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
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