Nearly as long a a life sentence.....

Just a quick blog this evening, folks, to share with you my amazing new discovery. I do believe I have found the longest sentence in the world – not the prison variety, but the written type.

I thought Anthony Powell and Aphra Behn were bad enough for long sentences, but this one takes the biscuit. Or should that be coconut…..?

For my OU module, I have to read Sam Selvedon’s “The Lonely Londoners” which is written from the narrator’s viewpoint. The narrator in this book comes from Trinidad, therefore this book is written in both first and third person in Creole – so at the best of times, it is quite hard to “get” (especially for a grammar snob like me!).

Well, I was going great guns until I reached page 92. Then something happened. Either the narrator (via the author) had swallowed some oral laxative, or there had been an error in publishing (I have the Penguin Modern Classics version) but a sentence started which went on and on and on and on and on, without punctuation or paragraph breaks, and on and on for TEN pages! So not only was I craving a strong dose of caffeine, but I was having to decipher a constant stream of Creole, trying to get it to make sense by inserting full-stops etc into the appropriate places. Phew!

Excuse the poor quality of the photo – my dinosaur iphone 3GS has a rubbish set of cameras – but these are pages 2 and 3 of the neverending sentence. It’s like a game – “Make the next ten pages make sense – extreme edition featuring Creole English”.

Hmmm, methinks it won’t catch on.

I think I have gone slightly mad

You know when you do something in life and you really wonder why you do it? I think my recent battle with the big C for the third time has done something to my brain. 


I have a "bucket list" - a list of things I would like to do/wish I had done in life; and now I have gone and actively registered for one of these things. I have decided to study towards a Masters degree in English through the Open University. I have actually registered for the thing - and after a couple of modules that I need to do first (seeing as my first degree has NOTHING to do with literary critical analysis and big important literary jargony type words) - I will be the Mary Beard of the Literary world. Well, almost. 

Because I already have a degree, I don't need to do another undergraduate one - thank goodness - but the staff at the OU have recommended I get up to senior arts student level by doing these two modules first....the first one involving scrutinising 14 (yes FOURTEEN) pieces of writing, six dissertations and an exam. Sounds a bit like a Christmas carol! I now have the reading list which includes weird and wonderful concoctions such as:


The Sign of Four - Conan-Doyle
The Duchess of Malfi - Webster
Othello - good old Willie Shakespeare
Wuthering Heights - Bronte (no not the Kate Bush song! - plus I've already read it)
Candide - Voltaire (read this one!)
Oroonoko - Behn
The Lonely Londoners - Selvon
The Emigrants - Sebald
Dancing at Lughnasa - Friel (yeah, I hadn't heard of this either!)
Dubliners - Joyce (have read this one - nah nah nee nah nah!)
The Beach at Falesa - RL Stevenson
The Confessions of an English Opium Eater - DeQuincey
Questions of Travel  - Bishop
Metropolis - Fritz Lang


I've read maybe three of the above, so that means I have eleven to wade through before the course starts in September. Right now I am thinking "waaahhhh" and now you will see why I think my cancer treatment has done something to my brain!


That's nothing to what I will have to do in the next module! And I am already fretting about what I will find 80 pages to write about in my Masters dissertation......


See that bucket list of mine - I think it needs revising........ As for now, I have to pick one of the above to start on tomorrow. Eeny meeny miney mo......

My Victory Against Cancer, Six Weeks On

It's a big day for me today. It's six weeks to the day since I had my double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery for breast cancer. It's a day I have been looking forward to for months. The day when I can ditch the velcro band that I have had to wear 24/7 since the minute I came out of theatre (except obviously in the shower!). The day when I am allowed to drive again and get a bit of independence back. The day when I need not go to bed at night to try and get to sleep sitting up. So, yeah, it's a big day!

