N.E.D.

09/09/2015

"No evidence of distal metastases" - that's what the report says.

So let me tell you what it's been like living the last six months in my world - I thought I was dying. Whether the oncologist was right in telling me, in his expert opinion, the cancer would be back within six months was right or wrong, that's debatable.  For the most part though, I wanted to know. And he was predicting by my past results so I understand where he was coming from.  In hindsight, 3 hours after the news today, I'm glad he did because I have learnt a lot about myself in the process.

So the oncology team changed the hormone meds to Tamoxofin and I started that journey of relying on a medication to keep me alive.  And it's done its job.  No changing my diet, exercising more, positive thinking or praying hard out (though I know I have been lifted up and supported by so many who didn't give up on me when I was too spiritually exhausted to go there).  No, I left it up to good old fashioned medication.  But all the time I thought in the back of my mind I was dying.  So I put on the brave face; I kept that stiff upper lift for all appearances until I was in the confines of my own home.  No one will see the "scared Andrea".

Today, when I got the report saying no evidence of cancer, I honestly couldn't believe it.  I was expecting a call to have an MRI.  So I went into shock - physically, I had a meltdown.  You would think I would be jumping for joy and smiles and celebrations.  Um no, I went into meltdown mode.  I cried on my colleague's shoulder, I cried on my son's shoulder and then cried some more and then slept my grief off.  See if you can understand it this way...

You have been sentenced to death and you are on Death Row and then your lawyer appeals and you get a reprieve while the appeal is heard. This is me today.  This the only way I can explain how I felt today, right there and then I had been given "a reprieve".

My body will still struggle with the meds side effects and fatigue.  It will still be mending itself for the next 18 months, they say, from the operation and treatment.  But I will now embrace this without the thought that my body is giving up.  It hasn't been giving up; it's been fighting to live and I owe it that much to get my mind on the same wavelength.

So I will now do cartwheels and hand stands (and well God damn it, if it was summer a certain someone and I would be skinny dipping).  In fact I might just walk to the shop and buy a bottle of Kim Crawford Pinot Gris.

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story.  I know it isn't always easy reading but I'm not big on denial. If I can help someone else through my words, then that gives me purpose.  

Thank you to all of those who have not given up on me.  It is honestly really hard listening to people say "You'll be fine" when you are living it, but to those of you who said it...you were right!

I'm now going to make plans for a holiday; one with no cancer looming over me.  It's been a long time coming.

A Year On

8/8/2015

This photo popped up on my Facebook timeline yesterday to remind me where I was this time last year.  I took one look at that photo and I sighed (and cried inside) because I look at that photo and think that I looked so much better then, which is silliness because I was in the thick of chemo treatment.  I see light in my eyes, a smile, colour,; I see vibrancy, I was in control of this.

But a year on I think I look worse today than this photo.  I feel my heart is heavy.  Have I commenced another stage in the grieving process?

I'm trying to work out if I fit the mould of 'stages of grief'.  Researching them today, I am pretty confident I have experienced all these, but not necessarily in this order:

- denial

- anger

- bargaining

- sadness

- acceptance

'Sadness' seems to be ticking the box (definition:  Confronting cancer and the losses it entails understandably leads to great sadness. You may have trouble sleeping and concentrating, you may lack your usual energy, or you may find yourself crying unexpectedly. These are normal reactions, but will you ever climb out of your darkness? Speaking with a professional counselor or participating in a support group can help.). 

To be re-diagnosed in February and a probable recurrence sentence of 6 months placed on my shoulders, has hit me hard, harder than many will realise.  I am literally still dragging my body around, knowing that it needs to heal, that it is still early days, and how I must learn to to listen to my body and remember to use my voice when I can't go on anymore.

I wish I could draw, because my picture would be of my body, side on, with a waterfall cascading from my chest inwards and tumbling down to a massive pool. It is constantly flowing at the moment.  Crying is good, I am told, gets rid of the toxins apparently.  Well if cancer is a toxin then it must be gone with the tears I have shed.  Soon, very soon, the tears must dry up surely.  

