Last Saturday I spent a lovely afternoon with five amazing women that I would never have met if I hadn't had breast cancer. Actually, over the past year, there are a lot of lovely moments I would not have had if I hadn't had cancer.
The last year has been scary, the treatment has been unpleasant but I have been genuinely touched by the kindness and compassion I've received from everyone I know, quite literally, everyone. So I am dedicating this blog to all those people. It might make you want to puke in places, but hey, it's the season of goodwill so I'm spreading some, I am learning from first hand experience that life is too short to leave these things unsaid!
After I was diagnosed, I took four days off work to get my head around things and then went back to work full time until I started chemo a few weeks later. I'm naturally one of those people who gets stuck for words in difficult situations, I wouldn't have had a clue what to say to me when I turned up on that Monday so I could understand that I might have some awkward encounters, but there were none. Everyone in my office was so kind and supportive, I couldn't have asked for a more friendly working environment for those few weeks. When I returned to work after treatment I had to have a chat with an occupational health nurse, she warned me that my colleagues might have a difficult time knowing how to talk to me about my illness or treatment, so I had to set her straight and explain that I had already been back in work after my diagnosis and that everyone had been fine and really supportive. Maybe it's a generational thing? Perhaps my generation are more honest, open and compassionate?
A big thankyou to the people at work who complimented me on my hair, without knowing it was a wig, and then those who complimented me on my haircut without knowing I had just stopped wearing my wig! This has led to some very funny moments, and in all honesty I would be more offended if nobody noticed.
Right after my diagnosis when I was feeling my most scared was the time when I felt most loved, my family were so supportive, all of my best friends got in touch to say how much they cared. My best friend Helen couldn't do enough for me. I have read accounts of other people who go through a cancer diagnosis where they lose touch with some friends who find it difficult to deal with the situation. Again, it's not something I can identify with, none of my friends have treated me like this. If anything, I have more friends and am closer to some people than I was before cancer.
Half way through my treatment I found out about a Facebook group specifically for younger women with a breast cancer diagnosis. This has been my lifeline, and the most unexpectedly awesome thing to come from this horrible experience. Having cancer and treatment when you're young(ish) can be such an isolating experience, but since I've been a member of YBCN I've never felt isolated. We chat, ask questions, offer advice and support, it's brilliant. When I chat about my cancer experience to people I'll often refer to 'other women'.... These are the other younger women on YBCN, whose posts I read every day. It helps to know the way I feel and the way I have approached my treatment are completely normal. I'm spending New Year's Eve with some lovely people I've met through YBCN, a fitting end to 2014!
It was reading the stories of others online that inspired me to start writing this blog, which in itself has been such a lovely, positive experience. Something I never imagined I would be doing before I had cancer.
I'm looking forward to 2015, I've not had a wobble over buying a new diary this time. There are plenty more blogs to come, as much as I'd love to put cancer behind me forever I'm waiting on results of my genetics test and I need to have another operation for reconstruction at some point soon.
But in the meantime, Happy New Year and thank you xxxx
Sunday 28 December 2014
Saturday 13 December 2014
Bah humbug?
This is my Christmas message, for anyone who is feeling a bit bah-humbug! Thanks to the NHS and medical science I am lucky enough to be sat here writing my blog tonight, about to go for dinner with my friends, but this time last year it was a different story, I had a crap Christmas.
On 13th December 2013 I was in hospital, I had already been there for two days and ended up being there for six. A week after my first chemo I had a temperature spike in the night and had to go to A&E . I was given IV antibiotics to combat any possible infection, but I developed an allergic reaction to these and had to be kept in. Then my white blood cell count plummeted and I wasn't allowed to be discharged until my levels were safe again, I was given daily injections to boost them. I had another temperature spike again on Saturday afternoon so they gave me a different type of antibiotic, thankfully this one worked and I started to feel better.
I was scared, this was only one week into four months of chemo and things had already gone tits up. I was lonely, I'd never been in hospital for a long period before and visiting hours just felt far too short, I had no phone reception, but thank goodness I had a TV. I was in isolation as my immune system was so vulnerable, I couldn't even leave my room for a walk about.