If you haven't been following my story so far, then a short re-cap. I was diagnosed with early stage breast cancer in December, brought about because of high dose radiotherapy I had in the sternal area for Hodgkin's Lymphoma 19 years previously. Although it had always been a threat, it still came as a bit of a shock when I was diagnosed, as I thought that maybe being so long after the radiotherapy, I was going to be ok. Then it was the decision what surgery to have. The hospital were advising me to go for the mastectomy option, whereas I felt I wasn't ready for it, and was pushing for the partial mastectomy option with chemo follow-up. My surgeon was very sympathetic and didn't want to push me towards something I wasn't emotionally happy with so two days after Christmas 2011 I went in to hospital as a day case for a wide local excision and sentinel node biopsy. Normally, after such an op, most women (and some men – yes men get breast cancer too!) then go on to have low-dose radiotherapy to the area, but because I had been zapped before, this option was not open to me, and I was started on a course of tamoxifen 20mg to be taken for the next five years. Yep, it's a long course! However, on receipt of the pathology results, my surgeon informed me that whereas during my WLE op they had managed to get the 11mm tumour out, there was still some DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ – basically cancerous cells that have not yet spread) remaining, and that a second operation was required to remove them. So in February, I went in for the exact same procedure – and this time it was successful.

On my follow-up after the second procedure, my oncology surgeon provided me with some rather scary facts – basically the likelihood of a more aggressive cancer returning within the next 12 – 24 months in one or both sides was extremely high, and I should still consider having a mastectomy – either one sided and the other done six months later, or both at the same time. Either that or I could continue with the tamoxifen treatment and just live “on a wing and a prayer” that the cancer wouldn't return. Basically, the options were lose my boobs and live a happy and long life with no threat of breast cancer returning, or staying as I was and in doing so, cutting my lifespan short drastically. I wanted to see my kids grow up and get married, I wanted to do so much more with life that I decided the double mastectomy was the sensible option - get it over and done with - and booked myself in for the surgery at the beginning of June.

My hospital room

Although initially I hadn't wanted implant reconstruction, the medics advised me strongly to get them – mainly because of my age (they recommend young patients to get them as the emotional impact on life thereafter is more positive), and all the information was given to me well in advance of The Big Day, including the necessity to wear a velcro band across my chest 24/7 for six weeks (to keep implants in place), do no housework for the first six weeks post-op, no stretching, no strenous exercise, no driving and no sleeping flat in bed. The next thing I knew, the op was over and I was the owner of a new set of smaller boobs and the victor of another battle against cancer. The surgery took a few hours (I believe) but within a couple of hours of getting back to my “suite” (my name for my personal hospital room) I was having the obligatory tea and toast; and the very next morning I was up and about, dragging two surgical drains in my wake. Recovery was uneventful – the painkillers were great as they were not only effective on making the whole post-op thing pain-free, but they turned me into a space cadet, so visitors were often subjected to me rambling on about nothing in particular usually about nonsense! Having had my surgery on the Tuesday, I was scheduled to go home on the Friday, but my drains were still filling up too quickly, so my stay was prolonged by an extra couple of days – very frustrating, but necessary – and then I was home!

Went back for my review appointment a couple of weeks later – the surgeon had in his hand the pathology results from the operation. He told me that in choosing to have the double mastectomy when I did was exactly the right decision, as they found that in the opposite side from where my tumour had been, there were numerous atypical cells and a 4mm section of DCIS – in plain English, if I had just stayed on tamoxifen treatment without having had this operation, I would have been in a worse position come this Christmas than I was last year as the cancer would have returned (a different and more aggressive type of breast cancer that is not affected by tamoxifen). So there you go folks! It seemed a bit of a drastic option to take, but it has literally saved my life.

Six weeks on and I have enjoyed bedrest whilst watching Wimbledon tennis on the TV, people running hand and foot after me, my Mum's baking arriving by the tin-ful, flowers and cards from friends, and a few visitors. The reconstructive surgery is so good that many people haven't realised I have already had the operation! My cancer nurse has warned me that I will shrink some more, and that by Christmas time (another five months away) my body will have taken on its new look. So I guess I am still metamorphosising as I type up this blog. I am back on tamoxifen (to purge any rogue cells that may have got into my system from the surgery) and that makes me feel nauseous most of the time, but I see that as a small price to pay for beating cancer yet again. I have the odd “wobbly” day when I have a self-image crisis, but that is because my chest still feels tight and like I have internal sunburn; and also because I'm still quite swollen, I think that everyone is looking at me thinking I look like Dolly Parton! But things are on the up, and having reached this milestone it's the start of a whole new life chapter.

