It’s official – I am now ‘moving on’ from living with breast cancer…..

Who’d have thought it.

Last week was my second annual checkup to make sure that the dreaded boob rot hadn’t got it’s claws into my remaining boobie, and that my bionic boobie wasn’t about to break it’s bonds and threaten to take over the world.

The few days leading up to the appointment always make me anxious.  There is a big difference between knowing the consequences of them finding something wrong, and blithely going along the first time around, convinced you are perfectly fine, only to find you are completely buggered.

As I am getting more & more active, I have more ‘ouch’ moments as the surgery still settles down and the bionic boobie integrates with the rest of me.  Of course, I fretted and worried about those niggles and twinges before the appointment, worried in case they were a sign of ghastliness.  I nearly convinced myself that the remaining boobie looked ‘a bit odd’ until I had a word with myself and just concentrated on waiting for the appointment on Thursday.

I was, of course, massively early.

Just under a year had passed since I had been in the cancer unit at York Hospital, not much had changed, apart from some funky new murals on the walls (sorry to tell you this York PCT, but painting the walls a pretty purple colour really doesn’t make you less worried about your mammogram/histology/chemotherapy/surgery/radiology/hair loss), but it felt the same.  A bit forced on the cheeriness side of things, and a bit depressing on the rest.  Walking up those stairs as a returnee and not an active patient felt pretty good.  Looking in the eyes of the three ladies coming down the stairs as I went up just reminded me of how awful it all is.  I sent a little prayer after them to accompany my best ‘it will be OK, hopefully?’ smile.

Miracle of miracles – although I was 30 minutes early, they could see me straight away – so off we went, and I sat in a consulting room on my own again with only half my clothes on for 15 minutes.

When the consultant finally did arrive to do the consulting bit, I had almost convinced myself they had forgotten about me, and wondered what the protocol was for reminding them.

Did I:

A – poke my head out of the consulting room door and yell?

B – put all my top half clothing back on, retrieve my shoes, go back to the front desk and ask what was going on?

C – risk the potential mental trauma to my fellow cancer centre attendees by risking a quick peek down the corridor without putting my top half clothes on, thereby risking flashing the entire corridor with my one & a half boobies?

D – rip the privacy curtain down and use it as a toga before carrying out any one of the above?

E – get a grip.

You’ll be glad to know I went with E.

And it all went swimmingly – consultation duly done – no changes from last year, and all my niggley aches and pains perfectly normal for a woman with one & a half boobs, a recovering liver that had been poisoned for 6 months, significant steroid induced weight gain and drug induced early menopausal symptoms.

Result.

As we are about to move to Lincolnshire they also arranged for me to have my mammogram on the same day to save me a return trip.  Which was great.  So, I toddled off down the corridor to the next changing room, but thankfully kept all my clothes on for that bit.

The clothes come off when you go in the treatment room.  I am now well versed in this and always make sure I have things that slip on and off easily – it is very uncool to be thrashing about with complicated buttons/straps/zips or whathaveyou.  So – top half clothes off again and then it is time for the mammogram of the remaining boobie.

Oh lordy.  Now I know why it is a year between appointments.

Not only do you have to contort yourself into positions not even Beth Tweddle would find easy, but you also have to hold your breath whilst a nice smilely lady is crushing your boob in a vice.  Twice.  Apparently it was my fault it hurt as ‘you are a bit too young for this and your boobs aren’t floppy enough’.  A backhanded compliment if I ever heard one!!!

And that was that.

Done.

Well actually not quite.  As I went back to the front desk to make next years appointment, the cancer care nurse came out with something for me.  It was a folder of information she thought I might find useful to help with dealing with the night sweats & weight gain that is currently my happy lot.

I’ve got to admit, I didn’t really look at it then – I was on my way to the car park and was running close to going over an hour in the pay and display – I didn’t want to have to take out a bank loan for paying for over an hour, so popped it in my bag and just hustled to the car.  I texted TDB to tell him everything had gone well, threw my stuff in the car and headed home.

I grabbed the folder with my handbag and put them on the kitchen table, where I promptly forgot about them for a little while whilst I had a conference call with a client and arranged a booking for one of my trainers.

When I did pick it up to look at it, I did a little jig.

