It's the day after Boxing Day - the 'extra' holiday day that we all got this year because Santa came on a Sunday. How incredibly generous and kind of him. It's been a good day for me to whizz around packing up what little Christmassy decorations I had in the house, the cards, the tinsel and the gorgeous pink wishing tree I was given by Bert and Mattaya. It was a tree that had been artistically designed by my beautiful friend Bert for a Zumba dance party with a cancer fundraising theme. I actually understand that she located the tree base streets away from her house and physically dragged it in the summer heat, acknowledging the occasional tooting car, back to the Grizwald residence in order to paint and decorate it as girly and pink 'breast cancery' as possible. And today I dismantled the tree, lovingly removing and reading each of the little wishing notes hand written by Zumba gals wanting to make a wish in the name of cancer. At one stage I turned a card over in my hand and it read 'I am dancing for you with so much love in my heart sista' and it made me cry. I have no idea who wrote it but the sentiment swelled my heart. There are so many incredibly beautiful amazing women surrounding me right now. I feel overwhelmed at times.
I've had a lovely few days despite the creeping hair line. I've been grateful for the return of my taste buds and general well being to be able to indulge in catch ups and farewells and Christmas lunches, nibbles and drinks. Additionally I had the enormous pleasure of being pushed out of my comfort zone and sent flying through the air with what in fact turned out to NOT be the greatest of ease (I now think my arms are too damn short or something???) while attempting to release and catch a trapeze artist! Did you just furrow your brow while reading this? What the? Yes, it sounds bizarre but I have managed to fit in a circus school during my first cycle of chemo :-) Along with the gorgeous but far too ripped abs for her own good Cate (and her alter-ego Antoinette) we teamed up with a bunch of Byron gym bunnies and celebrated Christmas Eve by climbing a flexible ladder and launching off the top platform of a trapeze, swinging upside down and eventually, catching a swinging bald circus dude who goes by the un-circus name of 'Steve' but should definitely have a name like Vincenco or Bruno or something! Despite there being a surge of adrenalin to the point of quivering legs, it actually turned out to be this amazing and super fun experience and one that I didn't want to end. Just one more turn please Mister???? But in fact 6 goes appeared to be more than enough given my aching pecs and sore traps (is that why they are called trapezius???) lol. Makes so much more sense now. One of the incredible outcomes from Circus School was the opportunity to take myself back to my gymnastic days (just for a short time) and surround myself in crash pads and balance beams and trampolines and like minded people that like to push themselves to achieve daring things. In the context of my cancer and the 'cautiousness of rest and sterile environments' it was so much fun to find myself covered in chalk dust being encouraged to push a physical boundary. And to hear the cheer of the line up of girls watching from below when you actually achieve whatever trick it is you are attempting filled my heart with joy. Special thanks to my trapeze partner in crime who encouraged me from the floor and laughed with me when we wondered about shock factor should 'Steve' try and catch me by my hair! Lol. I love that we can joke about such things. My abs salute you :-)
Yesterday I had to shave my head. The hair loss was just getting to be too significant and I had started feeling like a female version of Norman Gunston with the sweep over. I was so grateful to make Christmas with my hair but Boxing Day seemed like the right time to take it to the next level. So my beautiful friend Lyn (aka Hair by Lynnnnnnnn) whipped out the clippers and on the back deck of the house, my head and my heart faced up to a number 4 shave. I did not sit in front of a mirror but I did go put lip gloss and a dress on???? Don't ask me why, it just seemed like the right thing to do. Lyn is a calm woman with a 'can do' attitude and so with little fuss and fanfare and the occasional, 'you alright Kymmy?' turned me into KD Lang's less talented sister. Done. Tick. Haircut number 3 in the transition to bald. I'm now shooting for a number 2 head shave Demi Moore GI Jane style before it all goes. Stand to attention if you see me in Army greens and boots.
The stripping away of something as significant as hair for a woman is both confronting and liberating all at once. Whilst it affords the opportunity to accentuate other parts of your face (and boy i sure am giving the mascara a good hard go) there is an overriding vulnerability that is hard to overcome no matter how much positive energy you throw at it. I think in time I will reflect and be grateful I had the opportunity to experience this change but right now as I am morphing, it's not been the easiest of challenges. Still, challenge is what life is about and I feel qualified to step up to the plate (yes I am still on the dash to second base......it's a damn big diamond!) and I am not in the slightest bit tired yet. Step aside second baseman cause I'm sliding in soon.
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Christmas hairstyles.....
It's Christmas morning - not insanely early because unlike many children across the world getting their parents up at 5am, Murphy is completely unaware that Santa has left her a squeaky toy under the tree and she's sound asleep on the deck. I've been awake a little while but quietly lying still thinking about my mates who won't be in quiet households. It's one of those events that parents moan about every year (being woken at some ungodly hour) and then long for when all their kids have matured enough to know the presents will still be there at 9am. Having never had kids, it's only an experience I have dipped into when at my sisters house. With 5 kids and a sister that takes shopping to a whole new level, I have had the occasional pleasure of a sea of brightly coloured wrapping paper over the overstuffed lounge room of toys and games and tinsel. And then of course there is chocolate for breakfast.
I got my Christmas present the minute I woke up and touched my head. A few days ago my hair started falling out. It's a strange and (not wanting to be overly dramatic about it) but in fact quite traumatic experience. It's one I thought I was prepared for and then realised I wasn't. In preparation for the Great Shedding, I had started having shorter and shorter hair cuts. My final style plan was to have Anthony my hairdresser dye my hair platinum blonde and cut it in a Pink the Rockchick haircut. It was my "guess what im still a rockstar and I don't need you" swan song to my cancer. Mature? Probably not but it was going to be fun and an opportunity to do something outrageous before chemo got the final say. And it was all going to plan and I was in fact enjoying my Posh bob, when last Wednesday I taught a spin class and ran my hand through my hair. I had poured water on my head to cool myself down and was simply brushing the droplets from my face back through my hair. However when I pulled my hand back to the bike, I realised it was matted with a fist full of my own hair. It's hard to be horrified AND get 20 people up a hill climb simultaneously. But that's what I did. And it seemed like from that moment on, my hair decided to just give up holding onto my scalp.
So, I canceled the platinum blonde as I figured my hair now needed loads of TLC not peroxide and just got a short pixie style cut. Fortunately for me and again, thanks to the genetic material of Granny Gimbert, I have exceptionally thick hair and so even with the cut, Anthony had to thin out my hair. But boy, in the days since the cut, chemo is working hard to assist in the thinning process! I see a head shave in my very near future.
But I was determined to get to Chistmas with hair and it's exactly what I did. I won't shave my head today as I wouldn't want to associate Christmas from this point on with cancer and that event, but I can almost guarantee it will be very very soon. Murphy on the other hand has been happy with my new hair experience because for the first time in 12 years, I've been completely distracted by my own hair on the floor, in the car, in my food....rather than hers. Its all over soon pal.
So, on Christmas morning I thought it only apt to dedicate this blog to the gift of health and to your hair! To all the beautiful people I have in my life and for those people I now understand read my blog but I've never met, please take a second today to celebrate the gift of your health. It's not something you unwrap on Christmas morning and in fact is not a gift you even spare a moments thought about. Well, not until it has been taken away from you. Our bodies are amazing machines that tell us when things are wrong and work with us to heal when required. They stick by us even when we aren't that good to them. So if you have time today, raise a glass (yes i see the irony) to your body, commit to looking after it in 2012, be grateful for your beautiful hair and celebrate your good health and the health of those you love. Happy Christmas. K xxx
I got my Christmas present the minute I woke up and touched my head. A few days ago my hair started falling out. It's a strange and (not wanting to be overly dramatic about it) but in fact quite traumatic experience. It's one I thought I was prepared for and then realised I wasn't. In preparation for the Great Shedding, I had started having shorter and shorter hair cuts. My final style plan was to have Anthony my hairdresser dye my hair platinum blonde and cut it in a Pink the Rockchick haircut. It was my "guess what im still a rockstar and I don't need you" swan song to my cancer. Mature? Probably not but it was going to be fun and an opportunity to do something outrageous before chemo got the final say. And it was all going to plan and I was in fact enjoying my Posh bob, when last Wednesday I taught a spin class and ran my hand through my hair. I had poured water on my head to cool myself down and was simply brushing the droplets from my face back through my hair. However when I pulled my hand back to the bike, I realised it was matted with a fist full of my own hair. It's hard to be horrified AND get 20 people up a hill climb simultaneously. But that's what I did. And it seemed like from that moment on, my hair decided to just give up holding onto my scalp.
So, I canceled the platinum blonde as I figured my hair now needed loads of TLC not peroxide and just got a short pixie style cut. Fortunately for me and again, thanks to the genetic material of Granny Gimbert, I have exceptionally thick hair and so even with the cut, Anthony had to thin out my hair. But boy, in the days since the cut, chemo is working hard to assist in the thinning process! I see a head shave in my very near future.
But I was determined to get to Chistmas with hair and it's exactly what I did. I won't shave my head today as I wouldn't want to associate Christmas from this point on with cancer and that event, but I can almost guarantee it will be very very soon. Murphy on the other hand has been happy with my new hair experience because for the first time in 12 years, I've been completely distracted by my own hair on the floor, in the car, in my food....rather than hers. Its all over soon pal.
So, on Christmas morning I thought it only apt to dedicate this blog to the gift of health and to your hair! To all the beautiful people I have in my life and for those people I now understand read my blog but I've never met, please take a second today to celebrate the gift of your health. It's not something you unwrap on Christmas morning and in fact is not a gift you even spare a moments thought about. Well, not until it has been taken away from you. Our bodies are amazing machines that tell us when things are wrong and work with us to heal when required. They stick by us even when we aren't that good to them. So if you have time today, raise a glass (yes i see the irony) to your body, commit to looking after it in 2012, be grateful for your beautiful hair and celebrate your good health and the health of those you love. Happy Christmas. K xxx
Thursday, December 15, 2011
The value of perspective
Before I even start this blog I just want to say - does anyone feel like it's only a week before Christmas? I realise it's not the easiest of years for me to feel all festive and fuzzy but I think the weather has decided that because Kymmy is having a less than normal Christmas, so too will Mother Nature! And as I sit here in long pants and a comfy warm top typing on the lounge, I can see my feable attempt at a Christmas tree which this year is a pot plant (an indoor one that apparently thrives on neglect - perfect!) with a hand full of tinsel carefully and lovingly tossed over the top. However of noteworthy importance, I did hang the most beautiful hand blown and painted glass decoration that John's sister Donna sent me years and years ago which came from Saks Fifth Avenue. As I hung it I had a lovely conversation with Donna and asked her to do what she could to make sure my cancer is gone. She must be thinking her brother deserves a break from supporting women with cancer. And he does.
As I mentioned in my previous blog - I am currently in the process of change due to the chemotherapy. Some of it's fine and some of it's challenging but all of it is normal under the circumstances and in the grand scheme of things, I think I am travelling brilliantly.
It's been exactly a week and I want to dedicate this blog to resilience. But it's not my resilience I am referring to. Today I received the gift of perspective from someone else that has no idea that she provided it to me and it comes completely wrapped in resilience. You see, it's exactly a week since I started chemo. And seven days later, today, I found myself sitting in the Ballina Council Chambers for what must be their last council meeting of the year. I am familiar with council proceedings these days as in my role as Regional Manager I have been working on a project to build an Aboriginal Child and Family Centre in Ballina. This has given me cause to attend council meetings numerous times. Today it was a big milestone as we were seeking DA approval to begin building the centre. It's taken more than 2 years to get to this stage and it's been a long and hard battle.
I sat in the chamber surrounded by Aboriginal friends and colleagues who showed me so much love and support today, many of them I havent seen since diagnosis. These amazing people have walked side by side with me in partnership to make this centre happen and I am honoured to say I now consider them amongst my friends. And as we nervously sat together today I looked at my watch and realised that as deputations were happening and I was listening to someone opposing the build of this centre, it was exactly a week since I was extending my arm to the gowned up nurse to insert the cannula for my chemo. Almost to the minute. I was nervous on both occasions.
But we quietly sat and listened to council once again debate the issue. It was during these council proceedings that I was given my gift. As I sat there reflecting on my chemo week one of the Aboriginal women sitting next to me squeezed my shoulder and asked me how I was feeling. This woman has the most amazing soulful brown eyes that are the size of saucers and when you look into them, you see her very good heart. I briefly talked through what was happening for me and she subsequently advised me her mother also has breast cancer. I asked how she was and what treatment she was having and she answered "none". Astonished I asked why and she answered "she's too old to go through that treatment". When I enquired how old her mother is, she replied 62. I turned to her and said "She's not too old!" and she answered "In our mob that's old. We don't live as long as you do". Boom. Perspective.
Battles come in all shapes and sizes. And resilience displays itself in a number of forms. I have bucket loads of resilience. I know I do and occasionally in my life I have had to call on it - just like now. But my Aboriginal friends and colleagues live resilience daily in order to exist in the same world as you and me. And something as significant as life expectancy tragically is different for Veronika's mum compared to my mum or even me. So as I sat in that chamber quietly fighting my own health battle I realised that so too are my partners in this Child and Family project fighting for the same long term health outcomes. The significant difference is that my outcomes are selfish, they are specifically for me. The outcomes for those resilient people in the chamber today are for their jarjums, their babies and the babies that will be born in the next generation. Thank you Veronika and I am so very proud to have the opportunity to be in that chamber with you and the community today.
