Tag: cancer

Embrace It

Embrace It

by katelharc77 ♥ 2 Comments

If I asked you right now to describe your body using just one word, what would it be?

The reason I ask, is that Taryn Brumfitt, executive producer of a powerful new documentary called ‘Embrace’ did just that. She asked 100 women that same innocuous little question, and their answers – overwhelmingly negative – broke her heart. Here are some of them:

wobbly

An estimated 91% of women loathe their bodies.

Go on…read that sentence again.

Nine in ten of us…that’s basically all of us: our girlfriends, our mums, our aunties, wives, daughters and nieces.

I know I have struggled at times to accept my body, and I don’t think I’ve ever once looked at myself in a mirror and thought ‘beautiful’.

I have clutched cellulite and wished it was not there. I have willed my breasts to grow, my thighs to shrink, my nose to – I don’t know – look different! I’ve even worried about my bloody ears, my wide feet, my saggy bum.

I have counted calories. I have de-toxed and dieted. I have tried to exercise dissatisfaction away, and I have felt guilty about food. For a while in my early twenties it was dark and oppressive. I was consumed at not being ‘enough’.

From here though, at the ripe old age of 39, and particularly framed by my recent experiences of breast-cancer treatment, I think about all that time I have spent unhappy, comparing myself to the perfect bodies in magazine pages, looking at my flaws, and feeling defined by them…

WHAT A FUCKING WASTE OF TIME!

What a waste of precious moments that could have been spent laughing with friends, doing fun things, exploring, or learning new stuff.

I watch my six year-old daughter with awe, most days. Full of confidence and joy, she dances and twirls with abandon in front of any mirror she can lay her hands on, utterly oblivious to any idea of self-hate. Right now, she is pretending to be a circus cat, pouncing and purring, making cat faces in the window.

‘Watch me, Mummy!’ she cries, as she prowls across our coffee table, ‘I’m a star cat of this famous show! You know mum I actually might be a real cat. Look at my pointy teeth.’

I watch and I find myself glancing through the years. When will this bubble of innocence pop? How can I wrap up my strong, spirited daughter, somehow bottle that confidence she oozes and ensure she continues to dance and twirl with joy her whole life?

I want to think she will, but the stats say otherwise and it frightens the heck out of me.

My girlfriends and I saw the Embrace film last night, and let me tell you right now – we should all go and see it. Our children should see it, especially those of us involved in the raising of girls…which let’s face it, is all of us.

It was created by Taryn Brumfitt, who, in response to her own body struggles, particularly after the births of her three children, found herself at odds with her post-pregnancy, ageing body. When a torturous exercise and dieting regime left her with what society would deem ‘the perfect body’ and Taryn still felt unhappy, she decided to set out on a body image crusade.

Her first step was a picture posted on her Facebook page:

taryn-brumfitt

It went viral.

The Embrace film is her attempt to understand why so many of us are dissatisfied with our bodies and what we can do to change that, and in doing so, help the next generations of young women embrace the diversely beautiful bodies they have.

It’s not a new concept to any of us really. We all know that bodies come in different shapes and sizes. We see it everyday, on every street, but while humanity is painted with a beautifully diverse brush, the portrayal of beauty and the archetypes of perfection that pervade every facet of our lives are frighteningly narrow.

Having cancer taught me a great truth about beauty: the age-old adage of ‘it’s what inside that counts’. (Not that that’s anything new!) But, when it’s shoved down your throat, and you are forced to embrace a bald, boobless version of yourself as a young woman, suddenly you have to dig really, really deep.

The Embrace movie talks about the BIG 4: DEATH, DISEASE, DIVORCE and REDUNDNCY as being moments in life that bring clarity, enabling us to see life through a new lens, and gain perspective on what really matters.

It’s certainly been true for me.

These days, while I still struggle with my body, it is in a totally new way.

I no longer give a crap about the things that used to bother me before. If anything, having cancer has taught me that we are who we are regardless of the way we look on the outside. Kilos on or kilos off, hair or no hair, we do not change, and those who love us the most don’t see a speck of difference.

When I was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer, and throughout the months of gruelling treatment, my body felt like an enemy. It had betrayed me in the most insidious way, covertly growing malignant tumours while I looked and felt well.

For a while, we weren’t on speaking terms. That trusty gut instinct I had relied on my whole life felt irreparably broken, and if there had been a ‘Body Swap Meet’ within a 500km radius of my home some time in the last couple of years, I probably most likely 100%-without-a-second-thought would’ve done a trade in.

But, like many others before me, and others after, I stumbled my way through surgery, scans, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, more surgery, immunotherapy, more scans, more surgery, hormone therapy, yet more scans, and yet more surgery.

My body copped a beating, yet it battled on and came out strong. It is not out of the woods completely, but when I think of all it has been through, I can’t help but feel grateful.

I can honestly say, I love my body.

I love it for the strength it has in the face of adversity. I love it for the way it laughs and snorts too loudly with good friends, bear-hugs those who need it, tickles my giggling children, snuggles with my husband and rocks my baby niece to sleep. I love the love it feels for this crazy life we are all living, and the brain that gives voice to my thoughts.

It is scarred, yes. It is damaged, HELL YES. And it is a hell of a lot weaker than I would like it to be. It no longer bears a strong semblance to the body I grew so familiar to for 37 years. These new breasts are not the soft supple breasts that nourished my three children, yet their scars are a daily reminder of a strength I never knew I had.

