World Cancer Day – Unite in the fight against cancer

This is a shout out to all those who stand with me in my fight. 

I started this blog as a way to process my thoughts and feelings surrounding my cancer diagnosis and treatment.  I thought it would also be a good way to keep family and friends updated and maybe help others along the way.  It has done so much more than that. Having cancer can be incredibly isolating and by writing this blog and via Instagram, I have connected with others both locally and abroad.  Some of these people I may never meet but they can make the difference between a bad day and a good day. I remember when I was first diagnosed, I had so many questions for the bowel cancer nurse specialist at the hospital but lots of her answers were, ‘I’ll have to find out, it’s not often we have someone your age (ie with children)’ yet a few days after I posted my first blog post, a friend of a friend saw it on Facebook and asked if she could pass on my number to her friend who had also just been diagnosed with bowel cancer... and she’s also in Durham!  I can’t speak for her but for me, meeting her (my bowel cancer buddy!) has been a lifeline and I know if I have a random question or worry, she’s there just a message away, to reassure, advise or make me smile about our mutual experiences of the cancer world.  I am clearly not alone in this; new research from Macmillan Cancer Support shows that 1 in 4 women with cancer use social media networks to connect with other cancer sufferers for support and advice. I spoke to the Mirror about my experiences with social media which you can read here. It’s amazing how a positive comment or message can help us feel stronger and less isolated.

Today is World Cancer Day, a day to unite in the fight against cancer. I am incredibly lucky and hugely grateful that I have such a large network of family and friends around me. They support me and the boys in so many ways, whether it’s dropping off meals, or cake, driving me to appointments or helping choose a wig, I appreciate every gesture, large or small.  My brothers, sister, nephews and nieces even wrote and recorded a song for me to play during chemo! I have received parcels of gifts from old friends and friends from an online support group who I haven’t even met in person.  Some days, when it all gets too much and I’m exhausted and feel like giving up, knowing that so many people care, are thinking of me and hoping I will be ok is incredibly motivating.

I know that I’m not going through this alone, my family and friends are hurting too and yet they put that pain aside in order to be strong for me; keep me buoyed up and smiling. It must be hard to know what to say and do sometimes… cancer is such a huge thing and difficult to talk about, I know I find it difficult myself. I asked a couple of friends if they would like to write something about their thoughts and feelings on having a friend with cancer. This is what they wrote…

 ‘When you told me you had cancer, I cried. I was sat on my stairs. I cried for you I cried for your boys, I cried for me.

This was not in our plans! Our friendship was borne out of motherhood, sleep deprivation, cloth nappies, babywearing, breastfeeding, noisy playdates, silly social media memes, camping adventures, cuppas and cake. Our lives complex and busy as working mothers meant late night messaging of parenting advice, validation and encouragement. Had we have met earlier, I am sure it would have included boozy gigs and lazy beaches...

This was most definitely not in the plan. I was floored and then angry and then I wanted to fix stuff and help you. Powerless and confused and angry, I set about thinking what I would want. What I knew was that this was going to be tough and your choices were harsh.

My mind wandered to your funeral and my funeral, what the fuck... these are not things I wanted to think about. Adulting! Internet research was scary and I wanted to be emotionally strong for you. I watched a Macmillan video about supporting friends through chemo and made a decision that our friendship need not change... memes, rainbows and tea. I could help by continuing the normal. The plan was more noisy playdates - our children adore each other. Occasionally we get to drink got tea and finish whole sentences and laugh. Muddling through motherhood. 

One thing we have always been was honest and raw. Your family and friends surrounded you and ashamed as I am I was a little jealous at times. This was our time, I am practical… a fixer, a counsellor. I am embarrassed to say I felt a little redundant and totally out of control. This is ridiculous of course, but you asked for honesty. Historically, I am guarded in female friendships… I had let my guard down with you and felt really vulnerable. Silly.

Your diagnosis and treatment has made me re-evaluate my lifestyle, relationships and plans. It’s made me explore what it means to have friendships and how important a mum’s village or tribe is. When I have seen you exhausted and in pain, I have felt that pain too. My heart aches and my mind races, I don't want to confront the reality that you might not get better. I want us to make the most of every moment but also loaf about ignoring each other, whilst the kids trash the house and giggle. When I am in the gym if I need to summon passion or motivation I often think of you. I know...me... in the gym - who would have thought it! The way you have faced this and other life challenges is inspirational. It has made me really appreciate my health and my body.