Cancer isn't necessarily a death sentence folks – take it from a Pro cancer fighter like me. Stay positive – getting stressed or wallowing in self pity won't make it go away. At times it is tough going, but persevere. Having a fantastic family, fabulous local friends, and an amazing array of supportive gems through Facebook and Twitter (most of whom I have never met!) has helped enormously, especially with the emotional side of things. Advice and humorous stories from one lady on Twitter who went through similar surgery to me a few years ago was appreciated most of all – thank you Sandy. Since then I have been able to help a couple of people online who are facing similar surgery to that which I have gone through. Cancer is scary, cancer is frightening, but when you beat it to a pulp, there is not a feeling like it in the world. There's a great life out there for living.


When I was in hospital, I often took a little stroll along to the adjacent General Oncology ward to chat to some patients who hadn't got visitors, and compare surgical drain bags (yes the fun we stooped to in hospital!). In that ward I met some real superheroes, all fighting their own personal battles against the big C - some were winning, some were trying their best to win, but things were tough. It was a very emotional experience. I went back to my ward knowing I was one of the lucky ones who would be walking out of that hospital when my discharge day came. I still think of those brave souls today and wonder how they are getting on.

Scores on the doors: June 3, Cancer 0. Let's hope this time it got the hint and never comes back! 




P.S. An update to my last blog.....I completed my Race For Life in May and raised £1,057 in the process. Thank you to all who sponsored me.

Five Weeks To Go.....

It's been way too long since I wrote my last blog, so it's time for a quick update on my life, the universe and everything. It's been a pretty hectic and “full-on” few months!

At the time of my last blog I was awaiting my second operation to remove the DCIS cells that the surgeon hadn't been able to get out initially – it's pretty common for this to happen, so I wasn't as worried this time around. In fact, the nurses had to tuck me into the bed with a “Bear Hugger” to stop me from getting up and “getting in their way” - they were busy and I felt at a loose end! Well, they do say nurses make terrible patients! Fortunately, following this second op, the surgeon was able to tell me that they had removed all the cancerous cells that were there at the time, and put me on a course of tablets (tamoxifen) for two months, stopping for a month before surgery. These were ok actually, I had expected tons of side-effects, but actually instead of gaining weight, I lost heaps mainly due to the fact that it made my food taste metallic and therefore made me feel nauseous. The only meal I could really enjoy was dinner when I totally “pigged out”. So currently I am a size 6, which I can't complain about I suppose! I also felt absolutely shattered a lot of the time. Unfortunately for me, following my op I have to go back on these darn pills for five years – the reason being that if any rogue cancer cells get into my blood stream during surgery, the tamoxifen will kill them off. So at this current moment in time, I am on my drug break, and have five weeks to go until surgery (the date for this being Tuesday 5^th June – just after the Jubilee!). If I'm being honest, I do have my “wobbly” moments, but in another way, I'm looking forward to living without the threat of imminent cancer for the first time in half my life! And a new bod for summer as well, even though for a good proportion of the season I will be under bandages! During the wobbly moments I keep telling myself that of the two evils left to me – a lifespan of 5 years or this operation, the latter is the one I would have one hundred times over as long as it meant I could see my kids grow up etc. Heck, there's a lot of living left in me to do yet! Cancer is NOT going to beat me this time. No way Jose!

Next Sunday (6^th May) I am running Cancer Research's Race For Life with two of my lovely friends. It's only a 5k one (the 10k happens just after my surgery, so there is no WAY I could do that, unless someone pushed me in a wheelchair!), but for me – who is a total non-runner, (I have the worst knees out that dislocate easily – so this will be fun!), it is a marathon. I wanted to do it as an almost three-times survivor with a positive message, that cancer doesn't kill everyone, and the sign I am planning on wearing on my back will say something to that effect. I have benefited from new advances in cancer treatments and cures – and seeing that twice as many patients are cured from cancer than they were 40 years ago (Cancer Research statistic) – surviving this dreadful disease is becoming more commonplace. I'm also running it for

family members and friends who have/have had cancer, and also those people who I do not know who have/have had cancer; as well as those who lost their battles. So that's a lot of people I am trying to raise money for! To date, I have raised £615 through the generosity of Facebook friends, Twitter followers and personal friends. If you are in the position to sponsor me, please visit www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/june-louiselaurenson or text SJLL71 £donationamount to 70070.

