The Civil Wars

 

"War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory.

I love only that which they defend."

― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

 

 

 

 

"What am I at war with? My cancer. And what is my cancer? My cancer is me. The tumors are made of me. They're made of me as surely as my brain and my heart are made of me. It is a civil war, with a predetermined winner."

― John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

 

 

 

It really does feel like a civil war has been raging in my body for the last two years. Always on the defensive, drawing up the battle lines, the occasional preemptive attack, periods of defeat and despair, rallying again and finally agreeing on a truce.

 

 

 

I was rudely reminded at my oncology check up on Tuesday that truces can be temporary. At some point I data dumped my statistics of recurrence within 5-10years of diagnosis. There is still a chance that those insidious rouge cancer cells will break the ceasefire. It shocked me akin to having a bucket of ice water dumped on my head. How could I have forgotten that?

 

 

We revisited the option of removing my ovaries and a different adjuvant therapy which, newly released research suggests, could lower my recurrence risk factor by about 6%. I have several months to decide but I know that I'll decline again. My last bone density scan revealed that I already have appalling bone density levels for my age. Going into permanent menopause 15 years too early and taking a medication that strips bones of calcium is a recipe fraught with fractures. I just can't see that it's worth it.

 

 

We also discussed my headaches & dizzy spells. It took all of two seconds for my Onc to decide to order a CT scan of my brain, if for no other reason, than to provide peace of mind that it's not a brain tumour. And so, next Friday and the ensuing weekend, I'll be enjoying another bout of scanxiety, hoping that it shows up something as simple as a middle ear or sinus infection.

 

 

 

I've spent the last few days feeling a bit numb about the whole 'odds of survival' chat and not really wanted to discuss it much. I feel like a bit of a fraud talking about it when I'm currently in remission.

It seems completely wrong to moan about my own what ifs while a handful of my Cancer Clique girls are facing their mortality. They are the ones having to break the news to their kids, to their families and friends. They are the ones in real pain, experiencing real fear and real grief...it is entirely heartbreaking. I want to rage about their situations, not my own. They have fought so hard and endured so much during treatment and still it's not enough. I want to howl at the moon about the sheer unfairness of it all.

 

 

 

 

I may end up falling into that shitty percentage who don't make the five to ten year mark...but then again, I may not. Whatever happens, it's a lotto that I don't want to waste time dwelling on. I don't want to mope about with a victim mentality. I don't see the point in wasting my life worrying about the ifs and whens of cancer returning.

 

 

 

 

The emotional minefield is as entirely exhausting as the physical skirmishes. Can't we just close our eyes and wake up well, whole & secure?

 

 

 

 

And so the civil war rages on.

 

 

 

 

xx Em

 

 

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A bit of Balance

Tuesday was a bit of a madcap rush around blur of a day.

But I can assure you that I totally rocked the 'two specialist appointments at two separate hospitals within two hours' gig.

 

Totally Rocked It!

 

My first appointment was at Medical Oncology at the Canberra Hospital. Despite having to wait an hour to see the resident oncologist (to get me started on Tamoxifen), I still managed to make it to the other side of Canberra to see my surgeon at Calvary...with five minutes to spare.

 

Thank you Parking Fairy for the celebrity car park!

 

My surgeon is a Prince among men. Apart from doing a magnificent job as a surgeon, he's respectful, kind and compassionate...which is exactly the qualities you want in the person who is removing and reconstructing a most beloved body part. His Fellow surgeon is also a really nice bloke, so genuinely lovely and engaging. So far, my reconstructed breast is looking good. Still losing skin but no longer flaming red and excruciatingly painful. I won't know if the implant has been damaged for another 3 - 6 months. I have to see my surgeon again in February and he will book me in for my other mastectomy (and replacement of my implant if it is damaged), sometime before May.

 

Do you know what that means?

 

I'm on HOLIDAYS people!

 

No more extreme treatments for the next six months. Just need to pop a pill once a day and look after myself really well. I am hoping that I get let off lightly when it comes to the side effects of Tamoxifen. For those who aren't familiar with it, Tamoxifen is an antioestrogen. My cancer is oestrogen receptor positive which means that it feeds off oestrogen to grow faster. Tamoxifen is supposed to inhibit these hormones and reduce the risk of the cancer returning. The side effects can be pretty bloody awful, the worst being cancer of the uterus, stroke or clots in the lungs. Female bodies just aren't designed to do without oestrogen. Here's hoping that the worst that I have to contend with are hot flushes and a low libido...which I've had since chemo anyway. I will have to review with my oncologist if the side effects are worse than that and become unbearable. But we'll face that if and when the time comes. No point worrying about it now.

 

It's been 8 months of treatment.

8 months.

In that time I haven't been to the gym or been walking or done Pilates and it has caught up with me.

 

I dropped 8 kilos in the first two weeks of Chemo. At the end of chemo my appetite returned but exercising was too much for me to manage during radiation and the weight gradually crept back on. I'm now four kilos over my comfortable healthy weight...which doesn't sound like much but feels a lot.

 

I have no desire to be a Skinny Minnie, I'm an Aussie Size 12 and like having curves. My goal is to simply feel comfortable in my clothes, but more importantly, improve my shockingly poor fitness levels & flexibility. Since chemo my body has been so stiff and sore. Partially a leftover symptom from chemo and partially from lack of exercise. Tamoxifen can cause weight gain and fluid retention so I need to be proactive on that front too.

 

So to jump back into good health and harmony, I've started September off with daily early morning walks and Pilates a couple of times a week. Added to that, I'm boosting my diet with green smoothies and a couple of vitamin supplements for my hair, skin and nails.

