Today is the 5th of August. This morning I woke up to get ready for work like any other day. I did my usual checking of facebook and so on and came across this post a friend of mine shared which said "Steve Hock... My melanoma cancer story". As I clicked through the visual story of this young mans life I felt I huge connection. About half way in the little sense of invulnerability began to dwindle. I don't know why, but I held onto hope that at the end there would be a picture of Steve two years on looking fit and well. The story gradually got more and more heartbreaking till the end where the young, funny and mighty guy had lost his life to cancer. I don't know why it broke me so much but it did. I watched this stranger go through surgery after surgery and various treatment methods to reach the same outcome as almost 8 million other people do each year! He died.
I can't stop thinking about this guy and the hurt that his loved ones must feel. It's almost 11pm and here I am deeply saddened by a stranger.
I've always been one to put a positive light on things and Steve seemed to do so too but bless his loved ones for sharing the end because I believe it is a truly important message. Not everyone is ok, chemo isn't magical medicine, radiotherapy isn't like a superhero lasers. It is abundantly important to do what you possibly can to prevent cancer now. Look after your skin with SPF, avoid processed food, check yourself for lumps and bumps, keep up with medical appointments, don't brush off that 4 week cough! Really look after yourself. I've studied the human body for years, it fascinates me in a million different ways but what astonishes me is how there one day can be this rogue little cell that fights the system and just decides ".... no... I don't want to die!" and it chooses to live forever, that is sort of how cancer happens. It's also in a way how people overcome cancer. The only real thing we have on our side fully is our own sense of self compassion. Look after those little cells, they need your full support.
It has been 2 years and a bit since the end of my chemotherapy, 754 days! I made it by pure chance on my part and science on the physicians. Some days I struggle with the broken body I've been left with but I'm here! I'm here to love the people special to me, to cuddle my dog and cat, to appreciate the sound of rain and the beautiful ripples of heat in summer air, to enjoy the excitement of adventure, to adore trees and being made fun of by my boyfriend for my love of trees! I have so much to love!
It's a strange feeling day. I'm happysad. I feel like I want to cry for opposite reasons.
Wednesday, 5 August 2015
Tuesday, 9 June 2015
"I'm scared, excited but scared."
-Originally written in 2014-
Recently I got a job! The first job since I had to quit way back when I got sick in about January 2013, also one I've been wanting which is a position where I get to use/improve my baking and cooking skills. This should be a happy, normal, exciting thing and while it is because YAY life progression and prospects of finally getting a place with my boyfriend and money and general well being, it also terrifies me. It's hard having to worry that I'll get comfortable in a job that I've strived to get, I've been lucky to be chosen and then BAM relapse and I have to quit. I have this cloud over my party that's threatening rain and it just sucks. I worry about my bleo damaged lungs, dodgy heart, numb fingers and tired legs, can I keep up in a busy environment or will I be in over my head? People around probably think that when I'm scared I mean in a usual nervous sense. I'm scared for the irrational yet completely rational possibility of disappointment. I need to get past this and I will but who would have thought that I'd still be affected, mentally, even now that I'm out of the woods.
Recently I got a job! The first job since I had to quit way back when I got sick in about January 2013, also one I've been wanting which is a position where I get to use/improve my baking and cooking skills. This should be a happy, normal, exciting thing and while it is because YAY life progression and prospects of finally getting a place with my boyfriend and money and general well being, it also terrifies me. It's hard having to worry that I'll get comfortable in a job that I've strived to get, I've been lucky to be chosen and then BAM relapse and I have to quit. I have this cloud over my party that's threatening rain and it just sucks. I worry about my bleo damaged lungs, dodgy heart, numb fingers and tired legs, can I keep up in a busy environment or will I be in over my head? People around probably think that when I'm scared I mean in a usual nervous sense. I'm scared for the irrational yet completely rational possibility of disappointment. I need to get past this and I will but who would have thought that I'd still be affected, mentally, even now that I'm out of the woods.
Round 1... FIGHT! *best tekken voice*
-Originally written in 2013-
Day 1 of chemo was all set to go on the 4th of February. I had prepared the day before in a way I encourage anyone beginning chemo to do, I ate! I had my favourite foods. I started off with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast covered in tomato sauce. I then had a big roast chicken with all the trimmings and followed that with rhubarb crumble and ice cream. Then I stuffed myself with as much sweets, crisps and chocolate as I could while watching a movie with my boyfriend. It was a wonderfully tasty and relaxed day.