I wanted to call this blog 'the one where I watch X factor in hospital wearing an adult nappy' this episode was one of the moments of the last year that was so surreal it was funny. I hope some of you see the funny side? On my second night in hospital I had to beg a nurse for an 'adult nappy', the allergic reaction I had to the antibiotics had such a bad effect on my digestive system that I had to deploy extra reinforcement. I called it an adult nappy, it was really just a very big incontinence pad. It was a lifesaver, they gave me several and I took one home which I keep in a drawer for posterity. So I sat in my hospital bed on my own that evening, enjoying the X factor final, over the moon about my nappy.
Once I was discharged I was paranoid about getting another infection and having to go back into hospital, so I hardly left the house, that was where I stayed until my next chemo on Boxing Day...house bound. No carol service, no parties, no German markets, no ice skating, no shopping for presents. On Christmas day I couldn't even join my family for dinner because my brother in law's Dad was coming and he and a cold, it was too risky for me to be exposed to germs. I ate dinner on my lap in front of the TV with my little sister. It was rubbish, I love Christmas and I couldn't get involved in any of the fun stuff....oh, and my hair had just fallen out!
So if you're having a bit of a moan about battling through the crowds to do Christmas shopping, or having to listen to Slade for the fiftieth time, just take a minute to think, things could be worse.....you could be stuck in hospital wearing an adult nappy!
Merry Christmas
On 13th December 2013 I was in hospital, I had already been there for two days and ended up being there for six. A week after my first chemo I had a temperature spike in the night and had to go to A&E . I was given IV antibiotics to combat any possible infection, but I developed an allergic reaction to these and had to be kept in. Then my white blood cell count plummeted and I wasn't allowed to be discharged until my levels were safe again, I was given daily injections to boost them. I had another temperature spike again on Saturday afternoon so they gave me a different type of antibiotic, thankfully this one worked and I started to feel better.
I was scared, this was only one week into four months of chemo and things had already gone tits up. I was lonely, I'd never been in hospital for a long period before and visiting hours just felt far too short, I had no phone reception, but thank goodness I had a TV. I was in isolation as my immune system was so vulnerable, I couldn't even leave my room for a walk about.
I wanted to call this blog 'the one where I watch X factor in hospital wearing an adult nappy' this episode was one of the moments of the last year that was so surreal it was funny. I hope some of you see the funny side? On my second night in hospital I had to beg a nurse for an 'adult nappy', the allergic reaction I had to the antibiotics had such a bad effect on my digestive system that I had to deploy extra reinforcement. I called it an adult nappy, it was really just a very big incontinence pad. It was a lifesaver, they gave me several and I took one home which I keep in a drawer for posterity. So I sat in my hospital bed on my own that evening, enjoying the X factor final, over the moon about my nappy.
Once I was discharged I was paranoid about getting another infection and having to go back into hospital, so I hardly left the house, that was where I stayed until my next chemo on Boxing Day...house bound. No carol service, no parties, no German markets, no ice skating, no shopping for presents. On Christmas day I couldn't even join my family for dinner because my brother in law's Dad was coming and he and a cold, it was too risky for me to be exposed to germs. I ate dinner on my lap in front of the TV with my little sister. It was rubbish, I love Christmas and I couldn't get involved in any of the fun stuff....oh, and my hair had just fallen out!
So if you're having a bit of a moan about battling through the crowds to do Christmas shopping, or having to listen to Slade for the fiftieth time, just take a minute to think, things could be worse.....you could be stuck in hospital wearing an adult nappy!
Merry Christmas
Monday 8 December 2014
Moving on
I cycled into town today to do some shopping, it's bloody freezing and my hands turned to ice because I forgot to wear gloves, but life is too short to be spent sitting in a queue for the car park and I had a very important mission; buying a dress for my work Christmas party! This time last year I had just started chemo and I had to cancel my ticket to the party, this made me sad. So this year I'll be there, dancing around like an idiot with some reindeer antlers on my head, mine sweeping bottles of beer from the tables... The significance of these moments is huge for me, however inconsequential the occasion, if it makes me feel alive, then it brings a great big smile to my face. Each small life affirming moment like this is a poke in the eye to cancer, seeing as it's the party season, I've borrowed some lyrics from Elton! Kind of says it all...
