As the great Jazzy Jeff and Will Smith said,
"This is a story all about how, my life got flipped-turned upside down".
A cancer diagnosis will do that, it sweeps the life you had before out from under you like a magician pulls a table cloth. If you're lucky, as I was, you'll begin to notice all the important things are still standing after the initial shock wears off.
I had a text book cancer journey really, nothing completely unexpected happened after the initial diagnosis. There were horribly long waits for scan results. There was a pick and mix of chemotherapy side effects that changed just as they became predictable. There were surgical choices to be made, where all of the choices seemed sub optimal. There was daily radiotherapy in the school summer holidays, with side effects that kick in after treatment finishes, because radiotherapy "keeps working" after the final dose. But there were no curve balls; I didn't have any allergic reactions, failed surgeries or alarming test results along the way. From a cancer point of view, my crappy situation was totally normal and this was an enormous comfort in my scary new world.
As for the aforementioned important things in life; my friends, family and community have been amazing. My children have accepted the barrage of changes with empathy and humour. My relationship with my husband has survived the enormous strain it was put under during treatment and has emerged stronger than ever. Even my relationship with myself has improved, I know myself better now and I love myself more than I did before.
Cancer treatment changes your world every few weeks, there never seems to be time to get settled before you're dealing with something new. I was determined from the start to focus my efforts on mental health, so that hopefully I wouldn't be fighting depression alongside the cancer. I became resilient to change, quick to adapt and comfortable with uncertainty. There were tears and grumbles along the way, of course; but I was proud of this more resilient, self loving, adaptable me.
September is a special month in any teacher's life and I remember my breast cancer nurse saying, in January, much to my horror, "Don't expect to be back at work before September". Through out treatment, I held onto September in my mind as a goal and a symbol; a line in the sand marking the end of a year with cancer and the start of a new year without cancer. When I dared to look that far forward, which wasn't often, I dreamed about the first day of school, all the teachers still refreshed and enthusiastic. During the summer, as the end of cancer treatment drew closer, my focus moved to special September. In my head, I planned a massive party to celebrate the double whammy of turning 40 and completing my treatment on the same week. I wondered what my new teaching role would entail and what the children would be like. I planned all the fitness activities I would do during my days off and the challenges I would set myself. I was so excited about life after cancer and I was so ready for it to start.
We celebrated my 40th birthday, cancer free, on a soggy August bank holiday, with all my family. Then a few short days later, September arrived and it arrived in style. On Saturday the 1st of September, my husband whisked me off to London by train. He arranged the babysitting and carefully planned the itinerary to accommodate my new fatigue and food sensitivities. We saw Book of Mormon at the theatre, which was fabulous, hilarious and the perfect tonic. For dinner we returned to a super posh restaurant that we loved 10 years ago and have talked about ever since. The hotel bedroom was lovely, the bed was comfy, the company was fabulous and I fell asleep feeling content and lucky in life. I woke early the next morning and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes; I sat up and tried to focus on the wallpaper opposite. It was blurry, so I rubbed my eyes again... Still blurry! Maybe I'm just exhausted and my eyes are taking some time to wake up. An hour went by, me awake, Dave asleep, and still the room was blurry.
I tried to walk to the bathroom, but I couldn't see where I was going. I tried to walk to the dining room, but I had to hold tightly onto Dave's arm the whole way. None of the information reaching my brain from my eyes made sense. Images were dancing and my brain was spinning. It was the 2nd September, day two of "life after cancer" and my first experience of a massive curve ball. Breast cancer can spread (metastasise) to other places in the body where it is called secondary breast cancer. Approximately 35 out of 100 people diagnosed with primary breast cancer go on to get secondary breast cancer within 10 years, it is not curable. There are 5 places that breast cancer is most likely to metastasise to: skin, lungs, bone, liver or brain. One of the symptoms for brain metastasis is visual disturbances and these were extreme and sudden visual disturbances. It was Day 2 of "life after cancer" and I might have an incurable brain tumour!
We spent the day at Moorfields eye hospital, where, I sobbed my fears out to the triage nurse, who looked back at me equally worried. Several hours and tests later, the doctor eventually told us it probably wasn't a brain tumour, but if my eyes didn't get better on their own in a few days, I would need more tests. My eyes didn't get better. My consultant oncologist agreed it probably wasn't a brain tumour, but was worried enough to order a head MRI. Scan appointments take time and then results take even longer. 3 weeks is a long time to probably not have a brain tumour. I realised during those three weeks that the "health anxiety" that the cancer forums warn of, is not a mental health problem that can be overcome with positive thinking. People are not paranoid about symptoms they experience. It is an unfortunate fact that secondary cancer is a real possibility and the symptoms for secondary cancer are vague. Symptoms will not be dismissed by medical professionals, despite the numerous innocent things which could cause them, they will be checked and checks take time. During the wait, we will worry, life will simultaneously pause and not pause until results day and then hopefully we will breathe again. This is life now, for all of us who have had breast cancer.
On Tuesday the 18th September I finally got the MRI results back which confirmed that I don't have a brain tumour, I could breathe again and "life after cancer" was resumed. I renewed my efforts to find a party venue and returned to work the very next day. Most importantly though, my brain started to plan for the future again. Suddenly I'm thinking about Christmas, hair styles, work clothes, our next holiday; I hadn't noticed that I'd stopped thinking about these things over the last 3 weeks. I hadn't noticed that my efforts were completely focussed on making the most of life in the moment. This coping strategy from cancer treatment is so natural now, I didn't notice until it stopped and suddenly the future re-entered my consciousness.
Today I am cancer free. I'm still waiting for my appointment with the hospital eye team and have accepted that my eye problem is likely to be with me for the medium term. I'm using all my resilience to try and perceive "not being able to drive" as a surmountable inconvenience rather than a total plan wrecking, liberty stealing, unfair, ball ache. I'm also using all my self love to ward off the guilt and depression that seeps in when fatigue feels like a character flaw rather than an unfortunate feature of life after cancer. Yesterday's return to work was a significant, emotional and joyous milestone. But if I manage to push through today's fatigue to empty the food waste bin, if I manage to walk to the supermarket and buy some dinner, if I can manage to love myself through the anticlimax and challenges of today; then that will truly be an achievement worth celebrating.
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