Potato

My favourite account that I follow on Instagram is health and fitness guru @deliciouslystella....

 

 

 

Haha!

Anyway, I've been reading people's statuses on Facebook today. Everyone is being very sentimental and deep this New Year's Eve and there are some very admirable new year resolutions being made by my friends. Well done and good luck with that!

I thought about it and to be honest I'm pretty happy with my attitude, perspective and priorities in life. There's only one thing about me that I want to change in 2016, and that's my body, which has been completely trashed over the last 18 months - partly from all the chemo, radiotherapy, surgeries, and various drugs, and partly from me being wholeheartedly dedicated to living the Deliciously Stella way in 2015.

This could not be more true:

So, my resolutions are a combination of obvious/bog standard:
1. Eat healthily.
2. Exercise every day.

And a couple that are a little more personal:
3. Stop being lazy and actually use all the various creams/oils etc I have bought (every day) to strengthen nails/moisturise skin/protect hair/fade scars. 
4. And seeing as some things will take time to change and some things can't be changed.... Do not allow hatred of body to get in the way of being happy and having fun.

Starting tomorrow.

Happy new year peeps! xxx

Attitude

I've titled this post "Attitude". What I really wanted to call it was "I'm happy and I love my life and if you don't like it then you can just Fuck. Right. Off." but that seemed a bit too wordy.

Today I've been told I have Stage 4 breast cancer. Stage 4 breast cancer, also known as secondary breast cancer or metastatic breast cancer, is incurable.

Luckily for me the person who dished out this news was just a random person on Twitter, and not any of my actual doctors. This Stage 4 diagnosis that was delivered to me was not based on any scans or tests. It was based purely on a negative attitude.

I sat here and wrote a big, full explanation of what made me write this post and I've just deleted it - because it doesn't really matter. These are the things I want to say that matter:

I had cancer. It was scary. I could have died, but I didn't, and I'm glad I didn't, because I love being alive, and I love my life. Having had cancer I feel this more deeply and strongly than I think I ever could if I had not had cancer. I LOVE BEING ALIVE, AND I LOVE MY LIFE. And I feel that and know that in my heart and in my bones and my gut Every Single Day.

I am happy. I am having fun. I'm excited for my future. Tomorrow, and next week, and next month, and next year. I am plotting and planning all the things I want to do, all the people I want to do them with. I'm going to have fun, and I'm going to try new things, and I'm going to challenge myself, and I'm going to surround myself with people who also want to have fun, and try new things, and challenge themselves too.

I'm not worried about my cancer coming back. I know full well that breast cancer is a nasty, sneaky thing, and the risk of recurrence will always be there. But FFS, I'm not gonna dwell on it! Even if I live til I'm 80, my time is precious. Every single day of it. I'm not going to waste any of it worrying about something that will probably never happen. (If it does, I'll just deal with it then. Probably by getting drunk and inappropriate, but you wouldn't have me any other way, right?!)

I'm not angry that I had cancer. I will be pissed off if it does come back, but unless that happens then I can't really say that it's been a bad thing for me. Don't get me wrong - there have been some difficult and frightening days. And I'm not overjoyed by the weight gain, short hair or scars. But as soon as I'm ok to run again the excess weight will be lost, the hair is already growing, and the scars will fade a little at least. And on a personal level, my cancer has given me much more than it has taken away. So I really don't feel that my own cancer diagnosis is anything to feel angry about.

I do reserve the right to be in a bad mood any time I please. I reserve the right to feel sad, insecure, afraid, annoyed, oversensitive, and irrational any time I please. If it's how I feel it's how I feel. But I also reserve the right to feel happy, and grateful, and excited - and not feel guilty about those feelings. I am rejecting any feelings of "survivor guilt" - the friends I have lost to breast cancer this year would all kick my arse if they could if I were to waste any time feeling guilty for being alive, or for being happy.

My heart is absolutely bursting with buckets and buckets of love for all the wonderful people I am so lucky to have in my life. Old friends, new friends, I love you all to bits.

Good. Glad to get all that off my chest.

I shall now continue dancing round my bedroom singing along to Mariah's greatest hits, looking forward to plenty of fun and silliness over Christmas and in 2016.

