Dealing with Cancer – Part 3 – the ‘fatberg’


Above: ‘the fatberg’ found in a London sewer in 2018.

No, you have not missed Part 2.  Part 1B of my cancer journey was dealt with in 2018. 95% of it as it turns out. After surgery and radiotherapy I was given a 5% chance of it re-occurring within 5 years. So, with most of my female ‘bits’ removed, on I went… to pink stiffs (see previous post on sexual healing) and pelvic floor exercisers.

Now it’s 2019 and here I go again, back on the merry go round of tests, scans and whatever. I say whatever, because as of yet all I know is I have what looks like a ‘fatberg’ in my colon – it was immediately diagnosed as a malignant cancer tumour. It might not be the 5% – it could be something new. Ouch!  (Ouch is a good word – a hint to the wise – do not agree to a colonoscopy without sedation)

As for the liquid enema you have to take before a colonoscopy – well I found lacing it with orange cordial and matching it gulp to gulp with lemon cordial followed by a hard fruit sweet in between attempts worked for me. It was not nice to drink but not as obnoxious as other people said they had found it.

The first batch did not work for me in the 2 hour window of rest before the second batch – I was about 2/3rds of the way into second batch when my bum exploded. It lasted about 8 hours, so take no notice of the guidelines the NHS give you. I abandoned the last glassful as I had lost the will to live by then and I was still puffing yellow smoke when I got to the hospital for the tests at lunchtime.

Hint – buy some big sanitary pads – you might need one before the colonoscopy and afterwards as well, as they fill you full of air and lubricant and there might be detritus from biopsies and tattoos (they marked the tumour with black ink of some kind).

Christies told me last year that the only way we would know if I had cancer again was if I began to bleed as scans and x rays would not show it up. Well I haven’t bled, but have been feeling rotten and not wanting to eat. I’ve done the Googling and so I know what I’m dealing with:

I had three of the symptoms:

  • feeling that you haven’t emptied your bowel properly after you poo
  • unexplained tiredness, dizziness or breathlessness
  • a lower than normal level of red blood cells (anaemia)

Fortunately I have a pro-active GP and she immediately fast tracked me for camera up and down investigations. 

I also have a tender spot on my right side and was beginning to wonder if my appendix was grumbling. Turns out the ‘fatberg’ is sat right above it – which explains why my trouser waistbands had started to be uncomfortable – even though I have lost a fair amount of weight this last six months, they were pressing down on the tumour. I have switched to wearing leggings temporarily for comfort – not the most elegant of things to put on little fat knobbly 65 year old legs, but needs must.

So there you have it – a new adventure for 2019. At least this time I know how the system works. I will keep you posted.


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Sexual Healing on the NHS

WARNING: Adult Content and explicit discussion

From my previous post, you will have gathered that I am undergoing treatment for cancer. The next stage is internal radiotherapy starting next week and then, four weeks after the treatment ends… well the fun bit starts. At least I think it will be fun, because I am already giggling about it with my close friends.

So… IMG_3491

A new pair of NHS glasses perhaps?

No… IMG_3492

(Think 1950’s style rigid pink plastic)

Last week I was first introduced to the term ‘rehabilitative vaginal dilation’.  Necessary to be done four weeks after the radiotherapy treatment, every day at first, then at least twice a week – forever(!!!) in order to keep the vagina from shrivelling.


The NHS has kindly supplied the tools for me to do this. Like Russian doll, they all fit neatly inside each other for storage in their purple plastic box. Apparently you start with the smallest one and work up to the biggest one.

Cue gales of laughter at the point where I unpacked them, especially when the girls saw them. The boys? Well there were different reactions from them, from a blush and an uncomfortable shift in the chair, to a surreptitious feel followed by a sly smile to himself, confident I presume that his willy is bigger than the biggest one.


The various parts screw together for ease of use (and no I could not keep a straight face as I typed that!) The NHS also supply a pdf of detailed instructions on how to use them.

(They also recommend particular creams to keep the whole process moist – more about that in another blog perhaps at a later date).

