My Bad Boob

broken-hearted broken-winged flightless and breathless dizzied and panicked the heart beats faster in the bloodless chest the future waits waits in a cell sacrificed on a hard table to a blind blade to shapeless cottons to bacterial junctions to a vase of roses and carnations wilting in the summer heat teeth shudder in the worried mouth where words betray their silenced tongue resurrected follicles punctuate scarred arms conversely perversely the skin round the eyes grows smoother each day paper thin skin twitches in remembrance granite feet support leaden legs lactic acid lingers each muscular stretch a delicious pain a reminder of the one-toothed bite the nails in this walking coffin yellowed striated well-hammered like the man on the cross who died for my sins

When I first met with the oncologist, he said I was a good candidate for neo-adjuvant chemo. I asked why, thinking it was something to do with my age or fitness or tumour-type. "Because you haven't once said you want the tumour out right now." He was right. It hadn't even really occured to me that it would need to come out. I didn't see it as an invasion or as the enemy. It was just part of me. My cells. But the day had come to evict the small bundle of cells which threatened to overrun my body, multiplying exponentially until they had colonised my liver, my lungs, my brain and my bones. I was nervous - frightened, even - of surgery. Of the physical act of being induced into unconsciousness and sliced open. But by the time I had had my last dose of chemotherapy, I was more frightened of not being sliced open. I am sure I felt my tumour recede each cycle around days 7-15. Sometimes I could feel a reduction in its size overnight! But equally, towards the end

Just over a month ago I had my third and final dose of the taxing Tax. Docetaxel was pretty hardcore stuff; the first dose landed me in hospital with uncontrollable pain. Doses two and three were reduced to 80%. I was again unhappy with the dose reductions, in case they reduced the drug's efficacy, but kind of relieved in a way, as hopefully my risk for further complications brought on by this intense poison will also be reduced. Even with the dose reductions, I suffered some unpleasant side effects - feet that felt burnt, then peeled in sheets for weeks; twitching eyelids; yellowed and blackened fingernails; hypersensitivity to noise and light; impaired cognitive function and short-term memory problems and muscles that still ache as though I've done a heavy workout in the gym. But overall, four weeks on, I'm surprised and amazed by how good I feel. The human body's capacity for healing itself is absolutely incredible. Yesterday, I was admitted to hospital for my surg

I'm a pretty good sleeper, on the whole. I haven't always been - for years I laid awake in bed each night, sometimes for hours, waiting for the curtain of somnolence to fall across my eyelids. Whilst pregnant with my third daughter, I began listening to a relaxation CD at bedtime. Perhaps the strain of being pregnant for a third time in four years was the real cause, but I'm pretty sure those ten minutes I was guided by a soothing voice to "...three...two...one...relaaax..." helped me on my way to gentle rest. Sleep problems are very common amongst people with cancer - stress and anxiety coupled with side effects of medications conspire to steal zzzzzzzzz's when they are most needed. Fortunately, I have rarely experienced disrupted sleep, for not long after I was diagnosed, I was given another relaxation CD by a friend's mother (I encourage you to check out her website ), which has helped me to find sleep quickly and easily most nights. -------------

One of my most oft-uttered phrases as a mother is 'Be careful.' I say it when they're climbing a fence, or climbing a tree. When they are mucking about on the floor with each other. When they get out of the car. When they run ahead of me up the path. When they climb up on a chair to fill a glass from the tap, and when they carry that full glass across the kitchen to the table. Why do I say it? What does it mean? I've noticed that mothers say it a lot more than fathers. Why? Do mothers worry more? Are they more protective, more concerned? I have asked myself these questions many, many times over the years. In recent times, I have come to think it is a useless, pointless thing to say. I wonder if they even hear me. I certainly don't think the words inspire a change in their behaviour; they do not hear me and thusly adjust their bodies' forward motion in avoidance of danger. In fact, I have come to see the words as suggestive. As undermining. Harmful.

Chemo number two went without a hitch. I sneaked a peak at my blood test results and swelled with pride at the sturdiness of my little red and white soldiers. My liver is happy and my kidneys are coping well. The bad news is they decided to reduce my dose. My little holiday in Emergency Admissions suggested to my team that my chemo dose was too high, and my sore spleen finally convinced them to spare me the Neulasta injection this time (spleen rupture is one of the rare side effects). So they took a cautious approach and only prescribed me 80% of my previous dose of FEC 100. I'm not happy about this. Other than the neutropenia, I coped well with my first chemo dose. I was certain that most of my discomfort was down to the injection and the cold I was fighting rather than the chemo itself. This cycle - I'm currently on day 6 - has been embarrassingly easy. Some very minor digestive niggles (enough to notice but nothing that would interrupt normal service), a touch of mil

I've just come home from a three-day stay in hospital. The sore throat, cough, and general achy malaise caught up with me on Day 10. I had been wrestling with a headache, too, from around Day 8. It was there when I woke up in the morning - something akin to a hangover headache - so I took a paracetamol. Just one. I was keen to get off all meds, to give my poor body a break, so I only took one. It seemed to work. But the headache was back that evening. And it was there on Day 9, morning an evening. Meanwhile, the sore throat was getting more unbearable and on Day 9, Friday, I noticed some tiny white patches on the back of my tongue - almost certainly the beginnings of oral thrush, a common chemo side effect. For that, I phoned my GP and requested a prescription for Nystatin oral anti-fungal drops and some anti-bacterial mouthwash. No problem. Picked it up on my way home from the school run. Friday was another in a string of beautiful days, and when I arrived at school to pick