Oh and we got the DA people :-) K xxx
As I mentioned in my previous blog - I am currently in the process of change due to the chemotherapy. Some of it's fine and some of it's challenging but all of it is normal under the circumstances and in the grand scheme of things, I think I am travelling brilliantly.
It's been exactly a week and I want to dedicate this blog to resilience. But it's not my resilience I am referring to. Today I received the gift of perspective from someone else that has no idea that she provided it to me and it comes completely wrapped in resilience. You see, it's exactly a week since I started chemo. And seven days later, today, I found myself sitting in the Ballina Council Chambers for what must be their last council meeting of the year. I am familiar with council proceedings these days as in my role as Regional Manager I have been working on a project to build an Aboriginal Child and Family Centre in Ballina. This has given me cause to attend council meetings numerous times. Today it was a big milestone as we were seeking DA approval to begin building the centre. It's taken more than 2 years to get to this stage and it's been a long and hard battle.
I sat in the chamber surrounded by Aboriginal friends and colleagues who showed me so much love and support today, many of them I havent seen since diagnosis. These amazing people have walked side by side with me in partnership to make this centre happen and I am honoured to say I now consider them amongst my friends. And as we nervously sat together today I looked at my watch and realised that as deputations were happening and I was listening to someone opposing the build of this centre, it was exactly a week since I was extending my arm to the gowned up nurse to insert the cannula for my chemo. Almost to the minute. I was nervous on both occasions.
But we quietly sat and listened to council once again debate the issue. It was during these council proceedings that I was given my gift. As I sat there reflecting on my chemo week one of the Aboriginal women sitting next to me squeezed my shoulder and asked me how I was feeling. This woman has the most amazing soulful brown eyes that are the size of saucers and when you look into them, you see her very good heart. I briefly talked through what was happening for me and she subsequently advised me her mother also has breast cancer. I asked how she was and what treatment she was having and she answered "none". Astonished I asked why and she answered "she's too old to go through that treatment". When I enquired how old her mother is, she replied 62. I turned to her and said "She's not too old!" and she answered "In our mob that's old. We don't live as long as you do". Boom. Perspective.
Battles come in all shapes and sizes. And resilience displays itself in a number of forms. I have bucket loads of resilience. I know I do and occasionally in my life I have had to call on it - just like now. But my Aboriginal friends and colleagues live resilience daily in order to exist in the same world as you and me. And something as significant as life expectancy tragically is different for Veronika's mum compared to my mum or even me. So as I sat in that chamber quietly fighting my own health battle I realised that so too are my partners in this Child and Family project fighting for the same long term health outcomes. The significant difference is that my outcomes are selfish, they are specifically for me. The outcomes for those resilient people in the chamber today are for their jarjums, their babies and the babies that will be born in the next generation. Thank you Veronika and I am so very proud to have the opportunity to be in that chamber with you and the community today.
Oh and we got the DA people :-) K xxx
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Cha cha cha changing.........
When we are no longer able to change a situation, we are challenged to change ourselves....Victor Frankl.
The changing days of chemo. In fact the changing moments of chemo. It's an unpredictable yet well worn path for many but as Doctors repeatedly remind you - everyone's different and this is your chemo journey. They can't give you a manual and tell you exactly how you will feel or what will happen or when it will happen. They can't give you dates for when your hair will fall out or when you will be so tired you have to brace yourself to walk to the kitchen for a glass of bicarb water solution to gargle. They can't tell you when you will lose sensations like taste and touch and smell or whether in fact you will at all. They can't tell you when you will feel so deeply sad and scared that you wonder if the lightness will ever return or when you will laugh hysterically at the wig you just purchased and have placed on your dog and are now dancing with.....
Now in saying all of this i do want to acknowldege that the cancer world does a sterling job and covers all of these bases in the most informative, evidence, researched base way. Like good scientists and medical experts, they walk you through every possibility and for someone like me, i like to go in informed. So I've also conducted my own research and asked a million questions. And then this week I stopped. I've put the paperwork and the brochures in a top drawer as if hiding them somehow makes me less likely to experience any of these side effects. You see I have come to the conclusion I now just need to experience the change. Go with it. Ride it. Kick it's butt. But probably more than anything, accept it.
I have always tried to be a positive thinker. Mind over matter. You can't win if you don't think you can and all of that. I am still a big believer and as far as I'm concerned that attitude has worked a treat for me. But in the past 7 days I have also had to accept the change that is currrently happening inside of me because it is chemicals that are holding the steering wheel right now. I'm sitting in the passenger seat and I haven't got full control of the wheel. No matter how much I want to apply positive thoughts to this process, the chemicals are going to call some of the shots. And i need to accept this change. Embrace it? Probably unlikely for me but at the very least sit back and to a certain degree allow these changes to occur. It means it's working. Yeeeeeehah. Go your hardest I say.
So what can I do to make this easier? Well, i can take the turn, lean into the corner and straighten up as soon as we get round the bend. Go with the course that's mapped out for me. Trust it to some extent. Stop fighting. Just accept. And be damn ready when we straighten up to sit up taller, be more aware, alert and ready to respond to the next challenge.
I'm nearing 1 full week and there have been many changes. Some are subtle....my skin feels 'different', my scalp is sensitive, I feel like my lung capacity has been compromised ever so slightly. Other changes are like a sledgehammer...my food tastes like I'm eating nails with my yoghurt, I now can't stand the taste of coffee (yes I know!!) and every now and then I get this wave of exhaustion that makes me feel like one of Murphy's toys when the stuffing starts coming out of a leg and she pulls white tufts of fluff all over the yard and leaves the toy kind of flat, alone and out of shape in the yard. But I am learning to be a good passenger and still participating in all the activities I possibly can when I can. The daily stuff like walking Murf and easy exercise. Gym launches (step and pump last night)and regular classes when I can. Work - even if it's on a laptop in the kitchen or hiding in a space in the office. And today a fun but challenging photo shoot (associated with the Cancer Council) with the gorgeous Shelley and perfectionist photographer Les. Having the honour of being asked to be involved in events such as these has been an unexpected positive outcome of getting cancer. Spending time with giving and generous people who want to contribute to change or just make the world that little bit better. Change agents I would call them.
As I near my first full week of chemo weaving it's physical change in my body, so to am I making internal changes within me. I feel confident that the intimate challenges I am facing will stay with me long after I get my taste buds back. Kym xxx
The changing days of chemo. In fact the changing moments of chemo. It's an unpredictable yet well worn path for many but as Doctors repeatedly remind you - everyone's different and this is your chemo journey. They can't give you a manual and tell you exactly how you will feel or what will happen or when it will happen. They can't give you dates for when your hair will fall out or when you will be so tired you have to brace yourself to walk to the kitchen for a glass of bicarb water solution to gargle. They can't tell you when you will lose sensations like taste and touch and smell or whether in fact you will at all. They can't tell you when you will feel so deeply sad and scared that you wonder if the lightness will ever return or when you will laugh hysterically at the wig you just purchased and have placed on your dog and are now dancing with.....
Now in saying all of this i do want to acknowldege that the cancer world does a sterling job and covers all of these bases in the most informative, evidence, researched base way. Like good scientists and medical experts, they walk you through every possibility and for someone like me, i like to go in informed. So I've also conducted my own research and asked a million questions. And then this week I stopped. I've put the paperwork and the brochures in a top drawer as if hiding them somehow makes me less likely to experience any of these side effects. You see I have come to the conclusion I now just need to experience the change. Go with it. Ride it. Kick it's butt. But probably more than anything, accept it.
I have always tried to be a positive thinker. Mind over matter. You can't win if you don't think you can and all of that. I am still a big believer and as far as I'm concerned that attitude has worked a treat for me. But in the past 7 days I have also had to accept the change that is currrently happening inside of me because it is chemicals that are holding the steering wheel right now. I'm sitting in the passenger seat and I haven't got full control of the wheel. No matter how much I want to apply positive thoughts to this process, the chemicals are going to call some of the shots. And i need to accept this change. Embrace it? Probably unlikely for me but at the very least sit back and to a certain degree allow these changes to occur. It means it's working. Yeeeeeehah. Go your hardest I say.
So what can I do to make this easier? Well, i can take the turn, lean into the corner and straighten up as soon as we get round the bend. Go with the course that's mapped out for me. Trust it to some extent. Stop fighting. Just accept. And be damn ready when we straighten up to sit up taller, be more aware, alert and ready to respond to the next challenge.
I'm nearing 1 full week and there have been many changes. Some are subtle....my skin feels 'different', my scalp is sensitive, I feel like my lung capacity has been compromised ever so slightly. Other changes are like a sledgehammer...my food tastes like I'm eating nails with my yoghurt, I now can't stand the taste of coffee (yes I know!!) and every now and then I get this wave of exhaustion that makes me feel like one of Murphy's toys when the stuffing starts coming out of a leg and she pulls white tufts of fluff all over the yard and leaves the toy kind of flat, alone and out of shape in the yard. But I am learning to be a good passenger and still participating in all the activities I possibly can when I can. The daily stuff like walking Murf and easy exercise. Gym launches (step and pump last night)and regular classes when I can. Work - even if it's on a laptop in the kitchen or hiding in a space in the office. And today a fun but challenging photo shoot (associated with the Cancer Council) with the gorgeous Shelley and perfectionist photographer Les. Having the honour of being asked to be involved in events such as these has been an unexpected positive outcome of getting cancer. Spending time with giving and generous people who want to contribute to change or just make the world that little bit better. Change agents I would call them.
As I near my first full week of chemo weaving it's physical change in my body, so to am I making internal changes within me. I feel confident that the intimate challenges I am facing will stay with me long after I get my taste buds back. Kym xxx
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Three days into the dash and second base seems very achievable
Okay - so the half time oranges in this baseball game taste a lot like metal right now but hey, I'm tough and I figure I will chew them up, chuck them down and harden up! Boycey did warn me taste would diminish - kind of was hoping that would happen post Christmas but it's seems my mopping up has extended to taste buds pretty quickly! But you know what else that means? It's working! Yeeeehah. I can do metal no problem. I mean have you tasted my cooking anyway? Metal is practically an exotic spice in my kitchen pantry.
So it's day 3. I feel fine. I have taught a spin class, shopped, eaten out, had coffee dates and drunk Moët. But absolutely blog worthy and possibly my greatest feat to date - I actually won the scrabble match people. Yes, in the 11th hour only moments before Captain Chemo Dr Princess Maclean boarded a Jetstar flight heading south, Kymmy took final victory with 1 last tile. With chemotherapy surging through my veins I STILL managed a win against my suboptimal opponents. I think it sets a scene for the duration of this chemo game don't you think. You see you cannot keep a good woman down.....
Winning isn't everything but the will to win is everything. See you at second base. K x
So it's day 3. I feel fine. I have taught a spin class, shopped, eaten out, had coffee dates and drunk Moët. But absolutely blog worthy and possibly my greatest feat to date - I actually won the scrabble match people. Yes, in the 11th hour only moments before Captain Chemo Dr Princess Maclean boarded a Jetstar flight heading south, Kymmy took final victory with 1 last tile. With chemotherapy surging through my veins I STILL managed a win against my suboptimal opponents. I think it sets a scene for the duration of this chemo game don't you think. You see you cannot keep a good woman down.....
Winning isn't everything but the will to win is everything. See you at second base. K x
Thursday, December 8, 2011
I'm off first base and running like a mad woman..........
Challenges are what make life interesting; overcoming them is what makes life meaningful...........
Today I overcame a challenge - possibly one of the scariest events of my life to date. Mostly due to the fear of the unknown and my own expectations of what 'might' happen. It's not like you actually have to 'do' anything - in fact it is so insanely sedate and stationary that I had to keep checking my pulse to make sure I wasn't in fact already dead! Arrived mid morning and was whisked into a cushy reclining chair like the ones my grandparents had that were reserved just for them in the prime spot in their well worn loungeroom in front of the telly. You could sneak into them when they weren't there and move that lever as fast as you could crank it to push the foot stool thing out and back in but when the night time shows were on - you had no chance of getting into one. Reserved for the elderly or much worse an older sibling. Besides, I always struggled to push my body weight hard enough to make the back recline anyway.
But not these chairs - they had remotes and buttons and they tip beautifully. And tip I did. Under a warm blanket in a cold room surrounded by sympathetic looks and smiley but somewhat sad faces and bald heads. I met John next to me who has a much more severe cancer story to tell but who still laughed and shared his amazing health dilemma and agreed he and I would share a Christmas drink at the next chemo date. He asked me if I drink red or white - John for you, if you promise you will be there, I will drink anything. Just be there.
I learnt a life lesson today - now you dont get to do that every day do you? Well maybe we should. But I realised today that I have neglected to spend enough one on one time with new people who turn up to come and do my gym classes. Because the gym is a comfortable and familiar world for me, I have forgotten that this is not the case for so many people who brace themselves to walk into a room of mostly super fit people and I need to make more of an effort to welcome these brave people into my class. Because today I entered a world that was very much unfamiliar to me and I felt deeply vulnerable. And while the Oncology unit was lovely, it was extremely busy and for the first little while I stood watching the activity whirl around me while I shuffled from one foot to the next wondering how the hell was I every going to fit in. Life lesson. This is a daunting and scary place to find oneself and it can happen in every environment you encounter if it's not an environment you have ever visited. Important to make people feel immediately welcome and safe to be there.
