Imagine you’re going about your day, minding your own business, when someone sneaks up behind you…
You feel something press up against the back of your head, as someone whispers in your ear.
“Sssshhhhh…. don’t turn around. Just listen. I am holding a gun against the back of your head. I’m going to keep it there. I’m going to follow you around like this every day, for the rest of your life.”
“I’m going to press a bit harder, every so often, just to remind you I’m here, but you need to try your best to ignore me, to move on with your life. Act like I’m not here, but don’t you ever forget… one day I may just pull the trigger… or maybe I won’t. Isn’t this going to be a fun game?”
This is what it is like to be diagnosed with cancer. Any STAGE of cancer. Any KIND of cancer. Remission does not change the constant fear. It never truly goes away. It’s always in the back of your mind.
❤ ❤ My friend, Heather posted this. I have never been able to put into words what the anxiety is like. This is it. This is what it is like. ❤️❤️
So it’s been almost two years since I finished my treatment. I think. I try not to keep track. I don’t want a countdown to the five years that we want to achieve.
I just don’t know when “cancer” really leaves you. When does it stop being a worry.
I have had a headache for far over a month now. Not just a headache but one of those where I battle to think. Battle to wake up. Battle to sleep. Just bad.
I don’t want my first thought to be cancer. I don’t. So I asked Kyla to give me a head massage earlier this week. She pushed on a specific area and it was extremely painful. I asked her if it was a spasm and she said, it is round unlike the other side that is in spasm.
Great. So is it a normal headache? I detest being someone who thinks everything is cancer. I promised myself not to be like that.
I have an appointment with my oncologist later this month. It’s just so frustrating that I am still not over the “is this cancer” worry.
Two people that I personally know, in two weeks. You have stolen two people, in two weeks.
Fuck you, okay?
Now I have to hear that my cancer markers keep increasing. Quite substantially the last 3 months. Well, fuck you again. You will not find a place to hold onto in my body. Not again.
Fuck you, cancer.
Life has been especially rough and painful lately. Stories for another blog.
However it did influence me finally going for my scans and blood test.
I saw my oncologist today and I’m officially in remission!!
FUCK YOU cancer. You do not scare me. Not during the treatment and not now. You have no hold on me.
Yes. I will always have that nagging worry in the back of my mind but that is where it will stay.
Had to have cake and coffee with my parents and Michael to celebrate.
Melany 1 – Cancer 0
Oh 2018, if you were a human I would tell you to fuck off. Not good to see you go. Not bye. Just fuck off.
It has been, without a doubt, the toughest year of my life.
My poor body. What a fight it had to fight to make it to the end of this year. Rounds and rounds of chemo, chemo allergy, hospitalization, blood thinner injections, blood tests, sonars, xrays, MRI, radiations, operations, burns… The list is longer than I wish to remember. It was no walk in the park and in all honesty it is still not. My breast still hurts, my legs are in constant pain (sometimes agony) and my feet are permanently sore. All thanks to the side effects of my last chemo.
Emotionally I’m not in a good place. I’ve had some serious parenting downs and after finishing my cancer treatment I’ve been emotional. I don’t know why, I just am.
I’ve come to realize that people I thought would be there for me, would not. They did not support me in the way I deserved and they should have.
There were obviously some good times and good people who came into my life. For that I am thankful. I’m still alive and in remission (as is my mom) and for that I’m hugely thankful. I have a special, very honest and open relationship with my children. Different from most parents I think and for that I’m thankful.
2018… Off you will fuck.
Today, six months ago I had my last chemo treatment. SIX months. It feels like ages and yesterday all at the same time.
I look better. I have hair. I look healthy (fat but healthy) I look normal actually. People think I chose this crap hairstyle. Yes, crap because it’s still not near proper.
I’ve read an article lately. Just some extracts:
The pain, the scars are a constant reminder that I have changed so much. How could I not. But at the end of the day, I’m still me.
