Angels drop by

29/03/2014

Friday saw us at Rotorua Hospital for Outpatients appointment with Dr Link, the oncologist. He wanted a follow up to see how my first treatment gone.

As I said to him, I took the anti-nausea drugs for the three days as prescribed, managed 5 hours at work for two days, then a day off, then the weekend to rest up and this week I have been back at work full time.

I would describe 'my nausea' as being like when pregnant with morning sickness. As long as 'Polly has a cracker' and eats little and often ( which is what the cancer information booklet prescribed), the nausea is manageable. I am more than happy with that. I believe this doctor listened right from the outset when I said I have to work (financially) and he said he would make this a 'nice smooth ride'. Of course my particular cancer must allow him to do this, so once again I am grateful. And yes, it is early days - one treatment and counting - and it could change at the next, but he didn't seem to think so. Dr Link said I will feel more fatigued and just to listen to my body and what it needs.

It was great being back at work this week. I love my colleagues. They spur me on with their humour and kindness. One big guy sat down next to me and said "Andrea, I don't know what to say, what to do. Do I give you a hug, just pretend this isn't happening to you. What would you like me to do"? My heart melted and was so humbled that this big guy could just sit beside me and 'be present' in the moment. I have read that this is often what one needs, just someone to sit beside them. So it is good to experience it first hand and know this is special.

And then acts of kindness came out of the nowhere again:

• Got home to a parcel on the table of chocolates and a beautiful vanilla candle with the inscription 'love much, laugh often' from my son and his wife
• My cousin took a raffle ticket for us and we have won a night out for 2 for dinner at the Indian Restaurant
• Friends fed me again a lovely dinner of fish, fresh beans and savoury potatoes - and love
• Colleague brought me homemade jam
• Colleague gave me a Breast cancer manicure set - never had one before so quite special
• I had a craving for scones and colleague rustled up some homemade beautiful scones
• a phone call from an ex colleague 

People just keep on giving. There is so much love out there.

So a 'nice smooth ride' this week...lots of prayers, positive thoughts and acts of kindness 

And angels - my beautiful nieces , and my colleague , have added to my angel collection

Time to think about wigs

09/03/2014

Been a tougher week I feel for me. I'm sure some of those close to me may have picked that up.  It's the trivial things I now hear around me that I don't have a lot of empathy or patience for, and I am expressing this quite openly and perhaps not so gentle as I should.

Monday I began to spiral and really the week didn't improve much. Had nothing to do with anyone or anything, just me and where I allowed my mind to take me.

I recovered from the Monday spiral (earlier post) to excitement on Tuesday with the wigs arriving. I shared the options around my workplace to much laughter and many opinions and on Facebook to so much positive feedback. Personally, I have flip-flopped between wigs and it has nothing to do with the styles.

Most of you commented on which one you definitely liked Wayne in though and he is loving the rock n roll look - in your dreams my darling!

As I had the wigs for a few days to decide which one I liked, I tried wearing them about home. Each time I put one on I looked in the mirror and thought "This isn't me". I felt like I was about to go on stage for a part I didn't volunteer for. How the hell was this happening to me. I even thought I would try wearing one out to see if I could "carry it off" but I couldn't even walk out the door with it on my head.

This was not me staring back in the mirror. So - who am I?

I remember going through a similar emotion when my son Luke left home for boarding school and got married to Christine. If I wasn't carrying out the mothering role who was I. So similarly, if I'm not "Andrea with the hair", who am I? Time will tell no doubt.

Wednesday I cancelled dinner out with my cousin because I just felt exhausted. My lymph node left arm was sore.  (13 of 29 lymph nodes were cancerous and removed). It had been pretty cold and I eventually decided that had a part to play. Early night and some Panadol helped.

I went to my friends for dinner Thursday and before long I was giving them a bollocking over the importance they were placing on eradicating dust and doing housekeeping. And just as quickly I erupted into tears. Thankfully they enveloped me in a group hug. I mean, what the hell am I on about!

I had two 'slow' mornings of going to work, ie. got up to no alarm clock. I was under the pump a bit, which I normally carry off with no problems and relish in, so nothing had changed in my mind. Just knuckle down and get on with it, woman. But by the end of those two days I was tired. It bothers me that my standard of output will probably deteriorate and I won't be able to provide the level of service I have delivered and my colleagues expect. I don't want to become a burden and stop them from doing the excellent work they do.

The end of the week has come and on reflection I am tired. Tired of thinking, tired of feeling, tired of smiling, tired of working out who I am and who I'm going to be after chemo starts. Funny how chemo is the big unknown. The look on people's faces (except Wayne's) and you can sense their fear for me. I still have no idea what to expect and in my innocence and denial, I don't think I want to know because I am going to find out first hand soon enough. I hope then that I can write and tell you what it's really like for me, but my understanding is it is different for everyone. My niece Naomi was treated with chemo and praised modern medicine. I hope to do likewise. Watch this space. I just hope it doesn't change me too much and that I end up grumpy...don't like grumpy.

It's going to be another big week with oncology consult on Monday and with a strong possibility of chemo commencing this week. I just hope this consult doesn't drop a bombshell like radiation consult did. I feel like my life pre cancer days are numbered.

I also realise that if I strip all this emotional turmoil back this week, I am grieving and it has snuck up on me.

But what a blessing to recognise it! I love labels and when I find a label I can process it and pop it away in its correct filing place. I love the power that gives me.

