Breast cancer awareness month: Chemo Brain

Author: Jackie 

If you’ve ever had, or been around anyone who’s had, a touch of the Pregnancy Brain or its natural rite of passage: New Baby Mush, then you are on the way to understanding the effects of Chemo Brain. Just magnify the lack of cognitive skills, difficulty in concentrating beyond the fourth word in any sentence and lack of recall for anything which happened say, over ten seconds ago, and you start to get the picture.

Experts aren’t sure what causes Chemo Brain, or if it’s even the chemotherapy itself, or simply the having cancer and any treatments for it, but it is recognised as a debilitating side-effect seen in cancer patients. There’s a good article about it on the Cancer Research UK website here: http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-cancer/cancers-in-general/cancer-questions/chemo-brain

I’m not your archetypal control freak. I yearn for those moments where I can take a back seat because somebody else has taken the reins. But I do like a certain control in my personal and working life. The moment my to-do list gets a little messy, it ramps up the stress levels. Chemo Brain certainly added a layer of stress to my life and I think that if you asked my children what the worst aspect of my treatment was, they’d say it was having a Mum who was away with the fairies. I couldn’t retain even the most simple of information – from whether I’d brought in the milk to where my children were.

And one of the most stressful things was, wait for it, the washing. Oh yes, when you can’t remember your teenage daughters having a pair of black skinny jeans to die for, let alone whether they were dry (or even if you’d washed them) and the party for which they must be worn was a few sweet hours away, it’s depressing. I was used to being on top of such matters, and being on top of those meant that I could concentrate on arguably more important matters, such as work. In truth, every time my children flashed me that look of disappointment that I’d forgotten something, anything, again, it sort of broke my heart a little bit more. Maybe it was intertwined with being a mother and having cancer treatment because when you have children (or a partner, friends or family), it makes you feel like you are a bad mother (or wife, friend, daughter or sister) sometimes. 

But please don’t despair. It gets better.

Almost the moment the other side-effects of chemo disappeared a couple of weeks after my final dose, I felt the fog lift a little, too. It would be wrong of me to pretend that I’m back to the old – skinny jeans you say? What colour? The black ones are in the machine as we speak, green ones are drying on the airer (I’d say two hours forty seven minutes and they’ll be dry as a bone) and the grey ones, sorry, still in the washing bag, we could spray them with Febreze? – ‘all-over-it’ mum. Cancer seems to lodge a lump of goo in your brain as its final (we hope) hoorah when it leaves. It’s a store for The Cancer Fear to be dissipated around the body whenever you cough, get a spot or have stiff legs, and dust an annoying layer of fuzziness over all other thoughts at other times. I’m afraid hormone treatments, such as Tamoxifen don’t help either. Nor does a chemically-induced, premature menopause.

But none of that, categorically none, is a patch on Chemo Brain.

My advice? Be kind to yourself. It isn’t a failing; it’s a side-effect. It isn’t forever and life will feel oh so much better when it’s gone. There are strategies to help. Keep lists, lots of lists, and keep them by you at all times so that you don’t forget where you’ve put the list (!) Keep healthy too: the endorphins you release when you exercise are proven to improve cognitive skills and I certainly write better after a run. And water. I swear water cleans your brain. No scientific papers will back me up on this but I’ve experienced it myself regularly, so it must be true. Too much tea? The fog in my head is so heavy I can practically feel the weight. Glass of water? Instantly lighter. Try it, seriously, I think water is the ultimate medicine. And educate those around you. I think my children, even as teenagers, were too young to really understand what I meant when I said that I couldn’t remember. It was beyond their comprehension and life experience to imagine how this could be. But friends and family will understand and they’ll make allowances and even send you helpful text messages just to make sure you know where you’re supposed to be.

Hang on in there! Chemo Brain isn’t as soft and cuddly as it sounds but it also isn’t for ever. 
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Jackie blogs at:

Agenthood and Submissionville http://jackiebuxton.blogspot.com

And Jackie also has a book out soon which is available now to pre order, called Tea and Chemo: Fighting cancer, living life

https://urbanepublications.com/books/tea-and-chemo-fighting-cancer-living-life/ 

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tea-Chemo-Fighting-Cancer-Living/dp/1910692395

 
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Breast cancer awareness month: Lisa's story

Author: Lisa J

Well where do I begin? Never done this before but neither have I had cancer before.

On 17th October 2014 my nightmare began. I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. "Wow death sentence" was initial thought! I had a lumpectomy 21st November then in December back for results. Another operation for lymph node removal 2nd January 2015. I found the operations painful but that was nothing to what the next step of treatment was.

February 4th I started chemo. I laughed all the way having it. I guess nerves or I'm just a head case ha ha. Chemo was the pits. It took everything from me. I hit rock bottom. It's mad because throughout life I suffer depression but this was another level. My hair started to fall out after 1st chemo so I decided that after 2nd chemo to shave my head which was totally heart breaking but the best thing to do. I had 10 rounds of chemo then 20 radiotherapy which ended in July 2015.

I was very poorly throughout chemo, it took everything from me and has totally changed me as a person. I suffered many years depression, bi polar that I stayed in bed and dealt with my own demons but being hit with cancer has gave me a different outlook on life. I don't stay in bed I'm up and out everyday, even though it's hard I push myself. I am lucky that I had good support from family and some friends but a lot of friends treated me like they could catch cancer so I deleted those people and life is good now.

I struggle everyday I think what happened there but I am alive and here to tell the tale. Cancer is a group that no one wants to be in but I have met loads lovely people like myself living with the after affects of cancer. 

Thanks,
Lisa J x 

Breast cancer awareness month: It's only mastitis isn't it?

Author: Claire B

I was 42 when I was diagnosed in August 2012. Breast cancer had never crossed my mind. I went to clinic thinking I has mastitis and it was just a matter of course check. I came out thinking my world had fell apart. My husband and three children (18,15,12) were devastated. Seeing them so upset made me feel terrible and guilty, however I knew from the start I would do whatever had to be done to beat it!

2 lumpectomies, 6 chemos, 5 weeks of radiotherapy ...

Learning I had to have chemo was like hearing I had cancer all over again. It is a horrible, horrible experience but doable
( get ready for people to say 'it's only hair it will grow back!' It's so much more than that.)

