I was diagnosed with breast cancer in May this year. I've been having neo--adjuvant chemotherapy since June. I have one round of chemo left. I'm struggling emotionally. I'm on EC and have been since the beginning of September. I knew it was going to be difficult but nobody could have prepared me for how bad it would be. I've had more bad days than good and after the last round i was hospitalised. Everything just went a bit squiffy! I'm so close to the end but honestly, at times I've wanted to give up. I know I wont, and I know I'm nearly there but the nausea and the fatigue, I just can't get away from it. Its all consuming which is when I feel like giving up. I've cried so much just recently, my anxiety has gone up, mostly because I've actually become scared of the treatment and what it will do to me. I'm so angry that I've got so far into my treatment, I'm so close to the end and it all seems to be going wrong. I do talk to friends and family but its difficult for them to understand. They tell me I'm strong and I've got this but I really don't feel like I have, I don't feel strong, I feel weak and vulnerable and I hate it. On top of that, I'm worried about my son. He's 15 and I've been honest from the start with him. We talk often and he seems to be handling it ok although this last couple of weeks have been tough on him too. He went to hid dad's just before I was admitted to hospital for respite because it was difficult seeing me so poorly. Despite the fact that there's nothing I can do about any of it, there is still mum guilt.
I don't expect anyone to reply. I think I just needed to tell someone who understands. Actually writing it out has helped.
I remember the nausea and extreme fatigue from my chemo and radiotherapy combo so vividly and equally feeling weak and vulnerable and hating it, and wincing whilst well-meaning loved ones told me I was strong and brave and that "you've got this"!! I just wanted to curl up and die, it was awful!
I had no words to describe how awful I felt, and just had to count the days down till it was over, I never left the bed and couch, I just hunkered down and got through it, feeling sorry for myself, like a wounded animal waiting till heal. That's how I did it. Dragged myself to every treatment that I knew was making me feel that way, feeling and looking miserable and seeing other patients, chatting and joking, and I just felt pathetic and weak and a big baby, I felt ashamed. It was one of the many hardest things to do, so I guess (looking back now) that's why they call us strong and brave, we just don't feel it at the time, and I certainly didn't want to hear it! In all honesty it felt like gaslighting to me, I just wanted my reality accurately reflected back to me, it made me feel lonely every time someone said I was brave or strong. But I know they meant well and that was what they saw. I just wasn't in a place within me to see it, it wasn't helpful to me. But I get it now, bravery isn't NOT being scared, it's being scared AND doing the scary things. If you're not scared, if you can do the thing with ease, then there's no bravery. .
I looked at those others who seemed to make the best of whatever treatment they were having, and how they stayed friendly and connected and jovial, and THEY were the strong brave ones to me, and they are, but so are we. I wished I could be like them, I was envious they weren't so pained and sick that they had to sit with their head on the tiny table next to them, whilst they waited to be called, and that they didn't need to sit slumped, eyes closed, because the lights were too bright (like when you're severely hungover). I thought I must be so weak, and I felt ashamed, but I was too ill to fake it like I'd usually do, but all that self talk just made me feel worse.
Back then, I longed to hear from someone who was equally suffering, to see someone else like me, looking like they were barely holding it together, who wasn't putting on a brave face and looking like they've "got this". So this is why I'm sharing it with you now, even though it was a year ago I felt that level of misery.
Sometimes I think we just need to hear, that it's okay to just collapse into the rubbishness of it all. To just not have to try and not be sad, scared, in pain, weak, vulnerable etc. To just allow it and just feel sorry for ourselves. I know for me, I just wanted to be seen and heard and not feel I had to pretend I was okay when I wasn't. I just wanted permission to whimper and lick my metaphorical wounds in the corner of some safe space, like within a heavily blanketed settee 
in my home, alone. But I of course only did that in private, and all the while continued to wince a weak smile in public whenever prompted.
Here's what I'd have wanted to hear, for what it's worth - It will pass, its horrible and unfair and I know it's unbearable, but it will pass. You don't want to do it anymore, you want it to stop, you tell yourself again and again, you're not doing another round, but we both know you will, you always do. Because you can, because you have. You know all this, I know, I'm just reminding you, and saying, its absolutely stinking horrid and it's not over yet, but the finish line is close, even if the time is dragging ridiculously slowly, and it feels like a personal hell, and you're on your last legs, just let them legs wobble, crawl, drag your poisoned body to the finish line, it's okay to do it that way. I see what you're going through. I can see how horrible and hard it is, I don't know how you're doing it, but you're doing it. It's just happening to you and you're having to suffer it. That take's strength, and you're brave to keep going. It'll be okay. I see you. You're not alone.
Oh, and I get the mum guilt too! All.The.Time 
(13 year old girl and 15 year old boy)