So after a short while, I was superbly briefed by Garth and his team of staffies in the lead up to the insertion of the cannula. And beside me on either side was Johnny and Julia and for a brief time little Kez who had left me flowers and trashy mags so that when I first arrived I had a colourful chair allocation and some good quality reading! Thanks Kez - I know how busy you are. And to the J&J team - I couldn't have done it without you - even if it does leave a questionable game of ipad scrabble hanging in which I was leading for almost the entire game (with a sizeable score) but seems to have mysteriously moved to loser in the last play of the game at which time I was being fussed over and largely distracted. I declare a replay. But seriously, I am forever grateful and have so much admiration for you both hanging out in a small space inside a hospital ward for almost 7 hours and never once showing signs of wishing you were somewhere else.
And in that time, I was pumped with a cocktail of poison that is right now working hard in my body to kill every cell - both healthy and sinister from head to foot and it wont discriminate. The whole lot has to go. My immune system must be really wondering what the hell is going on? I have spent a big part of my life trying to be good to my body and today I willingly reversed that work. It is part of the surreal world in which I am currently living. Even today as they were hooking me up I wondered if I might not wake up and discover this whole cancer diagnosis was just some very long and awful dream. Even when Garth talked to me about my 'disease' I felt in internal cringe. Disease - its such a hideous term and one that I dont associate with me. Oh, I did also decide to chuck a quick allergic reaction to the anti nausea drugs they pumped into me which meant having to cease the chemo temporarily and have a bunch of people run around like crazed medico's - STAT! Well, ok it wasn't that dramatic but I could have done without it and the delay that it caused. It basically meant I missed my 5:15pm spin class - and so thanks to Jac for saving the day there. But worse it means I haven't as many anti nausea drug options available to me to support the next few months. Drats to that!
On the advice of a number of lovely people, I worked on a visualisation as I sat in that reclining chair and watched the drugs being pumped into my body. I see my cancer as a large glass that has been accidently smashed on the wooden floor. That's the cancer and as with a smashed glass, you immediately pick up all the big bits you can see as you search the floor. That's the surgery. Remove all you can and like cancer you hope that you have been completely successful in picking it all up, wrapping it in paper and disposing of it safely. But there is always a chance that there is a tiny shard of glass that has bounced from the location of the drop to land in some inconspicuous corner of your kitchen (or in my experience and because I do things less than gently) across into the loungeroom and under the coffee table. And so you have to get the vaccuum and the mop and cover the whole floor twice to ensure that sometime down the track, you aren't walking barefoot and end up with glass lodged in your toe. And that's what chemo is for me. It's my mopping up. Just to be extra sure. And so I visualised the chemo weaving all the way through my body into every part of my anatomy from my breast to my brain to my fingertips - doing a damn fine mop up job. And even as I type this I am conscious that it is working hard and will continue to do so while I sleep and when I wake up tomorrow....and the next day. Sure, it also means my good bits cop it along the way and for a while, I'm not going to look or feel quite like myself. But Julia read me a quote tonight that said "take care of your body, it's the only place you have to live". And today I took care of my body in the best way I can right now. And I know it will mean that there's a whole lot of living still left in me.
Sweet dreams. K x
Today I overcame a challenge - possibly one of the scariest events of my life to date. Mostly due to the fear of the unknown and my own expectations of what 'might' happen. It's not like you actually have to 'do' anything - in fact it is so insanely sedate and stationary that I had to keep checking my pulse to make sure I wasn't in fact already dead! Arrived mid morning and was whisked into a cushy reclining chair like the ones my grandparents had that were reserved just for them in the prime spot in their well worn loungeroom in front of the telly. You could sneak into them when they weren't there and move that lever as fast as you could crank it to push the foot stool thing out and back in but when the night time shows were on - you had no chance of getting into one. Reserved for the elderly or much worse an older sibling. Besides, I always struggled to push my body weight hard enough to make the back recline anyway.
But not these chairs - they had remotes and buttons and they tip beautifully. And tip I did. Under a warm blanket in a cold room surrounded by sympathetic looks and smiley but somewhat sad faces and bald heads. I met John next to me who has a much more severe cancer story to tell but who still laughed and shared his amazing health dilemma and agreed he and I would share a Christmas drink at the next chemo date. He asked me if I drink red or white - John for you, if you promise you will be there, I will drink anything. Just be there.
I learnt a life lesson today - now you dont get to do that every day do you? Well maybe we should. But I realised today that I have neglected to spend enough one on one time with new people who turn up to come and do my gym classes. Because the gym is a comfortable and familiar world for me, I have forgotten that this is not the case for so many people who brace themselves to walk into a room of mostly super fit people and I need to make more of an effort to welcome these brave people into my class. Because today I entered a world that was very much unfamiliar to me and I felt deeply vulnerable. And while the Oncology unit was lovely, it was extremely busy and for the first little while I stood watching the activity whirl around me while I shuffled from one foot to the next wondering how the hell was I every going to fit in. Life lesson. This is a daunting and scary place to find oneself and it can happen in every environment you encounter if it's not an environment you have ever visited. Important to make people feel immediately welcome and safe to be there.
So after a short while, I was superbly briefed by Garth and his team of staffies in the lead up to the insertion of the cannula. And beside me on either side was Johnny and Julia and for a brief time little Kez who had left me flowers and trashy mags so that when I first arrived I had a colourful chair allocation and some good quality reading! Thanks Kez - I know how busy you are. And to the J&J team - I couldn't have done it without you - even if it does leave a questionable game of ipad scrabble hanging in which I was leading for almost the entire game (with a sizeable score) but seems to have mysteriously moved to loser in the last play of the game at which time I was being fussed over and largely distracted. I declare a replay. But seriously, I am forever grateful and have so much admiration for you both hanging out in a small space inside a hospital ward for almost 7 hours and never once showing signs of wishing you were somewhere else.
And in that time, I was pumped with a cocktail of poison that is right now working hard in my body to kill every cell - both healthy and sinister from head to foot and it wont discriminate. The whole lot has to go. My immune system must be really wondering what the hell is going on? I have spent a big part of my life trying to be good to my body and today I willingly reversed that work. It is part of the surreal world in which I am currently living. Even today as they were hooking me up I wondered if I might not wake up and discover this whole cancer diagnosis was just some very long and awful dream. Even when Garth talked to me about my 'disease' I felt in internal cringe. Disease - its such a hideous term and one that I dont associate with me. Oh, I did also decide to chuck a quick allergic reaction to the anti nausea drugs they pumped into me which meant having to cease the chemo temporarily and have a bunch of people run around like crazed medico's - STAT! Well, ok it wasn't that dramatic but I could have done without it and the delay that it caused. It basically meant I missed my 5:15pm spin class - and so thanks to Jac for saving the day there. But worse it means I haven't as many anti nausea drug options available to me to support the next few months. Drats to that!
On the advice of a number of lovely people, I worked on a visualisation as I sat in that reclining chair and watched the drugs being pumped into my body. I see my cancer as a large glass that has been accidently smashed on the wooden floor. That's the cancer and as with a smashed glass, you immediately pick up all the big bits you can see as you search the floor. That's the surgery. Remove all you can and like cancer you hope that you have been completely successful in picking it all up, wrapping it in paper and disposing of it safely. But there is always a chance that there is a tiny shard of glass that has bounced from the location of the drop to land in some inconspicuous corner of your kitchen (or in my experience and because I do things less than gently) across into the loungeroom and under the coffee table. And so you have to get the vaccuum and the mop and cover the whole floor twice to ensure that sometime down the track, you aren't walking barefoot and end up with glass lodged in your toe. And that's what chemo is for me. It's my mopping up. Just to be extra sure. And so I visualised the chemo weaving all the way through my body into every part of my anatomy from my breast to my brain to my fingertips - doing a damn fine mop up job. And even as I type this I am conscious that it is working hard and will continue to do so while I sleep and when I wake up tomorrow....and the next day. Sure, it also means my good bits cop it along the way and for a while, I'm not going to look or feel quite like myself. But Julia read me a quote tonight that said "take care of your body, it's the only place you have to live". And today I took care of my body in the best way I can right now. And I know it will mean that there's a whole lot of living still left in me.
Sweet dreams. K x
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Hair today.........gone tomorrow (or maybe in a few weeks?)
So this blog post is coming from the hairdressers! It's a rainy cold day in Lennox and today is the first of my new cuts. Not too radical yet - a sharp angular Posh Spice to kick it off. My spunky little hairdresser is a surfy dude with a gorgeous hairdressing partner and the two of them have joined forces to 'create' my look. We've laughed and hugged and talked scalps and styles and whether hair is important to feel feminine and beautiful. Funnily enough there appears to be mutual agreement in this hair salon right now that hair is not important. Oh, the irony.....but arent people sweet and supportive.
I haven't blogged for a few days. Not since I met with Boycey and we agreed on a plan. And that plan is about to launch into action. Tomorrow. Less than 24 hours in fact and yes, I am counting. So what have I been doing? As promised in last blog I have enjoyed the lovely company of many, I have worked in the office and jumped around in gym gear, I have enjoyed meals out and noticed the small things like the way Murph has a squishy face when she first wakes up and closes her eyes in a smiley sign of delight when you first walk in the door. Or sometimes she just doesn't wake up until you gently lay your hand on her snoozing head.
But behind all this activity I have been quietly counting. Calculating how much time I have left before chemo. I've tried not to focus on it, pushing it away from my mind but largely I have been unsuccessful and the thoughts creep back in and take their unwelcomed place at the forefront of my thoughts. Will I get sick? Will I loose my eyelashes? Will I have such sensitivity to the sun that I need to take a giant leave card on the summer of 2012? Well, I think about it and then a little voice in my head says 'Not me, not going to be my experience, not part of my plan'. Am I kidding myself? I hope not. But there is no real way of knowing. It's probably one of the hardest aspects of cancer for me. I hate that I don't know. I can't predict. I can't plan. I just have to wait and jump with both feet into the experience. And that's exactly where I am today. Crouched and ready to jump.
I commented to my hairdresser that I feel bald and we both laughed hard. Harden up Kymmy - you ain't seen nothin yet.
My chemo coach is on her way up to me. Quality control she says. I suspect she really wants a few days with Murphy and to boss me around. I feel safe and Murphy is excited. I have also been inundated with calls and texts and messages today. I'm sorry if I haven't responded to you. I promise I will. And for my beautiful gifts and trinkets I am so very grateful.
I know second base is a long and hard run. But in the words of another cancer survivor, pain is temporary but quitting lasts forever. And this player has only success on her mind. Tomorrow is a big day. Bring it on!
Lots of love and big big hugs....K xxx
I haven't blogged for a few days. Not since I met with Boycey and we agreed on a plan. And that plan is about to launch into action. Tomorrow. Less than 24 hours in fact and yes, I am counting. So what have I been doing? As promised in last blog I have enjoyed the lovely company of many, I have worked in the office and jumped around in gym gear, I have enjoyed meals out and noticed the small things like the way Murph has a squishy face when she first wakes up and closes her eyes in a smiley sign of delight when you first walk in the door. Or sometimes she just doesn't wake up until you gently lay your hand on her snoozing head.
But behind all this activity I have been quietly counting. Calculating how much time I have left before chemo. I've tried not to focus on it, pushing it away from my mind but largely I have been unsuccessful and the thoughts creep back in and take their unwelcomed place at the forefront of my thoughts. Will I get sick? Will I loose my eyelashes? Will I have such sensitivity to the sun that I need to take a giant leave card on the summer of 2012? Well, I think about it and then a little voice in my head says 'Not me, not going to be my experience, not part of my plan'. Am I kidding myself? I hope not. But there is no real way of knowing. It's probably one of the hardest aspects of cancer for me. I hate that I don't know. I can't predict. I can't plan. I just have to wait and jump with both feet into the experience. And that's exactly where I am today. Crouched and ready to jump.
I commented to my hairdresser that I feel bald and we both laughed hard. Harden up Kymmy - you ain't seen nothin yet.
My chemo coach is on her way up to me. Quality control she says. I suspect she really wants a few days with Murphy and to boss me around. I feel safe and Murphy is excited. I have also been inundated with calls and texts and messages today. I'm sorry if I haven't responded to you. I promise I will. And for my beautiful gifts and trinkets I am so very grateful.
I know second base is a long and hard run. But in the words of another cancer survivor, pain is temporary but quitting lasts forever. And this player has only success on her mind. Tomorrow is a big day. Bring it on!
Lots of love and big big hugs....K xxx
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Me and Boycey got the next two bases sussed.....
I already know that I love my base coach (Oncologist) Adam. For a start he is my age so if geography had collided for us, we potentially would have gone to school together. There is absolutely no way we would have gotten similar grades however I would have loved him at school because he strikes me as one of those sweet guys that was there to hug you and buy you a sausage roll after you'd had your heart broken by some ego driven jerk. I can tell already that he has a very big brain and an unbelievably impressive knowledge of all things cancer. Most importantly, I can tell he is kind.
He is softly spoken and very calm in his approach and if my Aunty Lyn were in the room she'd say 'he has a lovely manner about him'. And he does. He put me at ease immediately and the women running the office were also cheerful and friendly. They are the satelite A team from my Sydney team and I feel completely confident being in their care - the baton has been passed with smooth precision. I've also discovered that the world of Oncologists and cancer experts is actually quite small and it appears that Adams cousin had Stephanie as a Surgeon, Jodi (Sydney Oncologist) went to University with Adam, Adam went to school with Julia's good friend Patty and so on and so forth. We also both laughed out loud when Adam mentioned how incredible it was that I was able to collectively be supported by the A Team in record time following diagnosis and that he had heard it was because I knew this 'Speechy' that runs the show in St George. Enter Dr Julia Maclean. Woman of Science/Crazy Lady, Medical Coordinator and now apparently Chemo Captain. Aka 'The Speechy'.