So it could be time to talk to a professional again, even if I feel like I am repeating myself.

On a brighter note, I heard on the radio today that it's three weeks till the end of winter!  Roll on sunshine and bring the heat, as there is a lake/ocean just waiting for this One Eyed Minion to dive into.

Freak Out

20/07/2015

Today I had a follow up three monthly appointment with my surgeon.  I made the comment that I seem to be getting cleavage from my left breast (which is no more) and he had a look.  Warning, warning, warning bells!  So in one sentence my morning  turned upside down - "I think we should biopsy that lump".

Off I go to Lakes Radiology for an ultra sound with the potential for a biopsy. I saw the same consultant who did my January scan and he recognised me. I told him, "tell me if you see anything, I want to know". Thankfully it was decided I didn't need the biopsy as he could see nothing sinister in the scans.  He asked what else he could do for me and I said "please scan my right breast for peace of mind" - and he did.

Now I thought I would be okay with all that happened this morning.  I had Luke with me in support and I'm so glad he was there.  We were able to go through the raft of emotions together and the 'what ifs' in a matter of two hours.

But I'm not okay really because once again I went into panic mode, my stomach was flipping, I went into the 'I will have to give up work if I have more chemo', etc etc. If Luke hadn't been there I probably would have had a melt down but I had to be brave for him.  

I don't want to have a melt down but I am feeling on edge.  I am so scared to write this blog for what others will think of me and my weakness.  I know how I should be and I know how others want me to be, and I know so many of you will have words of wisdom, yet my brain is playing a different tune.  I am in awe watching my fellow cancer mates get on with their lives, how stoic they are and the joy I see in them.  I have claimed back "joy" and that is my new daily journal entry right now.  

But it hasn't stopped me freaking out.

Yes I saw the trauma psychologist and that helped heaps.  But today I have gone into the dark hole all because of a few words.

I haven't written a blog for a long time because medically speaking I am where I should be in recovery.  Tamoxifen meds is a bitch of a drug, but if it is keeping the cancer at bay, then I need to take it.  I asked if I could take a break now and then and I was told no, never.  Shame.

Mentally speaking this is all of a challenge for me.  Some days I rise to the challenge, other days I don't.  So when reminders of cancer come knocking, like 

- getting dressed each morning and thinking I look like the One-Eyed Minion

- buying a silky chamise because my remaining boob heads East and my tops all go with it so trying to find a solution (other than a pin)

- walking with a cane in town because I am so unstable and yet I look perfectly alright

- the doctor keeping an extra special eye on me and sending me for tests

I am struggling to rise to the challenge.

When I think back to last year, that was physically demanding and yet my body coped.  This year, my mind is my illness and learning how to put a bandaid on it without it still 'bleeding' is Wayne and my challenge.  I say Wayne's too as he sees the real me that I don't want the rest of the world to see.

So not much joy in this blog, but I'm telling it like it is.  Cancer is not just chemo, radiation and meds.  It is mentally and emotionally getting through the trauma to body and mind, it is learning how to view and work with a physically changed body, and how to face the challenges of the mind games.  All incredibly powerful individually and yet put it all together and deal with it all at the same time, well I am not as strong as others, and that's okay, I'm wisely told.  I apologise for letting the mask down, but this is me - raw and bleeding, crying and smiling, joyful and resentful, grateful and alone, anxious and calm, peaceful and hostile...so many emotions to ride out.

Bone Scan

08/06/2015

Today I had a bone scan using Nuclear Medicine at Waikato Hospital. In scans using nuclear medicine, you’re injected with a radioactive substance. This collects in certain parts of your body – for example, cancerous cells or your bones.  Once I had the injection, I was sent away for 3 hours.  I could eat, drink, drive, whatever in that time.  It didn't affect me.