And I'll leave you with a few pictures from last weekend which I spent with over 40 other women who have had breast cancer this year. My wonderful friends who know how to enjoy life. (#WeAreTribe)

 

 

 

 

 

A totally epic year

This is what I was doing a year ago today:

 

 

Yup. It's been a full year since my last chemo.

 

It's been a full year since I had to wear this facking thing:

 

 

A year ago since I made my awesome sign:

 

 

It's also been pretty much a year since I hit absolute rock bottom - a horrible dark place I hope I never end up in again. The worst of it barely lasted more than a day but I had really had enough, and I briefly gave up. I remember the night when I couldn't sleep, kept awake by one thought running through my mind on repeat - "I don't like being alive and I don't want to be alive if this is what my life is". The next morning I had to get out of bed and face the world because I had go to hospital for an ultrasound scan and appointment with my surgeon. I went downstairs, saw my horrible, nasty, ugly, cancer face in the mirror and started screaming at it. At hospital, the ultrasound scan was phenomenal - the tumours that had been there before chemo were gone. There was no visible cancer left. I should've been bouncing off the walls, but I wasn't. I actually went to my GP because I thought I had lost my mind, and didn't know what else to do. I was prescribed a big dose of "giving myself a break and telling my friends what was going on and letting them step in and look after me" and it worked a treat.

 

Anyway - back to December 3rd 2014...

 

My friend Laura came round that night to celebrate with me. We had Chinese takeaway and Prosecco. Laura brought me three presents. Nude nail polish because now that chemo was done I didn't need goth nails anymore. A razor, because now that chemo was done I was about to become a hairy beast once again. And this calendar...

 

 

The calendar meant a lot to me. It meant Laura thought I'd stick around for 2015, even though on December 3rd last year I myself didn't dare think ahead as far as December 3rd this year. I decided to use the calendar to retrospectively record everything I did. It's been on my wall in my living room, reminding me to pack as much in to 2015 as possible. And now I can look back and see all the things I have done, places I've been, and people I've spent time with.

 

Think I've done pretty well! 2015 has been a lot of fun. I've found myself in a bunch of situations I would never have expected. I've challenged myself. Let go of a lot of crap. And now here I am, December 3rd 2015, a year clear of chemo, feeling happy, and well, and realising I now really need to get a 2016 calendar.

 

And in the spirit of packing as much into life as possible, I've double booked myself this evening. Drinks with work friends first, and then out with Laura to properly celebrate my one year chemoversary! Yeah! Now bring on 2016!

 

(Still got the sign haha! This time I've got my own hair, eyebrows and eyelashes though...)

 

 

YOLO

xxx

 

PS a little update, 4/12/15:

Laura is the most awesome mind reading friend because she gave me this present last night...

New rack

I am so grateful to the women who, over the last year, shared photos with me of the  surgeries they had to have because of breast cancer so I've decided to share my own here. I hope it's useful to someone....

The first time I met my surgeon, I told him I just wanted a bilateral mastectomy, no reconstruction, just get rid of literally everything and leave it. I didn't care. I had cancer and I just wanted everything gone. As far as I was concerned, even if I lived, it would never be ok. I'd never be normal again anyway, why try and pretend? I'd also been looking at photos from the Under The Red Dress Project. Look at this woman. She looks happy, and she is beautiful. I thought maybe if I live, one day I could just look and feel something like that.

My surgeon encouraged me to think about it some more, speak to other women who had had reconstruction, and read all the information they were sending me away with. When he left the room the Breast Care Nurses jumped in. They strongly encouraged me to go for reconstruction. They said I was really lucky to have him as my surgeon because he was the absolute best, and would do an incredible job. I said no, I just wanted rid of everything. They told me to think about it some more.

A week later my cancer treatment plan was changed, and I was to be having chemo first instead of surgery. This gave me several more months before I needed to make a decision about surgery and by the time December came I'd changed my mind. My understanding was I could go for mastectomies with immediate reconstruction, and if it looked awful I could then make the choice to get rid anyway. I figured I'd see how it would turn out, but in all honesty I never had high expectations of it being ok.