You see, all the way up until this point, the information I had been given has been about living with cancer.  Right there, on the front of the folder, in nice big capital letters, it said ‘Moving Forward – a life beyond cancer’ instead.

And that is exactly what I intend to do.

In a few weeks time I will retire this blog – it is time to move forward.  I have a plan to make it available in a different format and raise money to help fight this thing, so do keep your eyes peeled for more information on that.

THANK YOU for all your support.

Dr Dylan (and Turtle) standing down from beating cancer with cuddles

Happy Birthday Bionic Boobie

This time last year I had my final bit of surgery and my new bionic boobie was installed.

We’ve been on a bit of a journey since then…

A year on and it is definitely time to reflect – getting over being systematically poisoned every 3 weeks for 5 months of my life has been much harder to move on from than I ever really thought it would.

Now don’t misunderstand me – I didn’t expect the Wellness Fairy to appear, wave her wand and cure me instantly, but I wasn’t expecting this to be such a struggle.  Chemo really does bugger you about.  Getting over that buggeration is difficult.

Of course, TDB has been my rock & harbour when things got tough.  He has also been my ‘pull yourself together and man up’ coach when I have felt a bit sorry for myself and needed a kick up the proverbial too.   Sometimes I have been a bit overwhelmed by the ‘poor me’s’, and he has helped me realise I am being a wuss pants.

The daily struggle is lack of sleep.  I haven’t had a full night since starting tamoxifen, and I still have 4 years drug therapy to go.  This does, occasionally make me ratty, irritable & generally not very pleasant to be around.  TDB keeps a carefully orchestrated silence on those points 😉

I’ve also put on about a stone in drug induced weight, which is not exactly the end of the world, but does make my wardrobe somewhat restricted, especially on a seriously fat day.

However – the bionic boobie has settled beautifully, I look good with my clothes on (!) and my hair is now a luscious, wavy blonde (helped by the bottle admittedly).  Of all the things I was expecting with hair regrowth, a reverse strip of dark brown through the blonde wasn’t it.  Hair dye is a wonderful thing.

My sweet tooth did disappear after chemo – and my cheese eating is back with a vengeance.  Each time I sink my teeth into a divinely ripe bit of Colston Bassett, I am so appreciative of the sensuality of food.

Despite the best efforts of the ferocious night sweats, my energy levels are so much better – I have my mojo pretty much 98% back.

This has such a positive effect on the rest of it that a bit of broken sleep seems a price well worth paying.

During the past year my business has grown and thrive, I have won another award for being a great trainer, got my gardening mojo back, re-embraced my love (obsession actually) for food, and generally found a good path towards the sunlit uplands.

Every step I take along it, I give thanks – and I remember all those who are no longer walking it with me.

So – happy birthday Bionic Boobie – here’s to a happy and long relationship between us 🙂

 

It’s time to get off the cancer bus….

Wow.

This time last year I was getting ready for the IITT awards and wondering how to fit a thermal vest under evening wear.

This Thursday, I am going again as a finalist for Trainer of the Year.

No issues with baldness, lack of eyebrows/lashes, inability to keep warm or, indeed, having to go for a chemotherapy treatment the next day.

Nope.  Not me.  This year, I shall be meeting TDB in London and we are both looking forward to the evening immensely.

What have I learnt then over the past year?  Has cancer changed me?  Do I feel differently about myself and others?  Have I had a major life turnaround?

Well – yes, and no.

I have learned who my friends & support network really are, and who was just in it for the short game.

I have learned not to waste emotional energy on friendships that don’t repay my investment.

I have learned not to feel guilty about this.

I have learned to focus on what I can achieve, and not what I think I should achieve.

I have recognised that I need to look after myself emotionally as well as physically.

I have bought a Zumba Wii game (see second part of previous comment).

I don’t work 12 hour days just because I run my own business and external influences think I should.

I value time with my family & friends, and I make sure I get lots of it.

I take throwing each empty packet of tamoxifen in the bin as a little victory against cancer.

I recognise that not everyone I know realises I have had cancer.

I recognise that not everyone is comfortable with my head on approach to talking about it and dealing with it.

I don’t feel I am a ‘victim’ of cancer.

I don’t feel there is anything I could have done to avoid getting it either.

I don’t want it again thanks.

I realise this is not up to me.