Day 1. FEC treatment 1. Slight 'taste' during administration of F. Slight tingling in nose during administration of C. Ate frozen orange juice chips and half an egg sandwich during infusions. Felt slightly woozy/heady after treatment. Good appetite afterwards. At least two litres of water and other fluids taken. Took all meds on time and felt ok overall. Slept well. Day 2. Took meds as prescribed. One or two fleeting moments of vague nausea, quickly averted by eating something. Appetite better than usual; ate very healthily throughout day. High fluid intake. Feeling good. Heart fluttering when laying on left side. Some palpitations/heart thumping through the day. Neulasta injection at 9pm. Slept well. Day 3. Feeling a bit 'hung over' on waking. Slower to get moving. Decide to cancel plans to go out for a walk as not feeling much energy, but after eating change mind again and head out for river walk. Short walk and play in river with kids. Pub meal afterwards with fr

Day 3 and I'm not feeling too bad. In fact, I've felt so well that I wondered aloud last night if I'd been given a placebo. Two or three moments of feeling the tiniest hint of a delicate tummy - quickly staved off by eating something - has been about the worst of my side effects so far. This morning I woke up, after only about 5 hours' sleep, and tried to work out if I felt bad. Hard to tell, as I'm not a morning person anyway and never leap out of bed full of the joys of the new day. Day 2 - modelling my Buff Headwear , kindly given to me by a friend. Last night, Rob gave me my Neulasta injection. Not before I googled it, of course. Spleen rupture? Acute respiratory distress? Eeek. We phoned the chemo ward to check if I really needed to take it. The very understanding nurse reassured us that it was prescribed selectively only to patients who were felt would benefit. Neulasta works alongside chemo to rebuild red and white blood cell counts, with a view to reduci

What a wild month. Days of feeling like this is the worst thing that could possibly happen to me. Days of thinking this is going to be the most amazing year of my life. Swimming in the depths of utter despair. The blackest of times. Understanding what it is like to not be able to get out of bed in the morning. The tears, how they have fallen. Hugs. Hugs like no other hugs I've received. I haven't been able to feel my own mother's arms around me, but the arms of many mothers have held me this month. I have sobbed into their necks, wetted their hair with my sadness. And though my dad is too far away to make it all better, I have felt the strength and protection in the arms of the fathers I know here. When you stare Death in his beady little eyes, you have two choices: curl up and give up, or Live. I have chosen the latter. Today marked the start of treatment. I have opted to have neo-adjuvant chemotherapy. Three cycles of FEC followed by three cycles of docetaxel. You can

How are you? I had my appt today, but the biopsy I had last week was inconclusive. They found neither cancer cells nor lymph cells in what was meant to be my lymph node. Instead they found breast tissue, which must be odd as the doctor said he'd never had that result. He said it wasn't exactly worrying, but it was unusual enough to warrant further investigation. So I have to go back again on Friday for a larger "core biopsy" sample to be taken from the lymph node area and will get those results next Wednesday. So we do not yet know if it has spread beyond the small tumour yet and my cancer still has not been staged. I do have a date for surgery, which is Feb 10th. He said I should be staying overnight, then able to go home the next day. This could be brought forward to feb 3 or 6 if there is a cancellation in my surgeon's schedule. About 3 weeks after surgery I should start radiotherapy, which will last 6-7 weeks, every day except weekends. The main

Fear and anger aren't really my style. I don't really 'do' hopeless. I woke up this morning, and before I had lifted my head from the pillow, before I had opened my eyes, I felt the tears sliding out of them. I must have made a noise, because Rob came and sat on the bed next to me. It was the moment where you remember it wasn't all a nightmare, a terrible dream to be shuddered at then hopefully forgotten in the thin warmth of filtered sunlight. I got up. Greeted my babies with a cheerful voice. Brushed my teeth. Padded downstairs. And then a second remembrance knocked the pitiful wind out of my sails. People with cancer are desperate to find some aspect of the illness they can control. Didn't take me long to learn that. I think that's why we have so much interest in diet. I've said it for years about feeding children: what children eat and how it comes out are about the only two things they can really control. Why do you think there are so ma

::reading ::worrying ::researching ::obsessing ::imagining ::crying ::dreading ::planning ::searching ::breathing ::praying

To-do list: get all those digital photos on my hard-drive printed off fill up all the empty entries in the baby books make a quilt for each of the girls out of the outgrown baby clothes make sure there are no emails, texts, facebook messages, or old love letters that might upset anyone find out if my life insurance includes critical illness cover find out if my union offers any death benefits cancel our hot air balloon flights go through the list of unmarried women I know to find a suitable step-mother for my children ask for a refund on my allotment rental print off all the messages I've received this week so one day, the girls know their mother was liked and loved and cared for write letters for each of my children to open on important days: their wedding day, the day they graduate from university, the day their first child is born tell everyone, even the people who will be embarrassed by it and the ones who may not love me, that I love them knit next winter's wo

What? No. It's just a little lump. No...never had any problems with them before. Um, I think it moves around when I press on it. Yes. It's smooth. Hmmm. Well, I wouldn't say it hurts. It's a tiny bit uncomfortable when I poke it. Nope. Never been on the pill. Never smoked. Yep. Breastfed all four. Over a year each. The baby till she was two and a half. Well, I think I'm fairly fit. Healthy. Haven't eaten red meat for 20 years. We do eat organically, locally and seasonally as much as we can. We even started growing a lot of our own fruit and veg last year. I'm pretty sure there's no family history. I haven't told my family yet. I didn't want to worry them needlessly. What? Cancer? No. No. No. Please. No.