroys us. Hatred – this word is not strong enough to express what I feel inside. There is no limit of hate against Russians, but they are now lords in our land. It is now natural here, that people get striped of all clothes on the street, or Russians rob apartments leaving nothing in them, you are lucky if you still get to keep your naked life. And it's all done by majors or even higher position officers of the Red Army. They simply put a revolver to you forehead and say “отдай!” (“hand it over!”). Soldiers take boots and watches from people who return home from work. Top-quality robbery methods appear here. And newspapers write, that it is done by vlasovieši (Vlasovieši - Soviet Motherland traitors) and Latvian national bourgeois.
 
Don't believe in election results. At four in the morning (on election day) Russians began to wake up all Latvians and bring them to polling stations . With hearts full of hatred, people voted, because we're like a bunch of sheep where we have to do as we are told. Chekists or their assistants were going to every house and made them to go and vote. Cars were driving through the streets, pulling the helpless to the polls. They were in my house 3 times before 3 pm on that day, and, because of my mother was brought to Cheka for interrogation like 10 times, I was forced to go and vote as well. You see how obedient we are now. But only those who live here can understand it.

Our legionnaires, we wanted to greet them properly, and now they come home, but some have been killed and some die in a while after returning. Can you imagine in what circumstances they live there. After spending a few months in “Soviet paradise” people return crippled. Some are like skeletons, due to hard work and starvation, some are swollen from hunger and terrible conditions of life. Many are left blind and lost their minds. Thousands more are killed in Russia. 


How much longer is this madness is going to continue? All this, that I have written to you so far, is only a tiny bit of what is happening here. Do we have to suffer now because fought against Communism? Were Germans right about Russians?

Every day more and more people get arrested and deported to Russia (Siberia). You spoke of faith once. Do you still have it? There are still few people who believe, hope and wait, but more and more, seeing everything that's going on here, have lost their hope and faith. Only thing that is left is to prepare for everything and take the “road of fate”, because nothing can save us now.

Many carry poison for themselves for, when the time comes, to put an end to the suffering imposed by the Russian bastards. Here they arrest old men and women, and 15 years old children are taken from schools put in prison to the time when the prisons are filled, all of them are deported to Russia. And so prisons are filled and emptied to make room for new people to be taken away.
 
Streets are full with thugs these days. All vermin now prevail here. They get a tremendous salary and a variety of food cards which is all that a man needs. I won't even try to describe the level of starvation here, all I get is bread which even a dog refuses to eat .People are exhausted. It is not possible to describe what is going on here or it would take forever to write it all down. There is no limit of hate and anger. Every day people suffer. One day all this anger will come out.
 
They arrest everybody as if they were fascists and then they are sentenced for 10, 15 and 20 years of hard labour in Russia. That is cruellest death ever, it drains and tortures before finally killing you.
 
There are only 2 types of Russians: the Communists and those who are not – the Fascists "national bourgeois" and they are destroyed. In recent days many children and adults are taken to trains, they are all condemned to torment in Russia and all of that is because we do not want Russians and their terrible system.
 

I haven't been in Riga, but Alma has. Rubbish everywhere. Streets full with poor, homeless people. Latvians will sell the last piece of cloth to be able to live somehow. Do all that is possible to end this nightmare.

Has everyone forgotten that there are three small countries who are waiting for their freedom?

************
My grandad was a refugee. I am alive because, displaced from his home country as a result of war and military occupation, he was able to live, work and raise a family in Britain.

Yesterday we saw the image of the 3 year old Syrian boy, Aylan Kurdi, washed up, drowned, on a beach in Turkey. His mother Rihan and his 5 year old brother Galip also drowned after the boats they were travelling to Kos on sank. His father is alive, but was unable to save his wife and children.

This is not the same Britain that helped my grandad. I don't feel very proud of my country right now. It's wonderful that people are organising donations of tents and sleeping bags and warm clothes and food via, for example, Amazon gift lists. I'm glad people are signing petitions and planning marches. I like that people are speaking out together on social media to say refugees are welcome. But as individuals there is only so much we can do unless our government will accept more refugees. These people need a place to live, in a country where they are safe. Instead of coming here (and to other European countries) on organised trains, being supplied with provisions, and treated with compassion and dignity, they are drowning in European seas. What a disgrace. If he were alive, this would break my grandad's heart. It certainly breaks mine.

PS My friend has set up a page on Facebook which is sharing links to various ways in which people can do a little to help. https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Refugee-Crisis-How-you-can-help/1024139637625890?fref=nf