So that's me. Oh yes, I have also given up my nursing registration – that's a story for a separate blog – and am looking forward to somehow starting a brand new life chapter and career when things start getting back to normal in August – I'm not sure doing what career-wise yet – but waiting to see what opportunities life throws at me. Life is for living, and that is what I intend to do!

Me v The Big C. Round Three.

It's been a while since I updated my blog, purely because I have been busy fighting the dastardly villain known as Big C - and so far, I believe, I have the upper hand.

Many of you will know, or have read on my blog, that I have had Hodgkins Lymphoma twice - several years ago, and that I am cured from that disease. However, not content to be vanquished by attacking my lymphatic system, Big C has come back - this time in my left breast. 

Because I had very very high dose mantle radiotherapy for my first bout of Hodgkins, in 1992, (which was situated in my mediastinum - so my upper chest area received the full whack of radiation), I have been going for annual mammograms. My haematologist had warned me that I was at very high risk of contracting breast cancer in the future, way back when my treatment was due to start, but me - being faced with cancer at the age of 21 - just wanted it gone, thinking I would deal with the complications later on. Well, the last 18 years of mammograms came and went, and save one visit that required a repeat xray done, all were normal. I have to admit as to getting a bit lax about these appointments when year after year the same letter came back saying there were no abnormalities and that they would call me back a year later for my next one. I even got to questioning as to whether or not these visits should be continued. After all - that's 18 years ago, I thought. If I was going to have contracted breast cancer, then it would have appeared by now.......

Then came last November. Oh joy, I thought, another mammogram appointment. Well, I know what the outcome is going to be. I have no lumps or bumps anywhere, no swollen lymph glands under my arm and I've been in good health - ach, it's a waste of an afternoon, but I'll go anyway. I went, got all the xrays done, thought no more of it. Until the following week. When a letter arrived on the front door mat. I could see from the franking on the envelope that it was from the clinic, and I was surprised they had got back to me so quickly considering everything was ok, but all became apparent that things were not quite as normal as they should be. I had to go back for a mammogram, an ultrasound and possibly a biopsy the following Friday. That was all the letter said. They would tell me why I had been recalled at that visit. Well, I got a little stressed about this for a few minutes - but then remembered I had had a recall several years earlier and everything was ok, and despite them mentioning the other tests, I probably wouldn't need them - it would be a standard letter. I was also informed to leave most of the day free for this appointment.

Roll on a week and I'm back at the clinic. Mammogram duly repeated, and an ultrasound done, I got called into a doctor's consulting room and was shown my films. Both xray and ultrasound had confirmed that there was a tumour in the left breast, but until they did biopsies, they couldn't tell if it was malignant or not. Would I please take a seat in the waiting room whilst the doctor finished her clinic and then they would do the biopsy afterwards?

An hour went by. People came and went. I won't forget that waiting room. It was small, chairs all round the wall, tea and coffee-making facilities and a radio tuned to the local station emitting some well needed silence breaking tunes. And an overpowering sense of fear. Lots and lots of very very scared women, I have to say, me included. "Ach", I thought. "You know what? If it is malignant, well then I'll just do what I did with my Hodgkins and beat it to a pulp. Cancer is not a death sentence". But I was still scared. Even though I had no symptoms whatsoever.

Eventually I was the only one left in the waiting room. Silence, apart from the radio which was playing this song (below). Freakily, it has stuck in my head since and is my mantra when I find things get a bit too much... In fact it is my cancer theme song.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pO40TcKa_5U&ob=av2n

After a wait of about an hour, I got my biopsies done (eight samples were taken under local anaesthetic), and a further wait of four days ensued. Went back to the clinic on the fourth day and was told that indeed, the tumour was malignant. The world didn't come crashing down round my ears - I just put on the armour I remember putting on when battling my Hodgkins and knew that I would be the victor in this battle against Big C. Round Three. Ding ding.

An MRI was done, which indicated that it was a small tumour - about 11mm in size, and that it had not spread to my lymph nodes. Further tests showed that it was also non-aggressive and slow growing, so if there was any good news from this whole thing - that was it. Dates for surgery to remove the tumour were made, and treatment was discussed. Because I have had radiotherapy to that area in the past, standard modes of preventative therapy are not open to me, but I agreed with the surgeon that tumour removal and a course of tamoxifen for five years would suit me fine at this stage. He warned me that I am more likely to have a recurrence - but I said, if that happened, I would deal with it at the time. 