So we got down to business pretty quickly and came up with the game plan. I have an awful lot of things going for me in terms of beating this cancer and ensuring that it never ever comes back. I am relatively fit, I have no family history of breast cancer, the cancer was a grade 1 (slow moving) cancer, detected as far as we know early and cut out in record time. Yeah okay so it was a bit bigger than we first thought but we all accept in life that size doesn't matter right? See, I can still do stupid smutty humour - there's nothing wrong with me....So, basically my batting average is very very good.
However the one significant handicap that I appear to have is my age. I'm young. Hear that! I am YOUNG! I'd like to test the theory at the Les Mills Instructor Workshop or buying a new bikini at Billabong, standing in line at Cheeky Monkeys Night Club or lets face it, going to the doctors these days? Young? Laughable. Accept when it comes to cancer. Statistically I am very much in the 'young' range. This was confirmed both through these amazing computer graphics they showed me but in a much more real sense when I first turned up for my very initial appointment at St George Public Hospital to see Jodi a few weeks ago now. I sat in a waiting room with giant swinging doors that unfortunately for me at the time, swung open and one of them stayed open. From my waiting room chair I could see a group of what appeared to be very old, unwell yodas receiving their chemo through intravenous drips. And they were old. All of them. And they looked really sick. All of them. And the few people waiting in the reception area with John and I were also old. Like hanging out with Grandma Gimbert at the Yamba Bowling Club - that kind of age. All of them. And then there was me. I remember turning to John and making the statement that I just dont belong here. But really, who does?
So, because of this age handicap (mostly) it has been discussed and agreed by Adam in appropriate consultation (as the one to have to actually make the run to second base) that this game needs to be played and played hard. It will make the final victory taste just that much sweeter. I will undertake a trifecta of treatment that includes chemotherapy, radiation therapy and hormone therapy. Kind of like going to your favourite beautician and getting the massage, the facial AND the pedicure. hmmm well, sorta? And why would you only choose one when you can have all three and eventually walk away knowing you have given yourself the absolute best odds possible to never have to do this again.
It's a game plan I am committed to seeing through and Boycey has just flagged me on to head to the security of second base. And now I had better gear myself up to run like hell. And Boycey is a doing man so next Thursday the 8th of December will see my first hit. I am nervous of course - I am treading completely unknown territory for me but I have the amazing support and advice from what seems like too many others to help me front up with confidence and treat this as my friend (thank you Nel). This cocktail of toxic drugs is actually helping me to eventually get better. And I know I will need to remind myself of that most likely a number of times along the way. But lets not dwell on that for now.
For right now I am going to enjoy my time. I will work, teach and train. I will eat well and enjoy every mouthful! I will savour all the good things and the beautiful people I have in my life. I will bask in the sun and dance in the rain. I feel so happy I have a plan and a sense of timeframe so I can eventually box this up and shelve it.
I just adjusted my sails................x
He is softly spoken and very calm in his approach and if my Aunty Lyn were in the room she'd say 'he has a lovely manner about him'. And he does. He put me at ease immediately and the women running the office were also cheerful and friendly. They are the satelite A team from my Sydney team and I feel completely confident being in their care - the baton has been passed with smooth precision. I've also discovered that the world of Oncologists and cancer experts is actually quite small and it appears that Adams cousin had Stephanie as a Surgeon, Jodi (Sydney Oncologist) went to University with Adam, Adam went to school with Julia's good friend Patty and so on and so forth. We also both laughed out loud when Adam mentioned how incredible it was that I was able to collectively be supported by the A Team in record time following diagnosis and that he had heard it was because I knew this 'Speechy' that runs the show in St George. Enter Dr Julia Maclean. Woman of Science/Crazy Lady, Medical Coordinator and now apparently Chemo Captain. Aka 'The Speechy'.
So we got down to business pretty quickly and came up with the game plan. I have an awful lot of things going for me in terms of beating this cancer and ensuring that it never ever comes back. I am relatively fit, I have no family history of breast cancer, the cancer was a grade 1 (slow moving) cancer, detected as far as we know early and cut out in record time. Yeah okay so it was a bit bigger than we first thought but we all accept in life that size doesn't matter right? See, I can still do stupid smutty humour - there's nothing wrong with me....So, basically my batting average is very very good.
However the one significant handicap that I appear to have is my age. I'm young. Hear that! I am YOUNG! I'd like to test the theory at the Les Mills Instructor Workshop or buying a new bikini at Billabong, standing in line at Cheeky Monkeys Night Club or lets face it, going to the doctors these days? Young? Laughable. Accept when it comes to cancer. Statistically I am very much in the 'young' range. This was confirmed both through these amazing computer graphics they showed me but in a much more real sense when I first turned up for my very initial appointment at St George Public Hospital to see Jodi a few weeks ago now. I sat in a waiting room with giant swinging doors that unfortunately for me at the time, swung open and one of them stayed open. From my waiting room chair I could see a group of what appeared to be very old, unwell yodas receiving their chemo through intravenous drips. And they were old. All of them. And they looked really sick. All of them. And the few people waiting in the reception area with John and I were also old. Like hanging out with Grandma Gimbert at the Yamba Bowling Club - that kind of age. All of them. And then there was me. I remember turning to John and making the statement that I just dont belong here. But really, who does?
So, because of this age handicap (mostly) it has been discussed and agreed by Adam in appropriate consultation (as the one to have to actually make the run to second base) that this game needs to be played and played hard. It will make the final victory taste just that much sweeter. I will undertake a trifecta of treatment that includes chemotherapy, radiation therapy and hormone therapy. Kind of like going to your favourite beautician and getting the massage, the facial AND the pedicure. hmmm well, sorta? And why would you only choose one when you can have all three and eventually walk away knowing you have given yourself the absolute best odds possible to never have to do this again.
It's a game plan I am committed to seeing through and Boycey has just flagged me on to head to the security of second base. And now I had better gear myself up to run like hell. And Boycey is a doing man so next Thursday the 8th of December will see my first hit. I am nervous of course - I am treading completely unknown territory for me but I have the amazing support and advice from what seems like too many others to help me front up with confidence and treat this as my friend (thank you Nel). This cocktail of toxic drugs is actually helping me to eventually get better. And I know I will need to remind myself of that most likely a number of times along the way. But lets not dwell on that for now.
For right now I am going to enjoy my time. I will work, teach and train. I will eat well and enjoy every mouthful! I will savour all the good things and the beautiful people I have in my life. I will bask in the sun and dance in the rain. I feel so happy I have a plan and a sense of timeframe so I can eventually box this up and shelve it.
I just adjusted my sails................x
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Okay Boycey - you'd better be in form.......
Anxious. Excited. Tired. Scared. Unsure. Eager. Uneasy. Concerned. Enthusiastic......but above all, committed.
In baseball there are a number of coaches assigned to assist in the smooth functioning of the team. Two on-field coaches are present when the team is batting, like me, for the game of my life. Stationed in designated coaches boxes near first and third base, they are appropriately named base coaches and they are there to relay signals and help with direction for the players. Are you better to stay safe on first or make the round to second. And when should you make the run. Sometimes you might look at the base coach to give you that direction.
Enter stage, Adam Boyce. Oncologist and my base coach. Adam. Adam Ant. Boycey. AB. The Ad Man. Boyce Boyce We Give Joice......I have no idea what he wants to be called because we haven't met yet. But we are about to become mates. I need to trust him and he needs to have a level of confidence in me. He comes highly recommended from a number of very reliable and clever sources. And I feel good about our pending meeting. I believe he has form and street cred. And he is about to wave me into second base and provide me some direction on how to land safely on third. I'm itching to get there. Have been hanging around safe on first way too long since the Umpire called it. Just kicking dirt and looking out to the crowd searching for friendly faces I can wave to. Now it's my turn to move into action and my eyes are already holding steady on a call of 'safe' on second. But I've got to move from the safety of first and start the dash. It's a sizeable run. Months and months potentially - in fact possibly the whole of Summer and a bit of Autumn? Definitely Christmas, New Year and my Birthday. But hey, there's plenty of them yet to come and boy, are they going to be corkers!
So on the eve of rounding at a cracking pace from first base to second I can report that I am geared up, ready and eager. I feel strong. I feel lucky to be in the position I am in to face this next challenge both physically and mentally. I have been reminded over and over again what a fortunate and privileged position I am in given my support network and my circumstance. And I am extremely grateful for that.
"Gratitude is the art of painting an adversity into a lovely picture"..Kak Sri. This adversity has given me much cause to do exactly that.
So come on Boycey - lets agree on how I'm getting to second base and then give me the signal to run. Captain cancer's already on the bus home but I am keen to ensure that none of his rogue team mates or useless supporters are hanging around. Cause there's only space for champions in my stadium. Until tomorrow...... Kym xxx
In baseball there are a number of coaches assigned to assist in the smooth functioning of the team. Two on-field coaches are present when the team is batting, like me, for the game of my life. Stationed in designated coaches boxes near first and third base, they are appropriately named base coaches and they are there to relay signals and help with direction for the players. Are you better to stay safe on first or make the round to second. And when should you make the run. Sometimes you might look at the base coach to give you that direction.
Enter stage, Adam Boyce. Oncologist and my base coach. Adam. Adam Ant. Boycey. AB. The Ad Man. Boyce Boyce We Give Joice......I have no idea what he wants to be called because we haven't met yet. But we are about to become mates. I need to trust him and he needs to have a level of confidence in me. He comes highly recommended from a number of very reliable and clever sources. And I feel good about our pending meeting. I believe he has form and street cred. And he is about to wave me into second base and provide me some direction on how to land safely on third. I'm itching to get there. Have been hanging around safe on first way too long since the Umpire called it. Just kicking dirt and looking out to the crowd searching for friendly faces I can wave to. Now it's my turn to move into action and my eyes are already holding steady on a call of 'safe' on second. But I've got to move from the safety of first and start the dash. It's a sizeable run. Months and months potentially - in fact possibly the whole of Summer and a bit of Autumn? Definitely Christmas, New Year and my Birthday. But hey, there's plenty of them yet to come and boy, are they going to be corkers!
So on the eve of rounding at a cracking pace from first base to second I can report that I am geared up, ready and eager. I feel strong. I feel lucky to be in the position I am in to face this next challenge both physically and mentally. I have been reminded over and over again what a fortunate and privileged position I am in given my support network and my circumstance. And I am extremely grateful for that.
"Gratitude is the art of painting an adversity into a lovely picture"..Kak Sri. This adversity has given me much cause to do exactly that.
So come on Boycey - lets agree on how I'm getting to second base and then give me the signal to run. Captain cancer's already on the bus home but I am keen to ensure that none of his rogue team mates or useless supporters are hanging around. Cause there's only space for champions in my stadium. Until tomorrow...... Kym xxx
Saturday, November 26, 2011
Where did Kym go?
It's Saturday afternoon here in Lennox. Weather is so so but hey, where isn't it up and down this state? Seems like someone turned a tap on in the sky and walked away. Murphy and I aren't big fans of the rain although it gives her the extra excuse NOT to go for a walk or drop the walk time down from 5 minutes to 3. Her exercise regime really is quite embarrassing. I think John has cultivated it over many many years. She is his masterpiece of sluggery.
My last few days have been filled with many highs and the occasional low. I am really feeling pretty good in terms of my scars. The armpit hurts more than the breast but the experts told me that would be the case. The bandaging is still on and so the final unveiling is yet to occur. I expect this coming week will see the end of steri strips and what not. And I have refused to take pain killers since about Tuesday so I am generally happy with where all of that is sitting. My armpit is kind of red and a bit golf ball like but I was reminded that even spin classes cause rubbing and lets not even go there about doing arm tracks in pump. Doh! No pain no gain they say.
Without question the biggest struggle for me really has been attempting to return to what semblance of my normal life I can possibly muster. It hasn't been through lack of will and effort. I want nothing more to be back into full time work - being busy and challenged in a work context is all fine with me. It feels like home. And the gym work has always been a gift in terms of employment as its really about the only job I have ever had that (unless you completely stuff it up) makes you feel better at the end of the day and really glad you were there. It is an environment that is filled with positive affirmation and I love it love it love it.
So why has this been so hard to do? Well, I came to a realisation probably yesterday that I have had my identity changed without my permission. Unlike Madonna or Kylie who's PR people no doubt cultivate their new identity and launch it in a carefully planned way, cancer snuck up on me and did it without any agreement or discussion. You see, I used to be Gym Kym or Regional Manager Kym or in the right circles I used to be Lyn/Kym or just plain old Kym, Kymmy, Kymbo, Kymbalina (you get the picture!).
But right at this very moment, I am Kym that's got cancer. Poor Kym. It's unbelievable it could happen to you Kym. That's so unfair Kym. Sick Kym. And it's not reserved for the views of those around me either because if I was to be perfectly honest there are fleeting moments where I almost dont recognise myself because I become scared Kym.
It has never ever in my life occurred to me that I might die young. Yeah yeah we all have those conversations, you know the ones where we agree we should live each day like it's your last and use the good china and buy that special whatever it should be rather than put it off. Because you just never know when you might get hit by a bus. And all of that is true. We don't know.
