I had one of those moments today, in this cancer roller coaster I currently find myself, that can only be described as surreal. Bizarre. A 'how did I get here' moment. It's happened a few times since being diagnosed and sometimes it doesn't take an event like today. Sometimes it can be as simple as driving somewhere and I rest my head into my right hand, elbow on edge of the open window, and I become conscious of the fact that I only feel scalp. Or when I am grabbing the towel in the bathroom dripping wet and I suddenly notice the incision on my left breast. Or the other day when I gathered up all of the anti nausea and 'chemo' medications, the Dexy, the Emend and the Maxolon and there were bottles and bottles and as I nursed them in my T shirt up the stairs to go into a cupboard and out of sight I thought 'how did I ever end up having to swallow all of this just to feel ok'?
Today I found myself back at the Cancer Centre in Lismore this time for a scan and what is referred to as 'planning' for my next stage - yep the race to third base is about to be on! There was a great deal of waiting around in between seeing professional staff to discuss next steps and what I can expect from 6 weeks every day (bar weekends) of Radiation Therapy. At one stage I was led into a big cold room with a giant scanning machine (my knowledge of correct medical terminology leaves a lot to be desired) and the Radiation Technicians walked me through what I can expect from the therapy - the good and the bad. I'm thinking more good than bad - if it zaps the absolute last of this cancer out of my body, I will gladly take the potential burns and the drudgery of daily drives to Lismore.
The technician offered me a rotating curtain to stand behind as I undressed and put on the gown (split to the front please Kym). It's a tokenistic gesture of privacy because the minute you walk out from behind the curtain you are asked to lie down, arms out of the gown and full top half exposed as they poke, prod, move you ever so slightly up, down, over, no too much go back - aligning you carefully on the machine. Clearly precision is of utmost importance. Finally after two technicians spent what feels like an awfully long time getting it right, they then ask you to continue holding two metal bars that are above your head and not move an inch while they draw on you, slide you in and out of the machine, speak in code to each other and then request the presence of my third base coach Michael to come in. Now I have three people staring at my breasts, drawing on me and even making a traced replica on a plastic cover as an extra triple check of the required 'zapping' area. But wait, there was more. They then moved in with the tattoo needles and gave me my first 'ink' which I had hoped would be something small, sexy and meaningful but in fact turned out to be three freckles. :-) Doesn't matter - I still feel wild and edgy and like I now need to buy a motorbike......clearly shaving ones head is soooooo 2011. I also have a new respect for the pain threshold of people who actually pay money to have tattoos placed on really sensitive areas of their body. The second tattoo for me was in the centre of my chest right on my chest plate and it really hurt! What a wimp....
The finale was the technician requesting permission to photograph me lying there, from the position of my legs to the way my hands gripped the bars above my head and all points in between.
After all of that was done, Michael nodded his approval and he and the two efficient technicians left me there to undergo the scanning process but assured me that they were just outside and could see and hear me if needed. It was during this process that I had my very surreal moment. Alone and as I lay grasping this big cold medical monster of a machine, naked from the waist up with all sorts of drawing all over me I could hear it wizz and click as it did its thing. And as I was being slowly moved further inside to be positioned just so concentrating hard on not moving a muscle I thought 'how on earth did I ever get to this place and how can this be happening to me'? Even after four months of dealing with this unwanted invader, i still question its actuality. I feel like a fraud. I am not the typical person that gets cancer, so therefore it can't really be happening can it? Even more ironic is that cancer for me occupies an enormous part of my head space. From the minute I wake up aspects of having been diagnosed with breast cancer, the symptoms related to the cure, medical appointments, dealing with the worry of its return fill my brain daily. So how is it that I then have moments of wondering if it's actually real? What's that about?
It may be because it feels like time stands still in these moments that even the act of breathing becomes a conscious effort and so it forces your brain to focus on exactly what is happening right then and there - and nothing else matters at the time other than working in partnership, for example, with a medical machine. Being in that moment means all the other aspects of your life fall away and you are alone with your body and the cancer and maybe it's all too intense?
