Category: Cancer

Having only just had my second chemotherapy session last week it is possibly a little soon to say I know exactly what’s going on. However, there has been enough of a pattern to know vaguely what will be happening and when – especially as last time, in the manner that is me, I took very detailed notes on what happened and when in relation to treatment, medication and effects – yes, it’s true – there may even be a spreadsheet at some point!

To this end I knew that I would be heading into what I refer to as, The Dip, about now – and indeed I have.

Although there must be a general approach to chemotherapy, everyone’s treatment is tailored to them and their cancer and tweaked to how they respond.

In some ways I think I have been lucky. I have not yet been sick and the better days have far outweighed the really bad ones. I was however, unfortunate last time to have an allergic reaction to the antibiotics causing horrendously painful hives to blister my skin – I still have marks from them and hope I won’t be left with scars to cover up – although, I have always fancied just one more tattoo…

Because of this allergic reaction my treatment was changed slightly for this round. I am not taking antibiotics this time and instead have some super strong antihistamines and had five days of injections at home to boost my white blood cells.

Despite knowing that these injections are known to cause extreme bone pain and thinking that I was prepared for it – I wasn’t. I have just had a night of hideously excruciating pain where I am afraid to say I cried and writhed around like someone in the worst hammed up death throes of bad acting.

I had been determined that my mind was stronger than that and that I would channel the essence of a Shaolin monk (and not just the bald head part) but in the middle of the night I failed to do so and instead my husband got extra blankets, took my temperature and fed me paracetamol.

This morning I have hobbled downstairs like the ricketiest old lady and have ensconced myself in my ‘day bed’. When I got my diagnosis, and knew what was coming I made the decision that on the odd day when I needed to just rest I did not want to loll about in my actual bed but wanted to keep the routine of getting up and then going back there at night. So, I commandeered the spare room and now it is my very own little Shangri-La of chemo-coping paraphernalia.

Here in my healing haven I have ALL the pillows and cushions, my kindle, phone, lip balms, hand creams, boiled sweets, a ginormous throw and the cats occasionally come in to say hello.

I am telling you of The Dip, not to depress or worry you but as part of my wanting to talk about this in a real way. Cancer is not fun. The treatment is not fun. It is what it is but it won’t last. Give me a couple of days and I’ll be back pottering around trying to do more than I should and being told off for it.

For just today though I’ll be sensible and have another lemon and ginger tea, fold myself under a mountain of soft furnishings and listen to a Terry Pratchett audio book. And tomorrow – it’s back on with the climbing gear because The Dip is not where I am staying.

…and you don’t like lemonade, add a slice to a G&T instead and raise a toast.

I have been a little quiet lately on the old social media, blog and websites and have been debating with myself whether to write about why and have eventually concluded that I will. Although I don’t want to become a bore about it, what is happening in my world right now, is big and does rather take over most of every day in some way or form.

I apologise to any friends who are finding out in this way but on the 24^th February this year I was diagnosed with breast cancer. As you can imagine I needed some space to get my head round this and to focus on the whirlwind of appointments that followed and so I retreated somewhat from the rest of the world until I could feel I had a handle on things a little.

I have just had my second chemo and I feel that now I know the process a little better I can perhaps tell you about it.

For those of you who have read my blogs before I would like to say that not everything I write from now on will be about cancer, but, as mentioned above it is rather prevalent in my life currently so I’m sure it will feature as it will have an impact on my day-to day-life. But what I really hope to do is perhaps talk about it all in a way that will maybe reassure you all a little about the process.

If you are anything like I was before my diagnoses you may well have a view on cancer and its treatment and how people go through it all, that falls into a stereotype of doomed despair. I feel now that I was totally ignorant of it all before and I had images of people languishing bald and scrawny in bed for months on end vomiting and unable to do anything – but this is not how it is.

It is not easy, don’t get me wrong, it is not a barrel of laughs and I would far rather not be going through it but I would like to share the things I can that might make it more bearable. I don’t want to trivialise it or normalise it, I wish cancer was so far from normal that it didn’t exist but at the same time I want people to know more, understand better and maybe not be so scared if they or a loved one must go through it.

To this end something that has been weighing on my mind and I want to address is this: how to talk to someone with cancer. That might sound odd but I know of someone who was actively ignored by friends just because they didn’t know what to say to her when they found out she had cancer. I have found myself, when out and about not wanting to bump into people I know – not because I would find it awkward to talk about it, but because I am aware it may make them feel very uncomfortable. But here’s the thing -it’s easy. If someone tells you, or you find out, that they have cancer say this: ‘Hello there, so nice to see or hear from you. Totally [insert expletive of choice here] to hear your news. If there’s anything I can do, just let me know otherwise it’s great to see you when you’re about.’

Someone with cancer doesn’t change from being them so please, don’t treat them any differently. I may have cancer but I am still me. I may have no hair now and can’t be out and about as much, but do say hello if you see me and don’t be afraid to address it. It is real and happening and it is harder to be hyper aware of pretending it’s not than to just go ‘there it is, on the table, let’s just deal with it.’

I shan’t say too much more in this first post – it may be a lot to take in for some friends I haven’t been able to speak to yet. I just wanted to say hello, I’m ok. I have a tough job to do but I’ll do it and we’ll have a big old knees up at the other end of it all.

There’ll be more posts to follow where I’ll tell you more about what it’s like going through chemotherapy and all the gubbins that goes with it.

Until then – in the fashion of terrible award shows I’d like to say the most massive thank you to my husband, family and friends and the amazing staff at Ipswich hospital all of whom have been wonderful.

Aphorisms and clichés are not everyone’s cup of tea, but funnily enough they suddenly start to bear some real meaning when you really think about them in the context of getting some big bad news. I shall leave you with one of my favourites:

‘Life is not about waiting for the storm to pass…it is about learning to dance in the rain.’

…and I plan to dance in the rain with bare feet and no umbrella as much as possible until the sun comes out again.