I've just found a note where I had written down some of the descriptions of cancer given in Siddhartha Mukherjee's book, The Emperor of All Maladies: A biography of cancer.
- a lethal shape shifting entity
- the emperor of all maladies, the king of terrors
- an all-consuming presence in our lives....infiltrating every thought
- the most relentless and insidious enemy
- stretches out the encounter with death.... dying, even more than death, defines the illness.
I was reading the book earlier this year. (It's excellent by the way, although I admit it is currently in the massive pile of books I have started but not yet finished.) These descriptions definitely sum up what cancer was to me. I felt like I was being stalked by an enemy that was just waiting to attack, but it wasn't going to be a fair fight. Me: small, weak, blindfolded, weaponless. Cancer: big, looming, omnipotent, invincible.
I realise now just how dark my thoughts were. It's no wonder I had various people encouraging me to go for counselling to help me deal with the double whammy head fucks of bereavement and genetic testing. At the very end of 2013, to shut people up, I did just that, and I'm so glad that I did, because I think it saved me. (I have been going to counselling at Coping with Cancer, a local charity that I can't speak highly enough of.)
One of the things that was really messing with my head was the idea of being diagnosed with cancer, and suffering through x many years of destructive, painful, miserable cancer "treatment" which would stop me living my life and doing the things I want to do, knowing full well that death from cancer was inevitable and just a matter of time (the experience of everyone in my family who has had cancer, which is almost everyone in my family). I desperately wanted to make the most of my life while I was well but I didn't know how. I didn't know the answer to the question "what is the meaning of life?", or "what is the purpose of my life?". I'm not religious, I don't have children, I felt like I had ended up where I was more by chance than by choice. I wanted my life to have a meaning, and a purpose, so I could focus and aspire, achieve, be happy and be fulfilled. There's a line in a song that really resonated with me: "all this breathing, and the truth that's in your last breath, don't it make you wanna cry?" I was thinking about end of life a lot, and couldn't bear the idea of reaching a point where I knew I was about to die, and was looking back on my life regretting not doing things, or not being the person I wanted to be (or worse, not even having figured out who I was.) Despite this, I was stuck, and afraid of change, because I didn't know what changes to make. What if I made the wrong decisions?
My counsellor suggested I read the book Feel the fear and do it anyway. I'm sceptical of self help books, but I think my counsellor is an absolute legend, so I went and bought it and started reading it the next day. It's actually ok! But there was one part that really, really hacked me off, to the extent that I took the book in the following week, read out the offending passage, and had a massive rant to him about it. Jeffers basically goes on about how when something bad happens you shouldn't think "that's terrible", you should think "it's a learning experience". She then says that's the case even if you have cancer. She knew because she had had cancer and it was a great and wonderful experience for her. I was fucking furious, having just witnessed my mom's slow and painful destruction by cancer. How could someone be so stupid and thoughtless to suggest that cancer could ever be a good thing?
Fast forward to the present day. I've had my own cancer diagnosis, I've started chemotherapy, and I feel happy, clear-headed and alive. Yes there are moments when I have a freak out, or when I'm in a bad mood, because I'm human. But I mean overall, the overwhelming feeling I have is positive. It's been puzzling me but I think I've reached a point where I've realised I am going to have to admit that (for the first time in my life) I was wrong.
Physically I'm going to be going through some horrible shit. My human body has let me down massively. (Bad body!) There's no denying that. But mentally and emotionally I'm good, and the strange thing is I think that's because of the cancer, not despite it. There are several contributing factors.
My surgeon gave me an earnest and convincing speech about how while they are both labelled "breast cancer", what I've got and what my mom had are two completely different things. What happened to her will not happen to me. I'd spent a week at that point knowing I had cancer but nothing more. I'd felt like I was dangling over a black hole (of death), with my sweaty little hands trying desperately to cling on to the edge, but they were losing their grip and I was slipping. Then Mr Big Strong Surgeon came along, leaned over, and pulled me up and back on to safe ground in one effortless move, and then threw the fear that had been plaguing me both before and since diagnosis (that I was destined to the same horrible fate as all the women in my family before me) into the black hole instead. The key thing here is that in addition to dealing with the cancer I've got, I am now eligible for the risk reducing measures that I wasn't before so I can actually look towards a future without feeling every day like my body is a ticking cancer time bomb, waiting to go off. I can actually see a future for myself now. Before the cancer diagnosis I couldn't.