Since then I have had three surgeries.

On my left side, in January I had a skin sparing mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using latissimus dorsi muscle flap and a temporary expander implant. My nipple was removed (the cancer was right there) and the reconstruction included a circular skin graft (using skin taken from my back). The expander implant got expanded a couple of times and the corner of it protruded. It looked ridiculous. My surgeon assured me that the permanent implant that would replace it would not be like that.

On my right side, in July I had a skin sparing mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using temporary expander implant. My nipple was removed but the areola skin was left. I had one straight line scar from the middle to the side. This implant also got expanded a couple of times, but it was still lumpy and bumpy and to me, looked and felt deformed.

Here's some photos from these first two surgeries. I know they're awful but stick with it - things get better.

This was 2 days after the surgery in January. You can see two of the drains I had coming out of the side.

This was about 10 days after the surgery in January when I had the big dressings removed for the first time. The wounds at the side are from the 3 drains. The dressing under my arm is from the lymph node removal. My skin is crinkly and yellow because of the dressings and iodine.

This was a month or so after the surgery in January. You can see the skin graft scar which was pretty dark at the time, and the shape of the temporary expander implant through my skin. The inside corner poked right out. It just got worse when it was expanded again.

This was about a week after my second surgery in July. The expander implant on the right side was only very partially expanded at this point. It was horrible! You can also see again the corner of the implant on the left hand side poking through.

A couple of weeks after the surgery in July. Flat and horrible and I still have a drain and my skin is falling apart.

 

 

More drain wounds

 

 

The wounds heal, the scars fade, but frankly the expander implants looked shit! I wasn't looking forward to more surgery - but I couldn't wait to be rid of them. That surgery was Wednesday - 3 days ago.

Pre surgery mark up.

 

 

The expander implants were replaced with permanent implants. Surgery was I think 3 hours. No drains! I came home the next day, covered in microfoam dressings to hold everything in place. Even with all that microfoam I started getting my hopes up...

1 day post implant exchange surgery.

 

 

And the next day the microfoam was removed. I still have a couple of dressings but when they were replaced yesterday I saw underneath them just a few steri strips covering the stitches. They are where the existing scars were so no new scars.

3 days post implant exchange surgery.

 

 

The difference exchanging those implants has made is incredible. I wanted to share it for anyone who has those horrible expander implants at the moment. I just wanted to say don't feel down about them! The surgery to exchange is easy, and the permanent implants look and feel amazing. (Well, I thought so anyway!)

I'm not quite done yet. There's the matter of nipple reconstruction/tattooing. I wasn't originally going to bother with that either but I trust my surgeon and his judgement 100% now and I am happy to let him do anything he wants haha!

And when I feel shit about my scars I just try and remember this:

"Never be ashamed of a scar.

It simply means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you"

I've cracked open the Stellisept again....

I'm washing myself in Stellisept, sticking weird gel up my nose and digging out the big cotton knickers. This can only mean one thing!

I'm back in hospital on Wednesday for Surgery #3! Eek!

If you don't want the gruesome details stop reading right now!

A recap:

The first surgery I had in January was (deep breath) a skin sparing mastectomy with immediate reconstruction using LD muscle and expander implant, plus full node clearance. In plain English, the surgeon cut a circle of my skin out all around the nipple which was home to the cancer, then chopped and scraped out all the breast tissue from that side, leaving just the skin. (It all had to be removed, what with me being a genetic mutant of the crappiest kind - ie no known superpowers, just boobs that aim to kill me). He then sliced my back open, took some of my latissimus dorsi muscle and swung it round to the front of my body. He wasn't happy with shape or size or something though so he also stuck in a temporary expander implant. (More on them in a minute). Then he took skin from my back and did a skin graft where that circle of skin/nipple had been removed. He then took out all the lymph nodes under my arm because that's the place cancer cells temporarily squat in before going on their travels around your body. And then he stitched me back up. It took 8 hours, I was in hospital for 5 days, and I had 3 drains for a week. I thought it would be hell and it was actually, overall, a piece of piss and I strangely enjoyed the stay in hospital.