And I am good with all of the above.

I plan to put a bit back.  I am going to put together my award winning cancer blogs into a Kindle book and use it to raise money for Breast Cancer awareness.  I’ll let you know when that is available for you to buy and your purchase will help other women in the fight against this horrid thing.

This blog won’t go away, but will then focus on other things.

It’s been fun, but it’s time to get off the cancer bus now and focus on the broad sunlit uplands.

Living IT, Learning IT, Loving IT – 2011 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 2,000 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 33 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

Playing with the big girls

Well, it’s done. Wonder how I got on? Should I have taken more ‘stuff’? Should I have done a different topic? Who cares! I made it to the finals of Trainer of the Year, TRAINER OF THE YEAR!!!!! and I’m utterly thrilled to have got there.

I gave it my best shot. I did what I do best – delivered a great session I believed in, with passion, humour & energy.

And it got me thinking about WHY I do what I do, and why I love it so much.

I was never what you would call naturally ‘gifted’ at school – clever, yes – but I had to work at it. I responded best to teachers who recognised I needed to ‘get it’ and find relevance in a topic to do well. Sadly not many could be bothered. But the few who did still stick in my mind every time I get up in front of a room of Learners.

As do the many who couldn’t be bothered. Who just went through the motions. Who had no interest in whether I understood what the hell was going on. Who ridiculed me often and with relish.

I often hear trainers in my field of expertise moan – ‘not another Excel intro’, ‘I hate teaching basic level’, ‘apps training is really dull’……

Needless to say they don’t work for me.

I want to be bothered. I want to pass on the passion I feel for learning. I want the Learners I engage with to be energised and excited by the new stuff they can do after a training event.

I get a chance to do that every time I step into the training room, put my headset on to deliver online learning, take a booking from a client and get my butt out out there to make it happen.

I love that moment when it all clicks for a learner and their face lights up with knowledge. Because I know how good that feels.

I work hard to be good at what I do, so – rather than think I’d never be able to rank alongside the really big training companies, that I should rest on last years Freelance Trainer of the Year award, I thought about it, then I gripped it, ripped it, and put a submission together…

How cool is that? To get the chance to stand up and be judged alongside some serious competition was a fantastic opportunity.

Whatever happens now I am so proud of what I have achieved, ably assisted by TDB, chums & the lovely trainers who work with me and share my passion to show people that they can do it. After all, I have.

So – why do I do what I do?

Because learning is fun. Because helping people learn is fun. Because it picks me up every time I see someone’s light bulb come on. Because its wonderful to change someone’s mindset from ‘I can’t do it’ to ‘I bloody well can’.

Now – the awards dinner is in Feb 2012. I have the most fantastic pair of shoes. I’m a winner already on the shoe front. This time I can wear what I want without worrying about chemo related nonsense. This time I wont have to wear a stupid beanie hat. This time I won’t have to have chemo the day after.

This time, I can really, really enjoy it. Bring it on!

Did you miss me?

It’s been a while.

I’m still glowing like I’m a Springfield reject – & as time marches on, am getting better at dealing with it. Mostly.

I haven’t had a full nights sleep since I finished chemo in February. I am more familiar with the middle of the night than I would like to be. My eye bags have their own excess baggage allowance for goodness sake.

My first set of annual mammograms on the remaining boob came back clear.

This time last year I had just about recovered from the mastectomy. What a difference a year makes.

I have thick, blonde curly hair.

I have a fabulous reconstructed cleavage.

I am short listed for Trainer of the Year 2012.

And I get a bit hot. A lot.

Life is good. Very good. Onward, and upward – sunlit highlands x

A strange anniversary

This week, on the 28^th, two anniversaries take place.

My sister’s 10^th wedding anniversary, and a year since I first turned up at York Hospital with what became Boob Rot.

I’m back there again for my first annual check up – basically this is making sure that the other one isn’t rotting, and that the tamoxifen is doing it’s job, etc, etc. I am consoling myself by going out to dinner with friends afterwards.

I feel a bit odd about it all really. It’s been a while now since I was at the hospital – I now have a full head of blonde, curly hair (which it never was before!), bushy eyebrows and luscious eyelashes. I am fully reconciled to the changes in the way I look, and how my body feels, and am pretty damned happy with the results. I could do without the weight gain and hot flushes courtesy of tamoxifen, but it’s all part of the greater good, and I’d rather be doing everything possible to stop any cancerous cells getting the idea that they may be in charge. Step it up there tamoxifen. Stop ’em at the pass.

