Milk

I’ve just finished week two of daily chemo-radiotherapy and we are getting into the swing of things. I'm not feeling as bad as I thought I might, just a bit queasy really.  And tired, although no more so than I was already.  However, the daily trips to the hospital are becoming tedious!

I wanted to write a bit about how this is impacting my boys but now i've started I realise they each need their own post as at such different ages, it is affecting them very differently.  Whilst Max, at 6 has an appropriate understanding of everything that’s going on and the anxieties that come with it (more on this later); Finn (10 months) obviously has zero understanding of the situation, and having had me mostly to himself, is now dealing with my sudden absence for several hours each day.  This has perhaps increased his separation anxiety, which naturally presents at around his age, and he is often distressed when I wave goodbye. Despite hearing he is easily distracted with walking practise, I hate leaving him and this was really not how I wanted to spend the last few months of my maternity leave.  

Photo by Becky Williams

 (www.beckywilliamsnewborns.co.uk)

Another major adjustment is that Finn has had to adjust very quickly to life without breast milk.  This has been the hardest part of my journey so far, certainly harder than hearing the diagnosis. He, on the other hand, after just two weeks, is coping amazingly well.

I’m not planning on having any more children (and now won’t have the option after the daily frying my eggs are getting) and, as many mothers will attest to I’m sure, I wanted to keep my last a baby for as long as possible.  Breastfeeding has also been a huge part of the bonding process for me.  Due to horrific pregnancies and births (think Sigourney Weaver nurturing and birthing an alien bug baby), I found it very difficult to bond to either child whilst they were draining the life out of me and only fell in love with them after they were out and I was back to normal.

So, I had every intention of allowing Finn to self-wean, whenever that might have been, and was heartbroken when I was told at that first meeting, ‘hey, not only do you have cancer and we don’t know what the prognosis is, but obviously whatever the treatment is, it will be intense so it’s important you stop breastfeeding straight away’. I couldn’t help but fear that the happy, calm, perpetually smiley baby who was so secure, in part at least due to our strong attachment, might change and that our bond might be affected by the sudden removal of his primary source of comfort.  I really needn’t have worried. The previous 10 months have obviously stood him in good stead and he took it all in his stride, transitioning relatively painlessly onto a combination of formula and, thanks to some amazing friends, donated breastmilk.

I am still expressing daily (In fact typing this one-handed whilst pumping; multitasking!), which although it is a time-consuming and sometimes arduous task, means I will have the option of continuing to feed him when treatment ends.  He might choose not to and that’s fine, but I would like us to have the option.  I certainly wasn’t ready for our breastfeeding journey to end so abruptly.

As a side note, there is a lesson here about not listening to one consultant’s advice but seeking further professional opinions.  Of course there were several options available to me, depending on the course of treatment, and it was not as clear-cut a decision as they made out in that first meeting.  Anyone who finds themselves in a similar position, I would urge you to explore all the available options, and I found La Leche League (www.laleche.org.uk) and the Breastfeeding Network (www.breastfeedingnetwork.org.uk) great sources of information and advice.

Anyway, every cloud has a silver lining and all that… as a result of Finn being cow’s milk protein intolerant I gave up dairy 8 months ago but since I am now free to eat what I want (at least for a few weeks), I’m off to eat all the cheese followed by a massive bar of Dairymilk!

I would also like to say a huge thank you to Becky Williams (www.beckywilliamsnewborns.co.uk) for capturing breastfeeding images on the beach before the treatment started and we had to stop.

How this blog came into being...

Hello,

I am Laura, I’m 34

Single mum to two small people; Marine ecologist; Ecowarrior; Gentle parent; Breast-feeder; Tie dyer; Wild swimmer; Rainbow enthusiast; Superfood eater.

I am all of these things and could blog about any one of them, yet the part of me I’m going to write about is ‘Fighter’ because I’ve just been diagnosed with colorectal cancer and that is unbelievably shit.  ‘It’s probably IBS’ and ‘young people don’t get bowel cancer’ were the two most repeated phrases regarding my bowels over the past 18 months.  Turns out it’s not, and they do.

As a young woman I worried about breast and cervical cancer and dutifully went for regular smears and learnt how to check my breasts for signs.  I don’t drink too much (most of the time); I eat healthily (most of the time), exercise regularly (you get the idea) so when I first noticed blood in my poo, it didn’t even cross my mind that it would be cancer.

I went to the GP though, because that is what all those posters (you’ve seen them, right?) on bus shelters tell you to do, and was told it was most likely Irritable Bowel Syndrome.  I was referred to a gastroenterologist anyway who did blood tests.  The bloods didn’t show up any cause for alarm but a colonoscopy was needed to rule out ulcerative colitis or crohn’s disease.  18 months, a pregnancy, emergency caesarean, colonoscopy, multiple biopsies and a CT scan later and my gastroenterologist says, ‘I’m sorry you have bowel cancer.  We are as shocked as you are; people your age very rarely get this type of cancer’. Yeah no shit, this wasn’t part of the plan.  I didn’t really follow the rest of the conversation… there’s a tumour, yep; everything is treatable; we are hopeful.  It was pretty hard to process, as all I wanted to know was if I was going to die or not and that, they couldn’t really answer.  Walking from the hospital, I thought I have two choices here; I can let this drag us down or I can join the fight. I’m definitely more a fighter!

So, this is just one part of me; my cancer journey, mainly written in order

to stop myself from going crazy on long waits in hospital but also hopeful it might make interesting reading for some along the way.

L x

A note on the title; after many suggestions from friends, ‘all you need is a sense of tumour’, ‘C U Next Treatment’,  ‘Perfect shitstorm’ to name a few, I decided ‘Cancer, milk & rainbows’ is more suited to me.  It may be a little obscure, but milk represents motherhood and the personal impact this journey will have on my children. Rainbows, well rainbows because who doesn’t love a rainbow; a symbol of positivity and a reminder that in order to fully appreciate the good in life, we need to weather the storm.