The next surgery was in July, and dealt with  the right side. Skin sparing mastectomy (but taking away the nipple because I now seriously distrust nipples what with their ability to let cancer cells set up camp and breed there) and immediate reconstruction using a temporary expander implant. Again - this surgery was to prevent me getting any more breast cancer in the future. It was a 3.5 hours operation, 2 nights in hospital. I thought it would be a piece of piss. It was HELL. I spent 3 weeks with drains in, and a few weeks off my face on tramadol to deal with the pain.

This surgery:

This is to exchange the temporary expander implants for permanent ones. The reason I was given a temporary expander implant on the cancer side is because I needed radiotherapy asap after surgery. Radiotherapy often damages your skin (in some cases it can break down entirely leaving you with open wounds like serious burns). Expander implants can be put in empty or nearly empty, then filled over time with saline, to stretch the skin gradually. (As it happens, despite the fact I can get sunburn within ten minutes even when covered in factor 50, my skin didn't react at all to radiotherapy. Big up to my hardcore skin for not putting me through the horror that some of my friends have been through. Shout out to Miranda here).

The non-cancer side had an expander too so that the surgeon could basically fiddle about with adding and removing saline from the expander implants on both sides until they match. Symmetry is the goal!

The thing about expander implants is they are horrible. They are rock hard, lumpy, bumpy, and there's a big metal port on them for where the needle goes in to pump them up (technical medical term). Once you're all healed, they get exchanged for permanent implants which from what I understand are all like soft and natural and stuff (here's hoping).

So that's what's happening Wednesday. Surgeon goes in via existing scars, takes out yakky, horrid temporary implants and replaces with lovely, nice new ones. The operation takes 2 hours (so in the case of my surgeon maybe 3 because he's a perfectionist - one of the many reasons I love him to bits), I should be home the same day and get this.... NO DRAINS!

I repeat: NO DRAINS!

I'm hoping to only be off work a couple of weeks. And then... all being well.... no more boob-related general anaesthetics. (I daren't think too much yet about the whole matter of "nipple reconstruction" and tattooing although for those of you that I've discussed this with previously, I have some good news. 1. They're only local anaesthetic jobs. And 2. I've been pissed off that the circle skin graft is too big and I asked Mr K if he could just chop it out and leave me with a line scar like on the other side. Turns out that the skin graft is for the nipple recon. Which is weird. The whole thing is weird, obviously. But this is definitely not as weird as the foof option. And so, fuck it, since he'll not be going anywhere near my vajayjay, I think I'm gonna go ahead with nipple recon. - For anyone that I have not already had this conversation with (which is probably all but about 5 of you).... Yes you read that right. Nipple recon is often done using skin from your foofoo - because you didn't lose enough dignity when going through all the original cancer treatment. Anyway... I'm not gonna think about it right now. Save that joy for the new year.)

So - I'm in hospital on Wednesday, then hopefully home that night. This might not technically be cancer any more but fuck it - if you've read this far you can see why I'm fully entitled to still be playing the cancer card. If you're local and you fancy stopping by and walking my dog for me during the next couple of weeks please do!

Lotsa love xx

Kate

My beautiful, kind, bright, fun, sparkly friend Kate died on 26th October. Today was her memorial service, and I was honoured to be asked to contribute to it. I found it difficult to write about Kate, because it felt like no words were enough - she was truly one of the most amazing people I've ever met.

xxx

***********

Less than a week after I was diagnosed with breast cancer myself last July, I started chatting to Kate online through the Younger Breast Cancer Network. Like anyone newly diagnosed with cancer, I was terrified. She realised I lived in Leicester and suggested we meet up, so we went for a drink a few days later. I will never forget that day because meeting Kate changed my life. All I could think when I went home that night was, "I want to be just like Kate". And that has stayed with me ever since.

In the couple of hours I spent in the pub with Kate that evening my whole perspective changed. It went from one of fear, dread and assumptions that I'd be leaving my bed only for visits to the hospital, to one of hope, positivity and determination that like Kate, I'd be out and about and living my life to the full. She was truly inspirational. Kate had not quite finished her initial cancer treatment herself at this point- she was still having radiotherapy. But you wouldn't know it. I'm sure that everyone here will know what I mean when I say I thought she sparkled. That incredible sparkle is what made Kate stand out in a crowd.