Motivation and perspective, Memes, tea and rainbows! It has taken me months to write this. My throat tightens as I find the words. Your friend Xx’

‘When Laura asked me to write a little something for her blog I was humbled but also kind of panicked. What should I say, what if I say the wrong thing, what if I sound like it’s all about me? What if I say something that’ll upset people? After all Laura’s going through, should what I think or feel even matter?

I decided to follow Laura’s example, she’s been honest and open about her experiences in her blog and I’m going to try and do the same. So here’s my take on what cancer is like from a friends point of view. I apologise in advance Laura!

Me and Laura have been friends since we were two, we met at Nursery, went to primary and comprehensive school together and over the years our friendship has always been there as we’ve gone about our lives doing different things.
We used to see each other for a proper chat every few months and would always say ‘we should do this more!’ It’s ironic that a cancer diagnosis is what it took for us to hang out more, but I’m so glad for the time we spend together. (It doesn’t matter if its trips to hospitals, tea and friendship bracelets, dying bedsheets in the snow or cuddles when the after effects of the first round of chemo were a bit too much)

I could see Laura hadn’t been right for a while. She had other issues going on her life and thought she was just stressed. So when she voiced concerns that it could be cancer I was part of the ‘don’t be daft’ school of thought, it can’t be anything serious.
Then she got the diagnosis and I was shocked. She did look unwell, she’d lost so much weight but I thought, hey, don’t worry, you’re young, active, don’t smoke, eat healthy- if both if my grandparents had cancer and recovered you’re gonna be just fine! The majority of people are cured right?
Laura’s weight loss and symptoms had been going on for a while at this point, I was trying not to think about how important it is to catch this early.

So after hearing that ground shaking news, I literally can’t believe it. This can’t be happening. How can this even happen? We used to party when we were younger but to be fair I was way worse than her! Its unfair. She’s a good person, a single mum with two boys, this sucks royally. I’m angry. I’m furious. She hadn’t got the right help from her doctor, she’s been Mis advised and let down by various health professionals. I get home and rant and rave. Then I’m worried, selfishly perhaps. Hang on, she’s the same age as me, similar lifestyles, we both have kids. This could so easily be me.

And later, after starting to process this news the dark thoughts and worst case scenarios keep creeping into my mind.
I think about what if it spreads, what if it’s terminal, and she hasn’t long left. God, how do you even start to deal with that? And then, what it I get cancer too? Is that mad? I start to think that maybe my health issues might be a symptom of something more sinister. After all if can happen to her it can happen to me.

How to talk to someone with cancer. I’ll be honest, I felt a bit uncomfortable, and this is with someone I’ve known nearly all my life. Cancer becomes a thing, an elephant in the room. I was worried about saying the wrong thing, I didn’t want to upset Laura by asking too many questions or by not asking any questions!

I sometimes find it hard to keep positive. Laura’s illness would play on my mind.
I’ve had nights where I can’t sleep for thinking and worrying. Worrying about Laura, her boys, her family, thinking how they are going to cope if one day she isn’t here. It’s Scary, having this hanging over you.

This journey has not been an easy one for Laura. There’s been many emergency trips to hospital, there was a while where every time we’d hang out was at a hospital, either recovering from surgery, having radiotherapy, getting a portacath fitted. It easy to see how quickly cancer can become all absorbing, in your thoughts, every moment. My friend with cancer, rather than my mate Laura. This was once a week for me and it was hard enough to see her having to do it, for Laura it’s every day. The way Laura is dealing with all of this is nothing short of awe inspiring. Her rainbow warrior spirit and fighting attitude is truly amazing.

when I introduced you to mocha frappacinos!

’m trying to make every moment count, in all aspects of my life. What Laura’s going through has definitely made me realise how fortunate I am. I give my daughter extra big, long cuddles, trying not to imagine that one day I might not be here to do so. I try not to be too grumpy about the mess around the house and spend valuable time with the ones I love rather than cleaning!
I Cherish the time me and Laura spend together. It’s especially important to me now. I don’t want to get all dark and melancholy but those negative thoughts are always there in the back of my mind.
I feel guilt that I’m okay. I worry, I love stronger and try to show it, it’s a jumble of feelings.