I feel braver! I wrote about bravery before. I said that people keep telling me I am brave, but that I'm not. I still stand by what I said in that post because when people have been calling me brave it's been specifically in relation to "dealing with cancer". I think my fainting at the sight of a cannula shows that in that respect, I'm not! Here I'm talking about something broader. Cancer has opened my eyes and made me really see how very precious time is, and I don't want to waste it. If I want something I'm going to go for it. If I fail, or get rejected - and sometimes I will - so be it. I'll pick myself up and move on. But I reckon that more often than not, the bravery will pay off. (I like this J K Rowling quote: "It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case you fail by default.")
My perspective and priorities have changed. Since being diagnosed with cancer, I'm just not worrying or stressing about the small things. And I now view most things as the small things. I can now see what really matters to me.
- My health.
- The people who brighten my day.
- Experiencing and enjoying being alive.
That's it really. So now, if I consider the question about the purpose of my life, I'm very happy with the answer "To make the most of life and fucking enjoy it."
I will end by insisting you watch a video which a friend shared with me. I actually first watched this the evening before I found out I had cancer, and I thought it was brilliant then. He then reminded me of it on the day when my hero/surgeon informed me I wasn't going to die, and I watched it again with that whole new perspective. It's Rik Mayall's speech from when he received an honorary doctorate from the University of Exeter. He absolutely nailed what matters in life. It's amazing! Please watch it!
"It is your future, yours to create. Your future is as bright as you make it..... You go out there and have yourselves a fucking good life!"
I've had enough of this ridiculous Ice Bucket Challenge. I can't even bear the phrase "Ice bucket challenge" and it's now at the point where it's midnight, and instead of sleeping, I'm seeing red and need to let off some steam*. I'm well aware that many of my friends who will read this have done the "Ice Bucket Challenge". The last thing I want to do is offend or alienate anyone who is my friend so I am just hoping that you understand that if you are my friend and have done the "Ice Bucket Challenge" that this is not aimed at you personally, because I think you are lovely and wonderful and you are one of many, many people who I think very highly of and .... oh bloody hell why can't I just have a rant without apologising for it. Ok....
It's not a challenge though, is it?
Having someone throw a bucket of cold water over you while someone else films it so you can post it on Facebook isn't a challenge. End of.
Do you even know why you're doing it?
I think the people who do are in a minority. How many of you think it has something to do with cancer and chemotherapy? Some of you do! But it doesn't. Although for some reason, Macmillan have jumped on the bandwagon, have a webpage about it, and have actually tweeted that having a bucket of cold water poured on your head replicates the side effects of chemotherapy. WHAT THE ???? Fuck off does it. The "Ice Bucket Challenge" has nothing to do with cancer. How many of you know it originated as awareness raising/fundraising for something called ALS? And of those of you that could answer yes to that question, how many of you know what ALS actually stands for? Or, how many of you know about Motor Neurone Disease, beyond "errr isn't that what Stephen Hawking has?" I don't see much actual awareness raising about ALS going on in any of the fucking endless number of "Ice Bucket Challenge" posts and videos I have seen.
How many of the people who have had a bucket of water thrown on them in the UK donated money to charity?
An absolute shitload has been raised in the USA for the ALS association (over $80million if the Huffington Post is right). In the UK apparently the UK Motor Neurone Disease has gained £250k in donations as a result of this. That's actually not that much at all, considering how many people have jumped at the chance of "taking part" in this "challenge". Cancer Research alone got over £8million earlier this year when we all took photos of ourselves without make up on. I thought that was a bit stupid at the time but I joined in because I thought it was incredible how much money was being raised. Although I didn't donate to Cancer Research, I donated to a local charity called Coping with Cancer who are amazing.
