Today is YACC's Brave Day. Today is a day to talk about everything YACC is about and why Shave For the Brave is so important. I'm going to write something here to help get my feelings across.
There's a lot that can go wrong in pregnancy, even when you're 40 weeks along. There's a lot that still has a mother on edge other than feeling like a mobile bowling ball. One thing I was not expecting was the surprise I got that morning. I was slowly getting up to get my daughter ready for daycare. I didn't have to rush because my son had stayed the night at my father's so I didn't need to run out the door to get him to school. I started for her room and did something I had been doing a lot lately: rub the sore spot on my chest. This time I froze. There was a bump on my bone. Not a small dot, this felt about the size of a tangerine cut in half. Survival mode kicked in as I heard my daughter calling me, I got her dressed and set up some breakfast for her. After I had her distracted I frantically grabbed the pregnancy paperwork for the hospital and savagely dialed the cell phone at the top, it was my GP's (general practitioner) number in case I went into labour. I knew he was going away on vacation so I didn't know what to expect. Doing my best to not cry and blubber on the phone I tell him there's a lump coming out of my sternum, I don't know what to do. He says he'll call right back, he's calling the local emergency centre to see about getting me in for some form of scan right away. I took that moment to break down. My daughter was blissfully munching and watching a movie, I hid out of sight and fell apart - I know what this is, I'm scared, I know the only thing this can be, there's no way around it - the cancer came back.
This was in May, in September it would have been five years since my breast cancer diagnosis. I would be called "cured" by a lot of standards, then. I would have been "cancer-free". Would have. Back to that day, May 15th:
My doctor was actually pretty quick getting back to me, he told me to head in to the emergency centre, he had talked it out with the head of radiology at that location and had figured out that an ultrasound would give us a good idea of what what happening. I agreed and hung up. I called my husband's ship to tell him what was going on, one problem, no one has seen him and he's not answering pipes. Enter panicked Julie. I remembered his ship that he had been posted to had returned early so I took a chance and called that ship, luckily he was there. I don't know how much I said clearly because I couldn't stay calm with talking to him, I was terrified and I couldn't do anything about it. He told me he was on his way, I hung up. It was time to kick in survivor mode again, and get my daughter to daycare, faking a smile to everyone I had to face.
When my husband and I got to the centre, they had him wait in the waiting area while they looked at the bone. They let him come in after and showed him exactly what they had explained to me: the lump wasn't on the bone, it was coming out of the bone. Of course, everyone is trying to tell us not to call it the "C" word until testing is done, but if it looks like a duck, quacks like a duck, flies like a duck, it's not a freaking unicorn. The good news was that the baby was still happy and healthy as could be.
We got to spend the long weekend freaking out and trying to stay calm. We only told two people, I think, what had occurred that morning. I got a call Tuesday telling me to come in to start induction for baby, he was just too comfy and they wanted to do tests to confirm the lump and see if there were any others. He was born Wednesday. Thursday morning I had scans. Thursday afternoon I had a panic attack after seeing the bone scan on the monitor as it was being done. IT was back.
Many say to you when they hear you have cancer, "You'll beat it!", "You just need to fight!", "You'll be fine!", and they mean well. But I was thinking of all the friends I had that had had late stage cancer and didn't live a year after the diagnosis. Not even a year. That's not a lot when you look at your newborn in your arms, your toddler playing around, your school aged child working on homework. The average lifespan after a stage 4 breast cancer diagnosis? 33 months. My son wouldn't even be 3 years old.
I was lucky in a couple ways, and one of them was that I was already connected with YACC. I had late stage friends that I could talk to, find out methods of handling treatments, the questions that are best to ask your oncologist, someone I could say my fears to and they would understand completely. I know it was hard to have the first diagnosis without knowing anyone my age with cancer, but that second time around... If I didn't have that support... That panic attack I had in the hospital had me not breathing, I was terrified and in shock. I don't know how the days would have played out from then on without my YACC friends. I don't want to think about it.
I'm stable, the cancer isn't in my lungs any longer, the cancer in my bones is staying put but not growing or spreading. This is a miracle for now and I'll hold onto it. I get to spend a little longer playing with my kids, hugging my husband, and talking with friends and family. I am so thankful that I have YACC to fall back on when days are rough. My husband supports me every second of the day, but even he needs a break and the support that they have provided for him. YACC helps not just those living with cancer, but their supporters, too. They help us be connected. They help us be weak. They help us be strong. They help us be brave.