It may be because every step of this journey is about focusing on the positive, digging the deepest you've ever dug both physically and emotionally to ensure that you give this cancer the greatest fight of your life. And in doing that you realise there have been so many distractions in your life, things you worried about or worked so hard to achieve, that are now no longer important. And the fact that cancer has given you this opportunity for a major priority rethink messes with your mind?
Or maybe it is because you thought you knew what fear felt like until you were diagnosed with a life threatening illness and now you've been provided an actual opportunity to be legitimately and completely terrified.
Whatever the reason for me today, it was a bizarre introspective moment of complete surrealism. A fleeting moment of impossibility in my head happening at the same time as the cold reality of permanent tattoo markings and scary medical machinery.
As quickly as it comes, the moment passes and you go back to making boob jokes, laughing with the friendly staff and racing to get your clothes on. Kym returns to the hospital foyer. And the wait for next stage continues.
Despite my description of what went on quietly in my head today, i am pleased to announce I am scheduled to begin the race to third base kicking off on March 15th. I am tracking well and my base coaches have all given me the big fat tick of approval! Another hurdle to get through but I feel even more confident about this next run than the previous innings. It's shorter in time for a start and although they tell me I may suffer fatigue, I am hoping that it will be minimal. Tired and sleepy! Baaaaa - i will catch up on sleep in my 90's! Right now i am regaining energy and I'm raring to go! Radiation does mean there may be some potential skin effects so sorbelene will become my new friend along with aloe vera cut fresh from the garden. And yes, it means a daily commitment of hospital visits and waiting rooms but I know already it will be my opportunity to meet new friends with their stories and their smiles. I find such strength in the resilience of the cancer colleagues i meet along the way and i am sure those undergoing radiation at the same time as me will be no different.
I know the next 2 months will come packaged with its own challenges and i am in no way dismissing the seriousness of this next round of treatment but in comparison to what chemo packs as a punch, i feel confident that this next phase will be just a friendly scuffle. Bring it on people - I love a good rumble and I'm competitive in nature. I will have radiation pinned to the floor and screaming for mercy! And this tattooed chick means business so step aside, I wouldn't want to hurt you on my way to victory.
Sunday, February 26, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
One of the most sublime experiences in life, is to wake up feeling healthy after feeling sick...
It's day 13 after my last chemo hit. Had I been prescribed 6 or 8 cycles I would be gearing up for another dose this Wednesday. But I'm not. I'm free. And I feel better and better with every day. In terms of where im at in this game I feel like I'm on my feet and at the point of dusting off the dirt and grime and my foot is absolutely safe on second base. I'm not quite at waving to the crowd stage - but I'm only mildly winded. I just need a moment to catch my breath. Most importantly, I feel happy. Relieved. Determined.
All things considered this last chemo hit hasnt been too bad....or have I already started to forget? Wait a minute! It was hideous! Well, definitely the most unpleasant in terms of symptoms anyway. It's funny how your memory fades as you start to feel better. I guess thats a good thing? Allows women to give second children a go, athletes to return to the gym the next day and people like me to walk back into that Oncology unit.
Besides, there are the ever small gains I am quietly celebrating knowing I get to keep them. Today it was brushing my teeth. You see only a chemo colleague will understand the agony of trying to brush your teeth while your gums are throbbing and so incredibly sensitive that on really bad days you can only press the super soft toothbrush gingerly into your mouth and hope it can clean something. No back and forward scrubbing, just a tentative push of the bristles coated in a gel toothpaste called Biotene followed by Biotene mouth wash. It's not at all refreshing nor satisfying and there is no minty fresh blast at the end of the process. Often you are dodging festering mouth ulcers or at least their potential and using dental floss is a distant memory just in case you break the gum.
But today, day 13, I was feeling so positive about my progress, I ditched the soft toothbrush (bin!) charged up by electric toothbrush and I scrubbed the hell out of my teeth using normal persons toothpaste - twice! Oh the joy! When it was over I actually, and I'm almost nervous to admit this, let out a good old country style YEEEHAH and gave myself the thumbs up sign to my own reflection. Yes. It's true. But I am celebrating EVERY gain people and that's just one example of a long long list. The next few weeks are going to be fun!
