Is it hot in here?

We've had a lovely couple of days here in England (hopefully this isn't our summer over yet) as it's been nice and sunny. However, today I felt particularly hot. I figured it was because I was running around the house getting a few errands done. Until I realised that the heat that I was experiencing was very odd: it felt as if it was coming from within me, like I was about to spontaneously combust.

Then it dawned upon me - here it was finally, one of the dreaded effects of chemotherapy. Hot flushes and early menopause. Although initially I had felt sad about this (I wrote about it in an earlier blog entry) today I felt absolutely nothing. Just acceptance. Once I realised what was going on, I just went about my business and did not dwell on the matter any longer.

It's funny how certain things which can seem so important one day may not matter at all the next. I suppose it's because taking everything into consideration, early menopause really is nothing at all to worry about.

Da pain, da pain!

I can imagine that's what Tattoo would've said to Mr. Rourke as they engaged in their nefarious nocturnal activities on Fantasy Island. It's also what I've been saying since I woke up this morning. Sadly, I am in agony: every muscle in my body hurts and I can barely walk. I blame the chemotherapy, of course.

I came across an article (over the Internet, so IT MUST BE TRUE) that chemotherapy may cause osteoporosis, so it encouraged those undergoing chemo to partake in weight bearing exercises, such as running or weight-lifting. I stopped running a couple of years ago, and although I have been going to the gym regularly, I have only concentrated on cardiovascular, flexibility and core work. So on Monday, I did a Body Pump class, which is basically weight-lifting to music. I used to do this class regularly, but have not done so since March. Oh. My. Word. My body is in so much pain that I think even my eyelids are sore in sympathy. I have discovered new muscles that I had forgotten even existed.

I suppose I now look properly ill. I am waddling instead of walking and I have a permanent look of pain etched on my face. I should make use of this: added to the Sick Face this could be a very effective weapon in getting things done MY WAY. I only have a couple of days though before the pain goes away, so I'd better make a list, quick.

A semi-colon, after all...

(For men or the squeamish: I may give TOO MUCH INFORMATION in this blog entry so I suggest you stop reading now.)

When I gave birth to the twins 11 and a half years ago, I opted for sterilisation at the same time as we already had three beautiful children and I was 34. I was very surprised and disappointed to find out that despite having my tubes tied (or cut, I'm not really sure) I was still going to have my monthly periods. After all, it's not called 'the curse' for nothing.

However, when I saw my oncologist and he was going through the side-effects (the nurses and doctor seem to enjoy discussing this - either they want their arses covered for any eventuality or they get a certain perverse pleasure) he informed me that the drugs could make me go through my menopause early. I shrugged my shoulders and was not bothered in the slightest. At least I wouldn't have the long, drawn out process of hot flushes and bad moods. And no surfing of the crimson wave. Hurrah! But when my period did not arrive when due last week, I felt a certain sadness. And not because I had recently bought a bumper pack of tampons at our local Costco either - suddenly, I felt old and infertile. I've left my youth and all that. I'm not deluded - I know I left it ages ago but sometimes I still like to tease LH about the possibility of having more children. I know I've been sterilised but I did have to sign a waiver saying there was still a one in a thousand chance of still getting pregnant...

As it turns out all that angst was premature as the curse arrived today. And what a pain. Bring on the menopause, I say.

So no-one told you life was gonna be this way

Generally, people take stock of friendships when they are confronted with hardship; the understanding is that this is when you find your true friends. This however is not the case with cancer; the word comes with so much baggage that people are at a loss on how to approach it. My friend and gym buddy J admitted that I didn't hear from her for a week or so after my initial email message informing her of the diagnosis simply because she needed time to process the news; and also, she didn't know what to say. I know where she's coming from as I most probably would've done the same in her case.

However, there are friends who have disappeared; and much as I have tried my very best not to take it against them, I cannot help but feel hurt. I'm certainly not expecting daily telephone calls nor email messages, but a little message of support is always uplifting, especially from someone who has been considered close to the heart.

I hope that these disappearances are temporary and once I've received the all-clear they will come back into my life again. However, if for whatever reason they decide that our friendship was not worth it then I will move on. Although cancer should not be a test for friendship, it has strengthened a lot of my relationships: friends who were close before are even closer now, and some acquaintances have developed into firm and beautiful friendships.

