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...

Mastectomy

21/02/2015

I never expected to be in this situation so soon.  Once diagnosed with cancer, it is always in the back of your mind that the disease is lurking, waiting.  It's sad to say this is how cancer patients do live. I have read enough on Google to know this is perfectly normal.  No amount of positivity is going to keep cancer away, but a positive attitude saves you from sitting in the corner and curling up in the foetal position and letting a wonderful life pass you by.  I choose positivity!

I arrived at hospital on Tuesday 17/2/2015 to be met by a host of beautiful nurses, who I call Angels, some of whom I had last year.  They were sad to see me again so soon and took great care of me.

My left breast left my body sometime between 8.15am and 10.40am.  Where it is now, I don't know but I guess part of it will be with pathologists so they can write up their report.

I returned to my room and declared: "I am a duck...quack" and, on cue, would paddle my feet like a duck.  Wayne and Luke found this highly entertaining.  I also wouldn't let go of Luke's hand and poked Wayne in the face more times than he cares to remember. I would also "go to sleep" when told to as well.  I do recall going off to my happy place - paddling down the Waikato River on a rubber tube - such a happy memory from last Sunday's excursion.

I didn't really grasp what it would mean when I woke up from the three hour operation to find I had had a Mastectomy of my left breast.  My right breast looked awkward, out of place, next to a flat chest.  My initial thought was they should have taken both.  I looked to Wayne to see if he was revolted by what he saw, but he said "It's not that bad, Hon".  A look in the mirror reflected something slightly bizarre - I couldn't really make sense of what I was seeing in the mirror.

I feel that this reality is harder than last year's.  Even though I said last year to take the breast off, the surgeon considered a lumpectomy was enough, and I trusted him then and I still trust him now. He dealt with what he saw at the time - a single lump that was invasive into the lymph nodes.  Even now the medical team are perplexed as to what has happened for me to get another type of breast cancer and whether removing the breast is going to be enough or do I require another round of chemo. The medical team will get together and in a month I will meet with the Onocologist for their plan.

Today is day 5 and I realise, prior to the operation, I made too light of a serious situation. I joked at my own expense about "losing a tit", "cutting it off", "I'm going to walk around in circles", "thousands of other women out there are walking around like me", "easy way to lose weight".  I didn't give my body enough respect.  And I also didn't allow myself to feel - I want to be the "isn't Andrea amazing how she is coping with this" person everyone has come to know and expect.

Well, let me tell you, the façade is cracking, the resolve is faltering, the ability to smile, come what may, feels under strain.  This is tough, and all because my emotions are kicking in.  

Going through chemo and radiation, well you know what's happening; for some reason your body takes what is thrown at it; tiredness is its legacy. 

But when a part of your body gets removed, that is a different story. It is visible every day, in your face, as you stand naked in front of the mirror.  You are now maimed, beyond curvaceous and voluptuous: you are in a state of change.  If cancer comes again, other parts will be chopped off as medicine works out what to do next.  This is my reality.  

I have a dacron prosthesis in a support bra - yes, I am lop sided.  I have staggered sideways a couple of times and got the giggles realising my point of centre is askew.  A weighted prosthesis will be fitted in a couple of weeks when the swelling goes down. 

I managed to lie on my side this afternoon which is progress and such a nice change from my back. Both Wayne and Luke have expressed concern at my deathly snoring!

Luke has now moved back home waiting for his beloved Christine to arrive in three weeks.  Wayne continues to work so Luke is in charge of trying to reign me in.  He didn't succeed today as I claimed cabin fever so off we went out for coffee but only for an hour then back home and rest.  

So, all in all, I'm tired, I'm anxious and I need hugs, so don't be afraid to hug me close if and when you see me - it could be just what I need; and bear with me as I express myself and learn from what the emotional challenge of all this is going to teach me.

Number 1 on the Bucket List - River Riders

15/02/2015

On my bucket list is to drift down the Waikato River from Control Gates Bridge to Reid's Farm on a rubber tube.  Thanks to SAR work colleagues and his support ("Yeah let's do this Chick") for organising the rubber tubes, 26 of us are about to do this tomorrow at 10am.  The 'breasters' - Tania and I - are just a tad excited to be doing this for the first time. 

Also we have are reminded of Constable Anton Kuraia (www.the809foundation.co.nz) who is walking for cancer awareness and is coming to Taupo on Wednesday, so we are doing a gold coin donation for this cause - hence the piggy money box.  Any Taupo-ites who want to join us, grab a flotation device and tag along.