As the months go by, and I walk my way a little further away from cancerland, I find myself just grateful to be well. I can scooter to school with my kids. I can feel the wind through my unruly chemo-hair, raise my eyebrows sky-high in indignation, and I can trampoline without my boobs moving an inch. I can walk longer, further, faster.

I guess that sometimes – be it after watching a good film like Embrace, or travelling a tough old road through illness or grief, or some other life-changing pain, it’s important to realise that…you are enough.

We are all enough. We are actually amazing.

Our bodies run and swim and dance and glide. We are strong and supple, soft and squishy, huggable and sexy. We are fun, fabulous, fan-fucking-tastic.

Embrace it. Embrace all of it.

Kate x

PS. If you’re interested in going to see the movie Embrace, I strongly recommend it. Check out the screenings in your city here.

 

New beginnings, new challenges

New beginnings, new challenges

by katelharc77 ♥ 21 Comments

Cancer. The gift that keeps on giving.

Not many people know this, but far beyond the reaches of the chemotherapy ward, even months and years after cancer patients leave their infusion chairs behind and take brave steps forward trying to find all the remnants of their former selves and stitch them all back together, the toxins from such heavy duty treatment continue to wreak havoc on bodies and minds.

There is the threat of painful oedema in limbs where lymph nodes have been removed, there is tight roping scar tissue that makes it hard to stretch. There is peripheral neuropathy that continues to numb our extremities and make simple buttons and jar lids as difficult to open as if we were ninety. 

There is lung scarring left over from radiation, fatigue, dry skin, weak nails, dental problems and just a general distrust of our bodies. 

But most frustrating for me, of all my long-term side effects of cancer, is Chemo brain.

The Anthracyclines that hopefully killed off all my cancerous cells, infortunately had similar effects on healthy cells as well. Chemo brain is a well-documented side effect of cancer treatments, and the drugs that were pumped through my veins to save my life are among the most likely to affect future brain function. While their toxicity was a necessary evil, not a day goes by where I don’t notice their impact; on my memory, on my mood, on my day-to-day brain function.

There are days where I feel like I’m losing my mind. I wrote about it recently as my application for university study. I had to write a piece detailing why I wanted to study Professional Writing. The following just flooded out of me, and while it felt like a strange application essay at the time, the words needed to be written down, so I did not fight them.

Something must have resonated with the course enrolment officers, because I am now a uni student once again. This time round, I couldn’t be more excited.

Here it is. I guess it explains that for some of us, writing isn’t a choice. It’s a need. I need to get my music out. It will not stay inside.

Yesterday I couldn’t remember the word ‘opinion’. There I was, mid-conversation with a colleague over lunch, and suddenly the word I was searching for, ‘opinion’, disappeared from my vernacular. Gone.

Now, I know everyone has moments like this, where words on the ‘tip of their tongue’ vanish the precise minute they are meant to appear. I’m sure right about now, you’re sitting there thinking, ‘no big deal’. The problem is, and I haven’t said this to anybody else yet…this forgetting…it’s been happening a lot lately and I’m terrified. I have always prided myself on my ability to articulate well. It’s one of my defining qualities, and I am starting to feel it slip away from me.

At 38 years of age, I am showing several, small but noticeable signs of early-onset dementia: forgetfulness, memory loss, even the ability to recognise people’s faces. At first it was pretty insignificant: a couple of missed appointments, hazy recollections of prominent life moments, torturous hours spent trying to remember the most ridiculously simple words. But lately it’s become far more obvious.

Most excruciating, are the multiple times I have met someone, and then subsequently ‘re-met’ them again after forgetting their face and name completely. When I reply to, “Hey, have you guys met?” with a “No,” but the other person says in a confused voice, “Yes we have,” my heart sinks. Then I cartwheel through the depths of my brain trying to stir up any small flicker of identification. Just a whisper of a memory that might serve correct. More often than not, I am left flailing in an awkward pause the size of China, clumsily feigning recall but retreating as hastily as I can. People must think I’m so rude!

Why all this excruciating back-story when you really just want to read my application to enrol in Professional Writing?

Well, so far, the writing section of my brain seems in tact. I write and I am free of the awkward pause, the lost word, the misplaced memory. Where the immediacy of speaking often leaves me anxious and clammed up, writing feels easier. In writing, there is no befuddlement, no frantic wading through the depths of my mind for missing puzzle pieces. Somehow, the chasms melt away at my keyboard and I am able to prise open my clamshell and the words still come.

Last year, I found myself writing through a cruel and unfair time. I wrote because I was searching for meaning and needing to purge my mind of grief and fear. I wrote because I had no choice but to.

Now, I write to hold onto myself.

‘Good’ Cancers and ‘Bad’

‘Good’ Cancers and ‘Bad’

by katelharc77 ♥ 3 Comments

People often refer to Breast Cancer as one of the ‘good cancers’. Surely the phrase ‘good cancer’ is a total oxymoron, but you’d be surprised how often it gets bandied around. I remember on one occasion last year in the chemo ward, while hooked up to my intravenous cocktail of poison, I overheard someone I could not see proclaim she wished she had Breast Cancer.