.... Thank god we have the treatment and the NHS. I am still here thanks to that.

While having treatment I wanted my children's life to stay as normal as possible . Thanks to the massive support of my husband and family and friends we were able to do this.

Cancer took a year out of my life to beat. I am 3 years on now. It has taken a while to recover but I feel good. I have aches and pains and moans that I didn't have before but they are a small price to pay.

My outlook in life has changed. Small things don't worry me . I am thankful I am here to see my family grow . Believe it or not I even have days when I forget about cancer .

 Accept help when offered. Rest. Listen to your body. Keep strong. Keep positive. xxxx

Breast cancer awareness month: Finding myself again

Author: Mhairi


At the beginning of 2015 I was battling depression. It started off as post-natal depression after each of my three children were born, but then became a continuous presence in my life, fluctuating in intensity. I had reached a particularly low point around Christmas 2014. Then I found a lump in my axilla and a larger lump in my left breast. I have a medical background; I knew what this could mean so I started to plan my funeral. Then I told myself not to be so ridiculous. I was too busy to have cancer anyway.


Of course it was cancer. Well that’s one way to kick depression’s butt – have a life threatening diagnosis. I leapt into fight or flight mode – I had a purpose, a new identity. It was scary, but it was also quite exciting. I think I must be a bit weird. What was really weird was that I didn’t feel depressed anymore. A bit terrified, but not depressed. The fog that almost permanently occupied my brain lifted as I began to attend the many hospital appointments that come with a cancer diagnosis. I was calm and smiling – I was POSITIVE! (Oh how I hate that word in relation to cancer, but that’s another blog).


This sense of calm continued throughout the gruelling course of chemotherapy. That may have been because I just felt so ill and exhausted that I couldn’t string two thoughts together a lot of the time. It may have been because I was being showered with visits, cards, flowers, meals, help and love from my wonderful friends and family. People commented on how well I was doing, I was such an inspiration etc. etc. To be honest I felt a bit of a fraud when people said these kind things as I didn’t feel I was making that much of an effort in my ‘fight’ against cancer. Cancer and it’s treatment was happening to me and I wasn’t being brave, I had no choice but to just get on with it. I was being given excellent treatment by lovely and dedicated health care professionals. I was being amazingly supported by my family, friends and church. Even my children tried to behave themselves a bit better. All I had to do was lie on my sofa and grit my teeth through the awful side effects of the chemo. The feeling of having been hit by a bus was deeply unpleasant but I felt so cared for and carried that my mood remained stable; the depression hadn’t caught up with me yet.


Then I had my surgery. The really great thing about the operation to remove the cancer was that it would give me my long wished for breast reduction. The surgeon would do an axillary clearance and wide lump excision on the affected side, reconstructing my breast smaller but using my own breast tissue. A plastic surgeon would reduce the unaffected side to match. At 43, and having breast fed 3 children, the prospect of having incredible gravity defying boobs was quite pleasing. So I was very nervous about the operation but excited about the results.


I had the op, it went well, and I got home the next day. The day after that I felt like an emotional car crash. The positive had gone, the hope had gone, and I was full of despair. Despair is a strong word but that is how I felt. I knew that sometimes after a general anaesthetic it is not unusual to feel quite low. I hoped that that was the reason I felt so rubbish, and that I would improve again. Months of chemo brain meant that I hadn’t really been able to think deeply and properly process what had happened to me this year. Now, after the op, I was physically restricted but mentally agile and every confused and negative thought that screamed through my head chipped away at me bit by bit. I felt deep shame about my overweight body, and kept thinking about all those people who had looked after me during the surgery thinking badly of me. I was fat and ugly, freakish looking with my newly growing post chemo hair and no eyebrows. My breasts didn’t feel like they were mine, though they are very much more me than many women end up with after breast cancer surgery. I felt I had no purpose, there was no point. What was I going to do with the rest of my life? 


I felt that I didn’t know any more who I was. Before I was diagnosed with cancer I had been preparing myself for a major life change. The cancer meant that I could no longer fulfil the role I had been preparing for. Connected to this, a close friend died of cancer while I was having my chemo, and the sense of grief and pain I had over these two losses became increasingly hard to bear. And then there was the anxiety about the future – what if the cancer comes back or has spread beyond the lymph nodes? How would I ever learn to live with the uncertainty with any sort of equanimity? What if I didn’t survive the cancer? What if I did, and had to crawl through the rest of my life with this crushing sense of futility? The familiar fog began to descend.


Now THIS is a battle – I have to fight the negative thoughts and feelings that assault me and threaten to engulf me. I have to make tiny mental and emotional adjustments to a new normal day after day, trying to smooth the jagged edges of those chips. For me, my Christian faith plays a massive part in this along with the support of my family and friends. 


The thing that could kill me has given me identity, intense purpose, even privilege. Now it has hopefully gone I am feeling lost and insignificant. I’m actually feeling afraid of returning to the normality of everyday life without the regular round of hospital appointments. Once I have finished radiotherapy I am dreading not having the regular reassuring contact with the health professionals, especially my breast care nurses. And I fear that it is wrong to feel like this.


I need to fight against the temptation to be defined by my illness. I am not breast cancer, I am Mhairi. I just need to rediscover who she is. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Write for the blog! This blog is one of a series being shared on the Young Women's Breast Cancer Blog UK during October, breast cancer awareness month, but the blog is here year round. If you are a young woman in the UK who has/had a breast cancer diagnosis and you would like to be a part of this blog, please have a read of the additional information here.

Check your breasts

Breast cancer can happen to any of us - regardless of age. Information about how to check your breasts can be found on the Coppafeel and Breast Cancer Now websites.

Further information and support:

Younger Breast Cancer Network UK - an online chat and support group for women under the age of 45 in the UK who have had a breast cancer diagnosis.

Baldly Beautiful - a YouTube channel with make up demonstrations, created by Mac makeup artist Andrea Pellegrini who went through chemo herself in 2014.

Take A Moment - This is a group for women (all ages) who have/had breast cancer who want to explore, reflect on and express their feelings and experiences through photography. This is a link to the public page - to join the group, send them a message.