So what's next in terms of treatment? Well, I have to technically finish this cycle of chemo. How long that actually takes is anyones guess but as I'm feeling as good as I am right now, I'm thinking days rather than weeks. Of course getting my hair back etc. will be much longer than that, but I'm already planning my first new pixie style in that respect. Its funny, my Grandfather whom i was actually quite close to growing up always called me 'Baldy'. I have no memory of him actually ever using my real name. I was Baldy even beside him during the last days of his life. I know he loves this new look of mine and to be honest, Ive grown into my baldness myself and have enjoyed the freedom of styling and hair products and ghd straighters. Don't get me wrong, looking forward to hair but for me, being bald has just been another aspect of cancer that began as a challenge however has in fact facilitated discovery of other things about myself. Things i would have never known otherwise.
I also have a lot of hats :-)
I am waiting on what is referred to as 'planning' for my radiation therapy. I've hassled the Cancer Care people so much wanting them to lock in a start date for me, that they 'politely' advised that they have record of my MESSAGES (said between clenched teeth) and there was no need to call again, someone would call me. Uh oh - the old don't call us routine! But I need a start date! A start date means I have an end date! And that's important to me.
In the meantime I celebrate my gains, I spend time reflecting on what the last 3 months has taught me and making plans and goals for what I want the future to bring. I continue to embrace the time I spend with people I love and doing things that make me happy. It seems so simple but i know when life speeds you up and sweeps you along - it's easy to dismiss or be distracted.
So I ask you my friends to share with me this week appreciating something small about your health - your strength, your sight, what you can smell or touch. The fact that you can run to chase your kids or the bus or along a stretch of road. If you want to change something, achieve something or make something better, dont wait until tomorrow. Do it now. It doesn't need to be big in fact sometimes the smallest personal change has the greatest impact. It also only needs to be noticed by you. Share with me finding the time to notice the sunset and when your favourite song comes on the radio, turn it up and sing it at the top of your lungs. Have a fabulous week. I love you x
All things considered this last chemo hit hasnt been too bad....or have I already started to forget? Wait a minute! It was hideous! Well, definitely the most unpleasant in terms of symptoms anyway. It's funny how your memory fades as you start to feel better. I guess thats a good thing? Allows women to give second children a go, athletes to return to the gym the next day and people like me to walk back into that Oncology unit.
Besides, there are the ever small gains I am quietly celebrating knowing I get to keep them. Today it was brushing my teeth. You see only a chemo colleague will understand the agony of trying to brush your teeth while your gums are throbbing and so incredibly sensitive that on really bad days you can only press the super soft toothbrush gingerly into your mouth and hope it can clean something. No back and forward scrubbing, just a tentative push of the bristles coated in a gel toothpaste called Biotene followed by Biotene mouth wash. It's not at all refreshing nor satisfying and there is no minty fresh blast at the end of the process. Often you are dodging festering mouth ulcers or at least their potential and using dental floss is a distant memory just in case you break the gum.
But today, day 13, I was feeling so positive about my progress, I ditched the soft toothbrush (bin!) charged up by electric toothbrush and I scrubbed the hell out of my teeth using normal persons toothpaste - twice! Oh the joy! When it was over I actually, and I'm almost nervous to admit this, let out a good old country style YEEEHAH and gave myself the thumbs up sign to my own reflection. Yes. It's true. But I am celebrating EVERY gain people and that's just one example of a long long list. The next few weeks are going to be fun!
So what's next in terms of treatment? Well, I have to technically finish this cycle of chemo. How long that actually takes is anyones guess but as I'm feeling as good as I am right now, I'm thinking days rather than weeks. Of course getting my hair back etc. will be much longer than that, but I'm already planning my first new pixie style in that respect. Its funny, my Grandfather whom i was actually quite close to growing up always called me 'Baldy'. I have no memory of him actually ever using my real name. I was Baldy even beside him during the last days of his life. I know he loves this new look of mine and to be honest, Ive grown into my baldness myself and have enjoyed the freedom of styling and hair products and ghd straighters. Don't get me wrong, looking forward to hair but for me, being bald has just been another aspect of cancer that began as a challenge however has in fact facilitated discovery of other things about myself. Things i would have never known otherwise.