A recent and hilarious conversation with a gyni practitioner led her to suggest to me that some women find they prefer a vibrator to the dilator once they have been able to use the biggest pink ‘stiff’ (well what else would you call it?) and she showed me the one that they would like to prescribe on the NHS as a follow on …




Lovely, but… this is most popular vibrator in the UK…


the Rampant Rabbit and if I do have to use something for the rest of my life, then I think that something like this is closest in size and shape to what would suit me, although I am not at all sure about the protrusion or the colour of this model!

But, and here’s where the laughter stops, I find all this very mechanical and it makes me very sad to think that I might have reached the end of intimate passion so soon.

There are women over 60 however who have other views…

One of my friends enquired if I had written the article, but no, although is easier in many ways not to put yourself into a relationship again, for myself, I would still prefer a compatible man  to share my remaining years with.

Living with cancer, especially now at my age, where there is generally a higher percentage of women left alive compared to men (and it’s a percentage which increases as you get older),  I presume it is going to be even more difficult to achieve… but I live in hope (literally as well as figuratively).




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Dealing with Cancer – Part 1B

No, you have not missed a blog, Part 1A took place 30 years ago, long before blogs were even thought of!

My abiding memory from that time is of me standing in the freezing cold at the bus stop outside Fairfield hospital, after being told I had pre-cancerous cells in my cervix that needed urgent treatment. All I could think about was how I was going to tell my family. We had not long since buried Dad after what had been a very difficult year for us all.

In the end I played the whole thing down, got on with it, had the necessary fairly minor treatment at North Manchester and for the next 30 years breathed a sigh of relief every time the result from my annual smear test proved to be clear. The best thing to come out of that situation was my later involvement in establishing the wonderful Bury Cancer Support Centre.

Roll forward 30 years and the dreaded ‘C’ word is back in my life, only this time it’s different. This time here is another dreaded ‘C’ word attached – ‘Christie’s’, because this cancer is a stage 1B endometrial  The greater part of my reproductive organs have been removed by a crack team at St Mary’s who have left me with little more than an inch long ‘x’ on my belly. Now I am facing two lots of brachytherapy treatment that will apparently reduce the chance of the cancer returning from 20% to less than 5%.

It’s not a terminal cancer, the prognosis is good, but my newly gained retirement was hijacked on day one and so I am somewhat ‘lost’ at the moment. If it were not for the input from Macmillan, plus the love that surrounds and supports me from friends and family, I think I would be on the floor. Here I am stuck at home, unable to do much of anything except wait and ask other people for help and I am not much good at either of those. Despite recovering well so far (the creative brain cells are beginning to kick in again), I am utterly brassed off by the shambles that passes for ‘more efficient provision of services’ in the Pennine Acute Hospital Trust. Efficient for whom? Certainly not for patients or indeed the medical staff.

Some examples:

Transport: During this cancer journey, I have had to visit four different hospitals, nine times so far and only one hospital is located within an hour of my home either by car or public transport.  As a single pensioner living alone, it’s a big ask for someone to do a 30 mile round trip into Manchester City Centre or to Oldham to arrive at 8am or even at anytime on a weekday.

Google maps tells you the required journeys are quicker by pubic transport, which is so unreliable that it cannot be trusted to get you there on time (or even at all) especially when you face the two or three changes of bus and tram necessary to do it. Ambulance transport is apparently so scarcely available nowadays that only the severely disadvantaged can get a booking, so a big thank you to wonderful friends and family who have rallied round to help me get about in relative comfort.

Record Keeping: I have completed umpteen different forms with umpteen nursing staff, all requiring the same information on umpteen almost identical forms. I have given my consent umpteen times for my data to be shared for medical purposes – why isn’t it being done? Why can the latest batch of staff looking after me only see six months medical notes onscreen – and then only if they have been scanned in by the time I get in front of them? What the hell are the computer records for if not to inform their decision-making? I keep a file of my copy of letters from a hospital to my GP stretching back several years and yes – you have guessed it – I am often asked if a photocopy can be taken for the records!

Organisational issues: I have already had a surgery cancelled the evening before it was due to happen – I was informed of this by a letter hand delivered to my home by a taxi driver!  Then informed of the re-scheduling two days later – into a completely different hospital using the same method of delivery. How can that be considered efficient? Did anyone consider how difficult it might be for me to get both transport and care cancelled and then organised again a second time at such short notice?