The Osborne Trust - Providing children of parents with cancer the opportunity to access time out recreational activities whilst their parents undergo operations and treatments

Jen's Friends - Free heart-shaped pillows for women (and men) with Breast Cancer. Designed to provide comfort and protection after a Mastectomy operation.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Breast cancer awareness month: I can and I will

Author: Tania
 

I CAN AND I WILL

My breast cancer journey so far

So this crazy journey of mine all started on 9th April 2015 when I felt a lump on my right breast when drying myself after a shower. I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never checked myself. Guess I never believed something like this would happen to me.… I’m a good person (or certainly always try to be!), I’ve had lots to deal with in my life already, there’s no history of breast cancer in my family at all and I’m only 40 – surely I’m too young!? So, thought I’d give it a week or two as my breast size always changes during my monthly cycle … nice thought but it was still very much there. So off to the Doctors I go. A very helpful Nurse measured a lump approximately 1.5 cms and urgently referred me to the Breast Clinic at my local hospital.

I thought no more of it and carried on as normal – just giving work the heads up that I would need to attend a hospital appointment and carried on in my happy little bubble. 5th May 2015 soon arrived and I found myself in the waiting room for the Breast Clinic, surrounded by leaflets on cancer and Nurses rushing back and forth from consultation rooms. Not entirely sure what to expect and certain that the news would be good, I sat there on my own (my Mum offered to come with me but I told her I didn’t think it necessary) surrounded by varying aged women. My name is called and I’m taken into a consultation room and greeted by the Doctor and a Nurse comes in too. Crumbs – this feels serious! The kind-faced Doctor gave me an ultrasound. Straight away the look in his eye confirmed my worst fears and told me everything I needed to know without saying a single word….. This was real. I’ve got cancer! I can still see that look now, clear as day. I saw a look of sadness. I vaguely remember the lovely Nurse passing me tissues, the Doctor mentioning a suspicious lump and that I would need further tests to make everything certain – something about being only 95% certain and a possible mastectomy. The kind Doctor then tries to help me recover by engaging me with questions about my work and children, bless him.

BOOM! The bottom has just fallen out of my world.

At that point all I can think about are my babies (my beautiful little children then aged 6 & 8). My head’s spinning and my mouth dry. Got to hide my tears as I wait, back out in the same waiting room, for my radiology appointment. The lovely Nurse hugs me and rushes away to sort my appointment.

I hold my breath. Be brave Tania, people are watching.

Provisional appointment sorted (all dependent on monthly cycle) and I head home. Here comes the difficult bit. To tell my Mum – the one person I have never been able to hide any sadness from. As soon as I see her face the tears roll again – there’s no hiding this immense sadness and I’m filled with a guilt ... a wish that I didn’t have to put my Mum through this. My dear Mum who went through so much to successfully beat cancer of the mouth back in 2006. A truly amazing lady who will always be an inspiration. I ask that she remains brave (a big ask I know) and am so grateful that, to this day, Mum continues to attend every meeting, always by my side, such a massive help and is so very brave (in front of me anyway bless her).

Shortly after I arrange to meet with my children’s Father (now ex-husband). Talking about it and hearing myself say the words just make it so real. He remains positive.

So glad I am able to hide this sadness from the children.

Then the waiting starts. I am now over half way through this BC journey but can honestly say I have found the waiting the worst bit. Every night spent wondering how bad it is, what I’m going to be faced with, my body aching as I lie in bed wondering if it has spread and, morbidly, how long will I have with my beautiful children? Will I share the happy milestones and be by their side, holding their hands, through any sad ones? The unknown. All sorts of thoughts cross my mind and I fight the temptation to search `Google’ for answers (believe me, never a good move!). Waves of panic pass over me at random times and I do my best to keep a brave face. Work is a welcome distraction and I’m honest, right from the beginning, with my brilliant colleagues of what lies ahead. Talking to them allows me to put on a brave face. Must be brave.

The tests begin a week later …. Ultrasound, mammogram, biopsy. What an amazing team of highly trained professionals who absolutely know what they are talking about and are so very kind. The mammogram highlighted another suspicious `calcification’ on my other (left) breast. So along came the core needle biopsy (which wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be – apart from the noise). I made sure I didn’t watch at all and it helped having Mum holding my hand. The radiologist was 95% certain the other side was just a cyst. I asked them what would make them 100% certain (I wasn’t comfortable with the idea of just keeping an eye on it on a yearly basis) and the radiologist advised fine needle aspiration would confirm. So I asked her to stick a pin in it. I need certainty. Yay! It dispersed. It was just fluid. Tears of joy fill my eyes, Mum’s too, as we’re back to dealing with the just the one lump again. Happy days!

More waiting ….

And so on 20th May 2015 I was diagnosed.

‘Invasive ductal carcinoma right breast. T2 (28 mms). G3 N0 ER and PR weakly positive HER-2 neg. Treatment: Wide local excision (lumpectomy) Central node biopsy. Adjuvant FEC chemotherapy, to be followed by radiotherapy and Tamoxifen’

‘N’, the breast care nurse, was amazing. I can still see her kind face telling me “Out of all of this, just take away the message that this is curable”. I hold on to that thought every day. Thank you ‘N’, you truly are an awesome lady. And thanks for always finding the time to pick me up despite your incredibly busy day xx.

Finally I know what I’m dealing with and there’s a plan. Gotta’ have a plan. I’m given heaps of leaflets too and a little book for the children. Must admit I never used the little book. My children’s Dad and I agreed on how we’d tell the children, in a light-hearted conversation about Mummy’s lump in her boob and how I would need an operation. A step at a time. We agreed we wouldn’t use the cancer word at this point (just personal preference) and that when the time was right I would tell them – with their Dad providing support and consistency where required (Grandparents too). The school were also brilliant and we’ve continued to keep them updated throughout this journey. This has really helped.

And so the research starts… I set about reading up on everything – know everything I possibly can about this disease. I must get through this, pass the test and therefore start revising as much as I am able. This is an examination that I simply must pass. Crumbs – how much information is out there!

Two weeks later an MRI and dye injection. What an experience! Having visualised and prepared myself for lying back in the scanner (like I had for a previous MRI), the Nurse asked me to climb on all fours and place my boobs in the holes in the scanner. I couldn’t stop laughing… Was not expecting that … More laughter! Followed by a warm fluid pumped through my body whilst lying on my front in the chamber that made me feel like I’d wet myself (Really!?).