Please help support YACC and Shave For the Brave
Wednesday, 29 March 2017
Monday, 6 February 2017
Survivor Guilt
Ever watch a movie or read a book about an immortal or long-lifed creature? One without a delusional god-complex? They at some point tell the heartache of being blessed with living and watching those not like them dying around them. The curse of immortality. It's not just for the eternal, for those of us that still have an end-date looming over our mortality, it's survivor's guilt.
Survivor's guilt comes at you strongest after someone you cared about, related to, loved, and admired passes away, especially if it is sudden. Salt in the wound is if you're a ticking time bomb, yourself. An unfortunate catch to getting to know other people living with cancer is that you are all on borrowed time. You don't know how much any of you have, of course doctors can speculate, percentages are given, but no one truly knows the amount of seconds you will get to enjoy in this life.
Today's post is brought to you by seeing that another friend has passed. She was a kind, wonderous woman, a devoted mother, and as many would say, take too soon, that she was too young. I've seen many, many friends pass over the last years, this last year especially. We're all terminal. But, I'm still here. My scans have been stable for some time now. The chemotherapy was really effective against my tumours. Their cancer got to the point where the treatments, no matter which they tried, were now useless. Some tried alternative options towards the end, some decided to not try delaying it any longer, some opted for even ending things before their body shut itself down. No matter what they chose, it was their choice. A choice no one should ever have to make. I don't know what I'll do when I get to that point. I hate thinking about it. I also hate knowing that my friends' children won't have their parent by their side, any longer. They'll miss the hugs, the kisses, the fights, the getaways, the trips, the advice... Some will still have some memories. Some will have things to help them along, cards, letters, videos, books, pictures, but they won't have the person.
So why do I get to be here and watch my friends go? Some say that I'm so lucky. How is it luck? You get to feel the heart break every time you are notified that someone passed. You feel death's hand a little tighter around your neck. You watch your children and know that could be them soon, one parent less.
You to take comfort in that you are still here, but the weight on your chest is real. The darkness in your mind is there. You feel guilty because you are on this side of the grass and all you can do is try to honour them by living. Try to live so that you can give reason for being the "lucky one".
Survivor's guilt comes at you strongest after someone you cared about, related to, loved, and admired passes away, especially if it is sudden. Salt in the wound is if you're a ticking time bomb, yourself. An unfortunate catch to getting to know other people living with cancer is that you are all on borrowed time. You don't know how much any of you have, of course doctors can speculate, percentages are given, but no one truly knows the amount of seconds you will get to enjoy in this life.
Today's post is brought to you by seeing that another friend has passed. She was a kind, wonderous woman, a devoted mother, and as many would say, take too soon, that she was too young. I've seen many, many friends pass over the last years, this last year especially. We're all terminal. But, I'm still here. My scans have been stable for some time now. The chemotherapy was really effective against my tumours. Their cancer got to the point where the treatments, no matter which they tried, were now useless. Some tried alternative options towards the end, some decided to not try delaying it any longer, some opted for even ending things before their body shut itself down. No matter what they chose, it was their choice. A choice no one should ever have to make. I don't know what I'll do when I get to that point. I hate thinking about it. I also hate knowing that my friends' children won't have their parent by their side, any longer. They'll miss the hugs, the kisses, the fights, the getaways, the trips, the advice... Some will still have some memories. Some will have things to help them along, cards, letters, videos, books, pictures, but they won't have the person.
So why do I get to be here and watch my friends go? Some say that I'm so lucky. How is it luck? You get to feel the heart break every time you are notified that someone passed. You feel death's hand a little tighter around your neck. You watch your children and know that could be them soon, one parent less.
You to take comfort in that you are still here, but the weight on your chest is real. The darkness in your mind is there. You feel guilty because you are on this side of the grass and all you can do is try to honour them by living. Try to live so that you can give reason for being the "lucky one".
Wednesday, 25 January 2017
When is it too much?