I had surgery as a day case on 28th December 2011, which kind of spoiled my Christmas but at least I would be starting New Year cancer free. Before I went to theatre I had to get a wire inserted into my left breast so that the surgeon could locate the tumour. That was a relatively painless procedure - a bit stingy but that's all. Surgery was performed, and four hours and several hundred cups of tea later, I was home.

I went to my follow-up visit at the clinic yesterday afternoon where I was told the results of the surgery. I had gone to the clinic expecting to start tamoxifen treatment, but as they say..."the best laid plans of mice and men". The surgeon told me that the tumour itself had been removed, but pathology shows that there are still some DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ) cells left  in me, that need removed before they develop into another tumour - so a further operation, smaller this time, would be required so that they could remove the affected tissue. That was a bit of a bummer (pardon my French). So the date for that is 1st February. Then, armed with research and statistics, the surgeon then explained that I am at extremely high risk of cancer recurring within the next few months. I won't bore you with all the numbers, but put it this way, the choices I have are to keep my boobs and have a much shorter lifespan, or to have a bilateral mastectomy and live into old age. That hit like a brick! To be honest, I guessed that a mastectomy would be in the offing, so I was prepared for it, but not quite so soon as what the surgeon was proposing. However, with two children, I just know which decision I am going to choose. I want to see them grow up, get married, have children. I want to live into old age being a crazy Granny. So the bilateral mastectomy and reconstructive surgery it will be - probably mid-June time. It's going to be emotional, but conquering Big C isn't easy. He doesn't go away without a fight. But I know in doing this, I am going to win.

"You gotta be bad, you gotta be bold, you gotta be wiser. You gotta be hard, you gotta be tough, you gotta be stronger. You gotta be cool, you gotta be calm, you gotta stay together. All I know, all I know, love will save the day" (Des'Ree "You Gotta Be")

Stay tuned. 

PC Christmas carols

A friend sent me this a couple of years ago. Since then, I haven't been able to listen to these carols/songs the same way.......... Enjoy!

The Rocking Song

Little Jesus, sweetly sleep, do not stir;

We will lend a coat of fur.

We will rock you, rock you, rock you,

We will rock you, rock you, rock you.

Fur is no longer appropriate wear for small infants, both due to risk of allergy to animal fur, and for ethical reasons. Therefore faux fur, a nice cellular blanket or perhaps micro-fleece material should be considered a suitable alternative.

Please note, only persons who have been subject to a Criminal Records Bureau check and have enhanced clearance will be permitted to rock baby Jesus. Persons must carry their CRB disclosure with them at all times and be prepared to provide three forms of identification before rocking commences.

Jingle Bells

Dashing through the snow

In a one horse open sleigh

O'er the fields we go

Laughing all the way...

A risk assessment must be submitted before an open sleigh is considered safe for members of the public to travel on. The risk assessment must also consider whether it is appropriate to use only one horse for such a venture, particularly if passengers are of larger proportions. 

Please note, permission must be gained from landowners before entering their fields. To avoid offending those not participating in celebrations, we would request that laughter is moderate only and not loud enough to be considered a noise nuisance.

While Shepherds Watched

While shepherds watched their flocks by night

All seated on the ground

The angel of the Lord came down

And glory shone around.

The Union of Shepherds has complained that it breaches Health and Safety regulations to insist that shepherds watch their flocks without appropriate seating arrangements being provided, therefore benches, stools and orthopaedic chairs are now available. Shepherds have also requested that due to the inclement weather conditions at this time of year, that they should watch their flocks via CCTV cameras from centrally-heated shepherd observation huts.

Please note, the angel of the Lord is reminded that before shining his/her glory all around. he/she must ascertain that all shepherds have been issued with glasses capable of filtering out the harmful effects of UVA, UVB and Glory.

Little Donkey

Little donkey, little donkey, on the dusty road,

Got to keep on plodding onwards

With your precious load.

The RSPCA have issued strict guidelines with regard to how heavy a load that a donkey of small stature is permitted to carry. Also included in the guidelines is guidance regarding how often to feed the donkey, and how many rest breaks are required over a four hour plodding period.