The next day I was picked up by my mum and dad and my boyfriend took the day off work to hold my hand. I was lucky that I got a choice to be in a lovely, well funded cancer specialist hospital called The Beatson all at no cost thanks to my country's NHS. The waft of anti-bac was in the air mixed with an unfamiliar smell. I was swiftly taken to my room, everything was so clean and contemporary. I had my own bathroom, tv and wardrobe. There was even free wifi!
I waited on a nurse coming to see me for what felt like forever. We all waited with forced conversation while watching Scrubs, I found this quite hilarious. Finally the nurse came! It was time for the cannula to go in and go in it did not. I was always fine getting a cannula in for scans and for blood being taken but not today no. It was as if my body knew and hid all my veins in a hope to runaway from the poison. After several pokes and a no show of veins the sweet young nurse went and got another nurse with promises that she gets a vein evey time, nuh uh. Just more fruitless stabs. I was then ordered to steep my hands in hot water in attempt to fool my veins into surfacing. In came the nurse again for a third go, this time I had my aunt and uncle (who was also there for treatment) also in the room. I remember owwing while my eyes filled up with tears. The nurse made a desperate attempt at the side of my wrist and instead poked a nerve causing a lot of pain. Time for plan B, I had to get a PICC line inserted into my arm. The team that did it weren't available that day so after getting myself all pumped up to jump this first hurdle I was sent home. I got Burger King meal on the drive home so it wasn't all bad. I remember being sat in the back of my dads car holding my boyfriends hand so tight, I felt like one of those balls made from elastic bands, each band another reason for me to cry but I didn't.
The following day I got a phone call, PICC line a go-go! Soon as we were ready we were off to the Beatson and even managed to pick my boyfriend up along the way since he got the time off work. I was very anxious about the PICC going in but really there wasn't anything bad about it. I waited a bit then got taken into a nice little room by a lady who turned out to be Biffy Clyro's cousin (I know right, cooool, she told me stories about when they were young.) there was also nice lady singing along with a CD of movie ballads and a student. I got one of those beautiful blue surgical sheets over me then a tourniquet was put at the top of my arm so tight I thought it was gonna take my arm off, an ultrasound of the veins and arteries in my arm (which I highly appreciated being able to see because I am a freak), lil bit of local anaesthetic, wee cut, feeling of a rusty wire going all the way up your arm and into your chest... ok, that was the one and only bad bit (unless blood freaks you out) but it's over in a matter of seconds and TADA it was all done. After that I went for a chest x-ray to make the the PICC line was actually in the superior vena cava and not my jugular. All was fine so now it was time to go ahead with the chemo.
ABVD (Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastin and Dacarbazine.) A, a big bright red syringe that's given along with fast flowing saline, my friend Vanessa called this "The Red Devil" as it's the nasty bugger that's makes your hair fall out and basically any other bad side effect happen. B, a nice big fat needle into your muscle, I always went for the bum cause *wink*, no, because it's much less painful than my skinny arm. It's to blame for potential lung damage later on. V, a small bag of fast flowing liquid that's looks and seems harmless but this caused me to have nerve damage in my fingers and toes, I couldn't wear heels, I learnt this the hard way when I fell down stairs in a wig shop. Finally D, dacarbazine is a big black bag that is sent from the depths of hell... I lied, It's just a nasty long drip that can take hours to finish because of it's ability to cause extravasation, which is burning around the entry area and damages the veins and on top of that it's the one that causes the worst nausea imaginable. It went smoothly first time, I had my boyfriend there to hold my hand while my parents where away for a walk, likely away while their minds blown with emotion. I had a nurse, well a few but one beautifully kind lady I remember being by my side throughout the whole thing. Her name escapes me but I will make it a mission of mine to go back and thank her one day. For the next six months I lived in two week cycles, one good week where I actually liked waking up and one bad week where I felt like a zombie stuck in quick sand, that was my life.