Say what? Had I actually just heard someone WISH for BREAST CANCER? Why on earth, would anyone want what I had? Had she seen people like me lately? I was hardly a picture of health at the time: incredibly weak, rake thin, bald and pale!

eyebrows 1
A picture of health in the chemo ward!
Now of course, with a teeny bit of perspective and a bit of space away from the trauma of my own treatment zone, I get it.

A bit.

I have no idea what this woman’s diagnosis was, but ALL cancer diagnoses are pretty damn horrible.

It’s true that as far as cancers go, Breast Cancer’s overall survival rates are better than some others out there, and it has a much higher profile in our society thanks to its fucking ridiculous playful association with the colour pink. I think it obviously helps too, that boobs are constantly sexualised and therefore way more important to everyone that your average – you know – colon or something. Sorry Colons, but it’s just a fact of life that everyone loves boobs, and not many give two hoots about you guys. It’s just too hard to garner as much enthusiasm for boring bits that don’t bounce and stuff.

Breast Cancer awareness campaigns can do fucking ridiculous hilarious things like dress men up in tutus and put dogs in bras.

men tutu

dogs bras

They can have cutesy slogans like:

save the tatas

and ‘Save The Titties’ and people everywhere will donate because – FUN BAGS, amirite?

Celebrities can post ‘no bra selfies’ or pose sexily on Instagram in their underwear under the guise of cancer awareness.

Total. Puke. Fest.

 On the flip side it means that people quite happily talk about Breast Cancer, so on some level, I have to admit that the profile of Breast Cancer is bigger and better because of it. I just take issue with the message, and the ‘sexification’ of  what is a pretty ugly disease.

You want to see what Breast Cancer really looks like? Check here. I’ll happily show anyone who wants to see my scar lines too.

In comparison to the carnival that is Breast Cancer, there are lots of other forgotten cancers out there that struggle to get the same level of community support, dollars for research and awareness required to bolster survival rates. It’s pretty hard for, say – your bowel – to garner the support and media coverage that a pair of breasts can, isn’t it? But here’s the thing…we need to stop sticking our fingers in our ears and closing ourselves off in little ‘bubbles of invincibility’ and start talking about all cancers, their signs and symptoms.

bowel cancer awareness

June is Bowel Cancer Awareness month, and today I’m taking a break from all things boob, in order to highlight the importance of being in tune with your bowel. Copping a monthly feel of your breasts is easy, but sometimes the signs that something is amiss in your digestive tract are less obvious. And leaving symptoms unchecked for too long can be devastating.

While the chances of contracting Bowel Cancer increase with age, many young people are afflicted with it too. The worst thing we can do is presume we are young, and therefore immune to diseases like cancer. I felt that way before Breast Cancer, and we all know how that went down!

bowelcanceraustralia-youre-never-too-young-665x308-bca-banner-b

 

So, let’s talk about poo… poo

No don’t go screwing your nose up like that! This is super important.

Bowel Cancer affects more and more Australians every year, both male and female, young and old.

We all need to be bowel-aware

 

Here are the IMPORTANT things to watch for:

  • a persistent change in bowel habit, such as looser, more diarrhoea-like bowel movements (i.e. going to the toilet more often, or trying to go – irregularity in someone whose bowel movements have previously been regular)
  • A change in appearance of bowel movements (e.g. narrower stools or mucus in stools)
  • Blood in the stool or rectal bleeding
  • Frequent gas pains, cramps, or a feeling of fullness or bloating in the bowel or rectum
  • A feeling that the bowel has not emptied completely after a bowel movement
  • Unexplained anaemia (a low blood count) causing tiredness, weakness or weight loss
  • Rectal or anal pain or a lump in the rectum or anus
  • Abdominal pain or swelling

Now, having these symptoms doesn’t guarantee you’ve got cancer, but It will never hurt to chat to your GP and query anything that feels different. Spread the word to those you love, be bowel savvy and remember that when discovered early, Bowel Cancer is very treatable.

This month, some friends of mine and I are raising funds to donate to Bowel Cancer Australia. We want to show those we love who have been affected by this insidious disease that we care and are committed to increasing the dialogue around Bowel Cancer, and raising money for research. If you know someone who has battled Bowel Cancer, perhaps you might like to help us. To donate some cash, you can click this link to go to our Everyday Hero page, which I spectacularly titled, Bowel Cancer is A Load of Shit

Every cent will go to Bowel Cancer Australia.

I am trying to think of some other ways to raise money for Bowel Cancer. My kids suggested baking biscuits to sell, so we will be doing this soon. If you would like to be involved, or if you would like to buy some biscuits, drop me a line.

No cancer is a good cancer, but there are many that need far more awareness and funding. We can all help!

Kate x

 

 

Excuse Me While I Go Crop-Dust My Chin

Excuse Me While I Go Crop-Dust My Chin

by katelharc77 ♥ 7 Comments

Way back in January, while recovering from my de-boobing surgery and trying to get my head around the months of cancer treatment that were lining up on my doorstep, I found myself making lots of lists.

Lists of potential side effects, lists of products I needed to buy, lists of things to avoid on chemo and lists of emergency supplies I needed by my bedside night and day. In amongst all that scary prep work, I vividly remember trying to push through the heavy folds of despair by seeking out little silver linings amongst what felt like piles and piles of awfulness. I optimistically set out to tally up a list of chemo ‘Pros’ to sit alongside all the ‘Cons’, in the hope it would make my head and heart feel a little lighter.