So going back is just a stark reminder of the fact that I’ve still got a long way to go. The Wellness Fairy is doing a great job – but I have to consciously remind myself that this is a long term game plan, and not a quick fix. On average, they reckon it takes you at least a year to recover from chemotherapy, so I’ve time to do yet.

Having my energy back is fantastic – I’m loving being able to get back into the swing of things – I can do more, and am making sure I do. I’m rebuilding the business, which understandably had gone a little quiet over the chemo period, and have lots of exciting new challenges to look forward to.

So, 28^th July had better be a good day. Keep your fingers crossed that the remaining boob has behaved itself – I shall report back.

Be careful what you wish for…..

Greetings.

Here we are, 4 months down the road after getting off the chemo bus, mojo restablishing itself, and general health improving.

I am getting better every day, in every way.

Well.  Apart from one.

Lack of sleep.

During chemo, I was constantly fighting a losing battle to stay warm.  I was cold all the time, to the bone, and would often go to bed fully clothed, with hat, under a 13.5 tog duvet and still be cold.  I longed to be warm.  To not have to bundle up like an eskimo all the time.  To be hat free and operating like a normal human being.

Yes, well.  Tamoxifen put paid to all that.

I was having the odd hot flush during chemotherapy which the lovely consultant said was just my body reacting to the treatment.

Compared to what is going on now – they were a walk in the park.

Within two weeks of starting the tamoxifen, I was ‘glowing’ regularly – medical advice said to give it a month or so to settle down, so I wasn’t too concerned.  I carried on ‘glowing’ until you could quite easily fry an egg on my head.

Then the night sweats kicked in and life hasn’t been the same since.

I get so hot that it feels like I am in a sauna.  I break out in an instant sweat of biblical proportions and thrash about like a demented and de-bowled goldfish in an attempt to get some cool air to my fevered skin.

I toss and turn to try and get comfortable whilst constantly feeling like the Ready Brek kids.

In recognition of my now legendary power surges (you could run a small town off me), my friend and fellow cancer battler Nadders got me a ‘Chillo’ – specifically designed to remain cool and provide relief in these situations to avoid the curse of the broken nights sleep.

Well, dear reader, my night hots get so hot, the Chillo becomes a Hotto.

A full nights sleep seems a distant and fond memory.  TDB feels the same.  And he saves the western world from terrorism etc for a living.

Being cold is now wishful thinking………

 

On the road to recovery…

Hello there – been a while since I added a missive to my blog, lots has been going on.

Not least of which – the final bit of surgery to replace the BullworkerInMyBoob with a proper implant jobby.  Now that’s posh.

Reading back through my posts, it seems that TDB and I pop off on our hols before each bit of surgery, and this time was no different – I took my baldness on holiday to Tenerife for a week and tanned it.  It was the first outing of the baldness without a hat/headscarf/pith helmet – and I was a bit nervous of how folks would react, but compared to some of the other sights around the resort, I had nothing to worry about.  If I ever say that I think a thong is a sensible idea of poolwear when I am 75+ and most definitely don’t have the figure for it, stop me.  And that was just her husband.

I digress.

The holiday also brought another momentous event – my first Gin & Tonic since chemotherapy had started back in November.

I love my G&T.  In fact, I haven’t really met an alcoholic beverage I don’t like.  Apart from melon vodka.  But the chemotherapy did odd things to my tastebuds, fizzy drinks were just too difficult with all the indigestion, and so, dear reader, a glass of Gordons finest had not passed my lips in some time.  I was hoping not to have a ‘yuk’ reaction, so decided that the first one would be on the balcony of our apartment in Tenerife, bathed in sunshine.

I am happy to report that it was WONDERFUL.

I also made up for lost time by eating my body weight in things that had been verboten during chemo – pate/shellfish/raw meat/blue cheese, although not all together on the same plate, obv.

We flew back into the UK on the Friday, and I headed back off to York Hospital on the Monday for the final countdown.  I was at Ward 27 for 7am (ouch), in the sexy stockings and backless gown by 9am, on my way to theatre at 9.30am, and back in recovery an hour later.