Christie’s: Why are consent interviews done at Oldham whilst counselling and pre-ops are done at Manchester? Why could there not be one day of outpatient appointments in one place and not three days in two different places?

Staff: Making decisions on their feet on the front line – a missing pre-op file from North Manchester meant my checks and tests had to be redone just as I was going into theatre in Oldham. It made me miss my slot for surgery, so I lay for half an hour in the theatre arrivals office, watching a nursing sister shuffle post-it notes on her desk rather than rely solely on the on-screen booking system, which had been overtaken by three emergencys. Theatre staff were constantly coming in to ask her what theatre, which patient and being sent away with the appropriate note to confirm what they should be doing, to whom and where.

It broke my heart to see a nurse at Oldham in tears after talking to a young cancer patient who was being sent home, her cone biopsy op cancelled AFTER she had already been prepped for theatre, due to those same emergencies taking priority. Can’t repeat what her husband said when he arrived to collect her later that day. I understand the issues, but how dare NHS put them through that mental anguish.

I could go on – about the poor hygiene, health & safety and staff well-being issues that I have sat and observed since January – but I won’t. It isn’t just about a lack of investment in the NHS causing problems – it’s about common sense methods of organisation being sadly lacking. No wonder it’s in a mess.

All this whilst I am dealing with cancer. Good job I am a strong and resourceful woman.

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The Gathering Fields

This week and next, I am on a self-imposed retreat from normal life (and the internet) in order to get on with my much neglected writing projects. The view and the sounds from my temporary desk at the Gathering Fields are very relaxing and so snoozes are obligatory… IMG_3284

but what’s more, I am in good company, courtesy of the Northern School, and the very first residential internationally certificated Permaculture Course (IPC) course that has been run in this inspiring place.


Despite the very comfortable training facilities, we are on a working livestock farm and for me, it has been interesting to revisit a way of life that I enjoyed in my teens and to observe the interaction of the course participants with the farming way of life.

Orientation on day one was as much about the ‘camp rules’ i.e. not getting in the way of day-to-day farm life and respecting the private lives of the people who live here, as it was about anchoring ourselves in the upland environment of the Trough of Bowland.


But there are some local residents that just cannot be avoided… Rosie and Posie for instance…IMG_3365

These two friendly saddlebacks are family pets, not designed for the dinner table and when out and about on their daily walk are quite happy to stop and socialise with visitors.



I have been observing some other interesting sights during the day… working dogs that happily surf a quad bike into the fields for example…


The views…IMG_3432.JPG







especially from the fire pit gathering place from where we had all hoped to see the Northern Lights this last week…


Unfortunately, although the evenings started off rather promisingly with clear skies behind the pines, the inclement weather let us down outside and the distant lights of ‘Frackpool’ (formerly known as Blackpool) were the best on offer.










Inside, it was a different story, with the course going swimmingly and the participants soon getting to grips with the rudiments of permaculture design, yesterday sharing their thoughts with me, in a ‘resilience session’ – i.e. the guest course leader for the day got held up and so I held the fort with a ‘on the hoof’ creative engagement session until she arrived… IMG_3385.JPG

Then, as things got back to the plan for the day…IMG_3375.JPG







on my way back to my hidey hole, I was gifted a little treat from Mother Nature…


Can’t wait to see what the next week brings, hopefully a little more sunshine and a little less rain!



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Boots on the Ground

14054150_1071693506212151_6188641893629370659_nYesterday I had the privilege of being able to take part in the anti-fracking demonstration at Preston New Road in Lancashire as part of a month of rolling protest organised by the Reclaim the Power group. I have no pictures for the day as I don’t have permission to show the people that were there.

This what the protest is against:


The development of the first of thousands of fracking wells that are planned for Lancashire and beyond by Cuadrilla.

In view of the violence reports that have been pictured on social media recently. I was not quite sure what to expect when I arrived. So what did I experience?

First of all there were the locals. Ordinary people going to extraordinary lengths to stop mindless development, ‘the scraping of the bottom of the barrel of fossil fuels’ as I heard it so eloquently put.

