One of the hardest parts of my own personal "breast cancer journey" (God, how I hate that expression!) was having to do it so very publicly. I live and work in a small market town in Warwickshire. I had managed to keep my diagnosis private. It was so very hard having to tell my family I couldn't imagine having to tell my clients as well. Going completely off on a tangent here because I wasn't going to speak about this but I'm reminded of those calls I had to make after being diagnosed. The first to my mum, I just remember saying sorry over and over, just like I had a few hours earlier to my husband (then boyfriend) Sorry for what I'm not quite sure!
Anyway, hadn't planned to talk about that.
Where was I? Oh, yes, little hurts.
So, having not publicly announced that I wasn't well I had to go in to work wearing a bandana after losing my hair. I remember one of my clients just saying "have you not been well?" and I felt able to chat to her about it quite comfortably. This was going to be easy I thought! Just a few days later someone else said "Why have you got that on your head? Is it to keep your head warm? You look like a pirate!" A silly throw away comment from a silly woman and a little hurt that has stayed with me.
Even now I find it hard to talk about my hair. I have so many regular clients at work who have given me love and support (I won't ever forget coming home from hospital to find my house completely filled with flowers) but I also have a lot of customers who come maybe once a year, or every two years who have no idea what's happened to me. I am getting used to them saying "Oh, what made you cut your hair so short?" I just smile and say I fancied a change but I feel that little hurt again.
Friday 7 January 2011
Wednesday 5 January 2011
Anniversaries...
Tomorrow will be an interesting anniversary. I've already done the "year since diagnosis" and the "year since surgery", tomorrow is the "year since my first chemo".
I woke up on the 6th January 2010 to find that my prayers had seemingly been answered, it had snowed heavily through the night. So that was that then, the roads would be blocked, hospitals would be closed and I wouldn't have to go for my first treatment. I phoned the hospital which was 17 miles away expecting a recorded message but a cheerful voice told me not to worry, to take my time but I really should try to get there.
And of course I did get there. I'm not sure if I can adequately describe the actual "chemo" experience but I will try. I was absolutely terrified, my hands were shaking in fact I think my whole body was shaking but once the cannula went in I was strangely calm. Only then was I able to look around and to listen to the quiet hum of conversation, the unfamiliar sounds of the equipment, the occasional giggle.
I had been told that if I took the anti sickness tablets I should have a fairly uneventful night and It was until about 10 o'clock. I remember saying to my husband that I thought I'd get an early night and promptly threw up on the stairs as he looked on in horror. I managed to get up to the bathroom where my poor cat Dylan was sleeping and, yes, I was sick over him too.
It was only much later that my husband admitted that on that first chemo night he didn't think he would be able to cope. It got easier and we coped but I don't think Dylan has ever forgiven me.
I woke up on the 6th January 2010 to find that my prayers had seemingly been answered, it had snowed heavily through the night. So that was that then, the roads would be blocked, hospitals would be closed and I wouldn't have to go for my first treatment. I phoned the hospital which was 17 miles away expecting a recorded message but a cheerful voice told me not to worry, to take my time but I really should try to get there.
And of course I did get there. I'm not sure if I can adequately describe the actual "chemo" experience but I will try. I was absolutely terrified, my hands were shaking in fact I think my whole body was shaking but once the cannula went in I was strangely calm. Only then was I able to look around and to listen to the quiet hum of conversation, the unfamiliar sounds of the equipment, the occasional giggle.
I had been told that if I took the anti sickness tablets I should have a fairly uneventful night and It was until about 10 o'clock. I remember saying to my husband that I thought I'd get an early night and promptly threw up on the stairs as he looked on in horror. I managed to get up to the bathroom where my poor cat Dylan was sleeping and, yes, I was sick over him too.
It was only much later that my husband admitted that on that first chemo night he didn't think he would be able to cope. It got easier and we coped but I don't think Dylan has ever forgiven me.
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