This is the part I’m struggling with now. On the outside I look healthy. You don’t look at me at the grocery store and make eye contact and think “Oh that poor girl, I bet she has cancer” On the inside though, I’m constantly reminded that I had cancer. In the shower, it’s all the scares. The weight gain. I don’t have … my body hurts all the time. I’m tired. I never forget I had cancer.
I fear that other people have forgotten, will forget and expect me to be back to normal. I fear that when I can’t focus at work or more recently forget everything because of chemo brain. It is not just a funny excuse. It’s real. That people are going to get mad at me. When I cancel plans because I am still so tired. All the time.
This is cancer. This is real. This is life after you ring the bell.
It’s not completely like that for me. I definitely don’t want pity, it’s not that I want others to feel sorry for me. I found some truth in it though. I have so many clients who actually thought I chose this hairstyle and they had no problem to comment on how it doesn’t look proper. Even though I just smiled, it hurt. I didn’t choose this.
I’m in pain. Every day. My legs are in agony thanks to the last chemo I had. I can’t stand long periods of time. I can’t walk far. I hide it. I don’t want sympathy. I hope that will get better.
I can’t breath. It’s like my one lung just can’t get enough air. I know that will get better.
I forget things…the names of things all the time. I feel so stupid. I know that will get better.
I’m tired. I’m always tired. I wake up tired. Go to bed tired. I know that will get better.
I do less than I used to. I know it will get better.
I’m one of the lucky ones. I’m still here. I get to be with my children. I get to spend time with them. I get to tell them I love them.
For that I’m hugely thankful. That’s what I focus on. Just don’t expect me to be 100%.
I’m not there yet.
Let’s just start with the fact that my hair seems to like being this short! So much for hair growing out faster after chemo. 🙄
I started radiation on the 2nd of July. Blond and short hair as I started my first session. I remember seeing one of the chemo nurses and we spoke about hair. She wanted to see if my hair has grown much and she commented on how white my hair was. I personally loved the idea of blond hair.
Jump to the following morning, the day after chemo. All of a sudden I have short, DARK hair!! Literally the next day.
Coincidence, maybe but wow the very next day after my first radiation?
Oh well, so there goes the blond hair. Thought I might be blond again, like when I was younger.
There are so many side-effects when it comes to cancer treatment, that I don’t think it’s possible to name them all. Some less important, that doesn’t affect your day-to-day life too much and others that do.
When they realized I was allergic to the chemo … the second one and then the third they gave me because I was allergic to the second one. Go figure.
Anyway, they mentioned that my nails might fall off. I shrugged it off. Who’s nails just fall off!?
Apparently mine. Although I’m doing all I can to keep them, while giving my nails the chance to grow out healthy.
Unfortunately I had already put gel on my one hand before I thought of taking a photo. My right hand is the worst. Where my nails are white, they are no longer attached to my finger. Imagine putting your hand in your pocket, picking up anything, taking something out of a bag. All with nails that lift up. I’m trying though. Trying to protect them.
I honestly hope that they won’t completely fall off. One can only live in hope.
I searched the internet for days. I could not find anything about the very first radiation appointment. I didn’t want information on the first radiation session but on the first appointment.
What happens when they say they measure you? What do you wear. Do you have to get undressed
(you know, for matching underwear’s sake)
So, for the sake of keeping record and someone else searching for the same answer, here goes.
It is not the same as getting radiation on your face. This I know from when Tommie had skin cancer and got radiation for that. There they make a mask that you will wear with every session. The mask gets fixed to the table so that you can’t move. Since I am claustrophobic, I am hugely thankful I don’t have to do that.
I met up with one of the nurses, who went through the treatment with me. How many sessions and what it will cost. Let’s just say that I am thankful that we have medical aid. I signed many a form and got some advice on ointment I could use. I was also told that I could not get any water on the radiation site, which basically means I won’t have a proper bath for that seven weeks and four weeks after radiation stops. Here’s to hoping that we have a long winter.
