Tag: treatment

An update for you all. So I am sitting in our lounge room looking at the most magnificent Christmas tree which is as tall as the ceiling and smells of the sweetest pine and it is bliss. I lie back in my new recliner to make adjustments for my very distended and hard tummy. I look out at a beautiful garden and know that my family will visit soon as they have been since I entered my new phase of home based care. I am in a very peaceful place and space and whilst I go through periods of pain and discomfort, we are learning how to manage those things with priority. 

I have left Alan, Karen and all those names I gave my cancer behind. I have left cancer behind. I am no longer in a treatment/intervention pattern and this feels extremely relieving for me. I am living my most precious life right here with my people. I know that on the downside, I can’t include all of my people in that experience with me. So many of you have reached out and want to visit and talk with me but I need to hold space for my own emotions. It’s a lot. 

I also want to enjoy time with Magro where he is not my carer. I need quite a bit of help with personal care and mobility but our experience of what marriage offers shouldn’t only be limited to the most fabulous of weddings followed by a slow and steady progression to him wiping my arse. 

But I want you to know that from my perspective, you and I have no unfinished business between us. If you read this blog, if you have supported me in friendship over the years, if you have shown care or empathy to my friends and family, then we have love between us. Whilst it is a true honour to read about the impact I’ve had on your lives, it makes me proud of the person I am. You have had an impact on me too. I believe the authentic connections between people, alive or dead, never truly end. We carry each other through our lives and beyond. 

I have been processing that I am dying for a long time and some of you are just getting your heads around it now. Please know that I am not scared. I feel at peace with the process, very well looked after by the team and my family and in a space that makes me feel loved. It’s also my favourite time of year. Full disclosure: I never started writing Christmas cards and sending them and this is a decision I have never regretted – it’s a trap and a never-ending cycle of guilt and demand!  But bless those of you who do it. My friend Bev must write more than 300.

It’s the day before treatment and all through the house, no-one should speak of it it, not even my spouse (to be). We all know that this topic is off limits until I start the active complaining stage. Until now I’ve been in the active denial stage.

It’s been almost three months since my last chemo infusion and a lot has happened in that time. For my liver. For my body. But not for my bowel cancer. Not a thing has been done about my bowel cancer in three months and I am increasingly aware that this now needs to be addressed. Sidenote: everyone needs a break from chemo at some stage. It is essential for both physical and mental recovery.

I’ve written and spoken so much about the bitter pill that is chemotherapy that it almost feels like straight-up whining. I keep coming back to the reconciliation of its cancer killingness against its poisonous nature. Don’t even get me started on the possibility of it no longer being able to kill the cancer. We’ve been down that path before and the concept of weeks of shitty treatment for no gain whatsoever just seems like unintentional cruelty.

A beautiful friend died last week. Out of the blue, she is gone. She was kind, generous, and full of love for her friends and family. She was one of the first people to learn of my diagnosis and has since described herself as my “loudest cheerleader”. We had spoken openly about my fears and treatment in such a way that would see us both tearful by the end of the conversation. It breaks my heart to think about that now. How naive we can be about these short lives we live.

Every bone in my body is screaming at me to avoid that fucking chair and drip tomorrow morning. But I will harness my friend’s silent cheers and get my sorry arse there tomorrow: rain, hail or vomit. I will turn up for treatment tomorrow because she didn’t even get the opportunity. And I will try and show up with grace and acceptance because it makes me feel resilient and empowered to do so.

“Do not judge me by my successes, judge me by how many times I fell down and got back up again.” Nelson Mandela