Surgery followed two weeks later. I was really nervous about the anaesthetic but was reassured and it was surprisingly a very calming experience. I didn’t have any pain either – which I was amazed at – and met some fab ladies on my ward, each on similar journeys. Friends that continue to help and I’m able to share the experiences with. We had such a giggle on the ward that night. I felt so relieved that the cancer had been taken out and couldn’t stop giggling (well at least until the ward staff told me off at midnight). Ooops!

On 25th June 2015 I was given the all clear “T2-M0-N0 Stage 2a 28 mm”. What amazing news. I am so truly grateful. I feel blessed. No sign of cancer in the margins nor in my nodes (only 2 were removed). I still couldn’t believe it – at least not until I received it in writing. My cup runneth over! I am now able to tell the children “Mummy has had cancer but it has now gone. It’s not catching and Mummy just needs some nasty medicine that will make her hair fall out to make her better”. To which my son replies “Okay, what’s for tea?”. I’m so proud of my children for their resilience and they continue to be my biggest strength throughout all of this.

So, back to work I go, feeling normal again. Various pre-assessment meetings follow, taking me to 14th July 2015 when I receive my 1st of 6 cycles of FEC chemotherapy. Sent away from work with some fantastic, really thoughtful gifts from my wonderful colleagues, the next stage begins. Off I go to the Macmillan ward. I felt anxious as I didn’t know what to expect but was greeted by some fantastic, very friendly staff that knew exactly what to say and do to make me feel at ease. I am 4 (of 6) treatments in now and the team are so very friendly. We have a real laugh. A lovely lady once told me it’s like getting a hug when you go for your chemo – and that has remained so very true. I am truly overwhelmed by the fantastic staff I have met. They make the journey that little bit easier. Even my trip to A&E 10 days after the first treatment I was looked after so well. I managed to pick up a chest infection – always a weakness of mine. An hour’s IV of antibiotics and I was soon back home. I realise each and everyone’s treatment is different and I also realise I’ve been getting away with things relatively lightly – escaping the sickness at least. I’m very grateful for that.

Whenever I feel low about the chemo or whenever I’m getting ready for the next round (annoyed by the fact that I’m feeling normal again and not wanting to go through `the dip’), I remember why I’m doing all this… the 7% it gives towards the 84% possibility that I’ll have survived this in 10 years’ time. 10 years or more with my babies – that is all I think about. That is what gets me through.

So, the next hurdle and the one that everyone seems to worry about – the dreaded hair loss. 18 days after my first treatment my hair started to fall out. I made the decision to have my hair cut short before I started any treatment just so I could get out of the habit of needing to put my hair up. It was an emotional day but I was glad that I could cry about it at that point rather than be faced with another issue to deal with alongside the chemotherapy. As soon as my head started to feel sore I went even shorter to a grade 1. At least when the hair started to fall out it wasn’t so much to deal with. I’ve actually found being bald invigorating. I had a panic attack the first time I left the house with a bald head but people don’t stare half as much as I expected they would and actually, most stares are joined with such sincere, genuine smiles. I always wear scarves when I am on school runs as the children are more comfortable that way and I totally respect that. But can’t wait to take the scarf off again whenever possible. My dear friend Simon and I had a real giggle trying on wigs, hats and scarves. We had such fun and it made me feel so much more prepared. I just can’t get used to the wig though. I just don’t feel or look like me when I wear it.

Losing the hair on my head was never really an issue. I worried about waking up one day and finding it all on my pillow but that never really happened – it fell out over a few weeks. My struggle has been the thinning eyebrows. I’ve got used to seeing my bald head in the mirror but really don’t like the really thin, almost invisible, eyebrows. It makes me look like a cancer patient … the irony!

A fantastic course was made available to me “Look Good, Feel Better”. And I highly recommend anyone going through this type of treatment gets themselves on the course if made available. Very helpful and a real confidence builder.

The PICC line isn’t so bad either … I was quite squeamish about it at first, the whole idea of where it goes and how it’s done didn’t inspire me but within a few weeks I found myself completely used to it and I forget it is even there. I’m even able to sleep on it at night and sleep in whatever position I’m most comfortable nowadays – perfect! Don’t get me wrong, I’m still counting down the days for when it comes out (I truly cannot wait!) but it’s not so bad (honest!).

So, where is the good in all of this? Well …..

* I got to spend the summer holidays with my children – a gift I have never been blessed with having worked full time since having them. I’ve become even closer to my family (didn’t even think that was possible).

* My perspective on life has changed and I never take things for granted. Things such as trees and sunshine are now much more of a pleasure; it’s opened my eyes (even though they constantly run – just another one of the side effects) to a more beautiful world. I love the feel of the wind on my face and I don’t rush around half as much as I used to. I feel truly blessed.

* I’ve found out who my friends are (and who aren’t). A constant support. A special mention to; Simon – my barber, wig test dummy and chilli provider (so wonderful when you can actually taste the food!); Clare and Julie for arranging the best halfway celebration in London. I even got to meet my favourite comedian (could not stop crying after that!) and for always being there, sending me notes and making memories to make me laugh. I have laughed so much with those lovely ladies that my stomach and jaw hurts – often!; my step-dad Pete for doing all the injections, mowing the lawn and listening to my rants on my cross days (yes, there have been some!); Dad for the confidence to ditch the wig; Lou for the wonderful, much needed trip to Stanage Edge (I did it – the air felt good! Another one ticked off the list); Auntie V for all the fab goodies; Reidy for the endless supply of mints and encouragement; my amazingly supportive boss – boy what a difference that makes not having the extra worry of work!; all my BC friends I’ve met along the way for their love, encouragement and absolute inspiration (Love to you all amazing ladies xxx) and to all my dear friends that meet up every 3 weeks for fun, laughter, support and hugs. Where would I be without my dear friends xxx

* I have laughed more than I ever thought possible and cried less than I ever expected.

* I feel proud.

* I am able to love more openly.

* I’ve not worried about the smaller (blue!) boob or the scars at all – it’s just a reminder of how strong I truly am and how I kicked the nasty stuff into touch. I’m still me.

