Tag Archives: breast cancer

three hundred and forty six

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26 December. I unwittingly tried to minimise change in my children’s worlds. Tried to protect them from the one thing they actually needed to learn to deal with. The one constant in the world we know. Change. I blame my control freak tendencies and forgive myself because my intentions were good, my motive was love. So I am grateful, so very grateful that I have learnt that whilst change can be painful, it can also be beautiful. If you embrace it. It is liberating, you grow from it, you learn a lot, not only about yourself but about others. And I most especially learnt what I was capable of. And not to be fearful. I know my girls have grown immeasurably too. I knew it for a fact today when I stumbled across this passage Kate had found meaningful enough in her book to capture. Things do change. And life doesn’t stop for anybody. I am grateful my girls know this.  Really know it. And more importantly embrace it. Embrace the adventure of life, the ups and downs.  And are learning not to take what they have right now for granted. And I’m grateful I no longer feel guilty they had to face fears I would rather they hadn’t, I now see it as a gift. To us all.

three hundred and twenty two

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We found my wig today. I put it on and Kate said take it off it’s horrid. Much the same response they both had when I first bought it. Which was one of the reasons I never wore it. Probably the worst purchase I have ever made. And not because of the wig (and it was horrid but it was the closest we could get, even after being styled to my old hair) but the fact that I had to shop for one.  Bizarre and awful. I know the wigs made many feel whole again, for me it just underlined the fact that I wasn’t. Weird but I felt like I stood out more when I wore it than when I was bald. My mistake was trying to be me. I wish I had had the courage at the time to be mad, go blonde, go blue, go black. I just didn’t feel fun I guess. Today I am grateful for the fun we had with it. And that I never wore it.

 

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warrior woman

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I met a wonderful friend of a friend of mine yesterday. I can’t stop thinking about her. You see she is a warrior woman. A gentle tenacious bright funny warrior woman, who has a brain tumour and was given 14 months to live. She was told the doctors could do no more for her. So she pursued her own path. She is currently on 27 months and counting. She has been dealt many blows by life yet is positive, witty and real.  She is self effacing and humble. She is an inspiration and she is my fear. Was my fear. You see she also had breast cancer and a mastectomy and chemo and all the stuff they scare you into having to make sure you are here five years later.  She made her five years and had just decided against a big celebration of life party when they discovered her brain tumour, a secondary from her breast cancer. I have no doubt the irony did not escape her. That meaningless silly bloody goal of 5 years that we hold like a beacon of hope, living in limbo, counting the years, months, weeks and days, definitely even if not obviously, believing that on the stroke of midnight of our last day of being 5 years cancer free, we will finally be set free. Free from cancer. Free from fear. And whilst I booted fear a while back, meeting her made me face it for real. She gave me goosebumps and her matter of fact retelling of her tale reduced me to tears. But not for me, but for the wonderful inspiring human being I was graced to be in the company of. I would be proud to be her. I am honoured to have a daughter named Kate just like her. May she grow to be just like the warrior woman I met yesterday. Strong and present and true.

two hundred and seventy four

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My last Zoladex implant and my oncologist is in Canada on conference. Really? I am so over needles and some barbaric sans local implants which my sister in law can attest to, all of which have made me a little tense, and so in need of my gentle caring compassionate doctor who so gets me. The fact that the locum oncologist was not comfortable doing the implants and deferred to the oncology nurses didn’t help. Yikes. So, today I am grateful not only for my last implant but also for yet another angel with a kind heart and a fabulous sense of humour.

fuck yeah

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I woke up with a feeling of anticipation today. And I know why. Because today feels like the day I finally start to take my power back. I had my last Zoladex implant today. I have had one every three months for the last nearly five years. This keeps me in menopause, which is essential for the aromatase inhibitor, Femara I take every night and have for nearly five years. My cancer was oestrogen receptive, so all production needs to be suppressed and blocked. I have three more months of Femara and then nothing. Nothing. Then I will become me again. A different me, but a me free of anything but what should be. I can’t wait. I am in awe of my doctors and of the courage I have gained through the efforts of others. I was just too fearful to go it alone. I together with my doctors and my family chose a course of action. A course of action me and my family needed me to take. To do everything I could to make sure I was here January 2013. The ultimate goal. Being here 5 years after chemo. Then we hit the down curve in the bell curve of efficacy of treatment. So no more. I am excited. Especially to discover what the medication has masked. Because I am different. Everything changed the day I was diagnosed and will never be the same again. In many ways it is better, way better, but in other ways not. I feel I’ve also let my cancer control me the last five years. I have been in varying stages of disease, surgery, treatment and recovery. But I know it’s also been a process of acceptance. And growth. Only now can I start to feel a frisson of a personal victory. I am seeing that whilst it occupied a lot of me, and changed me, it hasn’t defined me. I willingly handed me over for a bit. Now I’m ready to reclaim me. But I am proud of how I fought for my life. And I’ll do it again if I have to. So for now, all I can say is yay me.