Day 1 of chemo was all set to go on the 4th of February. I had prepared the day before in a way I encourage anyone beginning chemo to do, I ate! I had my favourite foods. I started off with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast covered in tomato sauce. I then had a big roast chicken with all the trimmings and followed that with rhubarb crumble and ice cream. Then I stuffed myself with as much sweets, crisps and chocolate as I could while watching a movie with my boyfriend. It was a wonderfully tasty and relaxed day.
The next day I was picked up by my mum and dad and my boyfriend took the day off work to hold my hand. I was lucky that I got a choice to be in a lovely, well funded cancer specialist hospital called The Beatson all at no cost thanks to my country's NHS. The waft of anti-bac was in the air mixed with an unfamiliar smell. I was swiftly taken to my room, everything was so clean and contemporary. I had my own bathroom, tv and wardrobe. There was even free wifi!
I waited on a nurse coming to see me for what felt like forever. We all waited with forced conversation while watching Scrubs, I found this quite hilarious. Finally the nurse came! It was time for the cannula to go in and go in it did not. I was always fine getting a cannula in for scans and for blood being taken but not today no. It was as if my body knew and hid all my veins in a hope to runaway from the poison. After several pokes and a no show of veins the sweet young nurse went and got another nurse with promises that she gets a vein evey time, nuh uh. Just more fruitless stabs. I was then ordered to steep my hands in hot water in attempt to fool my veins into surfacing. In came the nurse again for a third go, this time I had my aunt and uncle (who was also there for treatment) also in the room. I remember owwing while my eyes filled up with tears. The nurse made a desperate attempt at the side of my wrist and instead poked a nerve causing a lot of pain. Time for plan B, I had to get a PICC line inserted into my arm. The team that did it weren't available that day so after getting myself all pumped up to jump this first hurdle I was sent home. I got Burger King meal on the drive home so it wasn't all bad. I remember being sat in the back of my dads car holding my boyfriends hand so tight, I felt like one of those balls made from elastic bands, each band another reason for me to cry but I didn't.
The following day I got a phone call, PICC line a go-go! Soon as we were ready we were off to the Beatson and even managed to pick my boyfriend up along the way since he got the time off work. I was very anxious about the PICC going in but really there wasn't anything bad about it. I waited a bit then got taken into a nice little room by a lady who turned out to be Biffy Clyro's cousin (I know right, cooool, she told me stories about when they were young.) there was also nice lady singing along with a CD of movie ballads and a student. I got one of those beautiful blue surgical sheets over me then a tourniquet was put at the top of my arm so tight I thought it was gonna take my arm off, an ultrasound of the veins and arteries in my arm (which I highly appreciated being able to see because I am a freak), lil bit of local anaesthetic, wee cut, feeling of a rusty wire going all the way up your arm and into your chest... ok, that was the one and only bad bit (unless blood freaks you out) but it's over in a matter of seconds and TADA it was all done. After that I went for a chest x-ray to make the the PICC line was actually in the superior vena cava and not my jugular. All was fine so now it was time to go ahead with the chemo.
ABVD (Adriamycin, Bleomycin, Vinblastin and Dacarbazine.) A, a big bright red syringe that's given along with fast flowing saline, my friend Vanessa called this "The Red Devil" as it's the nasty bugger that's makes your hair fall out and basically any other bad side effect happen. B, a nice big fat needle into your muscle, I always went for the bum cause *wink*, no, because it's much less painful than my skinny arm. It's to blame for potential lung damage later on. V, a small bag of fast flowing liquid that's looks and seems harmless but this caused me to have nerve damage in my fingers and toes, I couldn't wear heels, I learnt this the hard way when I fell down stairs in a wig shop. Finally D, dacarbazine is a big black bag that is sent from the depths of hell... I lied, It's just a nasty long drip that can take hours to finish because of it's ability to cause extravasation, which is burning around the entry area and damages the veins and on top of that it's the one that causes the worst nausea imaginable. It went smoothly first time, I had my boyfriend there to hold my hand while my parents where away for a walk, likely away while their minds blown with emotion. I had a nurse, well a few but one beautifully kind lady I remember being by my side throughout the whole thing. Her name escapes me but I will make it a mission of mine to go back and thank her one day. For the next six months I lived in two week cycles, one good week where I actually liked waking up and one bad week where I felt like a zombie stuck in quick sand, that was my life.
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