I've been so busy recently I've not had as much time as I'd like to keep writing the blogs, I love being busy, I love making plans. I'm single, I don't have kids, I love spending time with my friends and family, travelling up and down the country, seeing people, staying over, staying out late, having a few drinks, eating nice food, going to concerts, exhibitions. This was what I missed most during treatment, your life goes on hold, you press pause for six months and resign yourself to missing out on things, I HATED missing out. One of the first things I had to do after being diagnosed was cancel the flights I had booked to go to South Africa with my sister. We had planned to go the following February but I would still be in the middle of chemo so a trip abroad was out of the question. (Although I did buy a fancy iPad with the money I got back...every cloud and all that). What I felt before I started treatment was a kind of grief, a sadness for the life I thought I was leaving behind, this was one of the times when I felt my most sad and hopeless. At this stage, there were still so many unknowns about treatment, you aren't sure exactly when you're going to come out the other side.
I've already written about how my surgery was a breeze, but the chemo exhausts you, physically and mentally, your brain is dulled, you lose motivation to even get dressed in the morning, everything in your life is dimmed or muffled. It's hard to get joy from the things you used to love, I'd meet with friends and not have a lot to talk about except for treatment, side effects and even more treatment. I didn't enjoy reading, or watching films, I felt like an outsider looking in at people getting on with their 'normal' lives. You lose a lot of confidence, you look different, you feel different, you're worried that you might die. Sometimes you spend hours just staring into space without the energy to do anything. For me it was the side of treatment I least expected, that you lose a sense of who you used to be. Being a cancer patient is your new identity, it's what takes over your diary and your brain.
So imagine the relief when it's finally all over, it starts small, because you still don't feel quite like your old self, but it happens slowly and gets better and better as the weeks go by. After months of hardcore treatment and regular hospital visits you are more or less left to your own devices to pick up the pieces again, I wasn't sure how I was going to cope, so I just started making plans. I was determined to get back to work as soon as I could, I work with some lovely people and I genuinely enjoy what I do. I wanted to be normal, to drive in rush hour traffic, to be part of the real world again. I had to have a chat with the occupational health nurse before I went back to work, she wasn't used to dealing with young people with cancer, I told her I had my surgery a month before and she was shocked, when I told her it was in April, she assumed I meant the previous year! I started off working just mornings for a couple of weeks and then started back full time. I was two months post chemo and one month post op, this was quick but it felt right and in hindsight it was the best thing I ever did. I wanted to put the past six months behind me as quickly as I could, and sometimes it all felt like it had happened to someone else.
I still had radiotherapy to tick off the list and this was more of an inconvenience than anything else. It required going to the hospital every weekday for four weeks to get zapped by a machine for five minutes, totally dull. They were nice enough to work some appointments around my social engagements....like my friend's hen weekend in Brighton, being in the middle of radiotherapy didn't stop me from dressing up as a mermaid and dancing in a nightclub until the small hours. Radiotherapy generally has pretty minor side effects, it can make you tired, but I never really noticed, compared to what I had experienced on chemo, this was so easy. So, on 19th August 2014 after 4 weeks of 'zapping' I was officially signed off from Oncology and they booked me in for an annual check up in 2015.
When you finish treatment and you're still in one piece it feels amazing, like you've dodged a bullet. The feeling of relief is similar to when you have a bad dream that you wake up to realise isn't true. You have 'that Friday feeling' every day of the week. The old sayings are totally true, I have becoming a walking, talking cliche... I wake up every morning glad to be alive, feel the sun on my face and the wind in my (very short) hair.
If I could go back in time and visit the me from last year, who was just starting chemo and terrified, I would tell her that she's going to be OK actually and she's going to be a lot lot stronger than she ever thought she could be, and that it will finish sooner than she thinks and she's going to look back on it all and feel very proud of how she coped.
This is me moving on, watching Kasabian in Leicester in June with my lovely friend Hannah and in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago with Rich; my brother in law. What a difference six months and some hair dye makes!!
Don't you know I'm still standing better than I ever did
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.......