I also have a lot of hats :-)
I am waiting on what is referred to as 'planning' for my radiation therapy. I've hassled the Cancer Care people so much wanting them to lock in a start date for me, that they 'politely' advised that they have record of my MESSAGES (said between clenched teeth) and there was no need to call again, someone would call me. Uh oh - the old don't call us routine! But I need a start date! A start date means I have an end date! And that's important to me.
In the meantime I celebrate my gains, I spend time reflecting on what the last 3 months has taught me and making plans and goals for what I want the future to bring. I continue to embrace the time I spend with people I love and doing things that make me happy. It seems so simple but i know when life speeds you up and sweeps you along - it's easy to dismiss or be distracted.
So I ask you my friends to share with me this week appreciating something small about your health - your strength, your sight, what you can smell or touch. The fact that you can run to chase your kids or the bus or along a stretch of road. If you want to change something, achieve something or make something better, dont wait until tomorrow. Do it now. It doesn't need to be big in fact sometimes the smallest personal change has the greatest impact. It also only needs to be noticed by you. Share with me finding the time to notice the sunset and when your favourite song comes on the radio, turn it up and sing it at the top of your lungs. Have a fabulous week. I love you x
Thursday, February 2, 2012
Sliding in and SAFE on second!!!!
It's here - finally! I'm on the slide, left foot forward like I stand (when I'm lucky!) on a surfboard and I'm skidding onto that second base to be declared safe! Ive run so hard the wind has whipped my hair off, I am just a little scarred and this run between first and second has been so so long. The noise of the crowd is deafening and from where I am, I can see your smiles and it swells my heart. I don't want to let you down - you've been such loyal amazing supporters and you've sustained me with beautiful notes and quotes and messages and trinkets and love. I am forever indebted to you and I am so incredibly grateful. It's approximately 1 hour off....
Yep, blog coming for the LAST time from the comfort of the chemo couch. I've already had the hand injected Cosmo given to me this time by Nurse Unit Manager Garth and now I am on the big bag of toxic fluid. 57 minutes to go and counting. When I get out of this chair I will be declared safe. I may have to lie on the base for a while, in the dust and possibly face down. And I may be slow getting to my feet, opting to go to hands and knees first. And when I get to my feet, I may need to lean on my knees for a moment to catch my breath before I finally straighten my back and stand. But once I stand, I will rise up as tall as i can and raise both arms in the air and you will see the biggest beaming smile lighting up that second base. There may even be a punch in the air. 49 minutes to go.
I've still got the symptoms to endure of course. I just don't think anything is going to rattle me this time because no matter how bad, as I dig myself out of the hole, I know I never have to go back there.
Not ever again.
And that feeling supersedes any pervading symptoms that may be waiting this time for me. Go hard chemo is all I can say. I feel like I can just about take anything on from this place. I only see victory. I only feel success. I am wrapped in love and support. I am safe.
I had the pure pleasure of engrossing myself in the Australian Open finals this year. For anyone that has the slightest interest in tennis, the men's final between Djokovic and Nadal was in my mind the most epic and extraordinary tennis match Ive ever watched. And I took something from that match which I have locked away in the corner of my psyche. These two warriors fought hard and fought long. Almost 6 hours of gruelling tennis of the highest standard. Some rally's went for over 30 strokes of the ball. And these guys know how to smash a tennis ball. It was as captivating as much as it was inspiring. The stakes were high given its a Grand Slam and both players were hungry for a win. And as I watched these two amazing athletes I really tried to focus on their body language and gain some kind of insight into the psychological battle that 6 hours of intense warfare on the court would require. They played with heart, big heart. Neither player asked for time out. They played until just after 1:30am! Both players had their chances. The switch in energy and emotions from set to set was noticeable. In my mind it really came down to psychological strength, clearly both players matched in skill and fitness (although id still back Nadal all the way), and a tiny bit of lady luck. Just two points was all it took. Psychological strength and a peppering of luck.
And as I enter this last chemo match I am taking all of the aspects of that tennis final that inspired me last Sunday night, and I'm going to try and emulate that approach. Im hungry for this win. I want it over. I will use my mind as much as I use my body to beat this. When the symptoms take me down, I won't give up. I will fight as hard today as i will next week. And the week after. I have great supports and I'm being carried by so many, I know I can't go wrong. And I feel sure I am sprinkled with just a tiny bit of lady luck. 19 minutes to go......