After that I went to radiology for a scan. Well, they gave me a little piece of cloth that is supposed to go around my chest. I will wear this at every session. I found it hilarious. There I was lying with said boob cloth and they pull it up to take measurements and put it back. Over and over again. I mean really….were they trying to hide my breast from me because clearly they needed to see. (Yes, I know most people feel more comfortable having it covered) Also, once radiation actually starts I will feel more comfortable being covered too).
My arms were up in some contraction and off I went into the machine. Lights were used to make sure I was correctly positioned. Once they were happy, I got my very first tattoo ever. Then three more. Just four tiny dots to make sure I lie in the same position every time.
Four tiny dots that will a permanent reminder of what I have been through…
This day will forever be etched in my mind.
I sat there, on my favourite chair, with a smile on my face the entire time. The four hours flew by, no time for Netflix or music. We celebrated with the most divine muffin and coffee that my mom and dad bought.
I know it’s not over just yet but this part of my journey is.
I remember that first day. I did not know what to expect. I was trying to be so brave. I was so nervous. Seeing that red chemo slowly move through the IV and into my chest was scary. I remember my mom taking a video of it.
Did I leave scared? No! The nurses are amazing. Actually, no words can describe them. Fellow patients become friends. Chemo day feels like a visit with friends. No-one feels sick on chemo day. It’s just a day to catch up on news with fellow patients. Patients who are going through such a tough time in their lives, yet no-one complains. If you have to go back on a day that you are not doing well, they gather around you and give you support and advice.
It’s been an up and down road. Two hospitalizations (talked myself out of a third hahaha), extra fluid and nausea drips at oncology. A change in chemo because I’m allergic to the second type I got. They prefer not to give the chemo I ended up on but since they had no choice, I had to put up with the side effects of this drug. It was horrific and I can already feel it starting after yesterday’s chemo. It was the first time that I felt I would rather just die. I truly do not wish that on anyone. This is the final stretch. My body just has to make it through the next two/three weeks.
“Toughness is in the soul and spirit, not muscles.”
I could not have made this without my parents. They’ve been amazing. Right from late night talks, medication when I’m not well, shopping, driving the children up and down, just everything.
My children. Every single on of them. I’ve had to do nothing at home. They took over completely. They made sure we had what we needed at home, they cooked, took care of me. Took care of the dogs. Themselves. I am blessed.
Tommie, for coming home on chemo days to help with the children. Liesl, who cooked every single chemo day. You were a life-saver in more ways than you know. Natalie, who spoiled us with food and sweets.
My dear soulmate, Wenchy who drove through to support me after my op and to spend a chemo day with me.
My friends Wenchy, Sarah, Shireen and Heather who went on a girl’s weekend away to take my mind of things. All of them and Jax who continued to walk this road with me every day.
My brothers and sisters (because they aren’t in-laws) thank you for all you did and your love and support every day. Thank you Douglas for being here to drive the kids around when I could not.
My clients, who understood and did not put any pressure on me. I know I’m going to forget people and that’s why I should not start with names, so to every single person who dropped by, sent a message, prayed for me and took extra care of my children when I wasn’t at their sport event THANK YOU. Every tiny deed made a huge difference to me and did not go unnoticed.
To my oncology nurses. Thank you for the laughs we shared. You put a smile on my face the moment I walked into oncology from that very first day. Even when battling to get the needle into the port, we could share a joke (or swear at the doctor) Thank you for being my “call a friend”. Thank you for caring about ME and not just the cancer patient. I’m actually going to miss you! It takes a very special person to do what you do
My very last chemo day.
On that first day you walk past this bell and know that’s what you want to do. You WANT to ring that bell. When fellow
patients friends hear it’s your last day, they say with a smile in their eyes “You get to ring the bell today!”. It’s what you look forward to.
16 May 2018 was MY day to do just that.
So much has happened since my last blog post(s). I’ve had so much to say but yet no words to do so.
I’ve been admitted to hospital twice.