But let me tell you, for me, these last few weeks have truly been the first time EVER in my life where I have actually contemplated the possibility that this thing has the potential to end my life prematurely. Now please don't misinterpret this statement and think Oh no, Kym's just become Morbid Death Kym. I'm not and in fact I feel an internal strength in me that with every day I grow increasingly resolute I will kick this thing and kick it good and hard. In fact it will be such a distant memory that when I am Kym (Eve Gimbert) Langill in my nursing home (lovingly referred to as 'the pod') turning 101 and someone says how remarkable it is that I had cancer in my 40's I will argue with them, tell them they are mad and that unless they are prepared to perform circus tricks for my birthday, or that they have arrived with a puppy as a gift, that they should leave because they are making up fibs about me. I feel strong and positive and as I have said to many this week, I feel physically better than I have in many months. But I guess it wouldn't be an honest journal if I didn't admit the smallest sliver of vulnerability, every now and again. And then it's gone.
Being home has so many fantastic benefits in the fact that I am surrounded by an enormous support network of amazing people. I live in a comfortable house with lots of space and all my own stuff. I live in paradise with easy access to gorgeous beaches and lush rainforest. John is simply awesome and Murphy makes me feel better just by watching her sleep. It is without question very much a healing environment. And I hope that over time the cancer identity fades and people will just go back to referring to me as Kym. I know that treatment is likely to ensure that I can't hide the fact I've had cancer so in this respect it's likely to get worse before it gets better. At least for the next little while. But eventually I will emerge from this current state with a renewed sense of energy and a zest for life that will shine from the inside out.
And I will be proud and happy to know that I have taken control back and that I am the determiner of my own destiny and that I am able to create my new identity, which will be something like.......SPARKLY KYM :-) Ta daaaaaa!
Happy Saturday night people. Much love and hugs xxx
My last few days have been filled with many highs and the occasional low. I am really feeling pretty good in terms of my scars. The armpit hurts more than the breast but the experts told me that would be the case. The bandaging is still on and so the final unveiling is yet to occur. I expect this coming week will see the end of steri strips and what not. And I have refused to take pain killers since about Tuesday so I am generally happy with where all of that is sitting. My armpit is kind of red and a bit golf ball like but I was reminded that even spin classes cause rubbing and lets not even go there about doing arm tracks in pump. Doh! No pain no gain they say.
Without question the biggest struggle for me really has been attempting to return to what semblance of my normal life I can possibly muster. It hasn't been through lack of will and effort. I want nothing more to be back into full time work - being busy and challenged in a work context is all fine with me. It feels like home. And the gym work has always been a gift in terms of employment as its really about the only job I have ever had that (unless you completely stuff it up) makes you feel better at the end of the day and really glad you were there. It is an environment that is filled with positive affirmation and I love it love it love it.
So why has this been so hard to do? Well, I came to a realisation probably yesterday that I have had my identity changed without my permission. Unlike Madonna or Kylie who's PR people no doubt cultivate their new identity and launch it in a carefully planned way, cancer snuck up on me and did it without any agreement or discussion. You see, I used to be Gym Kym or Regional Manager Kym or in the right circles I used to be Lyn/Kym or just plain old Kym, Kymmy, Kymbo, Kymbalina (you get the picture!).
But right at this very moment, I am Kym that's got cancer. Poor Kym. It's unbelievable it could happen to you Kym. That's so unfair Kym. Sick Kym. And it's not reserved for the views of those around me either because if I was to be perfectly honest there are fleeting moments where I almost dont recognise myself because I become scared Kym.
It has never ever in my life occurred to me that I might die young. Yeah yeah we all have those conversations, you know the ones where we agree we should live each day like it's your last and use the good china and buy that special whatever it should be rather than put it off. Because you just never know when you might get hit by a bus. And all of that is true. We don't know.
But let me tell you, for me, these last few weeks have truly been the first time EVER in my life where I have actually contemplated the possibility that this thing has the potential to end my life prematurely. Now please don't misinterpret this statement and think Oh no, Kym's just become Morbid Death Kym. I'm not and in fact I feel an internal strength in me that with every day I grow increasingly resolute I will kick this thing and kick it good and hard. In fact it will be such a distant memory that when I am Kym (Eve Gimbert) Langill in my nursing home (lovingly referred to as 'the pod') turning 101 and someone says how remarkable it is that I had cancer in my 40's I will argue with them, tell them they are mad and that unless they are prepared to perform circus tricks for my birthday, or that they have arrived with a puppy as a gift, that they should leave because they are making up fibs about me. I feel strong and positive and as I have said to many this week, I feel physically better than I have in many months. But I guess it wouldn't be an honest journal if I didn't admit the smallest sliver of vulnerability, every now and again. And then it's gone.
Being home has so many fantastic benefits in the fact that I am surrounded by an enormous support network of amazing people. I live in a comfortable house with lots of space and all my own stuff. I live in paradise with easy access to gorgeous beaches and lush rainforest. John is simply awesome and Murphy makes me feel better just by watching her sleep. It is without question very much a healing environment. And I hope that over time the cancer identity fades and people will just go back to referring to me as Kym. I know that treatment is likely to ensure that I can't hide the fact I've had cancer so in this respect it's likely to get worse before it gets better. At least for the next little while. But eventually I will emerge from this current state with a renewed sense of energy and a zest for life that will shine from the inside out.
And I will be proud and happy to know that I have taken control back and that I am the determiner of my own destiny and that I am able to create my new identity, which will be something like.......SPARKLY KYM :-) Ta daaaaaa!
Happy Saturday night people. Much love and hugs xxx
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Safe on Second by Wednesday......
Got back on the bike this morning....literally. A spin bike that is. And yes, I rode it like I stole it! And it felt good. Really good. Better than its felt for some time. Sure it hurt like any decent gym class should and yes it was a challenge to be able to make the calls and cue the class while my lungs were on fire....but, I did it. I was nervous and I wondered whether I might not choke and not be able to go the distance. And when I took the first hill climb and reached out on the bike and gingerly extended my left arm waiting to feel some kind of post surgery pain. But it was absolutely fine. The body is an amazing machine. And it felt so so good. Thank you to the happy smiley Lennox faces........well, they were smiling until track 3???
I'm learning a lot about myself through this health crisis. And I'm learning a lot about others. I'm learning how different people respond to the subject of cancer and the fact that you've had it. And of course it all makes sense that the only way people can talk to you about it is by calling on their own personal experiences coupled with their natural personality types.
This has meant that in the three short weeks of living in the cancer world, I have experienced an amazing array of responses. Some people want to tell you about someone they know that has had it, died from it, survived from it, ran marathons after it, broken up relationships, changed their personalities, had awakenings, quit jobs, got cancer again. Others want to tell you what to eat, what not to eat, when to sleep, not to work, walk not run, do everything youve always done, change all the things you've been doing. And then there are those that just dont want to talk about it at all.
Most probably for me right at this point in time, there have been two categories of people I have found to be the most uplifting and inspiring to be surrounded by. Firstly I have been so humbled and moved by the flood of support and incredibly beautiful messages received over the past 22 days - heartfelt personal messages and amazing gestures from good good friends, colleagues, family, clients, acquantances and in some instances, complete strangers. Every message has helped bolster me in some way or another. Thank you. Please know how much your contact and gestures of solidarity and support has meant to me.
And secondly there have been the beautiful people who have opened up their own private worlds and shared their personal cancer experience with me. The stories are both heart wrenching and agonisingly stressful experiences of shock, trauma, despair, fear and sadness. But at the same time they are hopeful, uplifting, encouraging and truly optimistic. It is a common thread that I have identified in each and every story - regardless of the cancer and regardless of the outcome. I have at times almost felt like an intruder hearing such personal and intimate experiences lived by others. But these people have been invaluable to me and for that I want to dedicate this blog to them. You know who you are. Some of you I have yet to physically connect with but our connection has already been established through messages and phone calls. For others, I have hugged and laughed and cried already with you. Your words of support, knowledgable words and symbolic tokens of strength I am grateful for. Thank you. The gifts, some borrowed and some passed on forever, have special places in my home and on my person at this time. I will guard them carefully.
I have a beautiful, smart, gorgeously tall (grrr) friend Jen who contacted me recently and in cheeky fashion suggested I was being a 'copy cat' :) We have a face to face catch up coming up. Jen sent me a message very early on following diagnosis and reminded me that in fact this saying I had sent to her as she was heading into chemotherapy. Now she was giving it back to me. "You can't alter the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails....."
Isn't life amazing that we can continue to learn new things about people and even more incredibly about yourself even at the ripe old age of 42?
I'm learning a lot about myself through this health crisis. And I'm learning a lot about others. I'm learning how different people respond to the subject of cancer and the fact that you've had it. And of course it all makes sense that the only way people can talk to you about it is by calling on their own personal experiences coupled with their natural personality types.
This has meant that in the three short weeks of living in the cancer world, I have experienced an amazing array of responses. Some people want to tell you about someone they know that has had it, died from it, survived from it, ran marathons after it, broken up relationships, changed their personalities, had awakenings, quit jobs, got cancer again. Others want to tell you what to eat, what not to eat, when to sleep, not to work, walk not run, do everything youve always done, change all the things you've been doing. And then there are those that just dont want to talk about it at all.
Most probably for me right at this point in time, there have been two categories of people I have found to be the most uplifting and inspiring to be surrounded by. Firstly I have been so humbled and moved by the flood of support and incredibly beautiful messages received over the past 22 days - heartfelt personal messages and amazing gestures from good good friends, colleagues, family, clients, acquantances and in some instances, complete strangers. Every message has helped bolster me in some way or another. Thank you. Please know how much your contact and gestures of solidarity and support has meant to me.
And secondly there have been the beautiful people who have opened up their own private worlds and shared their personal cancer experience with me. The stories are both heart wrenching and agonisingly stressful experiences of shock, trauma, despair, fear and sadness. But at the same time they are hopeful, uplifting, encouraging and truly optimistic. It is a common thread that I have identified in each and every story - regardless of the cancer and regardless of the outcome. I have at times almost felt like an intruder hearing such personal and intimate experiences lived by others. But these people have been invaluable to me and for that I want to dedicate this blog to them. You know who you are. Some of you I have yet to physically connect with but our connection has already been established through messages and phone calls. For others, I have hugged and laughed and cried already with you. Your words of support, knowledgable words and symbolic tokens of strength I am grateful for. Thank you. The gifts, some borrowed and some passed on forever, have special places in my home and on my person at this time. I will guard them carefully.
I have a beautiful, smart, gorgeously tall (grrr) friend Jen who contacted me recently and in cheeky fashion suggested I was being a 'copy cat' :) We have a face to face catch up coming up. Jen sent me a message very early on following diagnosis and reminded me that in fact this saying I had sent to her as she was heading into chemotherapy. Now she was giving it back to me. "You can't alter the direction of the wind, but you can adjust your sails....."
Isn't life amazing that we can continue to learn new things about people and even more incredibly about yourself even at the ripe old age of 42?
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thank you Umpire
Safe! I'm on First Base and I am not going back to start again. Now my eyes are on Second. And in fact, I'm already on my way. And unlike the swing of the bat for the home run, this feels less down to risk and much more into game plan strategy. And strategy I can do. It's in my nature to plan and to think ahead and to consider the risks and decide on the best approach. Easy peasy. I'm already making that shuffle move towards the 2nd plate.......
So time ticked painfully slowly yesterday, all through the night - and yes, I watched it tick - minute by minute and hour by hour! And then in the space of literally 3 minutes the Oncologist's call set me whirling back into reality and real time. "Kym your margins are clear and the pathologist report indicates the cancer has been successfully removed". No more chop chop. Smiles all round and a good punch in the air! There was also a moment for a hug and a tear or two.
Well thank you Stephanie - have a drink with an umbrella in Bali for me - you are a technical Goddess. And thank you my body for hanging onto what continues to be part of my body and what I intend to hold on to forever from now on. Yippee - yip yip yippee. Relief, sweet relief.
So what's next? Well referrals to the next round - discussions with Oncologists about treatment 'options'. The option for me is to get rid of this cancer and to never have it come back. Kapputski. Gonski. Blow the popsicle stand. As I said on facebook today - so long sucker. So as far as I am concerned, my 'option' is I will do whatever I have to do to make that happen. Of course I will listen to the experts and take their advice and not do anything that is not necessary. I am not a risk taker and I am certainly not frivolous when it comes to my health. However, I already feel very sure that I will do whatever it takes to give myself the best possible long term outcome. Short term pain, long term gain. So if that means throwing everything available to me to ensure I live a long, healthy, cancer-free life - then that's what I am going to do.
Because this game, I am NOT going to lose. I will play each base and I will be fair but my eye is on the end result. The cancer didn't play fair. It was a dirty player. If it was the Olympics, it would be found positive for using performance enhancing drugs and stripped of it's medal or if it was a footballer, the ref would have sent it off for a dangerous tackle and you'd see it suited up on Channel 10, heading in to the tribunal and it would be banned for life for being such a dirty, unfair, low down, dispicable player. You see my cancer hit me with a sucker punch when I wasn't looking and really, lets be honest, it waited until I was so tired and my immune system was so compromised, that it couldn't possibly lose. It realised that this was its best chance. Hit her while she's down. King hit. Well think again cancer. Cause you just lost the fight. Sure, there's still a game to play. And yes, I'm only just racing from 1st base to 2nd. But there's momentum now. I can feel it and so can the crowd.