Anyway, yeah yeah there will be some individuals who learned all about ALS/Motor Neurone Disease as a result of this, and then donated to the appropriate charities. (In fact, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and state here that I am sure this applies to all of my friends who have done it.) But, in the UK, those people are blatantly in a minority. So if it's not a challenge, and it's not raising much awareness, and it's not raising much money, what is the Ice Bucket Challenge? Pointless attention seeking from what I can tell. Oh yeah, and the kind that appears to have led to the death of an 18 year old.
Rant over. I am now going to go and pull some more hair out of my head and continue telling myself it's the Ice Bucket Challenge that has put me in a bad mood.
*Did just have the ironic thought that a bucket of ice cold water over my head might actually be what I need right now. Anyway.
In my last post I said that today was the day I was due to turn into a hormonal, miserable, emotional nightmare. Not so peeps! I'm in a bloody good mood! I didn't need the steroids they gave me at all, I just needed a day in my beloved motherland Birmingham! Best city in the world. Best people in the world. My heart belongs to you, Birmingham!
Here's why I'm so happy....
Yesterday my lovely friend Lucy drove me to Brum for my appointment at Trendco, a wig specialist in Birmingham. In all honesty, while I was desperate to go because of the anxiety of the impending clumps-of-hair-falling-out-and-turning-into-George-Dawes doom, I was not looking forward to it. My association with wigs is that of my mom having to wear them for most of her last 6 years alive because of her own cancer and chemotherapy treatment. After my mom died at the end of 2012, one of my jobs was to clear out her house- this included getting rid of her wigs. I'm not sure there's anything more creepy than walking in to the bedroom of your mom who has died and seeing her hair displayed on a stand. And then walking in to the spare room and seeing her hair displayed on another stand. And then finding a bag of a dozen of her old wigs that are past it, but have been kept (knowing mom) "just in case". And then being given the wig that she was wearing when she went in to the hospital before she died along with her handbag etc......Anyway, you get the point. I don't like wigs. Having said that, I don't want to walk around bald either, and I'm not convinced I can pull off looking anything other than like a cancer patient in a headscarf so I knew an amazing wig was what I needed.
Luckily of course, I was in Birmingham. Best city in the world, best people in the world. I was instantly put at ease by the lovely woman Naomi who I had my appointment with at Trendco. Naomi spends all day with people, aged from 3 to 98 years old, who have lost their hair due to illnesses like cancer and alopecia. She was absolutely fantastic, knew her stuff, and got a measure of me within minutes. The first wig I tried on was a synthetic one, which I hated, and Naomi's next move was basically to find me a real human hair wig, which is very, very much like my own hair, and which was absolutely the right one. My wig is called Emerald! Naomi sorted out the parting for me, got me straightening it, and explained how I could have it cut and coloured how I wanted. That was it - sorted! At the moment it feels kind of big and weird to me, but that's partly because my own hair is still there underneath it. But once that's gone if it still feels too big and thick, along with having it cut and coloured, Naomi can thin it out for me a bit too.
I'm not skilled at taking selfies in mirrors but here are a couple of photos I took this morning.
So if I wake up tomorrow and find that my hair deserted me overnight, I'm ready for it!
Next job: learn how to draw on eyebrows in case they abandon me too.
Hello!
Well, it's fair to say I've just had a pretty bizarre week.
Saturday: (having found out on the Thursday I would be starting with chemo instead of surgery) Got a letter in the post telling me my chemo information session would be on Monday. Pissed off! I had plans for the Monday to go to Birmingham to meet a new friend and shop for cancer related essentials (fake everything, essentially). We rearranged for Wednesday.
Monday: Went to the chemo information session and found out I would have my first chemo on WEDNESDAY! Shiiiit! Not mentally or emotionally ready! Plus this meant cancelling the Birmingham trip again so not practically ready either. Argh!