We were educated this time by Garth as he injected the Cosmo into me as to just how toxic these chemicals are. I now understand that those science lab people (thank you thank you thank you) have to make these chemicals up by being completely protected from head to foot and even then, undertake the work by inserting their hands into a sealed glassed box. That way it ensures any particles released stay sealed inside the pressured air inside the box and can't seep out. It's so incredibly toxic that even with all of those precautions, they are tested regularly for toxicity levels. Scary to think I now have that coursing through my veins. No wonder your hair falls out! But it's all necessary to ensure I walk away from this with a cancer free confidence. 11 minutes to go...
This blog can't be published without acknowledgement of two consistent people specifically linked to my chemo treatment. Little Kez, a woman who juggles so much in life and yet always has time for her mates. Kez has ensured that a bright bunch of flowers is sitting here every time I arrive for my treatment. Today, I particularly know is a challenging day for Kerry, and yet the flowers were still here for me. You are a diamond and i absolutely adore you - thank you. Finally to John who has insisted that he sit cycle after chemo cycle in this hospital ward with me. It's not a fun place to 'hang' and I know he has to negotiate the time lost in this ward and squeeze it somewhere else in his already overloaded schedule. I know that my cancer hasn't just affected me. In fact in some ways this cancer has travelled a long way into the lives of others. No more so than John. As I glance over at him scrunched up in the corner between my toxic couch and the one on the other side, he looks up from his reading and gives me a big smile and a wink. He can see the finish line too. And he has run this race with me, at times carrying me, adjusting his life and his commitments and investing bucket loads of emotional energy and above all love. If you think you have a best best friend, you haven't met John. 2 minutes......
This blog now posting a day late. I didn't get time to finish in the chair. Was whisked off the machine and hugged and sent off with a 'hope we never see you again' sentiment. Trust me, it's a feeling well and truly reciprocated. As lovely as they all are. I had intended on finishing at home but the chemo has come out from its corner fighting hard. It swiped at me early - within hours I felt nauseous and my body moved into rejection mode. Enough said - I've been crook. But that's ok - one more climb, that's all I have. So as I lay here on my day bed, Murphy lying on the deck beside me, I am so proud and happy to post this blog with concentrated strength and a renewed energy to get to my feet safe on second base. And when I finally raise both fists in the air please know that my gesture is in recognition of your strength and support. The love ive been shown has absolutely carried me from the minute I signed up for this game to where I am right now. A wise friend and male chemo colleague wound down his window as I was on one of my power shuffles this week and amongst other comments indicated I would be "richer for the experience". Even at the bottom of this current tunnel, I already feel that. And most of the wealth comes from the nurturing and inspiration i have been so fortunate to receive from you. Let's gear up for the dash to third team. Lots and lots of love. Kym xxx
Yep, blog coming for the LAST time from the comfort of the chemo couch. I've already had the hand injected Cosmo given to me this time by Nurse Unit Manager Garth and now I am on the big bag of toxic fluid. 57 minutes to go and counting. When I get out of this chair I will be declared safe. I may have to lie on the base for a while, in the dust and possibly face down. And I may be slow getting to my feet, opting to go to hands and knees first. And when I get to my feet, I may need to lean on my knees for a moment to catch my breath before I finally straighten my back and stand. But once I stand, I will rise up as tall as i can and raise both arms in the air and you will see the biggest beaming smile lighting up that second base. There may even be a punch in the air. 49 minutes to go.
I've still got the symptoms to endure of course. I just don't think anything is going to rattle me this time because no matter how bad, as I dig myself out of the hole, I know I never have to go back there.
Not ever again.
And that feeling supersedes any pervading symptoms that may be waiting this time for me. Go hard chemo is all I can say. I feel like I can just about take anything on from this place. I only see victory. I only feel success. I am wrapped in love and support. I am safe.