Aside from the obvious cancer-slaying properties of chemo, my PROS list was pretty short:

  1. I won’t have to endure hot wax on my nether regions all year
  2. I will save a small fortune on hair cuts
  3. I will get to see what I look like bald and badass

It was clearly going to be all about the hair.

While I wasn’t all that keen on going bald, a small part of me had always had an inner desire to suddenly ‘do a Britney’ and shave my head. It’s not something I ever ended up pursuing, but I’ll admit to coming close a few times. In the end I would always chicken out. While it was a bold, brave move, it never really paid off for her, did it?

bald britney

Anyway, finally I had my chance! Cancer had provided me with not only the opportunity, but the necessity to buzz cut.

Perhaps it’ll be liberating, I thought.

So shave it, I did, as soon as mange levels reached crisis point and I could no longer carry out a successful comb-over of all the bare patches of my scalp. I get it now, fellas…Losing my hair so suddenly made me feel for all you poor blokes who have to deal with the shock of premature baldness. It ain’t fun. The best advice I got, and continue to give out, is:

 

Take back follicular control. Embrace the bald.

I actually didn’t mind my initial buzz cut. It made me feel tough. I didn’t look sick, I just looked a little military. But very quickly, the fine crop of hair adorning my scalp vanished completely, winter descended, and suddenly having a head as shiny and smooth as a billiard ball was not only über unattractive, it was freezing.

eyebrows 1

For the better part of six months I was completely bald up top, and sporting a ‘whole-body Brazilian’ everywhere else too.

Who needs regular treatments at the beauty parlour when chemo can keep you looking silky smooth and fabulous for free? One little infusion date with some cytotoxic cocktails was all it took for my body hair to start sliding painlessly from their follicles. No need whatsoever for hot wax or zappy lasers!

But while a bit of neck-down alopecia may seem like something to celebrate, when it encompasses eyebrows, eyelashes and head hair too, and you find yourself looking like a pale, pre-pubescent alien, there isn’t all that much to rejoice in!

My kids were quite fascinated with my hair-loss too, and it was certainly the topic of some wacky conversations in our shower. It made me dig deep into the essence of who I was and reflect with them on what it is about each of us that really counts. I learnt a lot from their ability to embrace this new version of their mum so easily, and tackle questions from other children with a frankness that many adults couldn’t replicate.

These days, my head is back to having a pretty good coverage of thick, short fuzz which could possibly pass for an army issue buzz-cut of sorts, although I can tell by the weird glances I still get from other people’s kids, that I’m not quite there. Young children will be the true test for me. When they stop ogling, I know I’m starting to blend into the normal crowd again!

kate hair growth sept

While head hair seems to grow slowly but surely, a new collection of chin hairs are going great guns. You know the type I’m talking about – the thick, dark, coarse ones that you’re positively sure weren’t around yesterday but have somehow sprouted two inches overnight, and are able to resist the death grip of a pair of tweezers with amazing tenacity?

Yeah, them.

I don’t know whether it’s because I have become so accustomed to the hair-free version of myself this year, or whether it’s the hormone suppressants I’ve just started taking and my new menopausal status, but I seem to be cultivating quite a collection these days.

Brilliant.

I suppose after bemoaning my bald face so regularly over the last six months, writing odes to eyebrows and hoping for my lashes to grow back lickety-split, I should be embracing this new foray into facial hair with the humour and nonchalance it deserves.

After all, it is just hair!

Now, please excuse me while I go crop-dust my chin.

Kate x

Let’s Re-think the Pink

Let’s Re-think the Pink

by katelharc77 ♥ 5 Comments

october pink

October is Breast Cancer Awareness month and things are about to get very PINK.

There’ll be pink ribbons everywhere, with ambitious brands professing their dedication to increasing Breast Cancer awareness by ‘going pink’ for the month – whilst, of course, lining up their products for purchase.

Those of us touched by Breast Cancer will likewise be enticed to show our commitment to raising awareness by purchasing everything from pretty pink fishing rods and work boots, to pink-labelled apple sauce or loo paper.shoesmandmskfc

Social media feeds will be laden with cryptic word games involving bra colours, calls to ‘go bra-less for Breast Cancer’ and pink lipstick selfies, in the guise of ‘raising everyone’s awareness’.

Breast Cancer will be everywhere we look, dressed up to be fluffy, pink, feminine — and sometimes just ridiculous…the very antithesis of what this ugly disease actually is.

I’m all for spreading awareness: I work pretty hard to get the word out about the importance of regular breast examinations and knowing the normal look and feel of your (or your loved one’s) breasts. It’s one of the reasons I write so passionately on this little blog of mine.

It’s Time to Rethink the Pink

The ‘pinkification’ of Breast Cancer began more than 35 years ago. In that time, it has certainly increased the profile of a disease that had previously been taboo.

In the last 35 years we have seen survival rates steadily rise, and more and more people able to talk openly about their experiences. So it has done a lot of good.

These days, reducing Breast Cancer to a pretty colour or a cryptic status update trivialises a disease that claims the lives of more than 3,000 Australians every year.

It lulls people into a false belief that they have ‘done something’, when in actual fact it does nothing to improve the outcome for the 15,000 people annually diagnosed with Breast Cancer. I’d even go so far as to say it practically normalises this insidious disease and minimises awareness of its devastation.