Don’t get me wrong, there are some not-so-good bits too…. I realise I will never be the person I was pre-diagnosis and of course, there is always the possibility of recurrence (although I put this right to the back of my mind it is something I must accept). A very independent person, I hate having to rely on people (although I couldn’t get through any of this without them). I am beginning to accept that I may never meet that person, that special man in my life – cancer is enough for me to comprehend, leave alone someone else. I have also lost the ability to plan for the longer term. Hopefully all of this will pass in time. Worst of all, my children have had to deal with things that I wish they never had to. That still makes my stomach wrench whenever I think about it.

I realise its early days. The good far outweighs the bad though and right now I’m just focusing on Christmas when, all being well, all treatment will be finished (except Tamoxifen) and I can see the New Year in putting this chapter behind me. My family, friends and I are already planning some great ways to celebrate and we’re all looking forward to seeing how my hair will look when it grows back (we’ve had some real giggles about that I can tell you). I’ve even signed up for a 100ft abseil down the side of my local hospital to raise some funds – alongside my wonderful friends (eeek!). A way of giving something back and saying thanks.

They say everything happens for a reason and I truly believe that. I hope one of the reasons is I can show my children (and others) that you really can overcome challenges such as cancer (as my Mum has already shown) and that despite the difficulties life really can go on. I am blessed with some truly awesome people around me and have never felt so loved. Lucky me!

To anyone going through a journey like this I send you much love and light. Be brave and be positive. And to those who are supporting someone going through a journey like this (like my wonderful family and friends) you really are making a difference, truly you are. Massive hugs to you all too.

Keep smiling,

T xxx

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Write for the blog! This blog is one of a series being shared on the Young Women's Breast Cancer Blog UK during October, breast cancer awareness month, but the blog is here year round. If you are a young woman in the UK who has/had a breast cancer diagnosis and you would like to be a part of this blog, please have a read of the additional information here.

Check your breasts

Breast cancer can happen to any of us - regardless of age. Information about how to check your breasts can be found on the Coppafeel and Breast Cancer Now websites.

Further information and support:

Younger Breast Cancer Network UK - an online chat and support group for women under the age of 45 in the UK who have had a breast cancer diagnosis.

Baldly Beautiful - a YouTube channel with make up demonstrations, created by Mac makeup artist Andrea Pellegrini who went through chemo herself in 2014.

Take A Moment - This is a group for women (all ages) who have/had breast cancer who want to explore, reflect on and express their feelings and experiences through photography. This is a link to the public page - to join the group, send them a message.

The Osborne Trust - Providing children of parents with cancer the opportunity to access time out recreational activities whilst their parents undergo operations and treatments

Jen's Friends - Free heart-shaped pillows for women (and men) with Breast Cancer. Designed to provide comfort and protection after a Mastectomy operation.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Breast cancer awareness month: A Moon Transiting Through Cancer (part 2 of 2)

Author: A Moon
Allie also writes at: https://alliemoonjourney.wordpress.com/

Cancer Fog 

The usual me, although a little ditsy at times, is usually a very together person – organised, driven, determined, detail-focused and on top of things. From the point of being diagnosed, a piece of that person has disappeared a little. I’m unable to take in or store lots of information – I have to have things explained to me more than once, and even then it stays there only temporarily. It could be down to “chemo brain”, but as I had it from the point of diagnosis I suspect not. I’m only able to pick up on certain things or key words as my mind is generally filled with 101 different questions at any point in time about varying things and worries to do with cancer and treatment.

Chemotherapy and Hair Loss 

The way chemotherapy is portrayed in the media does not always accurately reflect how it is in reality. Whilst I know many people face a terrible experience of it, I really thought I’d be completely bed-ridden or have my head down the loo being constantly sick all the time. Whilst I am coping with the chemotherapy treatments better than I’d imagined I have found it very tough emotionally and psychologically. Out of the side effects I’ve had, the worst has been losing my hair. This is a difficult process for anyone of any age or gender, but particularly more so for women. My hair is a part of who I am, how I present myself to world and what makes me feel feminine. When it started to come out I wanted to hide away from the world, I didn’t want to go anywhere or see anyone and didn’t want them to see me. Hair loss can have such a negative impact on your self-confidence and body image, leading to introversion, depression, feelings of unattractiveness and at times it's been hard to cope functioning normally on a day-to-day basis.

I had tried as hard as I could to mentally prepare myself for losing my hair, but in reality nothing can really prepare you for how it feels when it starts to come out. Two weeks after I'd had my first chemo treatment my scalp started to feel a little tingly and a bit itchy. In the days that followed I noticed quite a few strands coming out and then almost a week after when I washed my hair, absolutely loads started to come out. I burst into tears and couldn't stop crying. I wanted to be as strong and as positive as I could be trying to deal with this whole experience. I think when I started to lose my hair all the feelings and emotions I'd had inside about having cancer all came bubbling up to the surface and out like molten lava from a volcano. I became even more aware of my situation and started to deal with the emotions perhaps I had previously been numb to. I felt like I was not only grieving for my hair, but also grieving for the person who I used to be. The reality of the start of this process was much harder than I ever imagined. As silly as it sounds, having lived with having cancer and all the low points it has encompassed over the last five months, I think it really hit me that I was officially a cancer patient – soon to be balding – no disguising the fact now. I felt down at the bottom low.

Loving Kindness, Support, Positivity and Gratitude 

The path I've been walking over the last few months has been fraught with worry, fear, stress, pain, anxiety and sheer fright. But whilst the path has been a hard one to travel, it has shined a light on the many special, down right amazing and kind and caring people who I'm lucky to have in my life.

Without my husband by my side these last few months this would definitely have been an even more horrid experience. He has been my absolute rock and guardian angel – caring for me, holding me in his arms, comforting me in my darkest hours and holding my hand every step of the way. Whilst we had a very happy and strong relationship before I was diagnosed, I certainly feel it's brought us even closer together. My family and friends have also been amazing – no words can describe how grateful I am for the care, thought and support they’ve shown me. My employers have been incredibly supportive throughout all of this and I can’t thank them enough for their kindness and generosity. I feel truly blessed to have such kind, caring and supportive friends, family and colleagues.