Once with chest pains. My blood levels for blood clots were very high and I was treated for that as well as a lung infection. I had a CT scan done (for blood clots) and thankfully no blood clots were detected. However, the did see a 8 cm growth in my throat. I had a biopsy done and I was so scared. The biopsy I had for my breast cancer was definitely up there with one of the most painful things ever and I did not look forward to having one done in my throat! However it wasn’t too bad and they didn’t find any cancer cells! The doctor is still worried though and it will be removed between finishing my chemo and starting radiation.
I was then admitted two weeks later because it seems I’m allergic to the chemo. I got four sessions of AC chemo, which was fine and then I would have had 12 sessions Taxol. Halfway through the Taxol treatment, I got the worst rash. It actually started after about three sessions but got progressively worse. After the 6th treatment, my hands were so swollen and covered with painful red blisters and marks. I was to be admitted for a week but thanks to the needle that pulled out of the port and me having to go to a different hospital to have it fixed, my oncologist decided I could get my medication at oncology throughout the day. That way I could sleep at home, which is WAY better. My mom was also in hospital that same week and I spent my days between her and oncology. Thankfully at the same hospital. Even though I walked around with a needle inserted to my port for the rest of that week, I had no problems with it. HUGELY thankful because I would have hated getting IV treatments three times a day. Getting poked to access the port is no fun either. That would definitely count as my worst week yet. I was tired, couldn’t sleep. It was just bad all around.
Tomorrow I start on a different chemo. One we hope I won’t be allergic to. Instead of 6 more sessions (which would be 6 weeks), I will still have a six-week treatment cycle but only two chemo sessions. They prefer not to give this to patients, as it is hectic on the body. I’m not looking forward to it but I do hope that my body will cope with it as it has with the previous two. Okay, except for the allergy thing. I’ve been doing okay really.
I feel like I have going through life on auto-pilot. Not really thinking about what I’m going through and how it is affecting my life and those around me. I fear the day that it will all hit me. When I truly realize that I actually have cancer and I’m fighting a horrible disease. I’ve not been angry, upset, depressed. Just taking it day by day. It could be because I have such great support. I could never thank my parents enough. Even though my mom is going through this as well, she has been tremendous support. My father…I could not put into words what he has done and how much he has taken on since our cancer diagnoses. He is an angel in disguise. I could NEVER thank my children enough. They have been my rock.
Here’s to hoping that tomorrow will go well. Second last one then!
“Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the judgement that something else is more important than fear.” – Ambrose Redmoon
This has been bothering me for a while. Telling a cancer patient to be positive. Be positive that you will get violently sick? Be positive that you will be constantly nauseous? Be positive that you will have a headache that no pill helps for? Be positive that you lose feeling in your fingers, which makes working difficult? Be positive that you will be so tired that waking up and staying awake feels impossible? Be positive that you have had surgery that leaves you feeling less than a woman? Be positive that you will lose your hair? That same hair that YOU spend so much time on washing and styling? The hair that makes you want to hide at home when you have a bad hair day?
All that must make a cancer patient feel positive?
Do you sit back and think how much pressure you put on a cancer patient when you say that? It makes it difficult for a cancer patient to admit that she is having a tough day. That she is not feeling so good. It makes that patient feel she has to smile so that no-one tells her to be positive. Even healthy people feel down some days right?
I can tell you that I appreciate it when someone says I am so positive. I am. I mostly feel this is a page in my book and not even worthy of a chapter. I have days where I feel it is a separate book though. I story on it’s own. Where I’m strong, fearful, thankful, angry … all at the same time.
This “be positive” thing didn’t bother me so much when it was just me. Now it’s my mom though. My mom having to go through what I’m going through. My mom having to get chemo to fight a horrible disease. Not flu. Not bronchitis or a broken leg. Cancer. Cancer where you feel so darn well but then end up making yourself sick by going for chemo. No, I don’t expect her to feel positive.
Yes, I get where everyone is coming from. It is always from a good and caring place. Should I see my mom lying in bed for days on end because emotionally she can’t cope, I will get a professional person to help her. I would not tell her to feel positive. I would tell her to be strong.