Let's Get Physical

"Long time no see", I said to my uh... drawer that houses my workout clothes the other day. But after surgery, two weeks in South Africa, chemotherapy and numerous hospital visits, I had skipped the gym for over a month. However I am feeling back to normal now, and ready to be active again.

So, I've been to the gym thrice, and have done a couple of spinning classes, a run and pilates. I'm going back tomorrow for more spinning and I have a self-defence class the whole day on Friday. I know it wasn't two weeks since I'd had the treatment, but I am feeling back to the way I was before my diagnosis (ie healthy). And it's one of the best things I could've done. Apart from feeling that by going to the gym I was giving the ol' cancer the finger (nyah-nyah you can't stop me) I'm also convinced that one of the reasons why the chemotherapy has not affected me as much as it could have is because I was (am) fairly fit.

And I'd like to keep it that way. I feel that I'm in a slight position of strength now, knowing what I've got coming. So I've decided to look at it this way: every three weeks I have a scheduled "flu", which will keep me feeling ropey for a week. I then have two weeks to be myself before the darned "flu" hits me again. But I intend to spend those two weeks doing whatever I can to stay healthy and fighting fit. Which means going to the gym and licking the inside of a lawnmower. Actually, I meant drinking two shots of wheatgrass juice every day. Which tastes like the inside of a lawnmower...

Psycho-femme, que'est-ce que c'est?

I knew, the moment I woke up, that today would be a struggle. Which is why I forced myself to go to the gym and was pretty proud of myself for having done so. (After all, I was just in surgery last Tuesday.) But I felt strong afterwards - I suppose the endorphins kicked in. Later in the day the children and I had a picnic lunch outside in the garden which was absolutely lovely.

However, there was only so much I could do. By 3pm I found myself bawling my head off at the injustice of it all. Suddenly, all the confidence I had in the doctors and the medical staff was gone. My tumour was incurable, I was going to die. My children were going to grow up without a mother. I would have to find my husband a new wife (it's all about control, even A.D.) I called the the Breast Cancer Clinic nurse, cried my head off with her. I called Macmillan and did the same. I then got hold of my friend M, who suffered from breast cancer a little over five years ago and was soothed by her. She prayed for me, and made me laugh. Suddenly, everything was fine again. I am going to live. A will not be forced to marry a second-rate version of me (no way am I choosing some alpha female) and I will meet my children's children.

I think I will have to accept that these psycho days are going to be part and parcel of the whole C experience. It's very unnerving - I can only compare it to watching Comic Relief* every other day. I can just imagine though how much more uncomfortable it is for the recipients of my manic emotions. This is an excerpt from a conversation the other day when the children's music teacher called:

R: Hi, I was just confirming that it's still okay to come on Tuesday?
Me: (stifled sob)
R: Sorry?
Me: Hoooooowwwwwwwwwwwwlllllllllll!!!

People will start to think I'm crazy.



*Comic Relief is an annual British fundraising drive for children in Africa and the UK. They intersperse funny, side-splitting sketches with the most heartbreaking images of dying and impoverished children.

Family and Friends

Although we had been told that it could be cancer on Wednesday evening, it wasn't until Saturday morning that we received the proper diagnosis. By Saturday afternoon, I had told family and friends. A girlfriend, who had been diagnosed with cancer the year previous, could not understand my desire to tell everyone. To be completely honest, I'm not sure either. But I'm a person who wears her heart on her sleeve; I was upset and I knew that I would receive comfort from family and friends. And this has been the case, most definitely.

Reading messages of love and support from friends and family has made the news slightly easier to bear. They were sad with me when they heard of the diagnosis, and rejoiced when the CT scan was clear. (Amazing how the bar changes - on Saturday I was devastated to learn I had breast cancer, and yesterday I was overjoyed to learn it was JUST breast cancer.) And I know that they will continue to be there for me as I embark on this arduous process of getting rid of this evil crab.

What a Pain

The past week or so has been an absolute blur. One week I'm up and healthy, and the next week, I'm diagnosed with cancer. What a pain. Although I know I should feel the same - the cancer was simply picked up because of a health check I signed up for - I feel different. Tainted. I feel that my body (specifically my left breast) has been traitorous. And although I was doing double spin classes just last week, I suddenly feel frail. My world has changed, and although I do not want to be defined as a cancer victim, it is part - and will forever be a part - of who I am.