I guess it's something that I have asked many times. When is enough, enough? When should I just say, okay, I need to stop? When should I tell myself to cut the stress off? When should I give up?
It's not always about something big and important. Small things should be easy to say "That's it" to but that's not always the way. I had a couple instances where I knew right away that the line was crossed. I acted accordingly. I find myself, however, constantly turning back to this question at some point in the year.
To be a bit morbid on the subject, this is something that any advanced cancer patient has to face. When will there be no more options? What will I do then? Will I choose to end things on my terms or to let nature seize me? What is too much when it comes to treatment side effects? When is the quality of life diminished to the point of not being life any longer? It's something no one should have to face and decide on. But some of us do.
On a less deadly topic, sometimes you do your best but the effects are toxic and you need to just walk away. It can be a relationship, a job, a career, a hobby, a volunteer event, or a situation that you turned around and realized you fell into it long ago. In those instances it is best for your mental sanity to try to stop. That's when you need to look out for your mental well-being. The stress that something, even out of good intentions, has turned toxic and it can do a lot to you. Stress can effect a lot of your body and you don't generally realize it until you get a chance to detox. If you step away from the cause, sometimes just as your mind has decided that you finally need to stop, that can start the healing process.
Once you have accepted the path you need to take, even if it means burning bridges, or temporarily cutting ties, you might find the air less dense or less thin as it had been. Your shoulders may stop slumping. Your heart might feel lighter. It'll still take time to fully recover, but you might be able to feel that you did what was best for you and your well-being. Even if it isn't the best for all parties involved.
It's not always about something big and important. Small things should be easy to say "That's it" to but that's not always the way. I had a couple instances where I knew right away that the line was crossed. I acted accordingly. I find myself, however, constantly turning back to this question at some point in the year.
To be a bit morbid on the subject, this is something that any advanced cancer patient has to face. When will there be no more options? What will I do then? Will I choose to end things on my terms or to let nature seize me? What is too much when it comes to treatment side effects? When is the quality of life diminished to the point of not being life any longer? It's something no one should have to face and decide on. But some of us do.
On a less deadly topic, sometimes you do your best but the effects are toxic and you need to just walk away. It can be a relationship, a job, a career, a hobby, a volunteer event, or a situation that you turned around and realized you fell into it long ago. In those instances it is best for your mental sanity to try to stop. That's when you need to look out for your mental well-being. The stress that something, even out of good intentions, has turned toxic and it can do a lot to you. Stress can effect a lot of your body and you don't generally realize it until you get a chance to detox. If you step away from the cause, sometimes just as your mind has decided that you finally need to stop, that can start the healing process.
Once you have accepted the path you need to take, even if it means burning bridges, or temporarily cutting ties, you might find the air less dense or less thin as it had been. Your shoulders may stop slumping. Your heart might feel lighter. It'll still take time to fully recover, but you might be able to feel that you did what was best for you and your well-being. Even if it isn't the best for all parties involved.
Tuesday, 29 November 2016
Wednesday, 26 October 2016
Ramblings - Oct 2016
Today I had my sons out to a small play room at a mall. We had some time to kill till it was time to pick up my daughter. There was already two women with their young infants (both around 9 months or younger) in the room chatting back and forth.
As my two boys flitted around from toy to toy, enjoying themselves but being wary of the babies and not getting in their way, I couldn't help but hear a lot of the chatter from the other mothers. Talk of losing the baby weight finally, the trials of going back to work, something about the fathers... I tend to try to block out when people talk about their husbands... I'll tell you why in a moment, but first, my first thoughts as I heard their banter.
The women spoke to each other with such tension about how they would breastfeed while trying to work and how exhausting it is to "try to do it all", and all I'm thinking is, "I wish that was all I had to deal with." I found myself wondering if they would react the same way if they knew what some parents go through that are their age. If they had a baby and were trying to figure out how to get to radiation appointments. If they had a toddler and needed to get their port flushed. If they had to miss reading their children bedtime stories because they were sick from chemotherapy. If they didn't have a choice about breastfeeding because they no longer had breasts.