So roll on next Wednesday when I go meet my local Oncologist Adam. I hear he is a good good man. Possibly a bit nerdy but hey, who's complaining about that? And he and I are about to hunker down and talk tactics. Strategy. Game plan. And ultimately - Victory.
In the meantime I will try hard to be me. Enjoy the sunshine and fresh air North Coast Kym. Working Kym. Aerobics Kym. Friend and Family Kym. Mum to Murphy Kym. And I will also be healing Kym and preparation Kym and probably fresh fruit juice Kym and god forbid but maybe even meditation Kym..... Nah, actually probably not meditation Kym but maybe at least self reflection Kym and most definitely laughing silly happy Kym. That I know I can do.
Thanks again for endless and amazing support. I love you. K x
So time ticked painfully slowly yesterday, all through the night - and yes, I watched it tick - minute by minute and hour by hour! And then in the space of literally 3 minutes the Oncologist's call set me whirling back into reality and real time. "Kym your margins are clear and the pathologist report indicates the cancer has been successfully removed". No more chop chop. Smiles all round and a good punch in the air! There was also a moment for a hug and a tear or two.
Well thank you Stephanie - have a drink with an umbrella in Bali for me - you are a technical Goddess. And thank you my body for hanging onto what continues to be part of my body and what I intend to hold on to forever from now on. Yippee - yip yip yippee. Relief, sweet relief.
So what's next? Well referrals to the next round - discussions with Oncologists about treatment 'options'. The option for me is to get rid of this cancer and to never have it come back. Kapputski. Gonski. Blow the popsicle stand. As I said on facebook today - so long sucker. So as far as I am concerned, my 'option' is I will do whatever I have to do to make that happen. Of course I will listen to the experts and take their advice and not do anything that is not necessary. I am not a risk taker and I am certainly not frivolous when it comes to my health. However, I already feel very sure that I will do whatever it takes to give myself the best possible long term outcome. Short term pain, long term gain. So if that means throwing everything available to me to ensure I live a long, healthy, cancer-free life - then that's what I am going to do.
Because this game, I am NOT going to lose. I will play each base and I will be fair but my eye is on the end result. The cancer didn't play fair. It was a dirty player. If it was the Olympics, it would be found positive for using performance enhancing drugs and stripped of it's medal or if it was a footballer, the ref would have sent it off for a dangerous tackle and you'd see it suited up on Channel 10, heading in to the tribunal and it would be banned for life for being such a dirty, unfair, low down, dispicable player. You see my cancer hit me with a sucker punch when I wasn't looking and really, lets be honest, it waited until I was so tired and my immune system was so compromised, that it couldn't possibly lose. It realised that this was its best chance. Hit her while she's down. King hit. Well think again cancer. Cause you just lost the fight. Sure, there's still a game to play. And yes, I'm only just racing from 1st base to 2nd. But there's momentum now. I can feel it and so can the crowd.
So roll on next Wednesday when I go meet my local Oncologist Adam. I hear he is a good good man. Possibly a bit nerdy but hey, who's complaining about that? And he and I are about to hunker down and talk tactics. Strategy. Game plan. And ultimately - Victory.
In the meantime I will try hard to be me. Enjoy the sunshine and fresh air North Coast Kym. Working Kym. Aerobics Kym. Friend and Family Kym. Mum to Murphy Kym. And I will also be healing Kym and preparation Kym and probably fresh fruit juice Kym and god forbid but maybe even meditation Kym..... Nah, actually probably not meditation Kym but maybe at least self reflection Kym and most definitely laughing silly happy Kym. That I know I can do.
Thanks again for endless and amazing support. I love you. K x
Monday, November 21, 2011
One hour to go.......
Time. How many times in my life have I lamented that I haven't got enough time? Too much to do and not enough hours. Time is rushing by - moving too fast. I'd do that if I had time. Where did the year go? Do you think there will be enough time?
Today, right now in fact, time has slowed. It's painful. Excruciating. Feels like it's playing with me. The day is moving in slow motion and it seems like when I look at my watch (again) it should be at least 15 minutes later than the last time I looked. And it barely shows a difference. How can that be? Okay, I wont look until I do 3 more 'things'. And then I check my watch again.......seems like the last time I felt this way it was Christmas Eve and I was 5. What happens to us and time inbetween?
I'm waiting on the Umpire. I'm waiting on a voice, a friendly lovely voice mind you, but the voice of my Oncologist to tell me they got it all. Captain Cancer has left the building and I'm slamming the door shut AND changing the locks. Means surgery is done - no more Club Med St George. No more chop chop. What I have left I get to keep. I am willing that response so hard it is nearly breaking me. The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. Well let me tell you, this little warrior is growing restless and she's had enough of waiting. It's time the Umpire made a decision in my favour.
I am also trying to be realistic without being fatalistic. Now there's an interesting parity. Be prepared for the worst but think for the best. Dont set yourself up for disappointment but don't think negatively. How the hell do you do that in these instances? I'm not sure it's possible. So what am I sure of?????
Well, I'm sure of the support I have around me. That has shown itself in endless and consistent forms of love. All gratefully received.
I am sure I can beat this. AND
I am sure that no matter what news I get, I will be able to suck it up, make the appropriate arrangements and get on with it.
Because even if I stumble and there is every chance I might, I have so many hands holding onto mine that the surest thing of all is I feel absolutely safe in the knowledge that I can't possibly fall...........thanks for being here. K x ps. Will update this blog post phone call. Hmmmm, that just knocked 5 minutes off the wait :-)
UPDATE - there is no update! Appears the Oncologist had to race to meeting and couldn't call......so, time will continue to trickle slowly through the hourglass until first thing tomorrow morning. This Umpire sure knows how to string out a game.
Today, right now in fact, time has slowed. It's painful. Excruciating. Feels like it's playing with me. The day is moving in slow motion and it seems like when I look at my watch (again) it should be at least 15 minutes later than the last time I looked. And it barely shows a difference. How can that be? Okay, I wont look until I do 3 more 'things'. And then I check my watch again.......seems like the last time I felt this way it was Christmas Eve and I was 5. What happens to us and time inbetween?
I'm waiting on the Umpire. I'm waiting on a voice, a friendly lovely voice mind you, but the voice of my Oncologist to tell me they got it all. Captain Cancer has left the building and I'm slamming the door shut AND changing the locks. Means surgery is done - no more Club Med St George. No more chop chop. What I have left I get to keep. I am willing that response so hard it is nearly breaking me. The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. Well let me tell you, this little warrior is growing restless and she's had enough of waiting. It's time the Umpire made a decision in my favour.
I am also trying to be realistic without being fatalistic. Now there's an interesting parity. Be prepared for the worst but think for the best. Dont set yourself up for disappointment but don't think negatively. How the hell do you do that in these instances? I'm not sure it's possible. So what am I sure of?????
Well, I'm sure of the support I have around me. That has shown itself in endless and consistent forms of love. All gratefully received.
I am sure I can beat this. AND
I am sure that no matter what news I get, I will be able to suck it up, make the appropriate arrangements and get on with it.
Because even if I stumble and there is every chance I might, I have so many hands holding onto mine that the surest thing of all is I feel absolutely safe in the knowledge that I can't possibly fall...........thanks for being here. K x ps. Will update this blog post phone call. Hmmmm, that just knocked 5 minutes off the wait :-)
UPDATE - there is no update! Appears the Oncologist had to race to meeting and couldn't call......so, time will continue to trickle slowly through the hourglass until first thing tomorrow morning. This Umpire sure knows how to string out a game.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Fitness by Osmosis...... :-(
This blog is coming from the Les Mills quarterly workshop in Brisbane. Yes I know. Surgery was Tuesday but I'm feeling pretty good! And I'm only an observer.........which I am totally struggling with. The music is pumping and there is an auditorium filled with fit little Les Mills gym bunnies. I watched and waved at Bert and Dave as they bounced their way thru step smiling and 'burpying' through each track. Best ever? Looks good! Geez I hope I get to teach it. I'm now watching pump. Thought momentarily about doing a sneaky track or two but I know I promised. And a promise is a promise. Soon Kymmy.
It's really hard sitting here watching a workshop for the first time and not being down there whoo hooing my heart out. I feel a bit disconnected. And sad. But Dave has just offered me a starburst jelly baby and now I feel better :-) I have been asked by a few gym colleagues if I am injured? I guess you could call it that?
I have spotted a woman on the other side of the room that looks like she has either short hair or no hair and is wearing a bandana. I obviously can't tell (without going up to her and asking - which could be really bad) if her and I share something extra other than a passion for Les Mills gym classes. It's a new feeling for me to look around and see healthy smiley fit people and feel a tinge of envy. I dont like feeling this way and I am working soooo hard to push it away. I am incredibly lucky to be able to even be sitting here taking in fitness via osmosis 4 days after surgery. But I cannot tell you how much I desperately want me back. And when I do get back to the old me, every chance I get to jump around will be with a renewed energy, every push up will be on my toes and every high note of doof doof music will come with a punch in the air and the loudest WHOO HOO from me. Kiss x
It's really hard sitting here watching a workshop for the first time and not being down there whoo hooing my heart out. I feel a bit disconnected. And sad. But Dave has just offered me a starburst jelly baby and now I feel better :-) I have been asked by a few gym colleagues if I am injured? I guess you could call it that?
I have spotted a woman on the other side of the room that looks like she has either short hair or no hair and is wearing a bandana. I obviously can't tell (without going up to her and asking - which could be really bad) if her and I share something extra other than a passion for Les Mills gym classes. It's a new feeling for me to look around and see healthy smiley fit people and feel a tinge of envy. I dont like feeling this way and I am working soooo hard to push it away. I am incredibly lucky to be able to even be sitting here taking in fitness via osmosis 4 days after surgery. But I cannot tell you how much I desperately want me back. And when I do get back to the old me, every chance I get to jump around will be with a renewed energy, every push up will be on my toes and every high note of doof doof music will come with a punch in the air and the loudest WHOO HOO from me. Kiss x
Friday, November 18, 2011
Waiting Waiting Waiting......
Home feels good! My bed feels good! The ocean feels good! My scars are healing :) and I am overwhelmed once again by the extensive support from everyone in my life. Arrived back last night to a well stocked fridge, beautiful flowers, parcels of goodies on the front door and lots of cards and notes. You know who you are and how much I love you. I am too scared to mention names in fear of accidently leaving someone from the list but I will be reserving some of the squishiest right sided hugs for you. Did I mention it feels good to be home???? Of course I have accidently called Murphy "Barney" a couple of times and I do miss the Margaret st bed and breakfast including take away coffee's from Bali with personal notes and smiley faces on the lids.......and my medical coordinator must be bored silly by now!
The next few days will consist of gradual exercise, healthy eating (I feel like I could open a fruit shop!), catching up with gorgeous friends and doing whatever else I can to stop my mind from turning to cancer. I am tired of thinking about cancer. It has consumed me for the last couple of weeks and I can't wait to get to the end of a day and realise I haven't thought about it. Experts tell me I have a way to go before that can happen. All in my time I guess.
In the meantime I will enjoy the catch up time and give myself every opportunity to heal and recuperate so that I am in the best possible place for whatever decision the umpire should make on Monday. I'm having my first team consultation with Captain Bert very shortly at a most appropriately named coffee shop in Lennox called "In The Pink". Gotta be a sign I reckon.
Welcome to the weekend everyone. This weekend please take 10 minutes to stop whatever you are doing and sit with someone you love and tell them why you love them. And I promnise to do the same. Twice. K x
The next few days will consist of gradual exercise, healthy eating (I feel like I could open a fruit shop!), catching up with gorgeous friends and doing whatever else I can to stop my mind from turning to cancer. I am tired of thinking about cancer. It has consumed me for the last couple of weeks and I can't wait to get to the end of a day and realise I haven't thought about it. Experts tell me I have a way to go before that can happen. All in my time I guess.
In the meantime I will enjoy the catch up time and give myself every opportunity to heal and recuperate so that I am in the best possible place for whatever decision the umpire should make on Monday. I'm having my first team consultation with Captain Bert very shortly at a most appropriately named coffee shop in Lennox called "In The Pink". Gotta be a sign I reckon.
Welcome to the weekend everyone. This weekend please take 10 minutes to stop whatever you are doing and sit with someone you love and tell them why you love them. And I promnise to do the same. Twice. K x
Wednesday, November 16, 2011
Game plan huddle has happened - bring on the Umpire for final decision
Day after surgery (round 2) and I am sitting up in bed and feeling pretty good (update - I'm now actually at Julias!). If anyone were to accidently elbow me to my left boob I think I'd probably hit the ceiling on the 4th floor (Im on third!) but I'm feeling pretty well protected by the lovely nurses who pop in every now and then to make sure I am not doing pushups on the carpet.......On that note, I want to pay tribute to the nursie people out there. I know they are overstretched and underpaid but boy they do an awesome job taking care of the hundreds and hundreds of people day in day out. Thank you.
So, like last week, it's a waiting game on pathology. Hopefully some good news swinging my way by the end of the week. Have seen Stephanie my surgeon early this morning already. It was nice to see her in civilian clothes and looking much more relaxed than yesterday's conversation in that big white scary room. I think it's only appropriate that I report that I told the surgery girls as they were gearing me up to knock me out that I had purchased nice new (very cute and girly) undies so that this round I didn't have to wear the waste to knee caps hospital bloomers. And that I had done that just for them. They laughed and commented that they actually pay no attention HOWEVER when I woke up in recovery I discovered a post it note slapped on me that said "we loved your undies". So there is a lesson for all of us in that.