Yes, being positive makes it easier to cope. It does! If I had to sit in a corner and cry it would kill my kids. It would hurt my parents and Tommie. It would not be good for our family. It would make working difficult and generally life would suck. I know this is why people tell you to be positive. I get that. Please don’t think that I’m not thankful. Again, I know it comes from such a good and caring place.
Just sit back and think how it affects a cancer patient though. Someone who normally does feel positive and thankful for what they have and how “healthy” they actually are. It makes it so difficult to admit that some days are just really crap. That emotionally it feels too much.
I am thankful. Hugely thankful. It could have been so much worse.
Today though, today feels crap. I didn’t want my mom to go through this. I’m proud of her for choosing to give herself every possible chance there is to fight this. She is one strong woman. It’s okay when she’s not as well.
I’m not a hero. Just a normal person, fighting for my life.
I have said from the start that I want to write about my experience as something to read back on but also to just maybe help someone who has to go through this unknown.
I’ve been strong. I am still strong. I’m not falling into the depths of despair. No need to send help. I am feeling down though. It’s only the start but I just feel robbed.
I feel robbed of time. I can’t remember when last I’ve been able to just watch the kids swim. Zander used to insist. Now he doesn’t even ask. I don’t do things for the children anymore. They do things for me. I have so much work to do. I need time to work and time to rest at the same time. I don’t know how I am going to cope with added school activities. So thankful we live close to school.
My body is giving me a little f#ck you today. I don’t blame it. I mean it’s putting up a good fight and all.
Tomorrow will be better.
I could say it was a crap year because let’s face it, it wasn’t perfect.
However it wasn’t all bad and that’s what I prefer to focus on. Bad things tend to bring people together. I connected with family that I haven’t really spoken to in years. I got to see my soul mate for the first time in years. My relationship with Tommie is better than it has been for a long time. I have received such special care and love from family and friends. My children have always been helpful but now they have stepped up in an awesome way.
Cancer has taken a lot but has also given appreciation, love and thankfulness. I am still here. I still get to say, I love you.
This year has not just been about cancer though.
Quintus and his 1st hockey team did exceptionally well, making it through to the north west finals. Jason and Zander has impressed me at every gala. The hard work they put in is something I appreciate. Kyla enjoyed her hockey season and seems to enjoy swimming now as well. School has gone well. Good friendships were made. My children are happy and proper and for that I am thankful.
I have amazing parents that have walked every step of my cancer journey with me, even with my mom having been diagnosed with cancer as well. Come to think of this, I am thankful that my cancer helped with early diagnosis of my mom’s cancer.
I am hugely thankful that my Bella is still with us.
Many things to be thankful for. It has not been a bad year. We are still blessed and together.
Happy new year to all my friends and family.
I knew what to expect. Which made the thought of the second chemo much easier. It’s just that it takes so long!
We drive into the parking lot, when Tommie said “There is Dion.” Now, Tommie knows everyone in town, or so it feels. Dion, could be any one of the many people he knows. As I was focused on getting everything in the bag for chemo, I didn’t really listen. Then he said “There’s Christel!”, that’s when I listened.
I got out of the car and there was Stel and Dion. How? We live 200km away… Here just to keep me company during chemo? I was sooo happy!
We just sat down and caught up with news from their new Northern Cape friends, when Liesl came in with coffee! More of us! By the time I was settled with drips and all, my mom, Dad and Jason also joined us.
There was not a moment that I was alone. Not a moment to think how much longer it will take the poisen to flow through my veins.
We laughed, entertained nurses and hopefully put a smile on some patients faces.
Stel, Dion… Thank you. Your support and the visit all day. You kept me smiling. Thank you for that.
Stel, thank you for being my person.
I cut my hair a couple of days before I started chemo. I like to have enough knowledge when something unexpected happens in life, so I read a lot. Almost all cancer patients that gets (got) the same chemo as I do advised cutting your hair short.
No-one mentioned that your scalp will hurt when your hair starts falling out. Nobody. Not my oncologist, the nurses… I thought that maybe somehow I got sunburned at the gala without realizing. That’s how painful it is.