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.......
I'm still standing yeah yeah yeah
I'm still standing yeah yeah yeah
I'm still standing yeah yeah yeah
I've been so busy recently I've not had as much time as I'd like to keep writing the blogs, I love being busy, I love making plans. I'm single, I don't have kids, I love spending time with my friends and family, travelling up and down the country, seeing people, staying over, staying out late, having a few drinks, eating nice food, going to concerts, exhibitions. This was what I missed most during treatment, your life goes on hold, you press pause for six months and resign yourself to missing out on things, I HATED missing out. One of the first things I had to do after being diagnosed was cancel the flights I had booked to go to South Africa with my sister. We had planned to go the following February but I would still be in the middle of chemo so a trip abroad was out of the question. (Although I did buy a fancy iPad with the money I got back...every cloud and all that). What I felt before I started treatment was a kind of grief, a sadness for the life I thought I was leaving behind, this was one of the times when I felt my most sad and hopeless. At this stage, there were still so many unknowns about treatment, you aren't sure exactly when you're going to come out the other side.
I've already written about how my surgery was a breeze, but the chemo exhausts you, physically and mentally, your brain is dulled, you lose motivation to even get dressed in the morning, everything in your life is dimmed or muffled. It's hard to get joy from the things you used to love, I'd meet with friends and not have a lot to talk about except for treatment, side effects and even more treatment. I didn't enjoy reading, or watching films, I felt like an outsider looking in at people getting on with their 'normal' lives. You lose a lot of confidence, you look different, you feel different, you're worried that you might die. Sometimes you spend hours just staring into space without the energy to do anything. For me it was the side of treatment I least expected, that you lose a sense of who you used to be. Being a cancer patient is your new identity, it's what takes over your diary and your brain.
So imagine the relief when it's finally all over, it starts small, because you still don't feel quite like your old self, but it happens slowly and gets better and better as the weeks go by. After months of hardcore treatment and regular hospital visits you are more or less left to your own devices to pick up the pieces again, I wasn't sure how I was going to cope, so I just started making plans. I was determined to get back to work as soon as I could, I work with some lovely people and I genuinely enjoy what I do. I wanted to be normal, to drive in rush hour traffic, to be part of the real world again. I had to have a chat with the occupational health nurse before I went back to work, she wasn't used to dealing with young people with cancer, I told her I had my surgery a month before and she was shocked, when I told her it was in April, she assumed I meant the previous year! I started off working just mornings for a couple of weeks and then started back full time. I was two months post chemo and one month post op, this was quick but it felt right and in hindsight it was the best thing I ever did. I wanted to put the past six months behind me as quickly as I could, and sometimes it all felt like it had happened to someone else.
I still had radiotherapy to tick off the list and this was more of an inconvenience than anything else. It required going to the hospital every weekday for four weeks to get zapped by a machine for five minutes, totally dull. They were nice enough to work some appointments around my social engagements....like my friend's hen weekend in Brighton, being in the middle of radiotherapy didn't stop me from dressing up as a mermaid and dancing in a nightclub until the small hours. Radiotherapy generally has pretty minor side effects, it can make you tired, but I never really noticed, compared to what I had experienced on chemo, this was so easy. So, on 19th August 2014 after 4 weeks of 'zapping' I was officially signed off from Oncology and they booked me in for an annual check up in 2015.
When you finish treatment and you're still in one piece it feels amazing, like you've dodged a bullet. The feeling of relief is similar to when you have a bad dream that you wake up to realise isn't true. You have 'that Friday feeling' every day of the week. The old sayings are totally true, I have becoming a walking, talking cliche... I wake up every morning glad to be alive, feel the sun on my face and the wind in my (very short) hair.
If I could go back in time and visit the me from last year, who was just starting chemo and terrified, I would tell her that she's going to be OK actually and she's going to be a lot lot stronger than she ever thought she could be, and that it will finish sooner than she thinks and she's going to look back on it all and feel very proud of how she coped.
This is me moving on, watching Kasabian in Leicester in June with my lovely friend Hannah and in Birmingham a couple of weeks ago with Rich; my brother in law. What a difference six months and some hair dye makes!!
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