I haven’t blogged for a while. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it because I have, a lot, I just haven’t managed to squeeze out the time to get the words down. With that in mind I apologise in advance for this might well prove to be a mish mash of ideas, thoughts and wafflings. No change there, then…
The invasive treatment for my breast cancer is now over. As it stands I’m not going to have any more surgery, chemotherapy or radiotherapy. I am done and dusted with hospitals until October, at which point they will (I think) hand me back to the breast unit for continued observation.
Radiotherapy was much more grueling than I’d expected. My battered boob became a deep shade of puce – almost purple – and the skin was peeled and blistered like when you get really bad sunburn. It was horrible. And painful. And exhausting. But mostly (note – mostly) I kept a smile on my face and played it down, like you do. Herewith an introduction for my first anecdote.
As you know I’ve been embracing reflexology at the hands of a wonderful, talented miracle worker to whom I owe much of my (usually) positive attitude. A couple of visits ago she mentioned that a friend of hers who’d had cancer in a different area had an appointment after mine and that she’d introduce us. This she duly did and we talked mainly about a magnet you put in your knickers (I’ll come to that later) and our varying treatments. When she asked me how the radiotherapy had been I said blithely ‘Oh, it was a walk in the park after the chemo.’ As soon as I said this I realised what I’d done; I’d dismissed the significance of radiotherapy to a woman who knew damn well that it wasn’t a walk in the park and had suffered enormously at its toxic hands. I felt terrible about this (as she quite rightly corrected me) and stuttered my retraction as politely as I could. I couldn’t believe I’d been so tactless and even messaged my reflexologist afterwards to proffer my apologies.
This really got me thinking though. As I delved into why I’d been so dismissive about it, it dawned on me that when I was talking to this lady I was using my ‘I’m alright, Jack’ cancer persona, the one where I pretend everything is totally fine because no one really wants to hear how crap it is. So rarely have I been honest with anyone about how awful ALL of the treatment has been that I became totally stuck in the role of positive thinking cancer stalwart. Therefore when I spoke to someone who could have been an ally and a support I completely dismissed her suffering because none of us want to talk about it, do we? Do we? Am I making sense?
I think there’s a weird hierarchy of treatments, let me explain.
When I was diagnosed I was told surgery would probably be enough and further treatment was unlikely. Although for me this was good news (in a world of bad) it was news that other people greeted with not exactly derision, but an air of it not being a bad enough cancer to warrant any further attention. In other words, what was I worrying about? They were going to get rid of it all, weren’t they? I’d be back to work and back to normal in 6 weeks. Never mind that I was having one of my breasts cut open, scooped out, stuffed with an implant and sewn back together minus the nipple in a three and a half hour operation. No, nothing to be concerned about there.
But then came the surgery and the results that told me the cancer had spread further than had first been anticipated and the recommendation that I have a course of chemo and then, suddenly, my cancer went up in the ratings. Everyone knows chemo sucks and everyone knows chemo is only given if your cancer is really bad. Even Dave and I were taken in by this attitude, one of us saying that if I hadn’t been prescribed chemo I would have seemed a bit of a fraud. Can you believe that? I can’t now, knowing what I know. But then? Then the world of cancer was an unfamiliar minefield I’ve still only just scratched the surface of.
I knew radiotherapy would be next and I knew it wouldn’t be as tough as the chemo because everyone knows it’s easier, don’t they? And fair enough, for me it wasn’t as vicious as the chemo, but for other people it’s utterly hellish. I saw people with blisters on their faces so bad they were leaking pus through their dressings. I saw older men, dignified yet slightly embarrassed because for thirty days in a row (not including weekends) they had to climb up on the table and get their bits and bobs out to be bombarded with rays that would make it almost impossible to walk. I saw women with internal organs which were crying out in unseen, untreatable, unbearable pain. I saw women and men who would become infertile from the treatment and I saw shadows of desperate sadness on the faces of their partners. Radiotherapy most definitely is not a walk in the park. No treatments for cancer are.
Why have I been so keen to keep my chin up and shrug my shoulders when questioned about my cancer and treatment? I honestly don’t know, but now I’m not in the thick of it anymore I might be able to start thinking more clearly. I’ll let you know if I come to any conclusions, and I promise I’ll try not to offend anyone else while I do it.
Which brings me back to the knicker magnet.
Luckily (see – I’m STILL looking on the bright side) my cancer is oestrogen responsive. This means that there’s a pill I can take which will help to keep any further attempts by cancer cells at bay. I take Tamoxifen. It looks harmless enough and of course there’s no way I wouldn’t take it, but it has its own baggage; it’s given me an early menopause. It’s fairly common knowledge that chemo can bring on menopause in women (hilariously referred to as the chemopause) and certainly the chemo had that effect on me. I’ve been hot flushing, not sleeping, moody, tearful, stroppy and generally like your average two year old (sorry, family) and it’s been horrible. I was beginning to wonder what on earth the point was in coming through cancer if the end product was me being such a mess of a person, until the knicker magnet…
I was recommended to buy what’s called a Lady Magnet, I kid you not. It’s a flat triangle with rounded corners, 3-4cm, purple, smooth and glittery and you clip it onto your pants. There’s a picture below, I’ve put it on my computer so you can get an idea of its size. It sounds absolutely bizarre, and if I hadn’t been desperate to do something to stop the hot flushes I’d have laughed right along with you! The thing is though, it works. At least it works for me. I’m not marketing the thing so I’m not doing links or any of that stuff but I truly cannot speak more highly of it. My flushes have gone from 3 or 4 an hour to 3 or 4 a day. I don’t know how it works or why it works, it just does.