I turned to Google and I am not alone. In different degrees, it hurts when your hair falls out. I cannot even lie on my back because the back of my head is the worst. Not that the rest isn’t painful, it is just not as bad.
Also, it is starting to look horrible. I suppose by this weekend it will all have fallen out.
Some days are better than others though. Today might turn into a great one. Who knows.
I remember when I went for my mammogram and sonar thereafter. I was waiting in the doctor’s office. Alone. I didn’t have to be alone. My mom badly wanted to go with me but I wanted to face it alone. I remember sending my mom a message “The doctor thinks it is cancer”
I cannot image what she must have thought. She wanted to drive to the doctor’s office but I said that I was fine.
I remember going for the biopsy. Alone. I didn’t want anyone else to worry or go through that.
I went back to the doctor when he got the results. Alone.
Again, not because I had to but because I handle tough situations like that.
I was alone when the doctor said he had bad news. That it was cancer. I was calm. Listened to his thoughts and what we needed to do next.
I walked out of his office and saw my dad in the waiting room. We know that lady who works there and he phoned her to hear what the results were.
All of a sudden I wasn’t alone and I didn’t want to be. My daddy was there.
I’m a proud person and I don’t think that is such a good personality trait to have. I needed to see my dad there.
I have since learned that so many people want to be there. So many people want to love me through this.
Tommie takes time of from work to go to appointments with me. The children go way and beyond. My brothers, sisters (in-law). My friends. People who I hardly knew have fast become close friends. People want to help.
They want to love me through this.
I heard this song and cried. My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer about two weeks ago.
I want to love her through this. I understand now how important it is for me to allow others to love me through this.
Mom, I can’t fix this. I can’t make it better. I can’t take it away but I can love you through this.
Honestly? I was nervous. Nervous because I couldn’t feel the chemo port and thought they wouldn’t be able to use it. Nervous of the unknown.
I handle such situations with humor. I had that oncology in giggles most of the time. Except when someone was asleep and there was this one old Oom that snored. That calm snore. I wanted to sleep with him!
First they put a plaster over the port that numbs the area. Takes 40 minutes and gave us time to visit family in hospital. I went back and felt close to zero pain when she put needle in. Felt absolutely nothing when she flused it and nothing while getting the chemo. I had my hands available and comfortable without an IV. It was great.
My body handled it like a pro. So far, so good. Little bit nauseous but I can cope with it.
I was so worried that I made a mistake by getting the port. I thankfully did not. It worked so well.
I have a sweet but also very honest oncologist. She told me exactly how I will feel during chemo and what will happen. For example that my hair will fall out. 10-14 days and my hair will start falling out. I have had long hair for ages. Last time I had short hair was in matric. The boys only know me with long hair. I always joke that “I may be fat but at least I have great hair”. Well, soon, no more. So I made the decision to cut it short and donate my hair to cancer..ironic I know. So today was the day. A day I thought would be emotional though, turned out special. Our hairdresser (aka friend aka angel) has supported and helped me non-stop throughout this while thing. Finally the day came that I was going to cut my hair. We got there and it turned into such a beautiful, emotional, special morning. My mom and I were treated with gifts, flowers, cupcakes, shampagne. The whole works. A toast to us, our path ahead. I wish I had thought of taking a photo. To all our friends there, this meant so much to us. You have no idea. Thank you for your support and prayers. You are amazing.
Everything has happened in slow motion. Too slow. More than a month after surgery, I will start chemo.
Next week Wednesday.
29 November 2017.
I feel like saying finally it will start but that feels wrong. I don’t want it to start. I also don’t want to wait any longer.
This weekend we have a family photoshoot. Will be nice to have those photos to look at as I go bald and feel sick. That sounds really negative but I’m just realistic. It is a fact.
I am thankful though that I could finish off the individual tax season without being on Chemo!
See..always a positive.
I was very unsure if this was the route I wanted to go. My cousin who has just finished her chemo advised me against it. I Googled, read up, spoke to family and friends and eventually decided to get chemo port.
