Well, that’s that then!

So many times have I contemplated beginning a blog, but for some reason an excuse always got in the way of me and the keyboard. So I saved everything up for one massive brain-dump. And here it is. I’d like to say it was worth waiting for, but in all reality it’s just my observations of the rollercoaster that has been the past 18 months of my life, with cancer. As I sit here, only marginally distracted by today’s episode of Neighbours, I think I am hoping for a cathartic experience … I am approaching the end of my treatment. According to my Oncologist (Miss Marple) I am “cured”. Hmmm. The realisation of the end of 18 months of intense treatment and medical attention is daunting. The safety net is removed, and I am now back in the hands of fate. I hope she is kind. I will start with the lows. • The diagnosis. From the consultant’s “I’m totally confident it’s nothing untoward, but it would be negligent of me not to do a biopsy” (do they tell everyone this? I think so …), to the letter arriving Saturday morning from a totally different consultant/hospital asking to see me Monday morning. Cos then you know. • Waiting for results. Nothing to add, we all know. • The results – the bad. Grade 3, hormone negative. Need chemo, radio and herceptin. • The first chemo session. Panic attack time. What did I expect? Not to have a bloody panic attack that’s for sure. Short of hubby tying me to the chair – I’m outta there! Lorazepam is needed for the next 4 chemo’s. • Sickness. Boy, was I sick, sick, sick. Yuck. Can cope with physical pain (mostly), but hate feeling sick. Tried everything. Just unlucky I guess. Fortunately only had it for 3 cycles, though once it lasted 10 days! • Losing my hair – the bad. I had long hair, which I had had chopped into a “Pob” just before chemo. It promptly fell out on the bathroom floor of a posh hotel in Bath. Hubby shaved my head that same evening. • The third chemo session – the bad. The tears began whilst soaking the good hand ready for the cannula. Knowing I was going to be sick (again), and with seemingly such a long way still to go … • The end of each stage of treatment. It’s that safety net thing again. Do you know, I think there may in fact be more highs? Maybe I am a “glass half full” person after all: • Finding a cyst. I felt the cyst, not the lump. Without the cyst, when would I have discovered the lump? • Surgery. WTF is she talking about? surgery, a high? Well, in my case it was. According to Miss Marple I “had a good operation”. I definitely had a great consultant … a woman (there’s a theme here). Partial mastectomy, immediate recon, lymph node removal, all through one cut. Impressive. Her care and attention meant I even avoided a blood transfusion (I had lots of iron instead). • The results – the good. Whilst having a routine aspiration of the haematoma on my back, my consultant told me verbally that my results were “fine”. She was not due to see me formally until the following Tuesday, but she wanted me to “have a good bank holiday weekend”. Of course, at that stage I still didn’t appreciate entirely what “fine” meant. I subsequently learnt it meant a cleanly excised 19mm tumour and 12 clear nodes. • Losing my hair – the good. Yes, there is a high. The fact it fell out where it did, and husband & I spent ages mopping it up into a bag that we could discreetly remove from the hotel is one of my favourite “cancer” stories! • The third chemo session – the good. Whilst I was sobbing in the bathroom, one of my nurses was sobbing in my treatment room (she had just lost a patient). We consoled each other and have been great friends ever since. • Radiotherapy. I didn’t really have any problems with rt, but this is another one of my fave anecdotes. The radiographers (or whatever they’re called) spend hours lining you up with the lasers, making the most minute adjustments, so that they can accurately target the radio waves. Then promptly leg it as quickly as possible from the room! WTF!! If they’re that accurate, why the need to have a brick wall between them and you?? • Herceptin. Thank God for Herceptin, being hormone negative it was my only option, and I am so very grateful that I have had it. • Race for Life. Being able to run again and completing the Race for Life has been so very important, even if I did have to sell my bottom in the process. But I also raised over £7000 for Cancer Research. • The love and support I have received from my family and friends, including all my very special “What Now? friends”. Without cancer, I wouldn’t have you. Gawd I’m starting to gush now so time to call it a day. I’ve probably missed loads out, but I need to keep something back for the book (lol). Whilst I’ve been going through my treatment, I have lost a number of friends to cancer, and this blog is dedicated to them: Budgie, Alison, Ken, Phil, and especially Susan. I first met Susan at one of my chemo sessions (we were having the same treatment), she had her 9 month old baby Lucy with her. Lucy and I shared a chocolate muffin. We then met-up again at radiotherapy, we joked because she would be finished by Christmas, and I had to go in over Christmas and New Year. I told her at least she would be able to have a good Christmas! I really hope she did, because she tragically died shortly after. Lucy was just walking. Finally, as Ferris Bueller once said “life moves pretty fast, if you don’t stop and take a look around once in a while, you might miss it!” Thanks for indulging me. xxx