Stephanie is off to Bali tomorrow and I've taken the liberty of advising her to use mozzie spray liberally. Quite the momentary roll reversal. She then explained that given the type of cancer I HAD (always now referred to in past tense) that there is a 'slight' chance a third go at surgery may still be in order. Unlikely and as far as I am concerned absolutely not going to happen. What the human mind can conceive and believe it can achieve.....
Then it's safe on first and my sights on second base. Bring it on. Treatment options still need to be discussed and decided. It will be an anxious and uncertain time until the final game plan is agreed. I don't plan on dawdling with that decision. No time like the present I say. Some people need weeks to gear up for next steps - whilst I understand the reasons for that, that is simply not me. I want a plan of action and I want to throw myself into it. The sooner it starts the sooner it ends.
So come on Umpire - about time you got on with this game. Clearly I am going to win so stop wasteing time. The crowds getting restless and I can't wait for my victory lap. Love Kym xxx
So, like last week, it's a waiting game on pathology. Hopefully some good news swinging my way by the end of the week. Have seen Stephanie my surgeon early this morning already. It was nice to see her in civilian clothes and looking much more relaxed than yesterday's conversation in that big white scary room. I think it's only appropriate that I report that I told the surgery girls as they were gearing me up to knock me out that I had purchased nice new (very cute and girly) undies so that this round I didn't have to wear the waste to knee caps hospital bloomers. And that I had done that just for them. They laughed and commented that they actually pay no attention HOWEVER when I woke up in recovery I discovered a post it note slapped on me that said "we loved your undies". So there is a lesson for all of us in that.
Stephanie is off to Bali tomorrow and I've taken the liberty of advising her to use mozzie spray liberally. Quite the momentary roll reversal. She then explained that given the type of cancer I HAD (always now referred to in past tense) that there is a 'slight' chance a third go at surgery may still be in order. Unlikely and as far as I am concerned absolutely not going to happen. What the human mind can conceive and believe it can achieve.....
Then it's safe on first and my sights on second base. Bring it on. Treatment options still need to be discussed and decided. It will be an anxious and uncertain time until the final game plan is agreed. I don't plan on dawdling with that decision. No time like the present I say. Some people need weeks to gear up for next steps - whilst I understand the reasons for that, that is simply not me. I want a plan of action and I want to throw myself into it. The sooner it starts the sooner it ends.
So come on Umpire - about time you got on with this game. Clearly I am going to win so stop wasteing time. The crowds getting restless and I can't wait for my victory lap. Love Kym xxx
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
Go get yourself a hot dog.....there's time:-)
Quick blog. Stephanie and I wound that bat up and thwacked it as hard as we could. And both of us have our eye on the home run. I feel hopeful. I feel excited that this may be done. I feel lucky. I also feel sore! But I'm in Club Med St George Private and I know they have drugs! But I am totally up for short term pain for long term gain.......
Will send better update when not hooked up to tubes and drugged up to the eyeballs. Thanks for all the texts, calls, comments etc. John will let you know when his text finger is booked in for surgery :-)
So I am not going to sit up tonight until 3am quietly celebrating the fact that my cancer has gone. Been there done that. What I am going to do is fall asleep knowing that today provided me an extra layer of precaution that the cancer is gone and will not ever come back. I have increased my odds. My batting average just got better :-)
It's amazing what a heath scare like cancer can do in terms of reflecting on all the people that are in your life. I have been lying here remembering the life of my Grandma Gimbert. She was an amazing woman who died only a few short months off 100. My grandma took no medication. She had a passion for sport both as a participant and a sports fan that fueled her life (she once refused me taking her to the doctors because the Australian Open was on!!!) and she always always laughed at herself. I was very proud of her. I loved that whenever I introduced her to my friends she would slap them on the arm and ask them to guess her age. Even more so I loved that my mates would generally still be rubbing their arm sometime after. She also had a good batting average and I am shooting to emulate her from this point onwards....so that home run was for you Eve xxx
Will send better update when not hooked up to tubes and drugged up to the eyeballs. Thanks for all the texts, calls, comments etc. John will let you know when his text finger is booked in for surgery :-)
So I am not going to sit up tonight until 3am quietly celebrating the fact that my cancer has gone. Been there done that. What I am going to do is fall asleep knowing that today provided me an extra layer of precaution that the cancer is gone and will not ever come back. I have increased my odds. My batting average just got better :-)
It's amazing what a heath scare like cancer can do in terms of reflecting on all the people that are in your life. I have been lying here remembering the life of my Grandma Gimbert. She was an amazing woman who died only a few short months off 100. My grandma took no medication. She had a passion for sport both as a participant and a sports fan that fueled her life (she once refused me taking her to the doctors because the Australian Open was on!!!) and she always always laughed at herself. I was very proud of her. I loved that whenever I introduced her to my friends she would slap them on the arm and ask them to guess her age. Even more so I loved that my mates would generally still be rubbing their arm sometime after. She also had a good batting average and I am shooting to emulate her from this point onwards....so that home run was for you Eve xxx
Monday, November 14, 2011
Game on tomorrow.......TURN IT UP!!!!
What must it feel like to actually be a pro baseball player and the lead batter (top of the order is the correct term I'm told with the nickname 'leadoff hitter'?) the night before the final of the world series? I'd imagine they feel anxious. I would expect there is a sense of urgency and a need to quickly get to the game so that the victory can be achieved. They'd be hoping that their body is in the best shape it can be to reach maximum performance. I would hope that as a professional player that they run the game plan over and over in their mind seeing themselves pop that ball out of the stadium and that they can't wait to share their win with all of their loyal supporters. Loyalty that has seen them stick together through the good years and the bad. And when all that is stripped away, I bet there is a small space for time to pray for just a little luck.......
It's hardly a world series but tomorrow is what I hope will be the last date with Stephanie my surgeon. Together we are about to cut away the last of the cancer margins and give me the best possible outcome - off the batting plate and completely safe on first. I feel good. Yes anxious. Yes I want this stage to be over - boxed up and put away so that I can spend the next little time focused on the treatment. Yes I feel really strong and emotionally ready. I had a full dress rehearsal (or undress rehearsal with bad underpants tehnically :-)) last week but I feel sure this Tues will be it. Game over for surgery. Kym one, Cancer NIL.
A few days ago a beautiful colleague of mine diagnosed with breast cancer 3 years ago sent me a phone message. Amongst some lovely words of support, she offered to me an Italian expression that had been meaningful to her during the hideous chemo phase....."lo affronto a muso duro" - I will tackle this situation with a strong attitude.
And that is exactly what I intend to do - get ready to cheer :-) Kisses and Hugs. Kym xxx
It's hardly a world series but tomorrow is what I hope will be the last date with Stephanie my surgeon. Together we are about to cut away the last of the cancer margins and give me the best possible outcome - off the batting plate and completely safe on first. I feel good. Yes anxious. Yes I want this stage to be over - boxed up and put away so that I can spend the next little time focused on the treatment. Yes I feel really strong and emotionally ready. I had a full dress rehearsal (or undress rehearsal with bad underpants tehnically :-)) last week but I feel sure this Tues will be it. Game over for surgery. Kym one, Cancer NIL.
A few days ago a beautiful colleague of mine diagnosed with breast cancer 3 years ago sent me a phone message. Amongst some lovely words of support, she offered to me an Italian expression that had been meaningful to her during the hideous chemo phase....."lo affronto a muso duro" - I will tackle this situation with a strong attitude.
And that is exactly what I intend to do - get ready to cheer :-) Kisses and Hugs. Kym xxx
Friday, November 11, 2011
Okay, so the Umpires called me back...this just gives me a second chance at a home run.....
Diagnosis on Melbourne Cup Day. Results today on Remembrance Day. Despite my initial reaction to the news, I am feeling better and better regarding the outcome. So what's a bit more surgery? I quite liked the 5 star hospital resort at St George and now that I am a repeat customer I am thinking my hand delivered latte might come with a warm blueberry muffin next time??? LOL
So my race to first base has been slowed down on the one hand. It appears a second go at removing the cancerous tissue to be absolutely sure it's all gone (and who wouldn't want that??) is in order. Fine. Been there done that. As with the last surgery, being wheeled around in a bed, pampered by lovely nursing staff and given A1 drugs to sleep like a baby while other people perform miracles is all fine with me. I am told Stephanie can enter through the same cut and that now because they have such clear and precise pathology to guide the surgery - the process has less room for guess work and more room for knowing exactly how much has to go and from where. Thank you nerdy people who know their way around a microscope. Thank you Jodi for telling me in such a skilled and knowledgable way and thank you Stephanie for finding time to do this next Tuesday.
THREE PIECES OF GOOD NEWS (the other wasn't THAT bad but this is better) - is that the pathology has indicated my cancer has downgraded to a Grade 1 cancer from a Grade 2 (yippee), that there is a VERY GOOD CHANCE that I may be able to avoid chemotherapy and just undergo hormone treatment and radiation therapy (yes more waiting) and that my lymph nodes are free and clear of cancer so they aren't going anywhere. I keep wanting to pat my armpit and tell them what a good job they are doing.
So, despite my initial feeling of despair at the idea of being sent back from first base to home plate for another swing at surgery, I am feeling hopeful that this time I will knock that ball so far out of the park you're all going to get whip lash watching it disappear.......
Continuing thanks to everyone. Home run coming up. K xxx
So my race to first base has been slowed down on the one hand. It appears a second go at removing the cancerous tissue to be absolutely sure it's all gone (and who wouldn't want that??) is in order. Fine. Been there done that. As with the last surgery, being wheeled around in a bed, pampered by lovely nursing staff and given A1 drugs to sleep like a baby while other people perform miracles is all fine with me. I am told Stephanie can enter through the same cut and that now because they have such clear and precise pathology to guide the surgery - the process has less room for guess work and more room for knowing exactly how much has to go and from where. Thank you nerdy people who know their way around a microscope. Thank you Jodi for telling me in such a skilled and knowledgable way and thank you Stephanie for finding time to do this next Tuesday.
THREE PIECES OF GOOD NEWS (the other wasn't THAT bad but this is better) - is that the pathology has indicated my cancer has downgraded to a Grade 1 cancer from a Grade 2 (yippee), that there is a VERY GOOD CHANCE that I may be able to avoid chemotherapy and just undergo hormone treatment and radiation therapy (yes more waiting) and that my lymph nodes are free and clear of cancer so they aren't going anywhere. I keep wanting to pat my armpit and tell them what a good job they are doing.
So, despite my initial feeling of despair at the idea of being sent back from first base to home plate for another swing at surgery, I am feeling hopeful that this time I will knock that ball so far out of the park you're all going to get whip lash watching it disappear.......
Continuing thanks to everyone. Home run coming up. K xxx
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Waiting on the Umpires decision....
Am sending this blog from Julia's house - the hospital arm band has been removed and I am out of PJ's and into Lorna Jane shorts and a T shirt! Feeling more and more like me :)
Basically it's a waiting game. But the wait wont be long and that will at least mean I have a game plan and can start to focus on treatment and healing. I must admit I am tired of thinking about cancer. I want to return to having a focus on work, or the gym or whether Murphy has been fed or what's on next weekend. It's really been such a short time in the grand scheme of life but boy it's been forever too. Tomorrow. I am shooting for news that tells me the cancer is gone and that the pathology says they got it all. No more surgery. Just a treatment plan that means this can be boxed up and shelved. For good.
I wanted to use this blog to pay tribute to two teams I haven't thanked so far in this blog. Firstly I want to thank the amazing staff at St George Cancer Care Centre (Alison in particular), to the Oncologists at the St George Public Hospital (Jodi and Peter) and to my amazing surgeon and the staff at St George Private Hospital (Stephanie). What they do evey day as part of their regular work day is nothing short of a miracle. Stephanie the surgeon performed at least half a dozen operations on the day of mine which I know took her from lunch until evening. She came to see me THAT night to tell me about the operation (for some reason I couldn't remember a thing??!!!) and it was at least 9pm before she left. I happen to know she went home to a 6 month old baby. And that she had surgery at 7:30 the next morning. She is quite simply one amazing woman. Jodi (my Medical Oncologist) I can tell already is a dynamo. Jodi see's 25 to 30 people like me every day yet every appointment I have had with her so far, she somehow makes me feel like there is no time limit and I am her only focus. I dont know how she does it. And then there is Peter the Radiation Oncologist, the only boy on the team who's my numbers man and fills me with so much confidence about the final treatment process on this marathon. The beautiful Alison my breast care nurse also must be acknowledged for her smiley disposition, her endless knowledge of all things cancer and for sharing with me the fact that she is about to become mum to a rescue dog most likely with no teeth. I loved that we could exchange pics and talk puppies and that she hugged me.
And the second team worthy of acknowledgement is the canine team of Barney and Murphy. Murph just because she is my geriatric baby and no matter what is happening, can always make me feel better. And Barney for being the most generous host, allowing his schedule to be turned upside down, sharing his mum's attention with his Aunty Kym and for giving me loads and loads of blonde cuddles. I will be picking Barney hair off my clothes for some time - gladly. They are supported by a number of cousins out there...Teddy, chica, Shep, Charlie...too many to name.
