I thought I could (bracket Breast Cancer)...

After my diagnosis and once I stopped smashing windows and throwing plates at the wall,  I drew brackets in the air and declared to everyone who asked :

it's OK I will get through the treatment then get on with my life. 

But without realising it, I set those brackets in concrete. The space filled with (sore wounds, drugs, IV lines, jack out of the box nausea; hair dropping out onto my shoulders and finally twenty trips to be zapped....

But when I came to close the brackets, Tamoxifen and further surgery blocked the closure... 

I was stuck in a tunnel of treatment

So for the last two weeks I have tucked myself underground. To reflect. To cry out the anger about things gone wrong. My messed up 50th birthday year. My changed body. My energy so low even crying is tough...

Now with my badger like head I peek above ground to see light, a bit of blue sky, and to discover my pen again.

I needed the time underground to root out a way to close the brackets. 




And with tears of relief! (Breast cancer diagnosis, Surgery, Chemo, Radiotherapy) or as Jude calls it (Cut, Poison, Burn!!)

So today I drop my first Tamoxifen tablet (hormonal therapy to treat breast cancer) into my palm, ten days later than planned, and I open a new phase of my life... Menopause and a new look...

Playing the Fine game...

When I answer the phone I'm fine slips out of my mouth when the caller asks how I am. 

When the radiographer calls me in and says so how are you, I'm fine trips out before my brain has time to think..

Recently when the course coordinator on the Penny Brohn Living Well with Cancer course asked us to choose a word... just one word that describes how you are feeling this morning, adding... I don't want you to use the word Fine as we all know what FINE stands for:

Fed up (for the less polite F****ed!!)
Insecure
Neurotic
Emotional

So Alert was my reply...

This week as my energy levels take a ride on the big dipper but stop at the bottom, I decide that I will not play the Fine game any more.... 

I send conversation stopping Text responses with... when I am not at the hospital I am resting all the time...I have no energy...can't wait to get my life back...and on the phone... if the cancer doesn't kill me then the treatment surely will...tired and weary

And today when the radiographer greets me with that's a lovely hat...did you have a nice weekend; my polite reply...

No not really...I am too tired...

is met with  a seconds pause as she walked ahead of me then oh I am sorry to hear that... Once inside the treatment room her colleague also enquires, then confirms how many more zaps I have remaining before doing the important checks...  can you tell me your name, date of birth, address and which side we are treating...

Bored of my honest, conversation snatching phrases, I shall once again spatter my replies with Fines' replacement... OK, Surviving....lovely to see a bit of blue sky today...

My grey cells have ground to a halt...

I have strained to think of a blog to write in the last couple of weeks. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. Nothing, not a sentence. My creative grey cells were on strike. Ground to a halt...

But my thinking brain is buzzing with worries and questions... when will my breast and shoulder go red while I have this radiotherapy...how likely is fibrosis of the breast tissue... what will happen when I start the hormone treatment...can they see me when I am on the table in case I have a seizure... how much more tired am I going to get...is it possible to be more weary than this?...

I write it all down in my Breast Cancer Note book, lists of worries and questions to ask at each appointment. I tick some off when I chat to my GP on the phone but others spring in to take their place...

Then today after my 6th Radiotherapy treatment a smiling blond haired lady met me as I came out and took me to a private room to chat - a review meeting. She talked me through most things I had stored in the worry list... Some people never have a skin reaction while a lot do, it happens after two or so weeks...fibrosis can occur up to a few months after but is mild in most women...:the throbbing pain is caused by tissue inflammation and is normal...the Tamoxifen (hormone treatment) can cause weight gain and hot flushes, caffeine and stimulants can sometimes make them worse... drinking plenty of water can help the fatigue as it flushes out some of the effects of the treatment...yes they can see you in cameras but I will tell them you have epilepsy and make sure they keep a close eye...

With each explanation and answer I breathed a bit easier. I asked all the questions in my book and explained how I was feeling about the treatment, the embarrassment I felt each day, made worse because a man is part of my treatment team. An emotion that for me is overwhelming every other thought...she listened without judgement asked if there was anything they could do to make it easier and checked if I had someone to talk to...

I walked out of Oncology into a blue sky day and my spirit felt as bright as the sun. On the way home blogs sprung into my head. My thinking brain had been unclogged...

Normal service will be resumed shortly...

...The next day 

Today I am met by three ladies, the man has stayed out. I show them the emergency epilepsy drug I have in my bag which they can give me if I have long or multiple seizures... 'D' walks me round to their room and shows me the screen they are watching me on!...if only my medical history had been fully passed on! But today is a new day and the only thing that is real about this journey is the step I am taking at this moment...that's all there ever is... (mindfulness)

So for episode 7 of the radiotherapy show and for the first time I relax on the hard table and breathe calm breaths...

"You cant stop the waves, but you can learn to surf"

Jon Kabat-Zinn

I always said I would never have a tattoo...

... now I have four. The tattooist chose the design, not me. They are as black as thunder clouds and signify a stormy year full of rainy tears and thunder bolts of shock.

The oncologist said this part of my treatment will be a breeze compared to the chemotherapy but I am as scared as a puppy at it's first sight of lightening. Like hail stones, unanswered questions hit my brain; will my new breast shrink, will my breast hurt as the treatment progresses, will my skin burn...

Reassurances bounce off me rather than sink in to calm the storm, tissue contraction is rare, blistering of the skin only happens rarely, you may experience a bit of soreness as the radiotherapy progresses they tell me. 

The trouble is the word rare makes me tremble...

Brain tumours are rare affecting approximately 1 in 38,000;
A post operative brain abscess after brain tumour surgery is rare (less than a 1% apparently); 
Breast cancer AND an unrelated brain tumour is incredibly rare, never heard of it happening both my neurosurgeon and oncologist told me;
The safety device used to keep my PICC line in (to administer my chemo) squashed the line causing it to crack and leak and  had to be replaced, this has only happened once before in all the time we have used it, the PICC line specialists inform me; 
My second breast operation the day after my breast surgery when a haematoma complication arose is not so rare -1-6% chance in figures I can find, but I scored a home goal with that too...

I won't actually be there during my Radiotherapy!  I will use Imagery, a technique I learnt through my brain tumour journey and recently at The Penny Brohn Cancer Centre. I will go to the sea in my head and forget what is happening while I am first prodded and touched and while the machine takes over to give me my zaps...

The four tattoos...
They are pin prick spots put onto my skin after the radiotherapy planning CT scan; between my breasts, above my affected breast and on both sides of my body-to ensure they zap me in the right place each time. I only felt a scratch when they were done. 

Never say never because limits, 

like fears are often an illusion

Michael Jordan