I'm not saying their issues are not valid. They have every right to gripe about the stressors in their lives, we all do. What I'm saying is people constantly look at me with wide eyes and respond stuff like, "It puts things into perspective", when they hear I have cancer. I know what they're getting at but does everyone really need to have that reality check? Why can't I wish that that was the only problems I had and not feel guilty that if I did mention my cancer that the ensuing gasps and pity party would follow... and they most always do... Can't I mention my cancer and not have them instantly want to take back all their griping? I'm jumping around here... Let's backtrack to another train of thought for a sec.
The husband thing. I don't like listening to when strangers talk about their spouses, especially to other women because they badmouth them so much. They complain and bitch about so many things, and the listener responds like it's an acceptable occurrence!! A husband is not your "biggest child", and if they act like one, tell them to grow up or get out. Your husband is your partner, and if you guys don't understand that, then it's time to start talking to each other. It's okay if you have chores split as best as you both can manage, but don't act like a marriage is babysitting someone for life. And don't bad mouth your spouse behind his back like that. That's horrendous! If you say stuff like that, especially around your kids (!!!!), then what picture are you painting of the "love of your life" to people? You may not like it but you guys need to get to marriage counseling, and that's fine. Every marriage is different and you both need to learn how to communicate with each other.
Anywho, that's some rants for now... Now bed...
As my two boys flitted around from toy to toy, enjoying themselves but being wary of the babies and not getting in their way, I couldn't help but hear a lot of the chatter from the other mothers. Talk of losing the baby weight finally, the trials of going back to work, something about the fathers... I tend to try to block out when people talk about their husbands... I'll tell you why in a moment, but first, my first thoughts as I heard their banter.
The women spoke to each other with such tension about how they would breastfeed while trying to work and how exhausting it is to "try to do it all", and all I'm thinking is, "I wish that was all I had to deal with." I found myself wondering if they would react the same way if they knew what some parents go through that are their age. If they had a baby and were trying to figure out how to get to radiation appointments. If they had a toddler and needed to get their port flushed. If they had to miss reading their children bedtime stories because they were sick from chemotherapy. If they didn't have a choice about breastfeeding because they no longer had breasts.
I'm not saying their issues are not valid. They have every right to gripe about the stressors in their lives, we all do. What I'm saying is people constantly look at me with wide eyes and respond stuff like, "It puts things into perspective", when they hear I have cancer. I know what they're getting at but does everyone really need to have that reality check? Why can't I wish that that was the only problems I had and not feel guilty that if I did mention my cancer that the ensuing gasps and pity party would follow... and they most always do... Can't I mention my cancer and not have them instantly want to take back all their griping? I'm jumping around here... Let's backtrack to another train of thought for a sec.
The husband thing. I don't like listening to when strangers talk about their spouses, especially to other women because they badmouth them so much. They complain and bitch about so many things, and the listener responds like it's an acceptable occurrence!! A husband is not your "biggest child", and if they act like one, tell them to grow up or get out. Your husband is your partner, and if you guys don't understand that, then it's time to start talking to each other. It's okay if you have chores split as best as you both can manage, but don't act like a marriage is babysitting someone for life. And don't bad mouth your spouse behind his back like that. That's horrendous! If you say stuff like that, especially around your kids (!!!!), then what picture are you painting of the "love of your life" to people? You may not like it but you guys need to get to marriage counseling, and that's fine. Every marriage is different and you both need to learn how to communicate with each other.
Anywho, that's some rants for now... Now bed...
Monday, 12 September 2016
Anniversaries
Tomorrow is an anniversary for me. It's not my wedding anniversary, not my birthday, nothing like that. Tomorrow will have been 6 years since I heard something. Since I heard that the lump in me was cancer.
I've had lots of different chemotherapies and radiation. I've had days I couldn't get out of bed for more than to go pee. I've had days that I desperately wanted to be normal again. But I never get the typical normal life again. Even with stable scans my life won't be like the average 35 year old. I have cancer. I'll always have cancer. But I'm not cancer.
I play with my children, I play with my husband, I live, I breathe, I do my best to be present. I've had a couple years with no tumours but that time is gone. Now I hope for years of stability, for I know not when the chemo will fail me.
6 years. That's more than a lot of my friends were given. Happy anniversary.
Saturday, 10 September 2016
Realities of metastatic cancer
Having metastatic cancer is smiling when your family can laugh when you're not in the room because that means they'll be happy even after you're gone
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