Then I had the shit well and truly scared out of me. I didn't think it was possible to fit the words "fatal", "emergency" and "life threatening" in to one short PowerPoint presentation that many times. The reassurance was that if you call the 24 hour emergency number (on the red emergency alert card that you have to carry with you at all times), for every tiny little thing, then they promise to make sure you won't die as a result of chemo. Phew! That's ok then. My friend Marta that went with me just kept reminding me that they are just making sure you're ok and that whatever the chemo was doing to me it was doing to the cancer too. Yeah, she's right, take that cancer!
I'm not sure what I learned at the chemo information session beyond: phone the number if you so much as get a sore throat and, you will have red wee for 24 hours after chemo.
I went home and started a mad panic of trying to get myself organised, lining up friends to keep an eye on me over the next week or so in case I needed it.
Then I wrote a blog post which I'd had in my mind about the Page 3 vs Breast cancer campaign, Check 'em Tuesday. I tweeted a link to the No More Page 3 team and they messaged me saying they'd share it tomorrow, as it would be Check 'em Tuesday. Cool! How exciting to get a message from NMP3! :-D
Tuesday: Tuesday was meant to be a day of getting shit organised. I had a dentist appointment in the morning to fix up a dodgy wisdom tooth and the one next to it. I had a doctors appointment booked to ask about things like the free prescription card, flu jab, and sick leave at work, and I planned to go to boots and buy one of everything. Pretty much. Did all this, while getting literally hundreds of messages via Twitter, Facebook and email about my blog post! Apparently it struck a chord/hit a nerve with a lot of people! To date, over 8000 people have read it. I was contacted by people at Buzzfeed and The Stir and also someone at ITV news! What the shit?! My little blog post that I wrote as a distraction from chemo nerves. It was only about a week before that I had the guts to share my blog with my friends... Now thousands of people reading about my wonky nipple and wobbly arse! Gawd. Still, I figured, if that many people were reading it and sharing it then I was probably far from alone in feeling the way I did. I hope...!
Wednesday: FECking chemo day. (My chemo will be 3 or 4 cycles of something called FEC and then 3 or 4 cycles of something called T.) Ok, so I was nervous, but my lovely friend Marta kept reminding me, this will kill the cancer. Chemo is a good thing, blast the cancer! So I went in to the hospital telling myself that I too was now a bad ass superwoman who was going to kick this cancer's arse. Cancer can fuck off! Yeah! I'm hard as nails! Bring it on! Then the nurse put the cannula in me. And I passed out. I passed out! It wasn't even connected to anything yet! Not feeling so bad ass anymore. I came round with about 8 nurses and important looking doctors in suits crowded round me, hooked up to a bleepy machine and with an oxygen tank ready. How embarrassing! They spent the rest of my time there teasing me about it! Oh well. I'm sure they'll take extra good care of me next time now. (Apparently next time I get to go in a recliney chair.)
Having the chemo at the hospital is the easy bit. You sit there for an hour while a nurse talks to you (in my case, makes fun of you!) and puts the drugs in. Don't feel a thing. While I was sat there I got a message from writer and columnist Daisy Buchanan about my blog, so I was emailing her about that on my phone as she wanted to do an article about it for The Debrief! And then I sat there for an extra 2 hours with the cold cap on in an attempt to not lose my hair. (Although I'm sure my scalp is sore already meaning it probably hasn't worked. Damn.)
For anyone who reads this who has chemo to come and wonders about the cold cap - it wasn't a problem. For about the first 15 minutes your head feels the way your ears do when you've been out in the cold in winter, and then you get used to it and it's cold, but not painful. Worth giving it a go! It works for some people.
However - one note about the cold cap and looking after your hair. Before having the cold cap on they cover your hair in conditioner (so the cold cap comes off easily without ripping your now very precious hair to shreds). Then when they remove the cold cap they tell you, don't wash your hair more than once a week, don't use any products on it, don't use a hairdryer or straighteners on it... I don't know about anyone else, but as someone who washes their hair every day I can assure you I would actually choose a wig over my own hair, stringy and greasy after a week of neglect. I'm washing it tomorrow and hoping for the best.