The message from the site is very clear:  NOT HERE, NOT ANYWHERE.

Most locals were active all day brandishing banners and signs to attract the attention of passing motorists. They come in their lunch breaks, after work, weekends, all day every day, whenever they can. With children, with friends, with passion.  There were elderly and disabled people, housewives, young mothers, local councillors, all resting when necessary in garden chairs at the side of the road beneath yet more banners of protest, not only from themselves, but from environmental protest groups and other supportive organisations too numerous to mention.

Secondly, the colourful and tired looking ‘hands on’ activists of all ages who have come to support the locals, some of them camped at the road edge by a tower made of pallets and scaffolding poles. On the top of it a relay of young men with binoculars, are watching what is happening on the fracking site and giving advance warning of vehicles approaching to enter the site so that people can rally to the gates and confront the situation with direct action.

They are supported by an array of volunteers giving out food, working as legal observers, filming, making red felt roses to sell to raise funds, handing out free information on what to do if you got assaulted or arrested, collecting up litter and generally making a peaceful nuisance of themselves with police and security when necessary (They have also established a well-run support camp further down the road, but I did not get that far).

All of them are there for the long haul, continually putting themselves at known risk of violence from over zealous security guards/ police officers and potential arrest/criminal record for obstructing the gates of the site to prevent work taking place.


The police I saw yesterday were friendly but firm and ignoring the couple of individuals who seemed intent on goading them – ‘not in our name’ was the view of most other people I spoke to.  I oserved only non-violent handling of protestors who heckled workers and slow walked to delay vehicles, but the videos on Facebook tell a different story about confrontations that had taken place earlier.

To date, despite the Tories overruling Lancashire County council, who had banned fracking, an ongoing court case means Cuadrilla do not yet have permission to frack at Preston New Road. They seem to be very certain that they will get it and have just applied to change what they do there

There is a public consultation about the proposed changes in place until 3rd August 

I would encourage you all to take part in it





This could be the future if we fail to stop this nonsense:




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We have been hearing for a while how technology is going to take jobs and a recent piece I read somewhere predicted that most of the jobs due to disappear are the ‘middle skill’ jobs and that they would be gone within the next twenty years. This prediction was brought to life this weekend when I visited the Ideal Home Show in Manchester.

First of all, the show was a big disappointment for me. I was very glad I had a free ticket courtesy of Martin’s money page. From George Clark’s revolving home that didn’t; to the overwhelming use of grey in furnishings, fittings and textiles; to the preponderance of exhibitors selling enhanced personal image  products – cosmetic surgery techniques, skin care products and some things that disturbed me so much that I have coined the word ‘robotherapy’ to cover them.

Now I own a wonderful bed. It has Niagara massage function built into it, and it lifts up at both ends to provide support when necessary.  I use it every day and along with an infrared lamp, the two together help with the pain and keep me on my feet.  (I also have regular body massages in order to keep my muscles loose.) So I can honestly say that I don’t have an issue with using technology for health. However, seeing two rows of people sat back to back with plastic gags in their mouths with wires attached is a different matter. It was like looking at something out of a sci-fi film.

img_0129.jpgServiced by two girls in white (who could have almost been robots), for a special fee of just £39.99 (according to the hastily made hand-made signs over the head of each person) you could have your teeth whitened and there was  massive queue of people waiting to do it. DID ANY OF YOU ASK JUST WHAT CHEMICALS WERE GOING INTO YOUR MOUTH?

I suspect not.

I looked at the website today. The home page is focused on selling you a franchise. Says it all really. Apart from ‘zero peroxide’, there is absolutely no information about what chemicals might be used with the product other than ‘activators’.

So that was the first example of job replacement I saw. The next one disturbed me almost as much.

Another row of people sat in chairs having a Shiatsu neck massage – FROM A MACHINE – which according to the blurb, mimics ‘almost perfectly the pressure and kneading massage of a massage therapist’.  As I said before, I don’t have a problem with massage beds, nor chairs, nor devices at all and I agree that ‘the simple kneading or stroking of your back, legs, sole or neck may ease pain and help with the recovery process after an injury’, but this final quote comes from the blurb for an advanced massage chair.