While I am the one stood here speaking, I am really doing this on behalf of the whole Younger Breast Cancer Network. YBCN has well over a thousand members, but there are a few who really stand out. Kate is one of those, and I know she has made so much difference to countless women, through her thoughtful posts, kind, supportive and positive comments, and funny, up front and honest blog. Myself and Laura along with many others all know how lucky we are to have really gotten to know Kate and be able to call her our friend.

Many of my happiest times over the last year have included Kate. As I think back I realise that most of them have involved drinking wine or cocktails and talking extensively about important matters such as men! Newly single for the first time in 12 years, I loved listening to Kate's stories of online dating! One in particular of course... I am so glad that Kate and Adam met - the first time I got to hear all about him was when Kate visited me in hospital at the beginning of January after I'd had surgery. It was early days but I could tell from Kate's complete inability to stop smiling that Mr Gibraltar was someone special. I mentioned to Adam that one of my favourite Kate moments is when she told me and Laura all about the art print he had bought her. Adam summed it up better than I could when he said "She was so kind but she also had that little bit of devil in her that I loved - I remember when she told me she hated the picture - I loved that honesty!" (Kate did absolutely wholeheartedly hate that picture!)

Alongside Kate's honesty and sparkle, one of the things that really stood out was her kindness and compassion. Kate was incredibly active on the YBCN forum, constantly reassuring others that treatment was do-able and that they'd get through it. As a friend she always remembered when you had something going on - a scan, a chemo appointment, a meeting with the oncologist. She'd always get in touch with words of encouragement and support.

She also gave great perspective. Kate told us about how when she was initially undergoing treatment for her primary breast cancer, she was in touch with another woman who had had a secondary diagnosis. This woman had told Kate that she regretted spending the time between primary and secondary diagnosis worrying so much and letting fear about cancer take over her life - even when she was well and not having any treatment. Kate took this on board, and made sure the rest of us did too. When she got her own secondary diagnosis, she told us how glad she was that she had made sure to live life to the full every single day, something that she absolutely continued to do. 

I will think of Kate every day, and it will remind me to be bold, to be bright, to love with an open heart, and most importantly to have fun and enjoy life. None of us know how many days we have left. But I cannot think of any better way for each of us to honour Kate than by going away and making sure each one of them counts. 

 

 

 

 

 

Limbo

Figured out what's up. I've been feeling in limbo. I hate that! You know me. I'm a control freak.

The other day I wrote a really whiny update. It was unsatisfying to write, unsatisfying to share, and to be honest I'd quite like to delete it. But I'm sticking to my rule of never deleting my posts, however much I hate them when I look back at them. (The reason being, for anyone who reads this blog who is newly diagnosed or going through cancer treatment, I want to show that while you have your lows - sadness, fear, complete lack of dignity - those days do pass. You're still you in there, even if sometimes it's hard to see that clearly through the current melt down. It's all just part of the process.)

So I've been unpicking what's up and as always I'm going to share with the whole world because as you all know I lost any sense of pride or dignity a looooooooong time ago. Here are some of my limbos.

1. I'm all about that bass. I've never been body-confident but last summer I was probably feeling as good about my body as I ever have. I was exercising every day, including running 3 or 4 times a week, and looking back, I'd become well skinny. Some of my friends have commented since then that they thought I was at a point where if I lost any more weight they'd start to worry and take me to one side to say something. Sadly my feminism doesn't stop me feeling like this is actually a huge compliment. I know that's wrong, I'm slapping my own wrists for being so influenced by the unobtainable photoshopped images of women everywhere in the media, but it's true. I felt only pride. (I was eating properly - it was just the exercise had me fit, healthy, slim and dare I say possibly even toned in parts.) 15 months later, a stone and a half heavier and I feel like a disgusting, flabby blob, which deep down I know is ridiculous for several reasons. First of all, I'm not even actually overweight (although someone did recently say to me "Ooh! Someone's getting round! I thought cancer made you thin?" - No. No, it doesn't. It makes you fat.) Secondly putting on weight is a pretty small price to pay for having your life saved. I have so much admiration for the women who manage to continue with running during breast cancer treatment because after the third chemo I simply couldn't. I was either too ill or tired from chemo and radiotherapy or banned from running by my surgeon. But the chemo, the surgeries, the radiotherapy - those are the reasons I'm able to sit here writing this now so I can't really complain. And thirdly - it's only temporary. I have started running again and I think that's actually the root cause of my recent I-hate-my-body funk. I'm not exactly known for my patience. Now that I can do something about the arse other than sing along defiantly to Meghan Trainor ("I'm bringing booty BAAAAAAAACK!"), I desperately want everything to be back to how it was before, right now.