Anyway! I went home feeling great. Thought about ordering a pizza but was talked out of that idea. Luckily. Because a couple of hours later, I started being sick. I'll spare you all the details but lets just say it got to the point where I had my face on the toilet seat and could not lift it. I decided at that point, no more chemo, I would take my chances with just surgery and radiotherapy. Obviously I was calling the emergency number, expecting after the information session on Monday to be rushed in to hospital in an ambulance. But no! I was told to take some of tomorrow's anti sickness medicines there and then, with as little water as possible, then consume nothing more and just go to bed. It did do the trick, and I slept kind of ok that night.
Thursday: Woke up feeling ropey as anything but after a few hours I had settled down, got my instructions of what tablets to take from the chemo nurse, and was reassured that next time they would give me better anti sickness meds, and to definitely keep going with the chemo!
And then from this point on not a lot has happened. I haven't been sick since. I went to bed at about 8pm on Thursday and slept til 10am today, Friday. At which point I took some more meds, and then dozed for another couple of hours. Then I've sat around a lot and started to get quite bored and fidgety.
Tomorrow I am off to Birmingham, finally, and I can't wait! With luck I will get my fake hair sorted tomorrow. (Yes, I have realised I have a real issue with the word "wig"... It's made it on to my list of bad words, along with "moist".)
And then I think the next round of FECking chemo fun begins on Sunday when:
1. I get my first visit from the district nurse for daily injections of white blood cells. Woopee!
2. I'm no longer on steroids, meaning I am apparently going to turn in to a hormonal, miserable, emotional nightmare. SORRY IN ADVANCE EVERYONE! Just tell me you love me and it will all be ok and I'm sure I'll be fine.
To anyone who reads this who has FEC chemo to come - you will get through it. It might be shit for a bit, but you'll get through it. I promise. I'm actually the biggest wimp of them all and if I can do it, anyone can. x
Hi everyone,
I've just got back from the hospital after my first chemotherapy session. I'm ok although the nausea is starting to kick in. So please excuse this being quite brief. If I do feel well enough later I really want to get a post written about chemotherapy itself for my new friends who will be starting chemo very soon.
But I did just want to write a message to everyone who has taken the time to read my open letter to The Sun.
On Monday night I came home from my chemo information session at the hospital and decided I wanted my next blog post to be an open letter to The Sun. I really didn't think anyone would read it beyond the people who know me and are reading my blog anyway. I tweeted the link to @NoMorePage3 who retweeted it and the response has completely blown my mind! Over 7,000 people so far have read my original blog post. It has also been republished on Buzzfeed, and The Stir also wrote an article about it! There's now an article on The Debrief too!
This was all completely unexpected. Overall the response I have received has been incredibly positive and supportive. A lot of people have told me that I put in to words what they had experienced themselves, and what they felt. I have had lots of kind messages of support for my treatment. And I am so very grateful. I want to say a MASSIVE THANK YOU! All of this made me feel very positive at a time when I would have otherwise been overwhelmed by anxiety.
My letter has sparked some debate. I normally like a good debate, but I just don't think I'm up to it right now. My focus has to be on getting well. So I will leave other people to continue the debate that the wonderful people at No More Page 3, and their 200,000 plus supporters, have been having for some time.
I did just want to clarify a couple of things though.
First of all, I am not against Coppafeel. Awareness raising is good. I support awareness raising about breast cancer, signs and symptoms, being breast aware. My issue is simply with using Page 3 as part of a breast cancer awareness campaign. That's my personal opinion, I know not everyone will agree. That's ok. This leads me on to my second point....