Firstly when I went for one of my tests the doctor mentioned that she would have to look for a vein. Mine tends to hide. Then during a visit with my oncologist I saw a lady get chemo through her port and how quick and easy it was. So decision was made.
I feel I am doing what I can to make this road a little easier. Cancer a tough, horrible thing to go through. If a port can make it a bit easier, I am all for it.
My Aunt phoned me (for which I am very thankful) and mentioned that getting a thankful journal might be helpful. One where I just write five or ten things that were positive that day. Little things, like someone opening the door or a smile from a random person.
I have yet to buy a journal but I am thankful for some little things.
- The waiter at Rustenburg Spur last night that saw that I wasn’t feeling well and when Tommie asked for ice-cold water with lemons, she brought it immediately. Just as he ordered. When the boys came back with medicine, she saw that and brought me room temperature water for the pills.
- I’m thankful for my friend Liesl, who just continuously brings a smile to my face. From the day she brought the most delicious milktart, to the recent cushion that will help that my safety belt doesn’t irritate my chemo port.
- I could never mention all the little things my mom and dad does but please know that I see and appreciate every little and big thing.
- My children. Your patience with me and the will to help me as soon as I need something. I am blessed with amazing children.
- My brothers who cycled the 94.7 with pink hair. Now that’s showing support if I ever saw it.
- My mom, who put pink stripes in her hair. If you know my mom you would know that it is totally out of her comfort zone. Thanks Mom.
- To my daughters (both from heart) Kyla and Jeane, who puts breast cancer images as their profile pictures and status on whatsapp. I’m proud of you.
- The receptionist at one of the doctor’s I went to last week that also has breast cancer and was extra sweet and friendly.
- Melanie from The final touch, who has gone way and beyond to help me feel pretty. Also for helping with my hair after the op. You don’t know how much I appreciate it.
- Our coach family that bought me a cancer ribbon necklace and chocolates after the op.
- Our junior coach who asks and cares about how I’m doing.
- The pink valve caps Tommie bought for my bus.
- My soul mate who drove 2 hours to give me a hug.
- One of my dear friends who put pink stripes in her hair, regardless of what the school headmaster will say. The fellow teachers love it though 🙂
I could never remember everyone or everything but there are so many little things. I never thought I would have the kind of support I do.
I am thankful for everyone who has done something to show support or send a message.
I try not to feel. That is my honest answer. I don’t know how I feel because I hide it even from myself. As soon as I try to think about it, I stop myself. It is what it is and getting all emotional about it won’t help.
I do feel bad that it has affected Zander so much this whole term. We did all his work but it always seemed rushed or not on schedule.
I feel bad that I was hardly in the office the last month. It’s stressful times with tax season ending next week and I was not there to do my share. My dad had to stand in and take a lot of the work on his shoulders.
My parents have done more than can ever be expected of them. I don’t know how I would have coped without them this past month.
At this stage I just feel it’s unfair towards others. I feel horrible when I see how upset other people are.
It still feels like people are making a bigger deal out of it than it has to be though. I know my whole opinion about that will change once I start chemo but that’s how I feel now. It felt like the operation was bigger than it had to be. It’s as though in my mind it was just a tiny growth with no chance of it turning into something that anyone has to worry about. As though it could have been dealt with , without anyone having to know.
Now it’s a big thing that will influence the next 8 months of my life, of my family’s lives.
I’m just writing down thoughts. It feels so unreal that I feel so healthy now and I have to go make myself sick. I’m willingly going to walk into oncology and get sick. It’s just … surreal.
All tests done and I saw my oncologist for the 2nd time. Some interesting facts. The mark on my back is thankfully just proof that I have a bad back. I’m very thankful for that and ag shame, my back is stuffed. Then I went for a sonar and x-ray this morning. Apparently I have gallstones. They do not bother me, so I will not bother them!
It’s funny how all of a sudden a bad back and gallstones are something to be thankful for!
I get the chemo port on Tuesday and should start chemo either Wednesday or Thursday.
It’s starting to feel real.