It's a cold and wet Wednesday afternoon the 30th May and I am preparing to go visit Boycey my Oncologist for an impromptu visit. I acknowledge straight up that it's been some time since my last blog and so there's actually quite a bit of catching up to do. Which I will. But right now, I'm focused on the immediate and I'm hoping that the outcome of today's visit is one of relief - I'm even prepared to take embarrassment from Boycey telling me I'm overreacting rather than discovering my concerns are warranted.
Several days ago my left breast started feeling odd. A mix of sore and kind of weird. Different to the other boob and I guess if I was honest, more reminiscent of how it felt back when the cancer was first discovered. Not that those feelings are easy to remember more than 6 months down the track. It's like when you have a pain and people ask you to get really prescriptive about exactly how it feels and where it is and how long it lasts etc. and sometimes it's just hard to describe or determine exactly. But I do know that there has been a change in 'feeling' and like anyone that has experienced cancer or any other serious health issue will tell you, vigilance and action certainly have the upper hand over casualness and disregard. Call it paranoia or being delusional but every little twinge or pain post cancer sends you racing back for check ups. I once spent half the night feeling the back of my head panicking in the dark that I had grown some brain tumour only to discover the next morning that it was an ingrown hair the result of head shave number two! Oops!
It's actually my natural instinct to want to ignore this type of thing I must say. I spent a few days kind of rubbing the area thinking 'gee that push up, tricep dip, chin up challenge at the gym is really hitting my pecs hard', and i push the bubbling concern in the pit of my stomach aside. And as there really is a competition going on at the moment at the gym involving exercising to fatigue (roll eyes here), I truly hope that the feelings are totally associated with exercising specific muscles more than I normally would. All makes sense right? I have also used the opportunity to blame a particular bra I did own (now chucked) that had ridiculous underwriting and push up bits (I mean who seriously wears these things regularly???) and that I wore for a couple of days recently in an effort to fill out a new top. Hmmm? And then I could blame a recent surf maybe? And of course there is the endless lifting (the human elevator as aptly described in my house) of Murphy. Up stairs, down stairs, in back of car and at times, just off the floor. Perhaps I've somehow hurt my boob doing that? Whatever the reason may be, I am hoping like hell, it has nothing to do with cancer.
And so, in an effort to ease my mind and stop me from inventing scenarios that involve mastectomies and a second round of baldness, I am off to see Boycey my first base coach to seek his guidance and what I hope will be reassurance that the game is on target, I'm still in play and that it's ok to keep doing those unassisted tricep dips until I shake. Additionally I am waiting on news from some genetic testing I opted to have which should tell me my body will metabolise the hormone treatment I soon need to start taking......for the next 5 years!
I doubt I will finalise this blog before I have to leave so I will update when I get home. In the meantime, my last blog had me days from completing radiotherapy and I am very proud and happy to advise that all went completely to plan. I hit that Cancer Centre on Monday 30th April armed with two dozen Krispy Kream donuts for the lovely team and a vuvuzelor hand carried from Sth Africa which I blew as loud as I could several times to mark the occasion. Discretion never was my forte.
I did uncover the 'politics' which exist between the admin team out front, the radiotherapy technicians, and the nurses when I questioned with whom should I leave the donuts??? Apparently there's a turf war raging when it comes to gifts and gestures of acknowledgement from patients. I never hung around long enough to (a) even attempt to sort it out (I'd suggest that this issue is way bigger than my breast and donuts) nor (b) see just where the gift ended and whether the staff I had wanted to personally thank but that I didn't see that day, even knew they were in the building. Oh well. They sure heard my vuvuzelor :-)
My green gown was gladly deposited in the patient bin on final use and I drove home with my support crew on that day. On this note, I wish to acknowledge the amazing team of people i love that travelled with me every day for 6 straight weeks to be with me during my zapping. The incredible John, the beautiful Bono, the gorgeous Cate and the woman of science /crazy lady Julia at some stage or another in that time, endured the waiting game sitting next to a bald Kymmy in her green gown (Ms Geisher and her aqua Kimono). But above and beyond the call of duty I wish to dedicate this blog to my mum. Mum travelled with me every day bar two sessions in all of my treatment time (an hour and a half of travel time and whatever length of time in the cancer care centre) sharing the conversations with my cancer colleagues and their families. Not once did mum complain about delays or the inconvenience to her life and in fact apologised when she couldn't come on the one occasion due to a funeral indicating that she didn't want to 'let me down'! She was a fantastic source of information and gossip on the return trip having uncovered all sorts of private information about people I will never know outside of that waiting room during the time I was being nuked. I'm not sure knowing that the chatty bloke in the hat with the prostate cancer used to have an active sex life will ever come in handy for me but hey, ma uncovered it and we shared these snippets on the drive home. Thank you my lovely mum. I love you and your solid and consistent support I have leant heavily on throughout this time. You made radiotherapy manageable and in some ways, a bit of a mother daughter chick adventure.