WOW.

It was a wopper.  I hadn’t quite been prepared for the amount of swelling – and for a little while was a bit worried that I would have one Jordan-esque boob and one normal one.  Thankfully, I am happy to report that the swelling has now settled down and both seem to be around the same size and position.  And they look fantastic.

Together with getting my hair back (currently at about 3/4 inch), my eyelashes & my eyebrows too, I really hadn’t considered how much it would sky rocket my self confidence back into normal orbit.

I thought I was quite happy with the BullworkerInMyBoob and the shape it gave me.  I thought I was dealing quite well with having the facial definition of a boiled egg and a bonce to match.  I thought noone really noticed the slightly grey pallor and luggage stack that was under my eyes.

But now that has all done, it is so fantastic to look in the mirror and see me again.

I’m going out tonight to a Ladies Guest Night dinner here at RAF Linton.  This involves a posh frock and dressing up for the first time since chemotherapy was over, and my new boob was fitted.  I can’t wait.  My nails are varnished, I have a new lippy, and new mascara (claps hands) to use, and a dear friend coming to join us who has come back into my life over the past year or so.

Man.  I feel like a woman.

Well then. That’s that.

Chemo over.  Job done.  Caped Cancer Crusaders can now stand down.  It’s time to make way for the Wellness Fairy.

FANFARE!!  POM POMS!!  DANCING GIRLS!!

Looking back over the past few months seems completely unreal, and I’m not finished yet – however, the last chemo trip went well…….

Having spent the early part of chemo treatment being constantly early for the appointments, TDB and I made up for it by being late for the last two.

The previous one was not our fault – delayed train back from the IITT Awards in London meant a very rushed dash from the station at York to the hospital.

This one was our fault as TDB’s pudding wasn’t done.

Let me explain…..

Regular readers of my blog will know that the cancer team at York Hospital have, in our view, been utterly brilliant.  Supportive, realistic, caring and no-nonsense in ways that have helped us immensely.  So, TDB wanted to do something for them to express our thanks.

Not for us the box of chocolates/tin of biscuits/card & flowers.  Oh no.  The Pudding Meister was on the case and noone was stopping him.

TDB has always been an excellent pastry cook – so Pear & Almond Tart was the choice and the baking kicked off mid-morning of Last Chemo Day.  Plenty of time.  We needed to leave about 1.15pm, so all was good.

At 1.25pm I was getting a little nervous.

At 1.30pm I was getting bundled into the car, with a red hot Pear & Almond Tart on my lap held in an oven glove.  It’s a twenty minute journey at the best of times, along little country lanes, the A19, the dreaded ring road.  The road works at the dreaded ring road.  The eejits who block the roundabouts on the ring road.  The mad fools who try and force their way through the blocked roundabouts on the ring road and cause more trouble …

So, we get to the hospital and explode out of the car with a red hot tart in our hands.  Not something I thought I would ever say in this blog.

We scorch up the stairs and go to the waiting room – and I’m called straight in for my oncologist appointment.

Hmm.  What to do with the tart??

We’ll take it with us.  Excellent plan.

You try having a sensible conversation with your oncologist whilst your Dearly Beloved is holding a warm Pear & Almond Tart in a pair of red flowery oven gloves.

So – the low down on my prognosis was duly delivered by the oncologist – ‘Your prognosis is good.  Have a nice life, pick up your tamoxifen from the pharmacy before you leave.’

And that was that.

Next up.  Caped Cancer Crusaders for the last time.  I don’t think I have ever wished away an hour of my life faster than I did that one.  In they went, one at a time, all the same old side effects kicking in – prickly tingly ness of the nether regions, freezing face, eyeballs out on sticks, slow descent of fug.

BUT I DID NOT CARE.

Because I wouldn’t have to do it again.

I finished my post chemotherapy drugs yesterday for the last time.  I got a bit emotional about that.

I got over it.

Next up, new boob on the 11th April.

So this part of the journey now ends.  Thanks all for being there with me on the Crazy Chemo Charabanc – your support has been awesome and the comments have really cheered me up.

But now it is time to focus on getting better, and the focus of the blog will reflect that.

Onward and upward.  Broad sunlight uplands.  All that.