Shame I can’t use a magnet to put the colour of my boob back to normal or make my hair grow miraculously quickly, but then we can’t have it all I guess. No more invasive treatment – of any sort – is good enough for me.
The invasive treatment for my breast cancer is now over. As it stands I’m not going to have any more surgery, chemotherapy or radiotherapy. I am done and dusted with hospitals until October, at which point they will (I think) hand me back to the breast unit for continued observation.
Radiotherapy was much more grueling than I’d expected. My battered boob became a deep shade of puce – almost purple – and the skin was peeled and blistered like when you get really bad sunburn. It was horrible. And painful. And exhausting. But mostly (note – mostly) I kept a smile on my face and played it down, like you do. Herewith an introduction for my first anecdote.
As you know I’ve been embracing reflexology at the hands of a wonderful, talented miracle worker to whom I owe much of my (usually) positive attitude. A couple of visits ago she mentioned that a friend of hers who’d had cancer in a different area had an appointment after mine and that she’d introduce us. This she duly did and we talked mainly about a magnet you put in your knickers (I’ll come to that later) and our varying treatments. When she asked me how the radiotherapy had been I said blithely ‘Oh, it was a walk in the park after the chemo.’ As soon as I said this I realised what I’d done; I’d dismissed the significance of radiotherapy to a woman who knew damn well that it wasn’t a walk in the park and had suffered enormously at its toxic hands. I felt terrible about this (as she quite rightly corrected me) and stuttered my retraction as politely as I could. I couldn’t believe I’d been so tactless and even messaged my reflexologist afterwards to proffer my apologies.
This really got me thinking though. As I delved into why I’d been so dismissive about it, it dawned on me that when I was talking to this lady I was using my ‘I’m alright, Jack’ cancer persona, the one where I pretend everything is totally fine because no one really wants to hear how crap it is. So rarely have I been honest with anyone about how awful ALL of the treatment has been that I became totally stuck in the role of positive thinking cancer stalwart. Therefore when I spoke to someone who could have been an ally and a support I completely dismissed her suffering because none of us want to talk about it, do we? Do we? Am I making sense?
I think there’s a weird hierarchy of treatments, let me explain.
When I was diagnosed I was told surgery would probably be enough and further treatment was unlikely. Although for me this was good news (in a world of bad) it was news that other people greeted with not exactly derision, but an air of it not being a bad enough cancer to warrant any further attention. In other words, what was I worrying about? They were going to get rid of it all, weren’t they? I’d be back to work and back to normal in 6 weeks. Never mind that I was having one of my breasts cut open, scooped out, stuffed with an implant and sewn back together minus the nipple in a three and a half hour operation. No, nothing to be concerned about there.
But then came the surgery and the results that told me the cancer had spread further than had first been anticipated and the recommendation that I have a course of chemo and then, suddenly, my cancer went up in the ratings. Everyone knows chemo sucks and everyone knows chemo is only given if your cancer is really bad. Even Dave and I were taken in by this attitude, one of us saying that if I hadn’t been prescribed chemo I would have seemed a bit of a fraud. Can you believe that? I can’t now, knowing what I know. But then? Then the world of cancer was an unfamiliar minefield I’ve still only just scratched the surface of.
I knew radiotherapy would be next and I knew it wouldn’t be as tough as the chemo because everyone knows it’s easier, don’t they? And fair enough, for me it wasn’t as vicious as the chemo, but for other people it’s utterly hellish. I saw people with blisters on their faces so bad they were leaking pus through their dressings. I saw older men, dignified yet slightly embarrassed because for thirty days in a row (not including weekends) they had to climb up on the table and get their bits and bobs out to be bombarded with rays that would make it almost impossible to walk. I saw women with internal organs which were crying out in unseen, untreatable, unbearable pain. I saw women and men who would become infertile from the treatment and I saw shadows of desperate sadness on the faces of their partners. Radiotherapy most definitely is not a walk in the park. No treatments for cancer are.
Why have I been so keen to keep my chin up and shrug my shoulders when questioned about my cancer and treatment? I honestly don’t know, but now I’m not in the thick of it anymore I might be able to start thinking more clearly. I’ll let you know if I come to any conclusions, and I promise I’ll try not to offend anyone else while I do it.
Which brings me back to the knicker magnet.
Luckily (see – I’m STILL looking on the bright side) my cancer is oestrogen responsive. This means that there’s a pill I can take which will help to keep any further attempts by cancer cells at bay. I take Tamoxifen. It looks harmless enough and of course there’s no way I wouldn’t take it, but it has its own baggage; it’s given me an early menopause. It’s fairly common knowledge that chemo can bring on menopause in women (hilariously referred to as the chemopause) and certainly the chemo had that effect on me. I’ve been hot flushing, not sleeping, moody, tearful, stroppy and generally like your average two year old (sorry, family) and it’s been horrible. I was beginning to wonder what on earth the point was in coming through cancer if the end product was me being such a mess of a person, until the knicker magnet…
I was recommended to buy what’s called a Lady Magnet, I kid you not. It’s a flat triangle with rounded corners, 3-4cm, purple, smooth and glittery and you clip it onto your pants. There’s a picture below, I’ve put it on my computer so you can get an idea of its size. It sounds absolutely bizarre, and if I hadn’t been desperate to do something to stop the hot flushes I’d have laughed right along with you! The thing is though, it works. At least it works for me. I’m not marketing the thing so I’m not doing links or any of that stuff but I truly cannot speak more highly of it. My flushes have gone from 3 or 4 an hour to 3 or 4 a day. I don’t know how it works or why it works, it just does.
Shame I can’t use a magnet to put the colour of my boob back to normal or make my hair grow miraculously quickly, but then we can’t have it all I guess. No more invasive treatment – of any sort – is good enough for me.