Missing You Already

26/10/2015

So one week into the lowering of neuropathy meds and I have to say my head feels clearer and my legs not so heavy, but the neuropathy is having a party at night time when I'm in bed.  Horrible foot cramps where I have to get out of bed 3-4 times at night to unlock distorted feet.  Hence I bought a foot spa today and seeing if that can loosen up the tootsies.  So one drug to go and see what happens then.

I came across this article during the week.  I have edited it to what is relevant for me right now...

"But when treatment is over? Well, life gets back to normal. Right?

Hmm … not so fast. It’s just not that easy. That’s what we forget to tell patients. Getting back to normal, getting on with life, is harder than everyone expects.

Picking up the pieces of your life before cancer – before chemotherapy or radiation wreaked havoc on the body and soul – takes much longer than one might expect. With the end of treatment comes an upwelling of fear of recurrence, fear that because active treatment has stopped, the cancer will be able to grow again. There is fear surrounding each scan and each blood draw. Anxiety swells before each oncology visit.

We might have forgotten to tell you that this is all normal. It’s an expected part of the recovery process. The fatigue from chemotherapy will get better over time. The hair will grow back. The fear of recurrence will subside with the passing of the months.

Another thing that we may have forgotten to tell you? You will be able to get on with your life again after cancer treatment. You’ll probably be a changed person after your experience, but you’ll get back to normal. If not the old normal then for sure a new one. Your life will resume, despite cancer, beyond cancer.

Just be sure to rally the support during this time. You still need it".

As was apt to do, the movie I saw last night "Missing You Already" got me thinking.  The hardest thing for me to watch was as Milly died, her husband was lying with her and his heartache was so raw.  I realised then that this is just what Wayne would be like and it broke my heart to know the pain he would be in.  He doesn't deserve to be a broken man.  Hopefully it's all a long way off.  Today I feel like it is

I have always been a people watcher and created Luke into one as well.  I was always making up stories about things I would see and say to Luke - look Luke, suspicious. Drug deal going down - and that was when he was a child!  He is an avid CI channel watcher so must have peeked his interest.

When I watch children now, I just see the gift they are.  One of our young mum's from work is just relishing motherhood and she is showing me again how to enjoy and make memories with loved ones.  I see her giving time to her son and that got me having some regrets.

I regret now that I had not spent more time and had more adventures with Luke when he was pre school age. I wish I had helped him explore more and look for adventures. I wish I had stopped doing the household chores, trying to keep myself busy, and spent time with my son showing him simple little joys.  I guess that's what grandparents do so well.  But thank goodness Wayne came along when Luke was five and introduced him to all sorts of craziness in 'Wayne's World'.

I know of another two ladies diagnosed this week...time to examine those breasts again, people.  Cancer does not discriminate.  Be aware of body changes and, if in doubt, take action.

Round 11

28/08/2014

Round 11 chemo - done! Am I excited or what about next Thursday. I just wish I could have chemo again today to get it all over and done with. 

What a contrast from last week at the chemo unit to this week. Last week there was a queue for one of the 11 chairs. This week we only filled three chairs - people had been sent home because they had infections or their bloods were too low. 

One of the processes I might have not mentioned before is that the day before chemo you get your bloods taken and the results have to be at the unit within two hours so they can assess whether your white blood count is too low to receive chemo. Mine have sat around on average 2.1-2.3. They won't do chemo if the reading is 1 or below without oncologist direction. Then the unit are meant to ring and say don't come. Well we know that doesn't always happen as we have seen people arrive only to be told go take another test now and if still not up you are going home. Pretty frustrating for those who have travelled I would imagine.

Another thing I learned yesterday is that they won't remove my portacath for 6-12 months after chemo stops - just in case. That they can now insert a portacath under a local, no general anaesthetic now, so I'm assuming they will remove it under local the same way.

Wayne always brings his guitar into the hospital as he won't leave it in the car. (He has the obligatory trip to the Rock Shop during my treatment.). This week the staff asked for a song so it became a rather rowdy 20 minutes. Lots of laughter and joy in the unit today - and no process hiccups. Elaine the head nurse was back so think everyone was back on track and focused, even if they were having a good singalong. Elaine requested 'Smelly Cat" (Phoebe / Friends) and Elaine certainly 'sang' it well!

After a quick check of the Op Shop in Rotorua (thanks Trish J) and managing to buy $10 Molly N shoes - boom - it was home to bed. Then the craving...tonight, custard. So down to the shop and custard was bought. Posted on Facebook and the next thing I find all these custard lovers coming out the woodwork. Who mentioned steam pudding and custard...yum again!

Had the Epsom salts bath for detoxifying, woke every two hours but no early morning munchies this time.

So another easy round. I wonder if they are easing off the dosage and strength - like a withdrawal - from the chemo. Don't know.  Though I have slept for four hours this afternoon.

While I was at the unit I read an article in the 'North & South' magazine about the Christchurch earthquake and the psychological effects now four years down the track. 

A Dr Lucy D'Aeth wrote about adapting/accepting what is and I found it quite valid for where I am at now. She said:

"To have the ability to prepare and plan for, absorb, recover from, or more successfully adapt to adverse effects. Adapt = the acceptance there's no returning to the old kind of normal".

As you can tell from this and previous blogs, I still long for my old normal, but reading this has helped me realise that I will adapt (as I have in these last eight months) and my new normal will arise out of all this.

I walked past the Cancer Daffodil Day stand today and it brought back memories of when my sister, Jan, was diagnosed with breast cancer five years ago. 

We were living in Whangarei and I just had to buy the cancer teddy bear because of what she was going through. It feels like that hit me harder then of what she was going through than it does for what I am going through today. I couldn't quite attach myself that I am now in that same situation. I was so sad for my sister and yet I am over feeling sad for me. Is that because my new 'normal' has started?

I also had a lovely lady come up to me today, who is an acquaintance, and she broke down in tears and hugged me not once, but twice. I felt so sorry for her that she was sad. Sometimes all one needs is a hug and to hear them say 'I'm sorry for what you have to go through'.

Today my heart goes out
- to those who have loved ones who are losing the fight, are feeling the pain, and are grieving
- for those of us who are still in the midst of treatment and are walking with faith, love, support, courage - and let's not forget modern medicine
- to those who have made it through treatment and are rejoicing that they got through a season in their life and now walk a new 'normal'

Thanks this week:
A friend's generous heart
Skype my new friend in Sweden who is as mad as me

PS: my daughter-in-law Christine is back from USA safe and sound. 

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