 

 

I'm feeling better for it already. Didn't realise how much I'd missed that wonderful hour of me-time, breathing in the cool dawn air and pounding the pavement to the beat of my iPod while the neighborhood stirs to waking.

Cheers to healthy, balanced living!

And cheers to crazy fast growing hair!

xxx

Em

 

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Intro to Radiation

We're three sessions down...only twenty two to go.

So far radiation has been a smooth ride. The staff are great. More than great! On the first day the nurses said they'd keep an eye on the boys for me while I had my treatment. I left Harry & Jack set up in the waiting room with snacks & toys, showed Harry the nurses station around the corner and nervously hoped for the best.

 

I came back ten minutes later to find the boys chatting up FOUR nurses. Clearly I have nothing to worry about...my sons have perfected the art of flirting!

 

The treatment itself takes no time at all.

 

The view isn't too bad either!

 

 

My 'new' boob became a bit sore after session two and is a little rosy but moisturising four times a day with sorbolene seems to be helping.

Let's hope that things continue to be this easy.

 

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Operation New Boob - Part 2

Typical Australia...one week bushfires are blazing out of control and we're receiving messages from the fire service to prepare to evacuate and the next there's torrential flooding and cyclonic conditions that wreak havoc along the east coast, cancelling flights and cutting off roads. Blimey...you can't say that we're a dull lot!

My Mum had planned to fly in to Canberra from Queensland the day before my surgery to perform her Super Nana duties but the weather gods had other plans and her flight was cancelled. Logistically it was a little tricky as both our boys had chicken pox and the only girlfriends available to babysit on the day of my surgery were heavily pregnant or had young toddlers who were yet to be immunised. Clearly not an option, we couldn't possibly expose them, so we decided that I would drive myself to the hospital and Hubby would stay home with the kids until my Mum arrived on another flight that afternoon. I was ok with it. It was better for my husband to be busy and occupied with the boys rather than sitting around in a hospital waiting room for hours on end.

I kissed all three of my boys goodbye and drove to the hospital at 8am. I checked in to the surgical admissions lounge, sorted out the admissions forms then wandered over to Nuclear Medicine for my radioactive dye injection. I was a tad anxious about how painful it would be but I took it as a good sign when a rather handsome young doctor called me in...now there's a good distraction to take your mind off a painful procedure if ever I've seen one. Highly recommended girls, I barely felt a thing! After the dye had a chance to work it's way through my lymph nodes they took some films and marked the sentinal nodes in my armpit and I was sent back to surgical admissions. I had a couple of hours to waste before they prepped me for theatre so I wandered the halls of the hospital, read my Martha Stewart Living magazine and all the text messages wishing me luck from family and friends. Before long it was midday and time to get changed into the incredibly glamorous paper knickers, green stripey gown, compression stockings & paper booties. If only I'd had a camera, I totally rocked that look!

I started to feel a little scared just before I was wheeled into theatre at 2pm. My surgeon came and drew what resembled a roadmap on my chest, the anaesthetist came and had a chat and several nurses popped in to confirm and reconfirm my details. I'd had three previous surgeries during my lifetime. One took away my failed 2nd pregnancy and the other two delivered beautiful, healthy little babies into my arms. This time I was losing part of myself, a part I was immensely proud of, a part that had fed my babies for the first 12 months of their lives and given my husband and I great pleasure for the last 12 years. I couldn't help but feel sad at the loss. Thankfully the anaesthetist had a cracking good sense of humour and a wife who had also endured a double mastectomy and survived breast cancer so I was put at ease.

Just like my c-sections, the theatre was filled with people all busy with purpose. The room was incredibly cold and the blanket covering my body was toasty warm. One of the nurses held my hand and then...

...I woke up...nearly six hours later.

 

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Operation New Boob - Part 1

I went to my pre-admission surgical consult armed with a long list of questions and one of my dearest girlfriends for moral support. I had spent the week before my appointment reading voraciously about treatment options and made the decision with my husband to opt for a mastectomy instead of breast conserving surgery.

Having my girlfriend with me proved invaluable. Not only could we chat and laugh while we waited, she wrote everything down during the consult, asked questions that she knew I'd forgotten and gave me a reassuring squeeze every now and again which gave me courage. We both felt immediately comfortable with my surgeon who took his time to explain all my options and happily answered all our questions. I deal with difficult situations best when armed with information and I felt empowered with the facts Dr M had provided.

Ultimately I agreed to his recommendation of a full mastectomy with an immediate reconstruction using a silicone implant and a sentinal node biopsy/auxiliary clearance of the lymph nodes in my armpit. And dependent on pathology chemo/radiotherapy and hormone therapy to follow. I was also offered the option of removing the other healthy breast 6 months down the track. I know that some would consider this avenue of treatment far too frightening and extreme but to me it was a case of let's do this once and do it right. I wasn't afraid of losing my breasts or the horrid side affects of chemo. I was more afraid of taking the conservative route and having the cancer return as a result.

With a decision made I finally felt like I was taking back some control.

My surgery was booked for the 29th of January and I started preparing for Operation New Boob.

One of the first steps that I took in preparation for such a life changing event was to cut my hair short. My hairdresser's response when I told her why I wanted the chop was "Holy Fuck Emily, I can't believe you have cancer!". It was exactly what I needed to hear and made me laugh...hard! I decided to go for an Anne Hathaway look. For practical reasons I wanted something easy to look after because I wouldn't be able to use my right arm for several weeks and for emotional reasons I wanted to prepare myself for chemo by going shorter so that when I did end up losing my hair it wouldn't come as such a shock.

I went from the same old bob I'd sported for the last 4 years

 

To this...

It feels incredibly liberating, takes no time at all to style one handed and I feel fabulous! And you know what, if I didn't have cancer I would never have built up the courage to do something so drastic. I love it!

 

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