Making people more aware about serious diseases like cancer is great, but at times the real objectives are lost in the sea of pink, and the seriousness of Breast Cancer is diminished.

So, after 35 years of turning pink, I believe we have had enough ‘awareness raising’. I think we all know this devastating disease exists.

While survival rates have increased, what hasn’t changed is the overall incidence of Metastatic disease, the real Breast Cancer killer.

Metastatic Cancer

I’m always surprised at how little people know about Metastatic Cancer. You see, no one dies from a diagnosis of Early Stage Cancer. Cancer that stays contained within the tissue it begins in, is usually very treatable. It is when cancerous cells spread to other parts of the body that cancer becomes almost impossible to cure.

Many, many women get diagnosed every year with Early Stage Breast Cancer, which doctors will treat very successfully with surgery, Chemotherapy and Radiation where required, and prognosis is deemed very good. Even my diagnosis of Stage 3C, where the cancer had invaded local lymph nodes, is considered curable by my doctors.

What many of you don’t know is that around 30% of people diagnosed with Early Stage disease will go on to develop Metastatic Breast Cancer at a later date.

Metastatic Breast Cancer occurs when Breast Cancer cells leave the breast via blood vessels or the lymphatic system and grow tumours in other parts of the body. There is no cure for Metastatic Breast Cancer, also known as Stage IV Breast Cancer.

My doctors are throwing everything at my cancer in the hope it is enough to cure me for life. But once active treatment finishes, it will become a game of vigilance and hope. I will try to get on with my life, all the while having regular check-ups in the hope my cancer does not recur.

My plea to you this October, is to thoughtfully engage with raising Breast Cancer awareness. Try to pull back from social media games that implore you to post ridiculous phrases or status updates that do nothing to lift the profile of what Breast Cancer really looks like.

Instead, talk to family and friends about my experience. I’m the perfect example of someone who knew the risks and was pretty in-tune with my body, but got caught out anyway.

Don’t get sucked into October’s pink hype. Many brands give generously to Breast Cancer research, but some market cleverly to piggy-back on others’ goodwill. Not everything that’s pink has Breast Cancer awareness or fundraising for research as their main objective.

And most importantly, do a breast examination every single month, not just in October. Maybe bust out Christy Amphlett’s ‘I Touch Myself’ whilst doing so, just for kicks.

Kate x

Hospital Lyfe

Hospital Lyfe

by katelharc77 ♥ 1 Comment

A week inside and I’m seriously starting to go a bit batty. If it weren’t for my lovely nurses, I think I’d probably be hatching an escape plan to get out of here using my IV pole as a scooter. Geez I wish we had IV poles like this one:

trike IV

This little blog post is going to be all about giving three cheers to everyone who works in the medical profession! Hip, hip hooray! I’ve talked a lot about my ace doctors in past blog posts, so this one’s going to be about the other ace people who have been caring for me a lot this year…nurses.

Nurses – and I’m going to add the extra demarcation of Oncology Nurses – are extraordinary beings. They are cheery in the face of the Big C every day. They cop all manner of wacky bodily functions being thrown at them (literally), and they buzz around tirelessly making us sickies feel a little more normal. I have not encountered one nurse who hasn’t impressed me in the Oncology wards of the Epworth…and believe me, I reckon I’ve met them all this year.

During my spectacular days of chemo, they’d practically have to drag me like a tantrumming toddler to the treatment chair, sit holding my hand as I sobbed and sniffled and snotted all over the place in absolute misery, then run like Usain Bolt across the linoleum to frisbee me a sick bag at juuust the right moment, and reassure me with the most wise and experienced words, that despite feeling like death, I would make it through this week, and every infusion to come.

They got me through.

Then through rads, the nurses and radiation staff made every attempt to keep me smiling, even when I turned into Lobster Boob and my skin started to shrivel and fall away, they dressed my wounds and said, “Look how far you’ve come.”

And this week I just feel like they’re on my team. And I really have witnessed them care for the old, the young, the grumpy, the mad, and the spectacularly incontinent with patience and a smile. Kudos to you, nurses of 4ES!

When I first arrived, as my last blog post explained, I spent a few days in a shared room. I’ve since been moved to a private room (YAY) in what can only be described as Operation Stealth.

After surgery on Saturday I was actually feeling quite good on Sunday, but the infection spiked again on Monday and I was febrile, vomiting and utterly miserable all day. I couldn’t eat, drink or sleep. There was a concern that the antibiotics I’d been given weren’t the right ones for my kind of staph. In the end, it started to ease again by Tuesday, but my beautiful nurses organised for me to move out of the communal nursing home I was in and down the hall a bit to what feels like The Epworth Penthouse. It was very secretive. None of the oldies was allowed to know, as then everyone would be on their Zimmer frames trying to beat me to it.

While the grumpy one was busy calling her daughter Lorraine to complain about the food, another was belching loudly behind a curtain and the third was adjusting her Poise pad, they whisked me out of there in a flash!

Peace at last! The room I’m in now feels like the one they reserve for VIPs (ha). It’s huge, has a sofa and an ensuite – even a desk and a big fat TV perfect for watching The Bachelor at night. Rose ceremonies have never had this level of intensity before! It was nail-biting! Last night, as I clutched my knees to my Heparin-bruised, queasy stomach, I felt the DRAAMAA like I’ve never felt it before!

