On to chemotherapy, I wasn’t sure what to expect. With my mother-in-law also having cancer (formerly breast cancer that has since returned in the bones) I knew that the sickness wouldn’t hit me straight away but tends to hit a day or so later. I also knew that the sickness was cumulative and would get worse as it went. I knew that hair-loss was possible. I am only 35 and the thought of losing my hair left me feeling quite self-conscious so I opted to try the cold-cap. The first dose of chemo was ok with some mild nausea.
After my first chemo dose, at my first oncology appointment, the oncologist told me that the CT scan showed a small anomaly in my liver so they wanted to send me for an MRI to be safe. I went for the MRI and proceeded with the second dose of chemo.
Between dose 2 and 3 the hair loss started to kick in. It wasn’t the appearance of some bald patches that bothered me so much as the moulting. I was finding hair everywhere. I was scooping it up in handfuls off my clothes. Despite how careful I was being, it was coming out in great handfuls when I showered or brushed my hair and what bothered me most was having to de-hair the children every time, I gave them a cuddle. I thought of my great-aunt. She was a very funny and forward person. She passed away of cancer a few years back. I always remember a story that she fell over one day whilst she was out, and her wig fell off. Rather than get all self-conscious and panic, she just said “Ah stuff it! It was itchy anyway!” stuffed the wig in her handbag and carried on her way with her head held high. I admired her bravery and her I-don’t-give-a-damn-what-other-people-think attitude in that story and strived (still strive) to show the same fearlessness. I decided to get ahead, take charge, ditch the cold cap and shave my head. I have been going to the same hairdresser for years and am very friendly with her. She very kindly offered to come to my home and shave it for me there in a place that I feel comfortable. Chatting to her like an old friend in my own home made it feel so less scary so in the end the only thing that made me feel nervous was how might 3-year-old might react when he saw me. I needn’t have worried. He took one look at me, one small double take, gave me a big grin and jumped at me for a BIG hug. He told me I looked pretty. That moment, from someone I love so much, and such an innocent and naïve person meant the whole world to me. Whenever I looked in the mirror after that I didn’t feel pretty and felt like I was looking at someone else. That’s very difficult to deal with. But I did get a wig and wearing that every now and again when I go out or to occasions makes me feel like the old me again.
The next step was the hardest. At the next oncologist appointment, the oncologist told me that the results of the MRI had come back. And it showed that the cancer had spread. I had 3 small tumours in my liver. I looked over at my 3-month-old baby asleep in his pram in the corner and she told me that my cancer was now deemed “incurable” and “life-limiting”. My heart fell through the floor and is without a doubt not just the worst moment throughout my treatment but probably in my life. I immediately broke down, the thought of leaving my babies without their Mummy was unbearable. I had seen a program not long before during which there was a scene where a ghost was stood at a window looking in at his young child sat on the sofa crying its heart out. “I miss my Daddy. I want Daddy.” And the ghost was unable to go in and comfort the child. But could only watch his child’s pain, helpless. In that moment I relived that scene in my head. Only it was my children crying for their Mummy and I was the ghost at the window, and I couldn’t do anything to help or comfort them. It was gut-wrenching.
The updated treatment would be to continue with the chemotherapy, surgery was now questionable with possible radio frequency ablation on my liver and then radiotherapy no longer considered. Instead, they would look to move me onto to long term systemic medication and hormone therapy as a way of controlling the cancer once it has been shrunk through the chemo. It took me a good couple of days to get to grips with this news and the change in my condition, but it has not changed my resolve. People can survive for decades on the systemic treatment. The tumours in my liver were small so caught relatively early.
As the chemotherapy continued it became harder to deal with. The sickness got worse and lasted longer with each dose so that towards the end I would feel nauseous in the build up to going for the treatment out of anxiety of knowing what was coming. But onwards we went. There were difficult times to deal with as well alongside my chemo. My grandmother passed away following a long illness in the summer. I was very close with her so, although not unexpected, it was very difficult. I felt really bad for my Mum (it was her mother who passed). Having to deal with her Mum’s estate whilst dealing with her grief. It felt mean asking for help but my parents were adamant they wanted to assist in any way they could, when they could. It was a very difficult time, particularly for my Mum, but she was so strong. My family was invaluable to me always supporting me. I would get cards with notes of encouragement from some before each dose. My parents and in-laws of came over to help with the children when I had hospital appointments or was feeling poorly. My work colleagues and even the staff at my son’s nursery were offering help if I needed it. All of this, from everyone meant so much and gave me the strength to keep going. But without a doubt the biggest supporter was my husband. He took the kids when I felt too poorly, he gave me hugs when I was feeling down, he made me laugh to keep me happy. If it wasn’t for him, I don’t know what I would’ve done. The strength that man has watching and helping me through this, all whilst coping when his mum was given a terminal diagnosis with her own cancer. He’s my rock and my inspiration.
I gave myself aims and a couple of things to look forward to for once the chemotherapy had finished. The birth of a new nephew due in November, a friend’s wedding a day after my last dose, to which we were going to kiddie-free thanks to the help of my parents, and a family holiday with the in-laws in Devon a couple of weeks later for which I was adamant that I would have my PICC line out so that I could take my boys swimming. The birth of the new nephew brought fresh concerns as he was born with a heart condition that required open-heart surgery at the mere age of 9 days old. It was a condition we all knew about prior to his birth and the surgery was technically ‘routine’ however open surgery on someone so small, and the fact he was not allowed out of hospital for the first few weeks of his life is always worrying. Thankfully everything went well, and the little trooper is home with mum and dad in time for Christmas and doing well. The wedding and the holiday were an absolute dream and I enjoyed them so much. I was able to do all the things I’d been looking forward to, including taking my sons swimming. I enjoyed them even more knowing that the intravenous chemotherapy was over.