A very dear friend moved me to tears when she surprised me with the fact that she’d been fundraising amongst my friends, family and work colleagues. This was so I could choose whichever wig I felt most comfortable wearing without having to worry about how much it would cost. Their very kind donations have enabled me to leave my house and try to brave the world in what is this ‘”new normal” for me. They’ve all helped in making the huge mountain I’m climbing that little bit easier, ultimately helping helped me stick two fingers up to this dastardly disease. As well as many of the more insignificant happenings of life that suck up our energy, I certainly won’t ever be complaining about bad hair days in the future!

I realise that I’m fortunate to not have had a worse diagnosis, and that is due to the fact that I found the lump early enough that it hadn’t spread elsewhere in my body. For everyone reading this blog, please, please make sure you regularly check your breasts so you know what normal feels like. If you feel something that is not right - don’t sit and wait on it – act now.





 

Breast cancer awareness month: Fried egg problems, part 2 - chemo hair loss.

Author: Better Days

Chemo hair loss:

17 May: Oh fuck... I think the hair is gonna start falling out, my head feels tingly n every time I brush my fingers through it a strand or two comes out, sounds daft but yeah. My scalp just feels different, tingly n sore. Oh fuck better get my arse to the wig shop this week. Oh well least I will have super smooth legs all summer and my toiletry bill will reduce. Really really wanna stomp my feet like a toddler and say no it's mine, get off!!
For Fuck Sake its only hair, guess it's nearly time to gear up to getting it shaved off. I don't wanna play anymore, other than the hair I was feeling really good lol yeah just Fuck!

19 May: Well the hair is hanging in there for now, it is coming out but slowly. Just straightened it and it took 10 minutes. That's a first normally takes about 30 minutes or more.
It still looks ok just really thin for my hair. I would like to apologise to my hair for all the years of moaning about it being too thick.
Plus side, new baseball cap and I WILL go wig shop tomorrow without putting it off or finding an excuse or something else to do.

23 May: Well it's definitely started, the hair is coming out eekk, it's not in clumps but strands and there's a really thin bit at the front. If I run my hands through it hair comes out so guess it's watch this space now and thank the sports gods for baseball caps!!
The weird bit is the itchness and I'm talking about the lady garden - it's itchy, where the hair is and feckin annoying. It appears that the itch means the hair is falling out. I've looked like a women with a serious infection or something today having a good itch, good job I've been at home for most of the day, as people would think I was a crazy lady!! Ok maybe too much info but its annoying and funny at the same time.
Now off to drink my stella and collect the random strands of hair that are around the house!

24 May: Wow you don't even have to pull on the hair, just touch it and it just comes out in your hand, it's everywhere. Think I'm beating the dog on the malting stakes. It's horrible having your hand full of hair and feck me it hurts - the top of my head just hurts - I should be thinking it's only hair and if this is the worst side effect than I should be grateful. Baseball cap is on, glass of wine in hand and trying my best to find the silver lining on this one. Even though you know it's gonna happen, it don't make it any easier when it does. Guess within a week I'm gonna look like a cancer patient and a bit of a twat in a headscarf lol. Now where's that wine- at least there's no bald spots just yet.

25 May:  To shave or malt is what's being considered today. Will save having to watch it fall out, picking it all up and might stop the head hurting and piles of hair thinking time.

26 May: Trying to stay positive when your scalp feels like it's ready to peel off. Ouch. That is all.

29 May: Well the bitch cant be called boring, this week has seen hair loss, chemo clinic and bloods. The good old rollercoaster of emotions in full swing. The hair loss - you can now see my scalp, it's actually whiter than my legs! It aint a good look but heyho that's the bitch. I'm trying to not let it get me down but yer that's hard when everywhere you look there's strands of hair or you look in a mirror, I will get used to I guess and its gonna grow back so for now its hats n scarfs. I know I need to face the world and get out, let people stare.

Breast cancer awareness month: The light at the end of the tunnel

Author: Deb

In October 2013, I discovered a lump in my right breast. I was only 42 years old at the time. It was at the same time as the cancer storyline involving Carol from Eastenders. Unlike Carol, who seemed troubled and nervous when she attended her doctor for an examination, I never really gave it too much thought. I didn’t tell anyone about it except my husband. I was referred to the breast clinic at my local hospital and went along myself for the mammogram, ultrasound scan and biopsy. After having these done, I spoke to a doctor who said the lump was probably nothing to worry about, it was one of those things that women my age got. I was to return to the hospital a week later for the results. My husband came along with me but was asking why I needed to go for results, could they not just post them out to me? Whilst in the waiting room, I was playing games on my phone and showing my husband some funnies on it. I really wasn’t concerned at all. My name was called and I went into the consulting room alone expecting to be told all was fine. However, when I sat down, the surgeon asked if anyone had accompanied me to the hospital that day. She sent the breast care nurse to fetch my husband. When he came into the room I said I really didn’t like the sound of this. The surgeon had examined me and asked me to sit up on the bed and face her. I thought she was carrying out a visual examination of some sort. That’s when she dropped the bombshell and told me I had breast cancer. I remember bursting into tears and looking at my husband desperate for a cuddle. My right foot was shaking uncontrollably and he looked as if he was going to pass out. I just broke down. The surgeon said the good news about this was that they could cut it out. The nurses offered my husband a glass of water and I told them to take him away and give him a seat before he keeled over.

When I eventually gathered myself together, the surgeon asked me if I wanted to wait until after Christmas and New Year for the surgery so I could have my celebrations without pain and discomfort. I just thought well there’s no time like the present. Surgery was scheduled for the 18th December and I was to have a lumpectomy. I only told my mum and not my sister as I didn’t want to ruin her Christmas or have her associate Christmas with cancer. My dad was in a nursing home with MS and I kept it from him as I didn’t want to affect his health and I don’t know if he could really have taken it in at that stage in his illness. I remember going to my mum’s house to tell her with my husband and I was strangely calm. People told me later that they didn’t think it had sunk in properly. I had the lumpectomy on 18 December but had to have x-rays and some other procedure where they inject dye into the breast to identify the sentinel lymph nodes which would also be removed. After surgery, I felt stoned and happy and phoned my mum from hospital to tell her I was out of surgery and feeling fine, looking forward to getting home. We talked about it and said at least that was it all done and dusted now. I remember listening to the radio in the run up to Christmas when I went to the hospital to have the dressing changed. The words “it’s Christmas time, there’s no need to be afraid” stuck in my head. I took this as a good sign. I had asked the surgeon for the results and she said they weren’t back yet. Looking back I think she didn’t want to ruin my Christmas as she probably knew already.

