This shit is real and don't you dare tell me to "think positive"
Saturday, 27 April 2019
This week has been like riding a rollercoaster on repeat.
Every night. Every day.
Riding it with me have been my family, friends, nurses and medical support crew. There have been moments of fear, waves of nausea, tears of sadness/joy, sighs of relief, mountains of anger, rivers of anxiety, twinges of pain, unlimited armloads of hugs and sweeping oceans of love. I'm usually the do-er and giver of support so it has been difficult to allow others to help me and to publicly acknowledge that this whole situation is fucked up and bloody difficult for me to handle. To show my vulnerability and reveal the cracks inside has been challenging.
Externally at times I've looked "fine" but as I'm a seasoned pro with high functioning anxiety, I'm very good at pretending like I've got my shit together when internally I'm actually crumbling to pieces. I also find it difficult to articulate what I'm actually feeling because instead I want to appear as though I'm cruising without any issues or concerns.
Ten years ago I lived through post natal depression brought about by months of sleepless nights with my baby who I loved with every fibre of my being but whom I despised every evening when he wouldn't allow me to sleep. I didn't want anyone to know I wasn't coping, not even my mum - my biggest supporter and advocate who would have been there by my side in an instant if requested.
This time around I was not going to feel ashamed of admitting the level of difficulty or shying away from asking for help. On Thursday night when I came home from hospital I cried on my mum's shoulder and let her hold me like she did when I was a child. It felt good to not be alone in my sorrow and I'm proud I left my bedroom alone in tears, sought her out and asked for her comfort.
Sometimes the hardest moments this week have been when I'm on my own, left alone with my thoughts and the new body that I need to learn to love. Showering and getting dressed have been overwhelming as I've had to physically touch and look at the new parts of my body and accept the parts that are missing. It's been confronting, terrifying and sorrowful.
I didn't foresee cancer being part of my year, or my life, but it is. I ask family and friends to please understand if I don't answer phone calls or respond promptly to text messages. Please also understand if I need to limit my human interaction and withdraw to a small posse of selected peeps. I am incredibly overwhelmed by the enormous amount of support and messages from friends, family and colleagues. At times it's been too much to handle because everyone wants to help but there's nothing anyone can do to make this fucked up situation any less fucked.
I'm truly grateful and humbled by the kindness and love both Alex and I have received over the past weeks. On Monday, I'm expecting to learn the outcome of further treatment and I'm shit scared. Not keen for chemotherapy or radiation but what the hey, it's out of my hands. All of this was out of my hands when Ductal Carcinoma In Situ was detected in my mammogram on 15th March 2019.
I salute everyone who is living with or has been affected by The Big C. May the odds be ever in your favour.
This week has been like riding a rollercoaster on repeat.
Every night. Every day.
Riding it with me have been my family, friends, nurses and medical support crew. There have been moments of fear, waves of nausea, tears of sadness/joy, sighs of relief, mountains of anger, rivers of anxiety, twinges of pain, unlimited armloads of hugs and sweeping oceans of love. I'm usually the do-er and giver of support so it has been difficult to allow others to help me and to publicly acknowledge that this whole situation is fucked up and bloody difficult for me to handle. To show my vulnerability and reveal the cracks inside has been challenging.
Externally at times I've looked "fine" but as I'm a seasoned pro with high functioning anxiety, I'm very good at pretending like I've got my shit together when internally I'm actually crumbling to pieces. I also find it difficult to articulate what I'm actually feeling because instead I want to appear as though I'm cruising without any issues or concerns.
Ten years ago I lived through post natal depression brought about by months of sleepless nights with my baby who I loved with every fibre of my being but whom I despised every evening when he wouldn't allow me to sleep. I didn't want anyone to know I wasn't coping, not even my mum - my biggest supporter and advocate who would have been there by my side in an instant if requested.
This time around I was not going to feel ashamed of admitting the level of difficulty or shying away from asking for help. On Thursday night when I came home from hospital I cried on my mum's shoulder and let her hold me like she did when I was a child. It felt good to not be alone in my sorrow and I'm proud I left my bedroom alone in tears, sought her out and asked for her comfort.
Sometimes the hardest moments this week have been when I'm on my own, left alone with my thoughts and the new body that I need to learn to love. Showering and getting dressed have been overwhelming as I've had to physically touch and look at the new parts of my body and accept the parts that are missing. It's been confronting, terrifying and sorrowful.
I didn't foresee cancer being part of my year, or my life, but it is. I ask family and friends to please understand if I don't answer phone calls or respond promptly to text messages. Please also understand if I need to limit my human interaction and withdraw to a small posse of selected peeps. I am incredibly overwhelmed by the enormous amount of support and messages from friends, family and colleagues. At times it's been too much to handle because everyone wants to help but there's nothing anyone can do to make this fucked up situation any less fucked.
I'm truly grateful and humbled by the kindness and love both Alex and I have received over the past weeks. On Monday, I'm expecting to learn the outcome of further treatment and I'm shit scared. Not keen for chemotherapy or radiation but what the hey, it's out of my hands. All of this was out of my hands when Ductal Carcinoma In Situ was detected in my mammogram on 15th March 2019.
I salute everyone who is living with or has been affected by The Big C. May the odds be ever in your favour.
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| The end result of my mastectomy with wound drainage helping to expel excess fluid from where lymph nodes were removed. |
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| The wound drainage bag and tubing was attached to me for 9 days post surgery. My wonderful husband volunteered to perform the twice daily expelling of liquid from the holding pump into the bag section and changing the bags when full. |
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| The Uniboober body - my new normal |