Why oh why did it have to be TLBCG Heather?! WAAAHHH!

(Click here if you have NO IDEA what I’m on about. Rosie Waterland does the best Bachie recaps ever)

Anyhoo…

So, whilst hospital is totally not my favourite place to be, if I have to be here all week, I’m bloody rapt to be in the Penthouse with the lovely nurses of 4ES. Even if they do ask me way too many questions about my bowels being open or not, and come in multiple times a night to check my temperature and blood pressure…I think I’ll survive.

Plan is, I escape on Sunday. As it stands now, the IV antibiotics have ceased, I only have one more drain tube left to be pulled out, and I start oral antibiotics this afternoon. I might even get to have a shower tonight, peeps, what a novelty that will be!

Laterz,

Stinky Kate x

P.S. Have you all go your tickets to the Gala? It’s only a month away! I’m really thinking I might try and do a duet of ‘Bedroom Eyes’ with Kate Cebrano. Think she’d be up for it?

One Burnt Boob

One Burnt Boob

by katelharc77 ♥ 17 Comments

“WOOHOO! You’re finished!” my radiologist whooped this morning, bounding in from behind the thick, radiation-proof concrete doors to untape my chest, and lower the bench I lay on.

She is a bubbly young woman, and has really made the last seven weeks of daily radiation sessions more bearable with her friendly conversation. As I sat up, and reached for my hospital gown, she continued chatting happily about how good it must feel to be finished.

“Think of all the free time you’ll have now!” she gleamed.

I nodded, and smiled.

“Yes, it’s great.”

A minute later I found myself sitting in my small change-room cubicle, staring at my burnt, blistered chest, shaking with silent tears. (God I’ve cried A LOT this year!)

Were they happy tears? I didn’t know. Probably in part, although it feels premature to celebrate, when once again I am left nursing the damage of more brutal cancer treatment; the whole right side of my chest and armpit are red raw, and weeping.

A couple of weeks ago my oncologist joked that my skin looked ‘medium rare’, but today the nurses just grimaced as they dressed it with burn gel and cling-film.

filet burnt

I wonder if it’ll at least fade to a nice, albeit lopsided ‘tan’?

* * * * *

It does feel good to be finished radiotherapy. It is, after all, another treatment phase I can tick off my list.

arvind no celebrate

But tomorrow I start ten years of hormone therapy that will put me into permanent menopause at the tender age of 38, and next week I’m back in hospital for more appointments with my oncologists, plus more tri-weekly infusions of Herceptin and Perjeta…so forgive me for not popping celebratory streamers.

ARGH…I KNOW, I KNOW…

facepalm

SELF PITY ALERT!

I’m just so sick of it all. Actually I think I’m just exhausted. Tired of what feels never-ending to me. It’s nearly September…I’ve been in treatment now for nine months. Just think of all the stuff you’ve done in the last nine months!

I can’t help but think about all the things I’ve missed out on this year. My ‘year of big things’ that never came to fruition is barely even perceptible now, let alone my normal old life. It’s been swallowed up by a black hole of hospital visits, treatment schedules and side effects. Precious time lost forever.

small-violin 2

It’s difficult to convey exactly how I feel without making everyone feel like busting out the violins, but it’s kind of like I’m living a half-life. I’m living, but my mind has lost the trusty autopilot it’s had for 37 years, so navigating each day feels awkward and foreign. Things that were once normal, now no longer are. In fact, there is almost nothing about this life that feels ‘normal’ to me anymore.

There has been a huge shift in the way my mind works, the way I think things through, and go about my day. Once Cancer enters your life, ‘normal’ is altered forever. The normal old Kate that would have once gone about her normal old day freely, now overthinks everything.

There’s the added pressure to enjoy everything more, because I have cancer. There’s the pressure of making the most of every situation, because I have cancer. There’s the stress of not sweating the small things, focusing on what’s important, being mindful, present and grateful for every day. And there’s the sick idiot in pessimistic region of my brain saying, “This might be your last chance.”

It’s totally exhausting. I need someone to come along and pull the plug on my overthinking brain! Switch that normal autopilot back on so I can chillax a little, and just be normal old me.

Scientific Fact or Intuitive Crap?

Scientific Fact or Intuitive Crap?

by katelharc77 ♥ 6 Comments

quack_cartoon

I’ve always held the view that alternative therapies are valid treatment options to use alongside, or at times in place of, conventional modalities. In today’s fast-paced, high-pressure society, there are many times when the answer to a simple health issue can be found in slowing down, taking time out, eating better and exercising more. Not always, but often.

I wouldn’t say I’ve been an active patron of alternative therapists through the years. I have a pretty healthy respect for modern medicine and its fastidious process of evidence-based, peer-reviewed research to substantiate treatment claims. I’m not going to turn away from science unnecessarily.

That’s not to say I’ve never engaged in anything but standard medical care. I have seen the odd Naturopath, had acupuncture at various times, a Kinesiology ‘balance’ with a practicing friend, and used herbal remedies occasionally to combat illness.

However, while I’m willing to give most things a go, I approach everything with a questioning mind, and put a lot of effort into researching the validity of different healing practices. If there’s no proper evidence-based scientific research to back up its declarations, I steer clear. I follow the premise that when things sound too good to be true, they generally are – Caveat Emptor.