We are now in the realms of having technology sophisticated enough to replace the tenderness of the human touch. That to me is the really disturbing development and it is already here.


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‘Publish and be damned’*

The Social Media Expert and I have been to the 5th Annual Self Publishing Conference this last weekend…

Organised by Matador, it was a well marshalled and slickly run event, but frustrating in that there were more sessions than we could attend between us, so we only got the benefit of half of what was on offer. Talking to other people over coffee, it became clear quite a few of them had been to previous conferences as well. Many people, like us, had travelled quite a distance to be there and from my personal point of view, a two-day conference giving more options to attend other sessions would have been welcomed. I went along to learn more about the business of self publishing not only as an author, but with a view to adding another string to my business bow. Over the course of the day I discovered that I was not the only one in the audience casting an eye over the potential market. Given that about 20% of the books published in the UK are now self published, it appears there are opportunities to be had.

For me the session on getting copyright clearance for using other people’s work was worth the conference fee alone. (an absolute godsend for anyone wanting to use quotes or extracts from other people’s work in their book). The talk by Alysoun Owen from Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook on how to avoid the pitfalls of vanity publishing was interesting too, if only as a foil for the information I had gathered from the Northern Lights Writer’s Conference, where the emphasis was very much on getting your work into mainstream publishing.  She spoke with honesty and a good measure of authenticity in the two sessions which I attended. I have always had a fairly recent copy of their Writers’ and Artists’ Yearbook kicking around my office as a resource and she certainly added represented her organisation well. Signing up to their website (for free) gives access to a variety of resources for writers.

From listening to both sides of the author publishing industry this last month or so, it has become evident that the mainstream publishers are swiftly adapting to providing services for those authors who can afford to self publish. Matador is just one example of a self publishing company operating under the banner of a mainstream publisher who are now almost always using agents as a filter for writers they will publish themselves.  I have learnt that what is in demand is an author who can be relied on to produce more than a good debut novel. The potential for two, three or even more books is taken into consideration before the first one is accepted.

I have already self published my first book in a very modest way, using a local firm, Rossendale Books who did exactly what I wanted at a reasonable cost. I found them by word of mouth.  During the conference I heard of £1000’s apparently paid out by disappointed audience members to other so-called ‘experts’ that did not deliver. As a writer wanting to get published, you need to be very careful where you spend your money.

Statistics from Nielson this last weekend showed that just 100,000 of the 1.5m books published in English worldwide accounted for almost 90% of the £1.6bn sales. Given that other media providers such as the BBC are dominating popular non-fiction book sales with their ‘celebrity authors’ and that the likes of J K Rowling dominate fiction sales figures, I did sit and wonder about my chances of success as a first time novelist, but I know the first thing to do is to finish the damned book!

*This was the response of Wellington  in 1824 to John Stockdale who threatened to publish anecdotes of Wellington and his mistress Harriette Wilson





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Receiving Darshan

16178453_1099920833467393_8797991161239728001_oParamahamsa Sri Swami Vishwananda

Last week, I was gifted the opportunity to receive darshan from Paramahamsa Sri Swami Vishwananda, a new experience for me, unexpected, as I have recently expressed my reservations about the spiritual integrity of  called modern ‘masters’ and I have no particular interest in eastern philosophy groups, although I do try to live by the buddhist principles in my day-to-day life.

The event I attended in Manchester was extremely well attended and slickly but very subtly choreographed. The atmosphere in the room was charged by singing, chanting of mantras and clapping, which got louder and faster as the time for the ‘master’ to join us got nearer. I loved it, but as a professional who has organised events in the past, I know good marketing when I see it.

However, I maintained an open mind, as I can honestly say I have never met such a healthy looking, joyful and affectionate group of people for a long time. The event was free, with donation envelopes discretely contained within a glossy brochure you were given on entry. You were asked for a donation if you could afford it. There were about 500 people there that night so I reckon they netted between £2-5k based on what I and people around me put in the envelope. Not a lot really to cover the costs of the evening.