I generally avoid reading the comments below articles but I have spotted a few having a right go at me for what I wrote. I would just like to remind people that I am just a regular person who started a blog. I wrote my opinion down. I'm not a celebrity, or a campaigner, or a columnist - I'm not someone who normally has a loud voice. I didn't for a second expect it to get the attention it did. I guess it did get attention because it struck a chord. I don't know. Anyway, if you disagree with me, fine. But I'm not going to worry about it - I've got more important things to deal with right now.
For all the support though, thank you. It's meant a lot.
I'm now going to go and take one of the anti sickness tablets that they gave me!
Sarah x
Dear The Sun
I've been meaning to write to you for a while. My name is Sarah, I live in Leicester, I'm 33 years old, and a few weeks ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer.
This is me. I tried to smile for the picture, but as you can see I'm looking pretty uncomfortable. That's because the photo was taken outside the Osborne Building of the Leicester Royal Infirmary today just before I went in for my introductory information session about chemotherapy.
I'm writing to you because "Page 3 vs Breast Cancer - Check 'em Tuesday" upsets me.
I know that many women, especially younger women, don't check their breasts regularly, or don't know all of the symptoms of breast cancer to look out for. (As an example, my own symptom wasn't a lump, it was a slight dent at the side of my nipple.) And younger women in particular often don't check because they really don't think for a second they could be diagnosed with breast cancer - or at least not until they are much older. So obviously I'm all for raising awareness about breast cancer and encouraging women to be breast aware! I'm only 33 and it was as a result of my own vigilance that my cancer has, hopefully, been diagnosed early enough to get rid of. Awareness raising is a good thing.
The reason I am upset is because I don't believe for a second that Check 'em Tuesday is in any way a genuine attempt to encourage more women to be breast aware because of a concern for their health. It is obvious to me that it is a response to the powerful No More Page 3 campaign (whose petition asking David Dinsmore to take the bare boobs out of The Sun has just exceeded 200,000 signatures). Breast cancer is being used by you as a gimmick to try and justify the existence of Page 3. Not only do I not think it is genuine, I also don't think it is an appropriate approach to raising awareness.
Like any other 33 year old woman in the UK, I have a lifelong personal history with Page 3 (despite the fact that I have never bought a copy of The Sun in my life). When I was in primary school, I was Art Monitor. This involved putting newspaper on all the desks before messy art classes. Me and my friend used to take great pleasure in hunting out all the Page 3s and putting them on our other friends' desks. At primary school age it was just funny. Naked was funny. Big boobs were definitely very funny. I hadn't really clocked the fact that it was only women that ever appeared on Page 3.
By the time I was a teenager I was well aware of the fact that Page 3 was only ever photos of topless women because I was regularly embarrassed and made to feel uncomfortable as a result of them. When you're a teenage girl on the bus on the way to or from school, and the man sat next to you is ogling Page 3, what is the best response? I never knew. I'd look away, trying to pretend I hadn't noticed, feeling at best embarrassed, and at worst, unsafe.
In my twenties I became aware of the fact that the images like those on Page 3 of the Sun, along with all of the other sexualised images of women in the media, were making me feel inadequate and ugly on a daily basis. I hated my body. Small boobs, thunder thighs, wobbly arse, pasty pale skin etc etc. I wished I was beautiful and had a better body. I would be so much happier if I did, I knew it.
I'm now in my thirties. I've still got the small boobs (although they'll be going very soon because of the cancer), I've still got the thunder thighs, the wobbly arse, the pasty pale skin and so on. But I feel something now which is much more powerful than the self hatred that can result just from looking in the mirror. I'm angry. I'm angry at the sexist portrayal of women everywhere in the media, and as far as I'm concerned, Page 3 is the worst example of it. Page 3 presents women as objects. The women featured on Page 3 are there for no other reason than to have their bodies leered at by men. The message Page 3 sends out is that beauty is young, slim, usually white, and with big boobs. That message is loud and clear, and personally, even if I had not been diagnosed with breast cancer and actually read The Sun, would drown out any messages about breast awareness on Check 'em Tuesday.