Please note, that due to the increased risk of pollution from the dusty road, Mary and Joseph are required to wear face-masks to prevent inhalation of any airborne particles. The donkey has expressed his discomfort at being labelled “little” and would prefer just to be simply referred to as “Mr Donkey”. To comment upon his height, or lack thereof, may be considered an infringement of his equine rights.

We Three Kings

We three Kings of Orient are

Bearing gifts we traverse afar,

Field and fountain, moor and mountain,

Following yonder star.

Whilst the gift of gold is still considered acceptable – as it may be redeemed at a later date through such organisations as “Cash for Gold” etc., gifts of frankincense and myrrh are not appropriate due to the potential risk of oils and fragrances causing allergic reactions. A suggested gift alternative would be to make a donation to a worthy cause in the recipient's name or perhaps give a gift voucher. We would not advise that the traversing Kings rely on navigation by stars in order to reach their destinations, and suggest the use of RAC Routefinder or Satellite Navigation, which will provide the quickest route and advice regarding fuel consumption.

Please note, as per the guidelines from the RSPCA for Mr Donkey, the camels carrying the three Kings of Orient, will require regular food and rest breaks.

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer

Had a very shiny nose.

And if you ever saw it,

You would even say it glows.

You are advised that under the Equal Opportunities for All policy, it is inappropriate for persons to make comment with regard to the ruddiness of any part of Mr R Reindeer. Further to this, exclusion of Mr R Reindeer from the Reindeer Games will be considered discriminatory and disciplinary action will be taken against those found guilty of this offence. A full investigation will be implemented, and sanctions – including suspension on full pay – will be considered whilst this investigation takes place.

Why I think "Boobie Wednesday" is a big boob.

Twitter. I love it. I have a wealth of lovely followers, and those who I choose to follow back are the best of the best. In times of crisis, folks you have never even met are there for you, but in a totally un-weird way. If that is such a word.

One thing I HATE about twitter are some of the hashtags that go about, in particular the “boobie Wednesday” one. On Wednesdays, female tweeters are urged to change their avatar to one of them in their underwear, thereby providing cleavage pics and a message to “remember to check for lumps and bumps”. Now, I'm sure it is meant to help people and was generated with the best of intentions, but I have always disliked this idea. I have never taken part (and never will) and I personally see it as a voyeuristic pleasure for the men on twitter to make sleazy comments at the avatar they see. It happens that way on my Timeline with those who participate anyway. Urgh!!! It all seems fairly........weird. I don't mean to offend any of my followers who DO take part, but that is just how I see it.

Several months ago I was nursing in a hospital ward where a group of women who had breast cancer were staying. Most had had, or were having, mastectomies. On faffing around the bay, I overheard them swapping twitter addresses. One of them said “Oh but I don't go on twitter on Wednesdays. It's all pictures of other people's perfect boobs who haven't an idea what it is like to have had cancer or disfiguring surgery to them”. There followed a conversation about this, which made me realise that to people actually going through breast cancer, this concept is very distasteful.

Many of you know that I was diagnosed with breast cancer two days ago, a complication that has arisen from the radiotherapy I got for my first lot of Hodgkins 19 years ago. I thought I was coping fine. I am a coper in life and a positive person. Until I went on Twitter today. It's my fault, I should have remembered that it was “that” day, but I didn't. First thing I see are cleavages on my timeline with people doing the “check for lumps and bumps” thing. Suddenly I know EXACTLY how that group of patients felt. I don't have any lumps or bumps. I am feeling probably better than I have for years. But I apparently have breast cancer and am now facing surgery – complicated by the fact that I cannot have radiotherapy, as I have had it before. I am going to be “disfigured”. I am feeling that these posts on Twitter are “rubbing my face in it”, as the saying goes. I don't want to have to boycott Twitter, as so many of my followers are now good friends, and have given me so much encouragement and support – something I am going to need over the next few weeks. I simply feel there is a better way to promote checking for ALL kinds of cancer – not using sleazy avatars of apparently “perfect” chests, and “pretty” lingerie for a start. About 30% of females presenting with breast cancer are asymptomatic anyway (cancer research UK statistic) whose cancer is only spotted by screening (as in my case). Maybe it would be more appropriate for those wishing to highlight self-checks and cancers, to re-think how they "rebrand" this.

Just a thought.