In early January 2014, I returned to the hospital and was told that the breast would have to be removed along with the rest of the lymph nodes. I had expected this and had told the surgeon I was happy for it to be removed when they were going to do the lumpectomy. More surgery was scheduled for 29 January 2014. During this surgery, I had an expander fitted with a port. The pictures had shown the port as something unobtrusive which would sit at my side under my arm. However, the reality was that the port was a metal thing which would sit below where my breast had been and would dig into my ribs causing me severe discomfort for many months. This expander would be filled with water each time I attended the plastic surgeon so the skin could be stretched to accommodate an implant later. This was done by the plastic surgeon inserting a needle into the port through my skin. This was really sore and I dreaded these appointments so much. It was only months later that I discovered something called Emla cream. This numbs the area and would have made it so much more bearable. I’m really angry that I wasn’t saved this pain and discomfort and I recommend it to any woman going through similar treatment.

After the surgery, I was told that lots of lymph nodes had been removed and there was no further trace in any of them. Apparently, there had been a slight trace in two of the nodes that were removed during the lumpectomy. The next discussions were around chemotherapy and radiotherapy and all those effects.

My sister had been told by this point and said she saw the chemo as something zapping away any crap stuff that may be left. Fortunately I had met a girl on the ward during the second op and she had been diagnosed also and we decided we were going to be chemo buddies. We scheduled our chemo for the same days and roughly the same time so we could catch up with each other. As treatment progresses, it takes a lot out of you and your emotions can really tumble. About halfway through treatment, we lost contact a bit as we were both finding it difficult to cope. We’re now back in regular contact and good friends who meet up for lunch and a blether. It was important to me to surround myself with more positive people at this time which meant spending time with my mum, sister and my oldest friends. It’s amazing how my friends were with me. They would come across and visit and bring lunch for us all and make me tea as well. 

I finished chemo in June last year and radiotherapy in August of the same year. I attended my local hospital for the chemo and another hospital in Glasgow for the radiotherapy. I was so tired as my sleep was all over the place and I remember thinking that I just wasn’t going to be able to make it into Glasgow for the radiotherapy as I was so exhausted. It was so tiring travelling in the car. The nurses at the hospital were fantastic though and really helped me through it. There was also an amazing MacMillan nurse that helped me through that time. My mum was my rock throughout the whole thing. She would pick me up for all my hospital appointments and would be cheery with me which helped so much. The first day I went into the hospital, I just broke down because the word ‘cancer’ was plastered over the entrance and all throughout the entrance lobby. It really brought it home to me and all I could think was how the hell had this happened to me and that I didn’t belong in a place that treated people with cancer as that wasn’t me. The staff at the hospital were great and kept telling me that I would see me returning to my old self a wee bit at a time and they were right. I remember an advert on TV at the time for one of the cancer charities and that showed a lady putting her hair into a ponytail before going for a run. I remember thinking that I couldn’t wait for that to be me. 

Today I was able to go for a run in a local park with my dog and it was fabulous. I’ve also started college this year and I’m studying Counselling. I want to use this to help others who have gone through what I have.

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Write for the blog! This blog is one of a series being shared on the Young Women's Breast Cancer Blog UK during October, breast cancer awareness month, but the blog is here year round. If you are a young woman in the UK who has/had a breast cancer diagnosis and you would like to be a part of this blog, please have a read of the additional information here.

Check your breasts

Breast cancer can happen to any of us - regardless of age. Information about how to check your breasts can be found on the Coppafeel and Breast Cancer Now websites.

Further information and support:

Younger Breast Cancer Network UK - an online chat and support group for women under the age of 45 in the UK who have had a breast cancer diagnosis.

Baldly Beautiful - a YouTube channel with make up demonstrations, created by Mac makeup artist Andrea Pellegrini who went through chemo herself in 2014.

Take A Moment - This is a group for women (all ages) who have/had breast cancer who want to explore, reflect on and express their feelings and experiences through photography. This is a link to the public page - to join the group, send them a message.

The Osborne Trust - Providing children of parents with cancer the opportunity to access time out recreational activities whilst their parents undergo operations and treatments

Jen's Friends - Free heart-shaped pillows for women (and men) with Breast Cancer. Designed to provide comfort and protection after a Mastectomy operation.


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Breast cancer awareness month: The worst day of my life

Author: Natalie

Can you believe it?

It's 18th Sept 2013, 6 months to the day since I had the worst day of my life, when my lovely consultant said "I'm sorry Natalie it's cancer". I can still remember every detail as if it was yesterday. I remember sobbing and saying over and over again "how do I tell her, how do I tell her, how do I tell my mum". It was a thousand kicks in the gut, shit - Billy - what if I have to leave him, what if I have to miss him growing up, he needs me, Scott needs me, my sisters, oh god does that mean they could get it? I'd spent 2 weeks since my biopsy imagining how I'd tell my parents 'just in case', never thinking I'd actually have to. Kneeling down in front of them and saying breast cancer's back but this time it's me was the hardest thing ever. Seeing my dad's face turn grey before my eyes as he relived the memories they just knew too much. He'd already watched the woman he loved go through it less than 2.5years before now he'd do it all again with his little girl.

Why the hell is life so cruel and why the hell did I have to break my parents' hearts? I couldn't tell my sisters so I called their partners on the way back from the hospital and got them to do my dirty work. Scott's mum and dad were just as bad, they knew I was going for results and when they hadn't heard from us for a couple of hours I think they'd guessed the worst. I broke their hearts too, in fact that day I broke everyone's heart and I absolutely hated it.

The couple of weeks following my diagnosis are a blur. It's weird, I can remember some bits so unbelievably clearly yet others all blend into one. I needed to decide my op. At first I hated my puppies, what once were one of my favourite parts of my body were now my most hated 'asset', I didn't want them they were why I may have to leave my son, they were 'killing' me. Over time though I grew to realise it was the cancer lump that was the issue not my boobs. I was lucky the lump was on the top of my left breast meaning it could be found and removed easily, so I decided on a lumpectomy. With a little boy who had only turned 2 a few days before my diagnosis I couldn't afford a long recovery which would have been the case if I'd had my breast removed.