If The Sun genuinely cared about women, and raising awareness of breast cancer, you would do so without Page 3. Instead of linking breast cancer awareness with something that tells women that their bodies are nothing more than objects that exist for the pleasure of men (and that if yours isn't like the one on Page 3 then it's not really good enough) how about focusing on real women who have survived breast cancer? Because there are many inspirational, strong, funny women out there with incredible stories to tell, that could really help other women, promote breast awareness, and not only save lives, but give hope to those who have been diagnosed and who are struggling to come to terms with it or to cope. This includes young women, in their twenties, thirties and forties, who can speak honestly and openly about breast cancer and everything that happens from the first moment that you think something might not be right, through to diagnosis and treatment, and life "after" cancer... Including what it is like to be scarred or lose one or both breasts as a result of cancer. Women who have been through it could give the message that you can still be beautiful after a lumpectomy or a mastectomy. That someone will still love you. That you'll still be good enough.
I've written this as an open letter because I want to encourage anyone else who reads it, if you haven't already, to sign the No More Page 3 petition and then encourage your friends and family to do the same. I'm not a prude. I have no problem with boobs. But featuring them in a family newspaper (and it is a family newspaper, with regular promotions aimed at children) is not right, and now using breast cancer as a gimmick to try and justify the objectification of women on Page 3 is completely out of order.
Sarah
PS Update 16/09/2014
(No, sadly this isn't an update to say I have had a response!) My incredible friend Rebecca who was diagnosed with breast cancer on the same day as me has also written to The Sun about this. Please read and share Rebecca's letter too.
I'm not sure if it's because yesterday I got the appointment letter for the chemo info session that I need to go to tomorrow, or because I had a day off the booze, but I could not sleep last night. I'm well tired. Scuse any typos.
Anyway, yeahhhhhh some anxiety is definitely kicking in. I've been dropping references to a selection of deliciously attractive potential side effects of chemotherapy in to my blog posts (and pretty much every conversation I have with anyone these days). Although for the record, it's really been a "prepare for the worst, hope for the best" kind of attitude on my part. One of the nurses told me it's all in the mind, and that with my positive attitude and strength (!) I will be fine. I'll lose my hair (unless I get lucky with the head freezer) and I might throw up, but they can give me hardcore anti-sickness medication, and hardcore anti-pretty-much-every-other-possible-side-effect medication too. All I need are some excellent Microsoft Excel and PRINCE2 project management skills to keep on top of which drugs I should be taking and when. And I have those skills!
I've been believing in the power of my mind to successfully instruct my body to succumb to as few side effects as possible, and also reminding myself of the superwomen I've met who have been through this already and mostly been ok throughout. Kick ass. But.... Right now I can't help it. Knowing chemo is imminent is making me anxious and I can't find my fucking Rescue Remedy.
So this is a cry for help! I've made it this far in pretty much one piece by knowing what works for me. When I'm anxious I need distractions, and they need to be funny. Some of you have been naturally brilliant in this respect. You know who you are! (Yes! You, you, you, and especially You! By the way, thanks! Oh wait... No, sorry I didn't mean you.... I meant... Oh never mind!)
I hate anxiety! I want to blast it as much as I want to blast the cancer. Friends, send me stuff that will make me laugh please! Don't all rush at once right now and then tick this off your to do list and forget about it though, a sustained effort would be most helpful. (Maybe I need to put those outstanding project management skills to good use now and do a project plan along the lines of: those whose surnames begin with the letters A-D send me something funny today, E-H tomorrow, I-L on Tuesday and so on...)
And when I say funny, I mean accidentally-snort-and-choke-on-my-tea funny. Like this (and I insist you read it right now!), which is my favourite ever.... book review. (But PLEASE! You probably weren't, but just in case you were about to be extremely kind, don't buy me the book. Because, I'm not joking, I've just ordered it for myself.)
Rude stuff, silly stuff, weird stuff - all eagerly welcomed. Please, distract me with some humour. It really helps. It really does.
Cheers 'en.
x