There are supposedly 5 stages of loss and grief:

• Denial & isolation ✔
• Anger ✔
• Bargaining
• Depression ✔
• Acceptance

So I have a few to go. I haven't started bargaining with God yet and I think acceptance will come through when I sit in that chemo chair. Who knows when these two stages will arrive but I'm sure they will.

I had the delight of meeting physically an internet buddy from the UK today. I belong to the 365 Project where I submit a photo every day to an on-line community around the world and they comment from a technical point of view or just a comment. Pat is from near Lancaster and she came out of her way on her NZ trip to meet me. Well we clicked instantly.

We embraced, we drank coffee, we laughed, we talked family, Catholicism, photography, life, death - absolute delight to meet this beautiful woman. And we made a promise to catch up next year.

I hesitated for a split second when I said that and wondered where I will be within this whole experience this time next year.

It's time to start writing

01/03/2014

I woke this morning to realise it is now two months since being diagnosed with breast cancer. The first few days I was in total shock and felt like Wayne and my world were shattered. My last three years back in Taupo have been full of contentment, peace, joy and fulfilment and I was loving this life.

I found a lump while showering and on New Year's Eve, I was diagnosed with breast cancer.

What ensued was multiple appointments with a surgeon in Rotorua, then to hospital for a left breast lumpectomy followed by two weeks off and then back to work.

The operation was the easy part.  I healed well and fast. It was what was to follow that rattled my cage.

After tears, disbelief and realising my own mortality, I got my head around it. I was Stage 2 and in my mind, I was on the right side of the four cancer stages. So I embraced with confidence the road ahead. I leaned into God and honoured His scripture 'Be still and know that I am God'. I rallied my prayer warriors and positivity friends.

Can I say right here that my friends, colleagues and family have been overwhelming. I have felt over these last two months the depth of friendship and love beyond measure. Wayne and I have been truly humbled.

Whenever I had a scheduled appointment I have text my friends and asked for prayers and positive thoughts. They came through in abundance. I was never alone and feeling sorry for myself.

My police work colleagues entertained me with their sick humour and I joined in. Laughter is so good for the soul.

I started a Memory Box.  I was being so overwhelmed with love and support, cards and gifts; I wanted to remember all this in times of worry.  

I also had a plaster cast mould made of my breasts before I had my operation and a friend painted artwork on it that was relevant to my life's loves, like the waves of the sea, a rose, a cross and 'aroha'.

Once again, due to the calmness and safety I felt, I was being loved unconditionally. I felt like all the things I had been embarrassed about that I had done in my life, had been judged for and had disappointed family and friends, were all forgiven, and now I was seeing how I really am perceived in the world. I work hard. I love my job. I try to be kind and give where I can. And in return people were saying "thank you for being you". What you see is what you get.

I headed back to work and was so happy to be normal again. Long may it last, well at least a month I thought. But alas no, appointments started to fill up the diary pretty quick.

So this week I thought I had a straight forward appointment with Radiation Oncology. To my knowledge they were just going to tell me how they were going to radiate my breast in 7 months time. And for the first time, I didn't text my friends and ask for prayer and positive thoughts (though I'm sure many were thinking of me unbeknown to me). But I was given (on Facebook) a quote for the day 'Be Still - I've got this - God' and I thought "that's nice", not realising I would lean on this a few hours later. 

Waiting in Radiation Oncology before
receiving the changed diagnosis

So I went in a bit cocky I guess, like 'this'll be a walk in the park'. So it was a shock to be told the goal posts had changed. I am now Stage 3c and that is on the "other side" of okay to me.

To say Wayne and I were shell shocked again puts it mildly. My first thought on coming out of the appointment was "I want to see Mum". And so we drove home to Matamata and I fell into the arms of my loving, comforting, beautiful mother. At 85 I am still her baby.  My sister Jan arrived and we sobbed uncontrollably together with once again our mother lovingly embracing her babies. She fed us, made us cups of tea and cried with us.

I asked my daughter-in-law Christine to tell Luke. I couldn't. All I could think was "Wayne and Luke don't deserve this, they shouldn't have to go through this because of me". I don't want them to be sad. Thank goodness Luke has a wonderful wife, a woman of God, in his life to share his journey with.

I went back to work the next day gutted and worn down. I was angry, not at God, just over something I had no control over. Thankfully Wayne sensed this and the next thing I know I am being bundled home and put to bed.

Four hours later and I awoke with a whole new vision. I had had quiet time to process, to pray, to walk the neighbour's dog and watch the sunset. I suddenly grabbed life again with heart and both hands.

I googled and began to grasp the seriousness of this new diagnosis. Menopause and hormones have me in their grasp and what will keep me alive from a medical perspective is chemo, radiation and five years of medication. 63% of women with my diagnosis survive those five years. Numbers and statistics tell me something but they don't define me. I have never been good at maths.

I have my faith. That is my strength. I have been shown so many times in a practical way God's love and faithfulness to me over the last 22 years. I know I will see from time to time one set of footprints in the sand and I have confidence that that is God carrying me.

So yesterday morning I pulled back the curtain and the most beautiful sunrise was climbing up behind Mt Tauhara. And I said to myself "that's why I'm alive, to appreciate, to share, to embrace, to love, to give joy and to fight on".

So today I take on the challenge again with a new set of emotions and feelings, a new armour, a new appreciation and a heart brimming with thankfulness.

i was brought up in ,Hobbiton, New Zealand, well Matamata actually.
Here we are after my diagnosis changed having some light relief