So, I'm safe on third and really the race to home base is a doddle from here. I need to agree to a hormone treatment plan to ensure I block oestrogen and pass all my tests. I have a big test with the surgeon late July ( the first of a number) and by then I will have undergone my planned detox to cleanse my body of the last of the chemo and radiotherapy. I will most likely be back at work in some capacity or another and finally pulling my life back together after the shattering it took since cancer diagnosis. My hair is growing back and in fact I recently enjoyed my first official haircut! Anthony and I danced and hugged each other and then he snipped about a nano inch off my hair and plastered my scalp with product declaring I was on my way to the Pink rock star haircut I've been lusting after. My hair regrowth is strong, thick but bizarre in colour however I've been convinced to keep it given all the lovely comments. The colour has a number of names....steel, ash, blue heeler or Staffordshire blue if you are a dog person, Burmese lilac if cats are your thing. Really, it's grey with a smattering of brunette but hey, I think steel sounds so much more, well, better than grey. And I'm still enjoying the wash and wear of short hair. Girls......I promise you will love it. Go for it!
I have been asked countless times since my last blog how Murphy is! I am pleased to report she's great. It's been a slow recovery but really what you should expect from a 90 year old. She has somehow successfully negotiated a sausage roll every Sunday and she undergoes hydro therapy at least three times per week. Her life is impressive. She is now carried to and from her bed, has her food heated to take the edge off and in more recent days has enjoyed her day bed next to a log fire which operates if John thinks it's too cold in the house for her 24/7. Human contact therapy has also increased with the onset of cold weather and there are countless morning cuddles in bed during coffee drinking sessions. Yes, I know it's ridiculous. But it's also fabulous and nurturing and is good for the soul. Her legs are still wobbly and if she's been swimming a lot in the day, when she shakes the water off, she also falls over. But she manages to find her feet (well 3 of them anyway) and she wobbles her way back to the car for a soggy human elevator lift into the back. The most recent piece de resistance has been a discussion by John on how he can somehow try and support her legs while she goes to the toilet as its currently a bit tricky for her in the squat position???? Do I need to say anything more? Murphy and John have morphed into conjoined twins. I'm just there for when John travels as the back up plan and the occasional access to the treat on top of the fridge. Gotta go! Late for onco appointment!
Okay......so I've consulted my base coach and he's had a bit of a poke and a prod at the 'area of interest'. I'm relieved to report that Boycey thinks the feeling is simply a response to the hammering my breast took during radiotherapy. Yayyyyyy! He does want me to have the appropriate medical tests (mammogram and what not)but is relaxed enough about this to indicate I should just wait until the allotted official time already set in about 8 weeks. His response is enough to instil a level of confidence in me that there is nothing to worry about. Welcome back chin ups! New bra! And surfboard! Phew :)
However one slight issue (well significant really) is that my gene testing has indicated that I am not a good metaboliser of the treatment Base Coach was proposing as next. Drats and double drats. Boy, this cancer thing sure does test ones resilience! A new game plan now needs to be formulated.
So what does this mean? Well, I'm not entirely sure. One option is to return to the surgeons table to have a few more (this time internal) girly bits removed. Not like I haven't done that before and hey, I've still got my special cotton very cute undies ready to impress the surgery team for a second time! Boy, they will be so excited! And I do have a VIP pass at St George Private which gets me hand delivered coffee on the morning after op. So, if that's what's required then so be it. It's not girly bits I am specifically attached to and many many women live full and fantastic lives without them. Is it bad to also admit that I figure its one less body part to actually get cancer??? :-(
Alternatively I can consider a different hormone treatment which just has a variation on the side affects to manage. I'm flexible and I can roll with the punches. And I also have some time to decide. But not forever. The cancer clock is ticking.....and its loud and every thump beats a sizeable hole in my strong but tiring heart.
I totally understand that you good people just want this game over with. It's dragged on long enough and you all need to get home to your families. I know. I feel the same. But I also am not packing up my bases and leaving without a definitive win under my belt. So please hang with me. I have decided to sit safe on third for just a little bit to contemplate my next move. I've just dropped down on the base and crossed my legs and I'm drawing the options with a stick in the dust and dirt. I'm probably going to confer with my first A Team Base Coach Jodi just to see what she thinks would work best for me. Ultimately the decision of course is mine. After all, I have to live with it forever - more importantly I have to accept the outcomes of the decision I make. Not to dwell too much on detail and specifics but when you are sitting across the table from your Oncologist and they pull up on the screen a table that has all your stats plugged in it all becomes very clinical. There are three outcomes that are graphed and presented to you to consider based on the intervention you decide to adopt. These are 1. The likelihood of survival 2. The likelihood of recurrence and of course 3. The likelihood you are going to die from this disease. Naturally you want the optimum outcome but where it gets muddied is when you need to balance that with pain, side affects and inconvenience to your life. Add in a dose of resilience and what you've got left to give. The good news for me is that I'm not even close to being tired of fighting just yet. Mate I've still got a right hook and a damn fine roundhouse kick left in me. And i am so so very grateful that I have options and the capacity for choice along with plenty of internal strength to keep plugging away at this game.
I've been teaching a pump class in recent weeks that has a song with the lyrics
Anything worth having, Sure enough is worth fighting for,
Quittings out of the question so when it gets tough, fight some more.
Seems these words mean a whole lot more to me tonight than bottom half bench presses.......
New game plan to be advised. This next ones going to have a sting in its tail and a home run in the bag. Until then, sweet dreams x
