Under Presure

16/3/2015

It's important on this cancer road for me to process what I have been told by the medical people about my future prognosis and how to make it fit into my life today to somewhere I am comfortable with and to keep moving forward.  It's not an easy process and I don't know if this is just the way I deal with it or if others with cancer have done the same.  But for me it is a process.

When I was sitting in the consult room and they were telling me the good and the not so good, I came away feeling like I had all this information about myself but couldn't quite believe they were talking about me. I have found it is much better to go to a consult with another person because once I have got fixated on a bad piece of news, I tend to only pick up snippets of the rest of the consult.  Thankfully I haven't had to do this alone many times.

I then had to pass this information on to loved ones, without being the bearer of doom and gloom, but of hope and possibilities.  

I then told my Facebook friends.  The feedback was overwhelming and uplifting to say the least.  As I have said before, writing is cathartic for me, and it is with every good intention that I will be able to enlighten others to the realities of an experience with cancer; others won't have the same thoughts or experience, and that is why I stress this is just my take on this whole drama that has unfolded over the last 15 months - yes, 15 months. I'm can't believe that this has consumed us for that long.

And it is a drama; the body psychologically and chemically waits for the next diagnosis and it goes into overdrive with adrenalin in how to deal with it, sometimes making the picture worse than what it is; sometimes not understanding that it is actually worse than what it is.  

While I was at the beach, I had time to think and process.  Some would say keep busy, then you don't think, and that has worked in the past, but right now I'm physically tired; I don't have the 'get up and go' to busy myself through this.  

What I now realise is I am feeling intense internal pressure.  My head feels like it wants to burst. So instead of downing another Panadol, I tried to work out what was going on and instead I drew a mind map and came up with this list.  I must add no one has put this pressure on me, but myself.  For example:

I feel pressured to stay alive

I feel pressured to be a wife/lover

I feel pressured to be the mum who is always there to nurture

I feel pressured to protect my loved ones around me

I feel pressured to be at work and perform to my high standard

I feel pressured to eat right

I feel pressured to provide comfort

I feel pressured to put on a brave face and keep on smiling come what may

If I don't, I will have failed and failing is not good.  I have failed before and have not enjoyed the fallout.

Of course, no one wants to see my mask when it drops to the floor.  No one else wants to hear me cry uncontrollably in my husband's arms at 3am.  No one wants to recognise the anguish I have in the pit of my stomach.  Well, I know God does and yes, spiritually I have to keep coming back to His grace, His promise, His will.

But mentally, physically and emotionally, I don't know how to release the pressure valve.  I don't know how to drop the mask to the outside world for fear that if I do I will curl up in the corner and be a mental wreck.

Thank goodness I have Wayne who has known anguish and pain and pressure, and who has amazing empathy for my mental state.

The Cancer Society provides counselling as part of treatment and I'm guessing after reading this you will say "Lady, you need counselling".

So I have written this blog to enlighten about the mental struggle that goes on within. I have had the latest operation in a last hope of getting rid of the cancer, but with the knowledge of 'when' not 'if' it comes back, I am scared and frightened and confused.  

If I could have stayed at the beach and never come back, I would have been content.  There, I placed no pressures on myself...I could just 'be'.  How do I learn to do that back in the real world in Taupo?  With counselling?  Medication?  Lean on my faith more?  Drink more wine? Shut down emotionally? Keep on hiding it from everyone?

It's a big question...  

Here we go again...

8/3/2015

How to go from high to low in 24 hours.  'Gladys' my prosthesis was such a confidence booster on Thursday and I am thrilled to bits with how she is working out.  I really felt I had turned a corner.

But I got a call on Friday to go to Rotorua for an oncology consult.  I thought it was just to tell me about my change of meds and a repeat of what the surgeon had told me so wasn't worried.  Unfortunately Wayne couldn't come with me so when I walked into the consult room to see Elaine, the chemo supervisor; an oncology registrar; and oncologist, Ian Kennedy, all looking pretty serious, I was on red alert.

Mr Kennedy proceeded to go through my cancer file from the lumpectomy in January 2014, explaining the purpose of the chemo regime, the results of MRIs, CT scans and the hormone treatment, right through to the mastectomy two weeks ago.  In essence, he told me that the mastectomy was the last hope for a cure.  

Due to the cancer coming back while I was receiving treatment, it is displaying invasive, aggressive cancer and it is saying "we don't need estrogen to survive, we can do it all ourselves".  From this way forward, he informs me, it will be a case of controlling the cancer, not curing it, as that attempt has been done and dusted.

So they are going to monitor me closely with CT scans in 6 months but any niggle I have I am to get in contact straight away.  He says I have a very very slim chance of the cancer not coming back and "when" it comes back, he said, not "if", it will probably be in the bones, liver or brain.

As you can appreciate, this has been a hard bit of news to take in.  To say I am numb is an understatement, but I know I will process and work with this.  I have great support with Luke and Christine now in town, and of course, Wayne, and my wonderful friends and colleagues.

I'm not dead yet, that I know, and I refuse to wallow, but please bear with me as I learn how to live again.  I have had tears a plenty, and lots of looking into open space, trying to figure out how to be brave and go forward.  It's a tough ask and as time goes on and if cancer decides to stay dormant for months, then I will learn to relax again.  I am strong in my faith, I know God will not forsake me whatever comes along.  It is my loved ones I feel for at this time, so please, give them a hug and remember their pain and concern as they support me.

I'm back to work tomorrow for a few hours a day as I build up again.  I am still recovering from chemo residue, radiation residue, two general anaesthetics and an amputation of the breast, let alone the emotional and mental state - good grief, it's a wonder I am smiling when even I read what I have typed.  

And so life goes on - some good news is I had a great-niece born to my niece Julia and husband Peter yesterday.  Photos show Emma Rose is just beautiful. 

I would really love it if we could all remember to love our loved ones that much more and be generous with those hugs.

Until next time...