2. Titanium. So yeah, I've started running again which makes me SO HAPPY, but I feel like I'm back at square 1 with it. Last summer I'd come home from work and run for about an hour, about 6 miles. I enjoyed it. One of the songs on my playlist was Sia, Titanium. I really felt like I was. I'd run along, singing it loudly (in my head). "I am titaaaaaaaniuuuUUUUUUUUUMMMMMM!!!"  One of the roads I crossed on my little circuit has quite a high pavement. Each time I'd get to it I'd make a point of effortlessly and gracefully springing from road to pavement (Nike Airs baby!) as I went round the corner, secretly showing off to anyone who might be around. (I know. I'm rolling my eyes at myself right now.) Oh how things have changed! My current personal best is a 42 minutes 19 seconds 6km which I sweated and panted my way through while wondering the whole time if my legs were made of actual titanium they felt so heavy. I thought fitness would be my problem but I think the biggest issue is that my leg muscles have disappeared meaning it's a lot of effort hauling all the extra junk in my trunk around the west end.

3. Curtains vs Mullet. Oh man. It's bad. People learned pretty quickly when I was diagnosed with cancer that I have no time for sympathetic head tilts, so I've not seen many of them. Til now. Last time I went to get my hair cut, I got several from MY HAIRDRESSER! "It's getting to that stage isn't it..... Where you won't really know what to do with it.....[sympathetic head tilt]" 
By "that stage" what she means is the in between stage where you are simultaneously growing out your curtains while growing in the early stages of a mullet. Sexy. And no I don't know what to do with it. I generally try clipping it back, even though I've been told I'm doing my hair like a toddler's. (My "friends" are such vicious bullies.)
I saw this on Facebook the other day. It made me laugh hard. Mostly because if I brush my fringe forward now, I have the exact same hair as Peter. FML.

4. My lovely lumpy lady lumps. The boobs were trying to kill me, so they had to go. No brainer. The kind of surgery I had was called a skin sparing mastectomy, with immediate reconstruction. In plain English, the skin is pretty much left alone, but all the insides are scooped out and replaced with implants. The implants I have at the moment are temporary. They are hard and lumpy and if I were to go through security at an airport they'd set the alarms off. On the one hand I cannot wait to get them swapped for the proper implants. On the other hand it turns out I can't face another surgery yet. I got a call on Wednesday asking me to go in for pre-op assessments on Monday. I said no, effectively keeping myself in lumpy lady lumps limbo. I think I might now be regretting postponing it. I just can't be fucked with more surgery at the moment as much as I genuinely love the dinners at Glenfield Hospital and need some  dedicated time on the sofa to catch up with Homeland. 


Pretty shallow I guess. But when I look in the mirror, I just want to see me again. Because my life itself is returning to normality (and I will never, ever take that for granted). In fact, I LOVE my life. I have the best friends in the world. Ever. I've said it before and I will keep saying it. I have the BEST FRIENDS IN THE WORLD, EVER! I'm having so much fun, and doing things I've never done before. I met Drew Barrymore! (Swoon!) I love my job, and I love the people I work with. I've got tons of stuff to look forward to.  

So anyway. There's only one way to deal with limbo and that's put a plan in place. If in doubt, make a list and a plan and everything is sure to be ok.

1. A stone lost by Christmas.
2. Running 10kms 3 times a week by end of November.
3. Experiment more with hair accessories for the next 4 months until I have a bob (while sticking tongue out at Andrea).
4. Take the next surgery date and get it over and done with.

Sorted.