Until my Breast Cancer diagnosis, I’d never really had any reason to examine the claims of so many therapies in detail, but having Cancer fills you with uncertainty and conventional treatments prescribed by teams of Oncologists, like chemo and radiotherapy, are scary and brutal. There are no promises that they will succeed either, and besides quoting the latest survival stats, no right-minded medical specialist can give you the survival guarantee you so desperately seek.

It’s a tough road to travel. And all the while, everywhere you look, there are shiny proclamations of ‘natural’, easy alternatives. Ones that don’t make your hair fall out or have a whole host of scary side-effects. Amazing treatment protocols with fancy sounding names, incredible cures unearthed in the depths of the Amazon, wellness regimes and dietary crazes spruiked by smiling celebrities, and conspiracy theories that tempt, confuse, and ultimately mislead.

balmy oils

There are people everywhere proclaiming to have cured terminal disease with nothing but food, or juice, or frigging snake oil and bicarbonate soda, willing to sell their secrets or include you in their ‘wellness crusade’ for a fee. There are apps and cookbooks to buy, health retreats to go on and supplements to take. There are plasma amplifiers, electro-magnetic devices, supplement strategies and spiritual remedies. There is B.S. everywhere.

We Cancer patients are easy prey I guess. Desperate to be well, searching for hope, and struggling daily to push away the fear of metastases and a plethora of unanswerable questions like, ‘Why me?’, ‘What went wrong?’ and ‘What will happen to me?’ It’s easy to capitalise on despair.

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It makes my blood boil.

Selling false hope and unsubstantiated quackery to vulnerable people is not only morally reprehensible, it’s downright dangerous.

Because I am very comfortable with my decision to follow the advice of my surgeon and oncologists and pursue conventional treatments for my cancer, I don’t actively search for alternative therapies or seek out the opinions of practitioners outside my team. I feel like I’m in sound, capable hands. It hasn’t, however, stopped me from wondering about the reason for my cancer and wracking my brain futilely.

Yesterday I stumbled across an article professing to extrapolate on the reasons Breast Cancer occurs, or as the author put it, ‘the reasons we create the Dis-harmony of Breast Cancer’. While there were no proclamations of cure, there was an insane amount of garbage spewed forth by someone professing to be a ‘medical intuitive’, who describes herself as a ‘walking, talking MRI’ and charges exorbitant fees ($185 per half hour) to supposedly ‘use their self-described intuitive abilities to find the cause of a physical or emotional condition’.

Apparently, I ‘created’ my cancer because I don’t LOVE myself enough, don’t view myself as a ‘pure, sensual woman’ was NEGLECTED as a child (by a male figure, because my cancer is in the RIGHT boob), am TOO NEEDY with my partner and I’m RESENTFUL of others.

YUP.

Breast Cancer = Needy and Resentful. My cancer is my fault…or maybe my dad’s…or my bro’s.

rage gif 2

There was more. A lot more, but I found myself reading through a clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

Way to go, lady! What a service you are doing to the cancer community by spruiking your clairvoyant crap! Let’s make cancer patients feel even worse about their plight! Let’s concoct a whole host of wacky reasons for Cancer under the guise of helping and healing.

Take your freaking nipple chakras and internal vibrations and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine. There’s my little bit of intuition for you!

Ugh.

 

For those who would like to read this drivel in full, go here. Feel free to voice your own response on her Facebook page here, although don’t be surprised if your comments are deleted. Apparently any kind of alternate view to hers is unacceptable.

I Got Ink! Four New Tatts and A Rad Holiday

I Got Ink! Four New Tatts and A Rad Holiday

by katelharc77 ♥ 20 Comments

I have just spent two blissful weeks away from Cancerland. Away from sterile hospital corridors and acrid smelling chemo chairs. Away from blood tests, cell counts and horrible side effects.

Away from being sick. Away from Oncology everything.

Leaving Cancerland has been the best.

Two Wednesdays ago, straight after yet another infusion of Herceptin and Perjeta, we hightailed it to the airport, hopped on a plane and flew far away from cold, old Melbourne. And, despite my concerns, neither my bionic boobs nor my husband’s new metal shoulder set off the airport security either – phew!

For a whole, delicious week on the Gold Coast, we did nothing but bask in the glorious Queensland sunshine (Winter up there is 23 degrees, Melburnians!), play countless games of ‘Uno’ and ‘Pick-Up Sticks’ with our children, and order BIG at the hotel buffet. We rode on rollercoasters, lounged by the pool, read books and had deep, soaking bubble baths.

We even did this:

dolphin

Yep. *Insert big fat sigh of content here*

How great are holidays!

I must say that this one was extra special. The last six months have been completely ruled by my treatment regime and we haven’t had the chance to get away together. The emotional toll on us as a family has been high, too. There have been lots of tears, and many times where Jay and I have been too drained and distraught to pick ourselves up cheerily and be proper parents. Thanks to the warmth and love of wonderful friends and family, we have somehow managed to keep an even keel through the darkness, even if perhaps a little wonkily at times.

We had all but resigned ourselves to a year spent pretty much house-bound, when at my very last chemo appointment we discovered something shiny: a surprising two-week break in my treatment schedule before the onslaught of radiotherapy. My husband booked us a mini-break then and there just in case my doctors changed their minds!

And that week away was EXACTLY what the five of us needed: time to switch off, slow down, and just hang out. Time to swim away entire days, order room service midnight feasts, cackle uncontrollably on rollercoasters together and eat fairy floss for lunch.