cynic

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There is a lot of focus on breasts right now. Yes because of poor Kate Middleton but also because of the approaching plethora of pink month. I don’t mean to come across as cynical but I am a little. That’s why I love the scar project so much. Breast cancer is not pretty and pink. It’s not about what we share, its about what we don’t often share. It’s sore and ugly and about survival and beauty because of it. I went to a breast cancer fundraiser on friday and had a chat with a lovely woman who when discovering I had had a mastectomy queried why I hadn’t had a bilateral done and had two lovely matching boobs. Seriously. Pretty and pink it’s not. They are lovely to me because of what they represent, but not as she thinks. They have no feeling. They are scarred. They are not a choice. They are because we might have died if not. I asked her if she realised a mastectomy means removing everything. Nipple and all. I think I over shared before how my nipples and the sensation of them matter to me. She mentioned how yes, she understands, her friends boob job left her with no feeling too. No, sweetheart you don’t understand. I don’t mean to be mean but wearing a pink ribbon on your chest does not mean you understand. And I really hope you never do. It reminded me of a dear friend who in trying to make me feel better when I was still trying to make sense of my diagnosis, said, her husband had said something which made sense to her. He had said, well at least its just her boob, its not like its a limb that she needs. Again, seriously? Anyway cut Kate Middleton some slack. If I had her boobs, no matter who I was, I’d bear them for the world to see.

lost

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I sobbed this morning. Poor B, sitting in Sydney, could hardly hear the words between the gulps. And I have no real idea why. I’m feeling anxious. Not sleeping well. A little out of control and not in a good way. Very emotional. Very demotivated. And to be honest a little lost. I sat on my bench, regrouped a bit, got a little perspective and carried on. And that’s just life. Its not always a bed of roses, even when it is. I know how much I have, how much I’ve learnt and gained, and I am so filled with gratitude for everything and everyone in my life, but today I got lost in all I’ve lost. It frightened me how easy it is to do. But I had to write my grateful for yesterday. I had read about how a gratitude practice can open your heart and rewire your brain. It does. It really does.

moving forward

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This exploring oneself stuff is very uncomfortable, quite unsettling and very liberating. My focus has been on healing myself, and doing whatever it takes to do that. But its been mostly external. Surgery, medication, whatever it took.  An enforced slowing down, being still (ok, well a bit stiller), attempting to reduce my overachievement stress and focusing on all that is beautiful and here and now has helped me heal. But I have very neatly avoided dealing with the why. B knows how wonderfully I deal with things that make me uncomfortable. Not now. I’m too busy, too tired, too whatever. Ignorance can be bliss. Fear is not. I do believe an accelerated growth of cancer cells is triggered by something. I also do believe that with a depleted immune system due to excess stress, lack of exercise, an A type personality, control freakish tendencies, putting others first, a lack of focus on myself created a fabulous environment for the cancer to thrive. And then some. But still there is the why. The pull the rug from underneath me thing that set it off. Because I do believe it is conflict about something. Something that mattered the world to me.The point for me about exploring the why is not to dwell on it but to understand and release it all and move forward. So in the words of another I lovingly forgive and release all of the past. I choose to fill my life with joy. I love and approve of myself.

one hundred and ninety

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I am grateful today for whatever it took to get me through the day. And for giving myself permission to feel sorry for myself. Just for a little bit. But I am mostly so very grateful for the fact that after today I only have one zoladex implant left. Yay me. Seriously.

sprung

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I have a friend to thank for much sobbing today. I spent an extended morning with her kinesiologist/naturopath who made me truly acknowledge some things. To understand me a bit better. Well he helped me to start to access what I already knew. In my subconscious. My main motivation for going to see him was wanting to wean myself off these damn mood stabilisers, without harming my children or B. I am definitely off balance (in the gentle sense of the words, I am not off my rocker. yet) and needed help getting my balance back preferably without chemicals. In essence continuing the journey being here started which is giving me the chance, the ability to deal with the cause of my disease, not just to focus on the cure. For the incurable. Without any prompting he accessed words like disappearing, anonymous, alien, loss of mojo, abandonment, different, disempowered from me. It was quite unsettling. And a theme you would have come to be familiar with if you had been part of my oversharing.  But he knew nothing about me. Nothing. I have self effacingly spoken a lot about avoidance as a strategy, my coping mechanism to deal with change, which all manifests itself in my need to control. See Lianne, everything is ok. I’ve always convinced myself that knowing I did this, acknowledging it and laughing at it, meant it was not an issue.  But, someone’s not buying it. So, it seems it’s time to lift the lid on the I’m coping, I’m strong, I’m able melodrama. Shit.