I had my operation on the 16th April and it became my worst nightmare. I'd been for the radioactive injection that morning ready to be injected with blue dye and turned into a smurf for my Sentinel Node Biopsy. Sadly I never got the dye as just before I went to theatre I found out I was pregnant. Now life is really bloody cruel. I had appendicitis when I was 38 weeks pregnant with my son and had to have it removed, 2.5 weeks later I had an emergency c section, so was advised not to conceive for 2 years to give my body chance to recover from 2 abdominal surgeries. We'd 'made love' once, a week after my diagnosis, while my tits still looked good and we were careful. That was 2 years pretty much exactly, it would have been perfect.......if I didn't have cancer.

I was told on my own, I remember every detail, the nurses chatting in the corner, my nurse's face as she slowly walked over, calling Scott in tears, calling him again an hour later and hearing him sob. Being wheeled to theatre for my operation and worst of all waking from my op clutching my belly the exact same way I did 2 years previously, already it was our baby, oh god, and in its first few weeks of life I was feeding it poison after poison.

I received the results from the op a week and a half later. They removed it all with clear margins and it wasn't in the 2 nodes that they could remove. Brilliant news, yet not all great as it was grade 3 triple negative, the most aggressive and hard to treat of all breast cancers. I needed to start chemo as soon as possible... the chemo I needed I couldn't have while pregnant!

I had no other choice - not only did I need to start chemo ASAP, I'd already had so many medical procedures including a radioactive injection that could seriously affect the development of the baby. Scott also told me he and Billy needed me too much and it wasn't fair to risk my life when the baby may not survive anyway and he could lose both of us. I arranged for a medical termination. I hated waiting for that day, like with Billy I had bad morning sickness and no matter how hard I tried I loved it so much already and wanted to do everything in my power to protect it yet instead I was organising to end it's life before it had even begun. I spent nearly 3 weeks praying nature would help me out but sadly that wasn't the case and I had to do it, have the abortion and say goodbye to my baby, our dream and what could be our last chance of having another child. Sadly due to the pregnancy I could no longer have fertility treatment to freeze my eggs so I now just pray that my ovaries have survived the treatment and in a few years we'll get the chance to try again.

2 weeks later I started my chemo. 3 lots of what's known as FEC followed by 3 TAX. I'd like to say this was all plain sailing but I'd be lying. FEC is nasty and I had a severe reaction to my first one about 2 hours after I returned home. I was admitted to hospital and spent 14 hours constantly being sick and wrenching so much I could hardly catch my breath and burst all the blood vessels around my neck and face, at one point I honestly thought I was dying, my poor parents they were there through it all and all they could do was watch. Eventually with the help of some very strong drugs the amazing staff got it under control and 3 days later I was discharged to go back to my mum and dad's to be spoilt rotten.

That's when my new routine started. Every 3 weeks I'd go for chemo on the Friday morning, I'd go back to my parents and ride out the steroids and sickness till the Tuesday. I'd then go back home to my boys. The first week was a write off, second week and half the third I felt crappy, extremely tired and had body aches I couldn't even begin to describe but I could just about function, and the end of the third week I filled to the brim with as many fun things as possible.

Yes I've had my moments through chemo and have had some very bad side effects but I've been lucky, I have not had an infection and have managed to stay as fit and well as possible throughout. I had my last chemo on the 6th of September and actually left the hospital dancing (didn't last long haha). All in all it has flown by and as hard as it's been I've done it, got through it and come out the other side hairless, missing quite a few finger and toenails, and a lot skinnier but I'm still smiling.

I will be starting phase 3 of my treatment plan at the beginning of October where I'll undergo 20 sessions of radiotherapy. Already have Ellie Goulding's 'you gotta let it burn, burn, burn' running round my head. Then that's it I'm done, a couple of months of tiredness then I'll be doing more than I've ever done, loving and living life to the complete maximum.

As much as these have been the most horrendous 6 months of my life that I'd never want to repeat, I have also added some of the most amazing and fun filled memories to counteract the bad. My little sister and her best mate's weddings (being a rapping bridesmaid and rocking the fascinator and skinhead look), Billy's first trip to Alton Towers and a trip to the zoo with mine and Billy's best friends to name just a few. It's amazing how having cancer makes you see things differently, it makes you appreciate everything and everyone you have, it makes you thankful and most of all it makes you realise what's really important and what you should and shouldn't worry about.

6 months down the line I truly feel like I've been blessed and I am extremely lucky. Yes nature has dealt me some really, really crap hands but at the end of the day I caught it early, I have got over the worst of my treatment and come out the other side literally dancing. I may have had to say goodbye to my baby (by far the hardest and most horrendous decision I've ever made and something I will live with forever), but the fact we conceived so easily and at the most stressful time I have hope, hope that one day we can add to our little family again. But more than anything I really am grateful and couldn't thank everyone around me enough for the love and support I've received, I truly could not have done it without knowing I had my family and friends by my side and of course my little 2 year old son Billy, he's truly been the best medicine anyone could ever have wished for, and I'm thankful every single day that I have such an amazing son.

 

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Write for the blog! This blog is one of a series being shared on the Young Women's Breast Cancer Blog UK during October, breast cancer awareness month, but the blog is here year round. If you are a young woman in the UK who has/had a breast cancer diagnosis and you would like to be a part of this blog, please have a read of the additional information here.

Check your breasts

Breast cancer can happen to any of us - regardless of age. Information about how to check your breasts can be found on the Coppafeel and Breast Cancer Now websites.

Further information and support:

Younger Breast Cancer Network UK - an online chat and support group for women under the age of 45 in the UK who have had a breast cancer diagnosis.

Baldly Beautiful - a YouTube channel with make up demonstrations, created by Mac makeup artist Andrea Pellegrini who went through chemo herself in 2014.

Take A Moment - This is a group for women (all ages) who have/had breast cancer who want to explore, reflect on and express their feelings and experiences through photography. This is a link to the public page - to join the group, send them a message.

The Osborne Trust - Providing children of parents with cancer the opportunity to access time out recreational activities whilst their parents undergo operations and treatments

Jen's Friends - Free heart-shaped pillows for women (and men) with Breast Cancer. Designed to provide comfort and protection after a Mastectomy operation.


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