I have to add in here that Laura is an amazing person, she’s Intelligent, loving and kind.
Be grateful and thankful for who you are and what you have.

So what is cancer like from the position of a friend? There’s guilt, worry, fear and sorrow but there’s also love, courage, strength, kindness, admiration and faith.
I’m focusing on the latter.’

Thank you so much to my lovely friends for sharing. The common theme is that it’s hard to know what to say or do and both said they sometimes felt uncomfortable but neither showed it, not that it would have mattered. It really doesn’t. And it doesn’t matter what you say or do, just being there is the important thing.

So here’s to everyone who has baked a cake, cooked a meal, made cups of tea, brought groceries, drove to appointments, wrote words of encouragement, sent gifts to make us smile, bought a wig, mowed the lawn, talked nonsense, entertained, hugged, smiled, and laughed. Thank you for joining my fight <3

If you’d like to help fund research and awareness, please consider donating to Cancer Research UK, Bowel Cancer UK or Macmillan CancerSupport.

The New Normal

Most people think of cancer as a journey. I did too.  I even wrote it in the tag line for this blog (should maybe change that!). Most journeys have a beginning, middle and an end. Although the order may change, most cancer journeys involve similar treatments of radiotherapy, chemotherapy and/or operations to remove tumours. My journey was to be radiotherapy to shrink the tumour so it could be removed, followed by chemotherapy to mop up any residual cancer cells lurking about.  Then I would be ‘cured’ and the journey would come to an end, right?  Life, having been in suspended animation of a cancer patient, would then go back to normal. So way back in March last year when I was told this, I did the sums and worked out that all going to plan, this hell would be over in 12 months. That’s not so long, I thought to myself, I can totally deal with this. I can be strong, I can fight it, because however horrific the treatment is, however sick I feel, however much pain I am in, I can get through it because it will all be over in a year. I will get better. Life will go back to normal.  I will plan that trip to New York with my good friend to have something to look forward to ‘when I’m better’...

But what happens when the journey has no end? When there is no coming out the other side? No return to normal? When stage 1 becomes stage 4 and there is no ‘cure’.  No getting better. Then what?

The last few months, since the scans in September that confirmed the lung metastases had grown, I have been panicked by this idea of there being no end in sight, or not one I am happy with or willing to accept anyway.  Definitely more so than when I was first diagnosed because then there was a plan and an end.  The future is now so uncertain, and I’m finding it very hard to get my head around the uncertainty. The only thing that’s certain is that it will involve ongoing treatment of some form or another but even what that will entail is totally up in the air.  I liked having a plan and ‘We can try this and that, if that and this doesn’t work’ is not quite so reassuring. 

I’m seeing a counsellor from St. Cuthbert’s Hospice in Durham (you should check out all the great work that they do) and after explaining all these fears to her she said, ‘You have cancer, but you are still you’, it was a huge revelation.  Of course I am, I know that, but it’s so very easy to get caught up in the medical circus and the mind set of, ‘when I’m better…’ that you forget about who you are. I am still me. Wow! And then she added, 'You just need to find your new normal'.

And that same day I realised I had been putting off going back to work. For a number of reasons, mainly that I’m exhausted but also it’s a daunting prospect having been off for so long (I was on maternity leave when I was diagnosed so it has been a year and a half) and so much easier to maintain the status quo. On the other hand, I loved my job and got a huge sense of achievement from doing it.  I have begun to think that the lack of routine is unsettling, and returning to work will hopefully bring about some much needed sense of security, routine and that word, normality. Seeing colleagues (friends!) who know me best in work mode will be liberating. No need to talk about babies or cancer, if I don’t want to! I can return to work as me, the same as the day I left, and return home at the end of the day with something that is ‘just for me’ too, regaining my sense of self.

Who wouldn't want to go back to hanging out on a saltmarsh...

...and water sampling!

So whilst everyone is trying to keep to New Year’s resolutions and counting down the days until dry January ends, I am finding our new normal.  Starting with going back to work…

And any tips on how to speak to adults about important work-related issues, when your brain is fried from chemotherapy (yes, chemo-brain is a thing!) would be much appreciated!