I had the pure pleasure of engrossing myself in the Australian Open finals this year. For anyone that has the slightest interest in tennis, the men's final between Djokovic and Nadal was in my mind the most epic and extraordinary tennis match Ive ever watched. And I took something from that match which I have locked away in the corner of my psyche. These two warriors fought hard and fought long. Almost 6 hours of gruelling tennis of the highest standard. Some rally's went for over 30 strokes of the ball. And these guys know how to smash a tennis ball. It was as captivating as much as it was inspiring. The stakes were high given its a Grand Slam and both players were hungry for a win. And as I watched these two amazing athletes I really tried to focus on their body language and gain some kind of insight into the psychological battle that 6 hours of intense warfare on the court would require. They played with heart, big heart. Neither player asked for time out. They played until just after 1:30am! Both players had their chances. The switch in energy and emotions from set to set was noticeable. In my mind it really came down to psychological strength, clearly both players matched in skill and fitness (although id still back Nadal all the way), and a tiny bit of lady luck. Just two points was all it took. Psychological strength and a peppering of luck.
And as I enter this last chemo match I am taking all of the aspects of that tennis final that inspired me last Sunday night, and I'm going to try and emulate that approach. Im hungry for this win. I want it over. I will use my mind as much as I use my body to beat this. When the symptoms take me down, I won't give up. I will fight as hard today as i will next week. And the week after. I have great supports and I'm being carried by so many, I know I can't go wrong. And I feel sure I am sprinkled with just a tiny bit of lady luck. 19 minutes to go......
We were educated this time by Garth as he injected the Cosmo into me as to just how toxic these chemicals are. I now understand that those science lab people (thank you thank you thank you) have to make these chemicals up by being completely protected from head to foot and even then, undertake the work by inserting their hands into a sealed glassed box. That way it ensures any particles released stay sealed inside the pressured air inside the box and can't seep out. It's so incredibly toxic that even with all of those precautions, they are tested regularly for toxicity levels. Scary to think I now have that coursing through my veins. No wonder your hair falls out! But it's all necessary to ensure I walk away from this with a cancer free confidence. 11 minutes to go...
This blog can't be published without acknowledgement of two consistent people specifically linked to my chemo treatment. Little Kez, a woman who juggles so much in life and yet always has time for her mates. Kez has ensured that a bright bunch of flowers is sitting here every time I arrive for my treatment. Today, I particularly know is a challenging day for Kerry, and yet the flowers were still here for me. You are a diamond and i absolutely adore you - thank you. Finally to John who has insisted that he sit cycle after chemo cycle in this hospital ward with me. It's not a fun place to 'hang' and I know he has to negotiate the time lost in this ward and squeeze it somewhere else in his already overloaded schedule. I know that my cancer hasn't just affected me. In fact in some ways this cancer has travelled a long way into the lives of others. No more so than John. As I glance over at him scrunched up in the corner between my toxic couch and the one on the other side, he looks up from his reading and gives me a big smile and a wink. He can see the finish line too. And he has run this race with me, at times carrying me, adjusting his life and his commitments and investing bucket loads of emotional energy and above all love. If you think you have a best best friend, you haven't met John. 2 minutes......
This blog now posting a day late. I didn't get time to finish in the chair. Was whisked off the machine and hugged and sent off with a 'hope we never see you again' sentiment. Trust me, it's a feeling well and truly reciprocated. As lovely as they all are. I had intended on finishing at home but the chemo has come out from its corner fighting hard. It swiped at me early - within hours I felt nauseous and my body moved into rejection mode. Enough said - I've been crook. But that's ok - one more climb, that's all I have. So as I lay here on my day bed, Murphy lying on the deck beside me, I am so proud and happy to post this blog with concentrated strength and a renewed energy to get to my feet safe on second base. And when I finally raise both fists in the air please know that my gesture is in recognition of your strength and support. The love ive been shown has absolutely carried me from the minute I signed up for this game to where I am right now. A wise friend and male chemo colleague wound down his window as I was on one of my power shuffles this week and amongst other comments indicated I would be "richer for the experience". Even at the bottom of this current tunnel, I already feel that. And most of the wealth comes from the nurturing and inspiration i have been so fortunate to receive from you. Let's gear up for the dash to third team. Lots and lots of love. Kym xxx
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