Hookwire scheduled

01/02/2015

So I am off to have Hookwire Wide Excision Biopsy on Tuesday which involves a day stay in hospital and I thought I would be back to work the next day. But today I get report from surgeon and he is putting me off for two weeks!! Can't believe it!  I thought it was a local and I would be back to work the next day.

This link gives explanation of procedure - should have read this before!
http://www.ouh.nhs.uk/patient-guide/leaflets/files%5C110517wirelocalisation.pdf

I took a mental health day during the week to get my head around what is happening...helped a lot being by the ocean, my happy place.

Mt Maunganui, Tauranga, New Zealand

Biopsy results are in

19/01/2015

Mum and Jan came with me to see surgeon today.  He tells us he has never seen anything like my scans - it looks like my Breast has had a shaker of salt sprinkled through it.  

He found it so hard to believe this has happened and the Breast tissue needs to be further explored so a day surgery coming up to get better pathology.

He is 99% sure it is cancer too.  

Next step CT and MRI scans this Wednesday, results the following Wednesday, then day surgery to take a larger portion of breast tissue then probably full mastectomy of the left breast and chemo on the cards.

How do I feel...a bit numb and exhausted mentally.

My angel neighbour pampering me through dark days

Oh no, it's back

18/01/2015

We got through Christmas before the bomb shell

So what do I think about while I am waiting for biopsy results after being told the radiologist is 99.9% sure I have cancer back in the same breast but different to the cancer I was treated for last year.

Well I started off calm.  I have been here before. Last year when all I wanted to do was be 'normal' again, I now realise when the medical people said it looks like cancer again, I realised this was 'normal' for me.  So I wasn't actually upset.  I didn't think what the hell was my surgeon playing at when he reassured me a lumpectomy was all I needed (last January).  He made the right decision for that particular cancer at that time and the chemo was meant to wipe out any cancer of that sort (not what I possibly have now).  So it has probably done its job.

With my immune system being compromised, then this is probably why the latest cancer is red flagging.  I am concerned that my hormone meds which are meant to block the estrogen and stop feeding the Cancer aren't working.

It's a bugger and I only say this because I can see the fallout this round could produce.  This year could be tougher from a relationship perspective, work and my physical and mental state. If this does turn out to be, I am going to have to dig deep.

My hours are already compromised at work and I wonder how long my employer can prop me up financially.  I am gutted at this stress this places on me and Wayne.

The heartache I hear in my mother's voice when I check in on her.  This shouldn't be happening for a vibrant 86 year old.  Her twilight years should be about letting go and being with her loved ones, her grandchildren - not a possibly ailing daughter.

My sister who has travelled a familiar journey 5 years ago and now reaching out with  sisterly love to her baby sister.  How hard this must be to see 'Andy' in turmoil.

My son and his wife who are looking at uprooting their life and moving to Taupo to support Wayne and I.  I would want them to come because they want to for lifestyle and not be pressured in a way by duty.

And as for my husband of the year, well he told me this is all unfair. Why, why, why does it have to happen to me, someone who brings joy and love and happiness with a touch of zany.  He said he will never understand.

And then there's you guys out there who have already carried me through last year with prayer, love, kindness, totally enriching our lives with all that you bring to our lives. Why would you want to ride this roller coaster with me again.  Thank goodness for Facebook and freedom of choice.  You don't have to read this.

Me - well I have got myself dead and buried a couple of times in the last few days.  I have spiralled and do wonder what is in store for me.  My senses are heightened and everything is looking amazing, I am experiencing terrific highs and then lows.  The tears flow in the dark of night.  Every little niggle I think Cancer has spread.  Then I think, no, it is just my body still adjusting to last year's treatment.

This is what it feels like to have had cancer.  You never forget, you are never out of the woods, you are always in limbo.  Maybe as time goes on and there are big gaps and remission stretches out, one can relax a little.  Me, having a callback on my very first mammogram after treatment, I feel robbed and well, this is just a bit harsh and definitely not fair.

But I will fight the good fight. If this biopsy all turns out to be a red herring, then I will be mighty grateful. If it turns to custard, then I fight on with my 'army' fed and watered and rested for approximately the last two months (between last radiation and now) and we hit this thing with whatever we can arm ourselves with.  I do not want to lose this battle any time soon.