It was a time for pure release.

bubble bath family holidays flume ride turtles

Our holiday helped me reset my sails, and prepare for the next step in my treatment arsenal: radiotherapy. Since coming home, I’ve had to snap back into Cancerland pretty quickly.

The first appointment for Radiotherapy (affectionately called ‘rads’ by those in the know), was to front up for a CT scan, measurements, and – wait for it – TATTOOING!

Yuh huh. Never thought I’d be the type to get any ink done, myself, but after my first rads appointment, I emerged sporting four brand new tatts!

These small, freckle-sized tattoos are placed in specific spots on my chest and side to help the radiologists line up the machine precisely each time I go in for treatment. They ensure that the radiation is delivered to the exact spots in my chest and armpit where cancerous cells were discovered six months ago, to ensure it zaps them away for good.

tattoo

For the next six weeks, I will head into the radiation oncology area of the Epworth hospital every day. Treatment itself takes about twenty minutes, but the set-up can be painstakingly slow and uncomfortable. The technicians are fastidious with their work. They measure everything carefully, to the millimetre, making sure I’m in the exact same position every day. They line up my tattoos with funky red lasers and fuss around until they’re all completely satisfied.

So far, I’ve had three doses. Besides a lot of buzzing, beeping and whirring, I feel nothing at the time of treatment. As I progress, I will probably see the area of my right breast and underarm become inflamed (a bit like sunburn). It may blister and peel, but should heal up quickly once treatment finishes.

The scary side of radiation is the list of potential long-term side effects it brings with it. The radiotherapy treatment for cancer involves doses that are thousands of times higher than the radiation you receive from your average xray. Due to that radiation exposure, I will have an increased likelihood of lymphoedema in my right arm, a greater chance of developing leukaemia or a second cancer sometime in my future, and the chance of some scarring to part of my lung. While it’s hard not to get bogged down in scary stats like these, I’m focusing on the here and now, and ensuring we do everything to kill every last Breast Cancer cell in my body.

Here’s to fewer cancer cells, and many, many more holidays!

Kate x

Uncle Fester Rides A Rollercoaster

Uncle Fester Rides A Rollercoaster

by katelharc77 ♥ 10 Comments

Here I am, a week shy of my 38th birthday, and my current celebrity doppelgänger is Fester Addams.

fester addams

Go on, laugh! I do all the time.

And then secretly I cry.

I try and try to put on my brave, but sometimes I crumble.

Some days I can look beyond the bald, beyond my brow and lash-less reflection and feel more fab than Fester, but other days are just plain hard. No matter where I go, or what I do, or how many people tell me I look beautiful, I feel people’s eyes boring into me. I feel the burden of a society whose spectrum of normal I no longer fit. I feel ugly, unsightly, unfeminine.

“No hats, ma’am,” the young ride attendant calls.

I know she is talking to me, but I glance over my shoulder and pretend not to hear. “Excited, Rooey? This is going to be fu-un,” I coo. Maybe if I keep my back turned, she’ll give up and start the ride anyway. I haven’t prepared myself to unveil my baldness in front of a crowd of onlookers and the sudden threat of it is sharp. I wince.

The attendant is now hovering right next to my car, pointing to a sign above us that states ‘No Loose Items’ in bold lettering. I had already read it as we waited in line, but had been hoping it was more of a recommendation, than a rule.

“Excuse me, lady. Your hat – it needs to come off, please.”

I glance up at her and grimace. “Please – can you let me keep it on?”

“Sorry. Ride rule. No hats allowed.”

“But…I have no hair,” I squeak, imploring her to let me go.

She baulks, clearly embarrassed, then bends a little closer and lowers her voice. “I’m so sorry. You’re going to have to take it off. Really sorry, but it’s ride rules.”

I bite my lip and nod softly. To our right, the waiting queue snakes back and forth, four rows deep. Arms drape languidly over railings, faces gaze intently. Here I am in full view of a crowd of onlookers, having to unceremoniously expose myself.

I coil as far down into my seat as I can, and slide off my hat.

Instantly, I hear quiet murmurs break out as the front rows catch a glimpse of the bald woman about to ride the roller coaster; the one-woman freak show.

Tears prick. My face flushes crimson. I can’t look up.

Fortunately, before I am forced to endure any more embarrassment, the ride takes off with a sudden jerk, and whisks me away. We sail up towards the sky and then suddenly barrel down the bright, curved rail. Air streams past my face and my stomach lurches to my chin as we drop into the next turn. We twist and jerk around corners, down dips, pressed sideways in our seats as we screech and gleam around the looping course.

rollercoaster

A minute later we sail to a smooth stop, back at the platform where it all began. I close my eyes, breathe in deeply and smother a laugh. All my previous humiliation has dissolved and my body is now zinging with frenzied relief.

I feel like reality has just collided with the metaphor of my life.

From the carriage in front, both of my boys whoop with glee. I turn around, watching my daughter babble happily, tucked into the safe crook of her Daddy’s arm.

Her eyes, shining with wonderment, catch mine. “That was so fun, Mum. Can we go again?”

We clamber off together, linking arms and smiling broadly. My kids chatter non-stop about how ‘epic’ the rollercoaster was. They don’t notice my missing hat at all.

I wish I was brave enough to leave it off.