Things got very interesting for me. I felt the master arrive in the building, goosebumps and the hairs on the back of my neck standing up told me there was a big uplift in spiritual energy taking place. I had not expected this, but my friend, who was sat facing the door of an ante-room, confirmed that I was correct in my feeling. About half an hour later, his devotees, who were mostly sat at my feet rose almost as one an turned towards the door. I don’t know if it was choreographed or not, but the love and joy on their faces and through their body language was clear to see. The song changed and the energy in the room suddenly sky rocketed.

When the man himself entered the room, he was laughing, singing and clapping with the crowd, his eyes sparkling. He took the time to acknowledge people he knew with a word, or a touch or a hug.  The only words I can find to describe what happened as he passed through the room to an elegantly dressed raised dais was that his energy felt like a caress. I can honestly say that in almost 20 years of spiritual journeying, I have never experienced anything like it before.

From the dais there was a bit of a stage show with kneeling women and flower petals on his feet, he spoke about love for a short while and then it was time for darshan. Because I use a walking stick, I was gently directed to the front of two queues of people all waiting on their knees to see him. I was not asked to kneel, one of the things that I noticed throughout the whole event was the extra loving attention paid to the families with children and elderly people in the room.

When it was my turn I stood before him, as instructed, not touching him, but close enough that he could put his hand on my head and look into my eyes (I was relieved of my glasses by a helper). The healing energy flowing from his hand was cool, like a refreshing shower. His eyes, which earlier were sparkling and full of laughter were deep and grave. I can only liken them to some of the paintings of Christ, so full of love and wisdom. Unexpectedly, he leaned forward and smiled. Then he spoke to me about my spiritual work, leaving me with a lingering question: How did he know? Only one person in that room of 500 people knew me and he had never met the master. I was just a random person in a big queue. I had tears of joy as I returned to my seat. Why? Another question that still lingers.

Did I meet the divine incarnate as is claimed? I am leaving that one open. His message is one of love – love yourself, give and share love with others freely, change the world by love. After observing him for an hour, I have no doubt that he is a master of healing and perhaps a gifted psychic, who is on a loving spiritual path. He did not speak to most people, but when he did, they beamed with joy or with had tears like me.

He had a bad cold that night. The room was freezing. I was well wrapped up with thermals beneath winter clothing, but his devotees in their colourful eastern clothing were shivering. By the time I left, his condition had deteriorated and to be honest, he needed to be tucked up in a warm bed, but I had no doubt he would have continued with the darshan until everyone had received it. My message to him as a fellow healer would be that you need to take care of physical self as well as your spiritual self.

Am I going to become a convert, a devotee? I doubt it. My path so far has been the path of the fool, but I remain open to the universe and what it requires of me. I have been reading eastern philosophy and most certainly will re-read the ‘Autobiography of a Yogi’ which has graced my book shelf for several years now – a gift from the friend who told me about the darshan. As they say. God moves in mysterious ways.

This is a man, apparently not accepted in India, as they say he is too young to be divine incarnate, something usually only achieved after a lifetime of profound study and devotion. I am not sure about that either, but he is touching the lives of thousands of people all over the world with love and helping them to develop an awareness of the divine within and that can not be a bad thing.

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Useful sites about trees

A guide to tree preservation procedures

Click to access 2127793.pdf

Tree Preservation Orders and trees in conservation areas

Campaign in your community

Becoming a Community Guardian in Greater Manchester

Heritage Trees

The Tree Register – with a unique database of over 200,000 of our most notable Trees

Ancient Tree Inventory

Woodland Management

Governance of community forests and woodlands in Great Britain

Trees for Life

Information about the Caledonian Forest ecosystem.

The Druidic Tree Site

The Sacred Grove Planting Project

Tree Care info: Finding an aborist

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Is Anybody Listening?

Is anybody listening?

We cannot go back and fix the planet

100 months have been and gone

It’s only getting worse

More smog

More rain

More drought

More wind

Is there anybody listening?

Less bees

Less trees

Less soil

Less air

Is anybody listening?

No this

No that



Is there anybody listening?

This time it’s not the survival of the fittest

It’s survival of the one percent

The bad, the liars and the greedy

Are writing the script

For future life on earth

The rest of you are not listening



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