Low Days

18/04/2014

It was explained to me that the whole cancer experience is a roller coaster of all the senses. This week was emotionally and physically tough.

I headed home to Matamata for a cry and a hug on Sunday with Mum. I didn't know that when I got out the car I was going to fall in her arms and shed tears. She said "I just want to take your hurts away" and I said I wanted her to "kiss and make it better".

Monday I was in bed all day. The body separated itself from the head and just went blah and would not, could not budge out of bed. Maybe I haven't drunk enough this 2nd chemo round. I am now trying Epsom Salt baths to see if I can detox the chemicals out. 

Each chemo round is about learning how to manage the chemicals that are rushing around the body. I guess I may have been a bit cocky after the 1st round and it going so well. Note to self - Chemotherapy is not a walk in the park, Andrea.

This week I failed miserably and I became sad. I have not been great company. I have pushed many away because I didn't want to impose my morose behaviour on others. I have not been able to lift myself out of the doldrums. I still put in some good hours at work but it was a struggle. I have shed buckets. Wayne has been my shoulder to cry on. He is so gentle, kind, loving - just holds me as I sob. He just keeps saying "let it out, let it go, this is good".

Please - I'm saying this not to invoke sympathy. There's plenty of others who are going through/ have been through this experience and know what I'm saying, but haven't told a soul. They have just taken the bull by the horns, stiff upper lip and got on with it. Well me, I'm just sharing this whole gambit of the cancer experience from where I am sitting.

This raw, vulnerable, bald human being is not someone I recognise in the mirror. I feel like I am being stripped bare to the core and I have so far to go, that I am not going to recognise the person at the end of all this. Who will arise from this whole experience.

Thank goodness for the arrival of Luke and Christine. To have their presence around me gives me joy. They remind me I am still a mum, a mother-in-law; I am wise, loving, giving, still speak gobbly-gook, funny, nurturing - they help me remember me.

So how did I forget all that this week. Well my wise niece "Oh auntie, tough once those steroid highs wear off isn't it? This is so normal...it passes".

Oh Lord, really, is that what this week was all about? This just confirmed again, those chemicals are going to send me roller coasting off the scale now as the next two rounds get stronger.

Hang in there with me guys, this is a hell of a ride...

Thank you this week for the beautiful kindnesses from:

• Jean, our neighbour, for coconut milk
• My angel of a neighbour for an amazing Entertainment Events Book for the year and wine
• Distant cousins for the beautiful flowers

Shave Day

12/04/2014

Time to shave it off

This was 'shave day'. Dr Link, the oncologist, had said my hair would start falling out this week and he was right, so the decision was made for Friday, 12 noon at Hair Mechanics for the shave. Beautiful vivacious compassionate Raynor did the deed and she did it with grace and in a dignified professional way.

It has been an emotional week and no, not because of vanity, but I am guessing I am now going to be identified as "she's got cancer". Shaving my head makes me stand out as 'sick' and in my mind I'm not sick, tired but not sick.

I then realise that this cancer treatment isn't going away any time soon and with shaving the hair, I realise I'm going to be a long time without a lot of hair and a long time under the cancer umbrella.

And then I also realise I am fighting for my life now. I can be upbeat 80% of the time and I can put all my trust and faith in God, and yet when I crawl back into human mode, I'm just a wee bit terrified.

And the lack of hair makes me vulnerable emotionally and raw to the elements. Some may think, for goodness sake, it's just a hairstyle. Well I can't explain it, but it just does emotionally challenge me.

So the shave is done. I had a number 2. I shed a few tears. I didn't recognise myself. I didn't want to look in the mirror.

But I had such loving support around me. Wayne held my hand when my hair was being washed and took photos of the experience, and gave me that reassuring look that he still loved me however I looked.

My cousin, who is my spiritual rock, I believe today represented my family.

Kathryn was my police family rep today and along with Leanne brought me calm and gentleness.

Debbie was Debbie - she loves me regardless of hair or no hair, and can't wait to do my makeup!

And I know there were lots thinking of me as well, especially Luke and Christine who couldn't be here, and surprised me in shaving their hair in support.

I thank you from the very roots of my hair!

So I survived the day. And yes, I will many more days like this.

This is me - vulnerable, raw, terrified - but elated that I got to go for a girlie weekend at The Mount and beach had a swim - my happy place.  This is my 'home beach' from my teenage years so lots of driving round in cars, watching guys and sun and surf.

I haven't been to the beach for so long, must be over a year, and that is where my Dad's spirit is, so I put my feet in the soothing salt water and talked to my Dad and just let him know how I am. I miss him today more than ever for some reason.

I remember he told me once he saw bald women overseas during the war and they were ugly. Well Pops, I need to know you don't think I'm ugly now. I just want to be your 'Bubs' again with a tender hand on the top of my head saying "You're beautiful Bubs".

Round 2

11/04/2014

Listen...what's that strange noise? It's rain!

Round 2 chemo this week. All went to plan again - nice and smooth. Went back to work for two days. 

Then today at lunch time came a cruncher, just zapped of energy, weepy, feeling sorry for myself - just wanted that hug and reassurance from Wayne, only he had to go to work and leave me to it. So the bubble wrapped itself around me and I was alone with me and God and that's when He told me again - 'Be still and know that I am God'. 

I put myself to bed at 1.30 and lay curled up in the foetal position feeling very sorry for myself physically while my mind was going crazy on steroid meds. So I lay there consciously separating the mind from the body and just letting the body enjoy the sound of the raindrops.  I woke at 6 so somewhere in there my steroid mind slowed down and gave me rest.

My taste buds changed this week after chemo. It's a shame because I have been so good at drinking 3 bottles of water a day but now it tastes like plastic even out of a glass, so am frantically trying to find something that will hydrate and flush the chemo out and also quench my thirst. Cranberry juice is winning at the moment at 3am but that's also when I am wanting porridge with brown sugar! Also trying the suggestions in the cancer booklet - eat with plastic fork, have lime juice before food, spice up meals.  Got to be some merit in their suggestions.

A gift package from my colleagues

I also put up a post about bath louffa/sponge which a lot of you have read. Hope it made sense and got you thinking about putting into practice.

After a beautiful weekend at the Mount last weekend with Debbie Forster, I am so looking forward to spending time with Wayne. This week I have been asleep by the time he has got home so have lost that connection and sharing our day. He has no gig this weekend (he is a guitarist/musician) either so we will just enjoy our time together and be lazy and remember how blessed we are to have each other.

Thanks again to my prayer warriors and well wishers. I can't stress enough how important you are in this experience.

Check your breasts

10/04/2014

My suggestion for what it's worth...

I don't know if I mentioned in previous posts that I was between mammograms when I discovered the breast cancer lump.

I have been using a bath louffa for a few years so had not actually "touched" skin to skin and done the soapy breast examination. When I did put aside the louffa, the lump was very obvious.

Another recently diagnosed friend who I spoke to this week, said she had a similar experience. She dropped her louffa on the shower floor and couldn't be bothered picking it up. She lathered up and found her lump as well.

My suggestion is - put aside the louffa, facecloth, whatever you use and once a month, lather up and examine your breasts, especially between mammograms.
And guys, if you are reading this...do I have to spell it out!

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