The radioactive substance releases gamma rays. A special ‘gamma camera’ can take a picture of the gamma rays. This lets the doctor see where the radiation is in your body. So if you’re having a scan for cancer, the doctor can see where the cancerous cells are.  Sometimes doctors may use nuclear medicine and x-rays together. This gives them a picture of your body’s structure overlaid with the gamma ray image.

On return I had a full body scan, a scan of the chest area and a scan of the lower back.  This took about an hour and a half.  Results will be a week away as the specialist is away for a week.

Wayne and Luke came with me which was a great comfort.  We also got to call in on Mum who is looking so much better which was a relief to see.

So, did I get a feel for what the results might be? Yes and no, but I'm not going to second guess.  If all clear, that box is ticked; if an issue, then I will carry on fighting the disease the best I can. What will be, will be...

Mental Fatigue

06/06/2015

On Monday I go for a bone scan.  I have a few aches and pains they want to check out.  This is an early scan as I wasn't due till July so in some ways it's good, and in other ways it's scary.  But then I think I can tick the box if it all comes back clear.  Hormone meds play havoc with your body and side effects can be aches and pains so I'm guessing this is what is happening and I'm not expecting any surprises.

I have been very fortunate to be seeing a trauma psychologist through work.  It's something we are encouraged to do.  After the recent homicide, I found it was playing on my mind so it was good to go and "talk the talk".

Of course, what I didn't realise was all this other "stuff" that is going on.  

My mum has been really sick and as a family, we are struggling to see this amazing 87 year old suddenly be her age in just a matter of weeks. Mum has had amazing support from my sister and her husband.  It is a true blessing that they are there.  I hate to think of all those lonely people out there ailing who don't have a family to support them.

And then there's the cancer cloud hanging over my head.  When I'm at work I'm fine. I can get engrossed in my work, and laugh and work hard to support my crew.  But when I walk away, I sense a dark spiral sucking me in.  Anti depressants are great because they don't let me hit the bottom of the pit, but they also take off the euphoria high.  I really don't think I could function without them at this time, they're  just keeping me in the game.

And of course the discussion about assisted dying has been in the news and that sets one thinking as well, and what I would do in the same situation.

I am still struggling to show my vulnerability.  I am now hiding it from Wayne. I don't want to bother him.  He is so happy in his job and his music, I hesitate to share and yet he is the true one who "gets it".

Having Luke and Christine around is awesome.  I worry for them that they will get jobs and be happy here.  They push my buttons at times, trying to get me to open up.  They are so brave and compassionate towards me in encouraging me to let the mask down.

Great to see my other cancer buddies are doing so well.  Some big achievements all round.  Awesome work you ladies, you know who you are.

So the mental game is still being played out.  This, to me, is harder than what I went through last year, or do I have short memory. 

Mental Alert

12/05/2015

I have been asked lately where is my blog, seems like some of you are missing my ramblings in the cancer world.  All I can really say is that this stretch is mentally challenging.  

Thanks to some time out at the beach, anti depressants, a wine now and again, and Luke and Christine being there for me when I spiral downward, this trip is harder.  The waiting...the when, the if, the uncertainty...all challenging and I'm not really that happy about it.  

Isn't it strange that given something physical, like physical treatment of chemo and radiation, that when it stops, it feels like the safety net has gone. The hormone pills are taken daily but who knows if they are doing their job.  So I've gained 3kg and I have spots, but I'm going to carry on with them.

It is now three months since I was told 'when not if' and it isn't any easier as I sit here today.  I spiral downwards when I'm alone or get over tired.  I'm waiting for that ache or something to appear.  My body feels odd, just odd, and I can't put my finger on it.  Is is psychosomatic or is something really occurring within my body...I'm anxious waiting.  Will there come a day when I'm not anxious and I can breathe a sigh of relief.

My mum has been really ill with septicaemia these last 10 days.  Sitting with her in hospital and watching her decline and then improve has been a roller coaster.  My sister Jan and husband Rob have been there every step of the way with Mum.  I am so grateful that they are there for her and have her best interests at heart.  And for Mum's grandchildren and great grandchild to visit gave her such a lift.

