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…