About half a week ago John and I went to lunch in Lennox and I wrote on the back of a paper napkin ten reasons I am grateful for what is happening to me. I dont think they have changed at this point in time although I do reserve the right to adjust as time goes by...
1. The cancer is in my left breast and I am right handed so I can still swing a bat :-)
2. There is no cancer on the right side. Yay!
3. That it is breast cancer and not another kind of cancer which could be much worse
4. That I found it early and action was swift
5. That the cancer was under my nipple and not on top which means I can still have a cleavage :-) (that ones a personal favourite)
6. That I apparently have good teeth which means risk of infection minimised during treatment
7. That this has happened now and not 4 months ago when I was suffering from Dengue Fever
8. That I have the Dream Team taking care of me
9. That we are heading into summer so who needs hair anyway?
10. That I am so well supported by everyone in my life.
Roll on tomorrow. Let the Umpire announce me safe on the base so I can prepare for the dash to second. There will be no stopping me then. K xxx
Basically it's a waiting game. But the wait wont be long and that will at least mean I have a game plan and can start to focus on treatment and healing. I must admit I am tired of thinking about cancer. I want to return to having a focus on work, or the gym or whether Murphy has been fed or what's on next weekend. It's really been such a short time in the grand scheme of life but boy it's been forever too. Tomorrow. I am shooting for news that tells me the cancer is gone and that the pathology says they got it all. No more surgery. Just a treatment plan that means this can be boxed up and shelved. For good.
I wanted to use this blog to pay tribute to two teams I haven't thanked so far in this blog. Firstly I want to thank the amazing staff at St George Cancer Care Centre (Alison in particular), to the Oncologists at the St George Public Hospital (Jodi and Peter) and to my amazing surgeon and the staff at St George Private Hospital (Stephanie). What they do evey day as part of their regular work day is nothing short of a miracle. Stephanie the surgeon performed at least half a dozen operations on the day of mine which I know took her from lunch until evening. She came to see me THAT night to tell me about the operation (for some reason I couldn't remember a thing??!!!) and it was at least 9pm before she left. I happen to know she went home to a 6 month old baby. And that she had surgery at 7:30 the next morning. She is quite simply one amazing woman. Jodi (my Medical Oncologist) I can tell already is a dynamo. Jodi see's 25 to 30 people like me every day yet every appointment I have had with her so far, she somehow makes me feel like there is no time limit and I am her only focus. I dont know how she does it. And then there is Peter the Radiation Oncologist, the only boy on the team who's my numbers man and fills me with so much confidence about the final treatment process on this marathon. The beautiful Alison my breast care nurse also must be acknowledged for her smiley disposition, her endless knowledge of all things cancer and for sharing with me the fact that she is about to become mum to a rescue dog most likely with no teeth. I loved that we could exchange pics and talk puppies and that she hugged me.
And the second team worthy of acknowledgement is the canine team of Barney and Murphy. Murph just because she is my geriatric baby and no matter what is happening, can always make me feel better. And Barney for being the most generous host, allowing his schedule to be turned upside down, sharing his mum's attention with his Aunty Kym and for giving me loads and loads of blonde cuddles. I will be picking Barney hair off my clothes for some time - gladly. They are supported by a number of cousins out there...Teddy, chica, Shep, Charlie...too many to name.
About half a week ago John and I went to lunch in Lennox and I wrote on the back of a paper napkin ten reasons I am grateful for what is happening to me. I dont think they have changed at this point in time although I do reserve the right to adjust as time goes by...
1. The cancer is in my left breast and I am right handed so I can still swing a bat :-)
2. There is no cancer on the right side. Yay!
3. That it is breast cancer and not another kind of cancer which could be much worse
4. That I found it early and action was swift
5. That the cancer was under my nipple and not on top which means I can still have a cleavage :-) (that ones a personal favourite)
6. That I apparently have good teeth which means risk of infection minimised during treatment
7. That this has happened now and not 4 months ago when I was suffering from Dengue Fever
8. That I have the Dream Team taking care of me
9. That we are heading into summer so who needs hair anyway?
10. That I am so well supported by everyone in my life.
Roll on tomorrow. Let the Umpire announce me safe on the base so I can prepare for the dash to second. There will be no stopping me then. K xxx
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Sliding into first base...
Wow what an amazing day -an insight into the medical world and a mix of lows and highs. I am typing this in my lonely private room (not complaining!) with just the occasional noise of a passing trolley or nurse. Been a long day but a good day.
A little while ago I was allowed to get out of the delightful 'show your bottom when you walk' gown and the most unattractive underpants I have ever worn and get into my bright and cheery Elmo pj's (thank you Bert and Mattaya).!!!
It started with an anxious but highly supportive breakfast meeting with my A team. Then whisked over bridge and into Nuclear Medicine(that's an entrance that makes your stomach flip) and a series of injections of dye (read 4) into the cancer area to try and find my sentinel node. Ouch. I found myself hugging a cold piece of impressive machinery for what felt like an eternity as they marked the spot for the surgeon to cut. In true form I discovered I have 3 main ones that couldn't be distinguished so all three were going. Don't like to do things in half measures! Go me!
From there I was sent to the holding area for surgery prep and the interminable wait for op. I was wheeled in around 3pm to a bright white room filled with what seemed like a lot of blue gowned busy women in funny hats. I told the surgeon I felt more confident the room was filled with smart chicks! As I lay in the operating room waiting to be knocked out it occurred to me that none of these women have to worry about bad hair days as they drive to work. However it must suck if they have to go somewhere fancy for an afternoon glass of wine :)
The surgery went well and I am incredibly pleased to report my lymph nodes removed were clear of cancer and so their brothers and sisters remain right where they should be which is under my arm pit. Big big big smile.
The umpire hasn't declared me safe on first yet however and I will have yet another wait until both the clean margin around the lump and the 3 lymph nodes are chopped up and thoroughly examined for no further trace of cancer. If they do find even the smallest trace, I will be back here probably this time next week doing it all again but I am very hopeful this will not be the case. And I have a number of good reasons to feel this way.
Once again, like every day over the past week I have received countless texts, emails, messages, cards and flowers. I'm sorry if I haven't managed to express my thanks to you but I will I promise over the next little time.
However there are a few key people specifically from today I want to thank. I want to thank my gorgeous niece Carli who was standing at the front of the hospital and almost squished the cancer out of me with her hug when I arrived. I know she was representing a larger family team and although was not allowed to stay, sat with me for as long as she could. I also want to thank Lyn and Ash who played the waiting game at home with Murphy today and yes there was a thunderstorm! If you know Murf, you'll know surgery was the easier option :) You guys are awesome and I'm so grateful you are here. To Wendy and Zom for being my fairy godparents and deciding Hong Kong needed a St George detour even if it's only for 5 fast minutes. Thank you Julia for being my medical coordinator, interpreting every piece of info, answering my endless questions ( even if you do make some of it up ;) and yes I know, if you say it with enough authority people will believe anything) and for ensuring I get the best. And of course thank you to John, just for being you - the you that you always have been for me through all of the sunny times and through the occasional downpour. Words can never express.
I also want to thank my full compliment A team which consist of many people far and wide and from a number of continents. I felt the love and support. I also know thre were a number of beautiful gals waiting in the wings should I be able to get the green light for visitation. I hope that is sooner than later. A wise woman reminded me this week that this is the beginning of a marathon, not a sprint and I am counting on many opportunities for sharing / leaning on those supports.
I understand that this afternoon a bunch of black and white women from home gathered in my back yard and took part in a smoking ceremony in order to send healing spirits to me. I truly believe that this act in part is why I am now quietly celebrating the excellent outcome of today. I want to acknowledge Aunty Nancy and Wendy in particular - I am honoured and so grateful I have you in my life. I felt the hands of many people sending me strength and power today. I know I'm not quite at the sprint to second base just yet but I have home crowd advantage and if I was a betting woman, I'd back me.
From diagnosis to surgery only 1 week of the most hideous awareness of what was growing inside me. I am so lucky to be able to fall asleep tonight knowing the cancer is gone. I feel I have been given a very precious gift. Kym xxx
A little while ago I was allowed to get out of the delightful 'show your bottom when you walk' gown and the most unattractive underpants I have ever worn and get into my bright and cheery Elmo pj's (thank you Bert and Mattaya).!!!
It started with an anxious but highly supportive breakfast meeting with my A team. Then whisked over bridge and into Nuclear Medicine(that's an entrance that makes your stomach flip) and a series of injections of dye (read 4) into the cancer area to try and find my sentinel node. Ouch. I found myself hugging a cold piece of impressive machinery for what felt like an eternity as they marked the spot for the surgeon to cut. In true form I discovered I have 3 main ones that couldn't be distinguished so all three were going. Don't like to do things in half measures! Go me!
From there I was sent to the holding area for surgery prep and the interminable wait for op. I was wheeled in around 3pm to a bright white room filled with what seemed like a lot of blue gowned busy women in funny hats. I told the surgeon I felt more confident the room was filled with smart chicks! As I lay in the operating room waiting to be knocked out it occurred to me that none of these women have to worry about bad hair days as they drive to work. However it must suck if they have to go somewhere fancy for an afternoon glass of wine :)
The surgery went well and I am incredibly pleased to report my lymph nodes removed were clear of cancer and so their brothers and sisters remain right where they should be which is under my arm pit. Big big big smile.
The umpire hasn't declared me safe on first yet however and I will have yet another wait until both the clean margin around the lump and the 3 lymph nodes are chopped up and thoroughly examined for no further trace of cancer. If they do find even the smallest trace, I will be back here probably this time next week doing it all again but I am very hopeful this will not be the case. And I have a number of good reasons to feel this way.
Once again, like every day over the past week I have received countless texts, emails, messages, cards and flowers. I'm sorry if I haven't managed to express my thanks to you but I will I promise over the next little time.
However there are a few key people specifically from today I want to thank. I want to thank my gorgeous niece Carli who was standing at the front of the hospital and almost squished the cancer out of me with her hug when I arrived. I know she was representing a larger family team and although was not allowed to stay, sat with me for as long as she could. I also want to thank Lyn and Ash who played the waiting game at home with Murphy today and yes there was a thunderstorm! If you know Murf, you'll know surgery was the easier option :) You guys are awesome and I'm so grateful you are here. To Wendy and Zom for being my fairy godparents and deciding Hong Kong needed a St George detour even if it's only for 5 fast minutes. Thank you Julia for being my medical coordinator, interpreting every piece of info, answering my endless questions ( even if you do make some of it up ;) and yes I know, if you say it with enough authority people will believe anything) and for ensuring I get the best. And of course thank you to John, just for being you - the you that you always have been for me through all of the sunny times and through the occasional downpour. Words can never express.
I also want to thank my full compliment A team which consist of many people far and wide and from a number of continents. I felt the love and support. I also know thre were a number of beautiful gals waiting in the wings should I be able to get the green light for visitation. I hope that is sooner than later. A wise woman reminded me this week that this is the beginning of a marathon, not a sprint and I am counting on many opportunities for sharing / leaning on those supports.
I understand that this afternoon a bunch of black and white women from home gathered in my back yard and took part in a smoking ceremony in order to send healing spirits to me. I truly believe that this act in part is why I am now quietly celebrating the excellent outcome of today. I want to acknowledge Aunty Nancy and Wendy in particular - I am honoured and so grateful I have you in my life. I felt the hands of many people sending me strength and power today. I know I'm not quite at the sprint to second base just yet but I have home crowd advantage and if I was a betting woman, I'd back me.
From diagnosis to surgery only 1 week of the most hideous awareness of what was growing inside me. I am so lucky to be able to fall asleep tonight knowing the cancer is gone. I feel I have been given a very precious gift. Kym xxx
Monday, November 7, 2011
Batter up...
On Tuesday the 1st of November I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Melbourne Cup day. I remember thinking that it was very un-Australian of me to be sitting in a doctor's waiting room at 3pm instead of watching the race. The race that stops the nation. No wonder that time slot was available :)
Now I am at the start of the biggest race of my life.
A week has passed in a blur of medical appointments, hospitals, information, advice, love and support. On the day of my diagnosis my beautiful friend Julia, for whom I am ever indebted, said to me "once we start this, there's no stopping - so you'd better get ready". I had no idea...
So here I am on the eve of my surgery, not to get too technical, but for those of my mates who like detail (and I know who you are,) I am having a lumpectomy on left breast for a grade II lobular cancer that is estimated to be about 2cm long. I have no breast cancer in my family and so, like many before me, assumed the lump was just hormonal and would go away. I have only been aware of its existence for a little over 1 month.
I have a medical team now named 'The Dream Team" taking care of me. My support crew have shown themselves to be a team from far and wide. Too many to name right now. But I think it's important that I acknowledge the amazing love and support that's been shown to me in such a short period of time. It has been an overwhelming and humbling experience.
The extraordinary kindness and love that people have extended to me makes it impossible for me to start individually identifying and thanking people. If you could put a monetary value to the amount of support I have been shown you could simply say, my account is full and overflowing.
Will try hard to update this blog on a regular basis and encourage lots of contact and updates from you guys on what's happening in your worlds. It was recommended to me that I use a blog site to stay in touch so that I can send regular updates for all to see, and that's what I intend to do.
I will start this race the way I will finish it, which is with strength and power. I would not be honest if I didn't confess that right now I am quite afraid. However, I feel wrapped in a blanket of love and support by all my amazing friends, colleagues and family.
Much love, Kym xxx
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