But I want my Mum, I want to be able to pick up the phone and tell her anything and everything.  I can't imagine her not being here.  At one point, when I was told this time round 'when not if', she said to be "We'll go together".  That's how Mum is.  She would do anything for her children.

So I get fatigued - yes I had a kip on the office floor last week - but I'm doing my best to earn a living, pay the bills and have a coffee out at the weekend.  Life is simple. It  has to be.  Thank goodness I can live vicariously with work stories through my headphones at work. 

I am being challenged spiritually.  It has waned somewhat and I don't know why.  But I'm not going to fret.  There are so many out there who are praying for me and others like me.  I think I am tired of trying so hard.

So that's it in a nutshell.  I'm still here, still working, sleeping, eating and driving Hazel with my foot to the floor.  So glad we got her when we did.  She is FUN.

Mind is a battle field

11/4/2015

I am writing this today in two minds whether to or not.  It's been a hard month and I have pushed a lot of people away (for which I apologise) but I had to sort out stuff in my head.

I was struggling how to write what is going on for me at the moment but I came across an article by a woman, stage 4 terminal breast cancer, who put it so succinctly of how it is to be at her stage. 

I am not at that stage (and may never be), but I related to it so much that I am going to put it out there, with a few minor alterations/deletions, with the hope that it helps others going through whatever illness/drama they are dealing with today.  It is a case of going one day at a time, and if that is too hard, then an hour at a time - just like Martin Crowe (NZ cricketer) said recently.  

So I take no credit for the words below in quotes.  This brave lady is saying it for me.  So here goes...

"I'm not even sure what’s going on around me as my mind has gone all higgledy from anxiety. What I do know is the oncologist told me they have done everything medically possible for me, now it is a case of controlling the cancer when, not if, it returns. 

Since my visit to the oncologist a few weeks ago, I have been kind of 'grieving' I guess. I have shed many tears alone and in secret. When I look at my loved ones I get this giant sob in my heart, it's huge. I want to touch them all the time and tell them I love them. I look at them, trying to take them in and seal their faces in the memory bank of my soul. The anxiety of being separated from them mortifies me and breaks my heart. 

Then, there are these massive moments of panic,  where it feels like electricity shooting through my body and I shake my head and say “no no no, not yet, please not yet”!! I'm scared! 

I'm devastated and, to be honest, I just don't know how to deal with this, I don't know how to get my head around it all! 

There have been many ups and downs along the way with this breast cancer journey of mine and I have maintained a positive outlook mostly.   But right now I don't feel so positive! The reality of all this is too much to bear! I have to be positive!! Negativity is not an option! I know the battlefield is in my mind. It’s a fight to be realistic but to not dwell on the negative thoughts.    Balancing positivity with what you hear from the specialists and trying to maintain some kind of peace can be quite a challenge. 

For me to remain positive is to acknowledge my fears and accept them, to not condemn myself when I do freak, to take one step at a time and enjoy and appreciate the smaller things in life that each day brings!!   As the old hymn goes...One day at a time sweet Jesus!"

Right now work and home is what brings me normality.  What a joy it is to work alongside a young expectant mum and see the life in her.  Always a smiley cheery face and so much hope, well I can't help but feed off that.  So thank you Casey for making my days at work filled with hope and laughter.

My skinny dipping bosom buddy Tania and I are still chuckling over our antics and more, and the freedom we are feeling right now.

I attended a funeral this week and as I approached my prayer warrior who had lost her husband, she hugged me and said "You brave lady.  You are in my prayers every night". Now this was so humbling.  To have her say that, in her time of sadness, was pure gold.  Bless you Mary.

And I have decided to stop complaining.  People ask how I am and I say "I'm  good thanks".  And it's true.  I am good. I'm not in a hospital bed.  

So I'm putting one foot in front of the other.  I have to suck it up and believe it, and I'm taking it day by day, or hour by hour.