I started chemo last week. My nose has become a dripping tap, my tummy is a pin cushion and I am enjoying the fact I have hair for now.
I started chemo last week. My nose has become a dripping tap, my tummy is a pin cushion and I am enjoying the fact I have hair for now.
My older daughter is an artist living several hundred miles away. She desperately wants to support me in this and has come up with a way I think is pure genius. For the next 6 months, she is making me a weekly wig out of found materials which she is posting on Instagram (under the name, hannah_pererin). This week's was made out of foil plates. They're not made to be worn, just to make me smile. Which they do. In abundance…
Facing chemo, I felt the need to be strong. Grateful for all the medical interventions and support, I nevertheless felt the need to retain some element of control, to hold on to my identity and, as far as possible, my sense of humour during the process. Spending a day in a chair requires comfortable clothes, but I chose the brightest shirt I could find - a bright pink silk top. Despite the fact that no-one could see them…
Dealing with other people’s reactions was for me one of the hardest things with the breast cancer diagnosis. Being self-employed, I did not have to tell colleagues, and was fortunate to have more control over who knew when. My husband and I took the opportunity of a 10hour train journey the day after the diagnosis to begin to think about how we would manage the local gossips (amongst other things). The diagnosis…
In writing this blog, I am not attempting a diary or chronological record, but to record some of my feelings and thoughts as I fathom my way through this new chapter of my life. I am grateful to Macmillan for providing a safe platform where this is possible.
