The End of Active Breast Cancer Treatment
A long 8 months of treatment
Finally it was here, I had done it. It had been the most scary, terrifying twist and turn of a journey over what felt like an eternity but I had made it, I had stuck with it, I had done it, I had reached the end of 8 solid months of breast cancer treatment! How the hell had I done it?!
Honestly, I still don't know the answer to that question and I genuinely don't think I ever will. When I was first told I had breast cancer I was in a daze, I was in shock, the news was hard to take in. How could I have cancer? Where had it come from? What had I done wrong? Was I to blame? How had this happened? And the question most cancer patients ask themselves - "Why me?" In reality the answer is why shouldn't it be you? Why should it be inflicted on someone else? I guess that is the selfishness of being human, you think bad things happen to others and not you.
I didn't feel ill when I was diagnosed with breast cancer so it was hard to take in a cancer diagnosis. It was like in that moment of hearing those words "breast cancer", time momentarily stopped, the air became thin and life as I knew it in that moment had changed in an instant. A proverbial bomb had exploded and my life had shattered into hundreds of little pieces right before my very eyes. A hundred little pieces....and I was acutely aware that despite time and patience, I wouldn't find all of them again. Jo would never be whole again, Jo would always feel like a part of her had died in that very moment, that something was missing. It was all too apparent that there was a very faint line between life and death and none of us really ever know when that line will become apparent.
I didn't realise on that diagnosis day of 6th October 2017 that I had a gruelling 8 months of cancer treatment lying in wait for me. In fact I didn't really know what the cancer had in store for me. I didn't know if it was confined to just my breast, whether it had spread to my lymph nodes, whether it had travelled along my lymphatic system and settled elsewhere in another organ lying in wait. I didn't know that day what was ahead of me in the long term, I didn't know that I would eventually be told I would need chemotherapy as well as surgery and radiotherapy. I was hoping above hope that chemotherapy wasn't in the treatment plan. Chemotherapy scared me, terrified me even. I didn't want to lose my hair, I couldn't cope with that. I didn't have the resilience or the mental and physical strength for chemotherapy. I was defeatist before I had even been told I needed it.
But you know what, when you are diagnosed with cancer, after the initial shock comes a will to survive, a will to overcome the cancer and to beat it into submission or expel it from your body. That will to survive is a strong one and it comes from the depths of your being, it's almost like a supernatural strength. Sure enough the initial shock of a cancer diagnosis feels like a numbness descending and want to just shut out the world and everyone in it. It's that need to process the shock, the need to understand those words of "you've got cancer" and the very powerful realisation that in that moment, life will never be the same again.
Treatment is a long road and for me I guess I was fortunate that my active cancer treatment lasted 8 months, for others its a much longer road and for many more people, their diagnosis means that they may never finish their treatment.
I won't lie, I had several occasions along my treatment path where I thought I was going to give it up, where I thought that I may never make it to the end of the active treatment and that I was going to tell the Medical Team that enough was enough, I couldn't take anymore. My body couldn't take anymore, my mind couldn't take anymore and my spirit was slowly waivering. But, there was that little shining light hidden deep inside, the little glow that said to me that I could do it, I couldn't give up, I had to see the treatment through to the end. I can't really describe that light, that will, that strength nor that resilience to keep going, it was just there, I could feel it under my rib cage, I could feel it willing me to keep on, keep accepting the treatment and that will to survive.
How did it feel?
It was a long 8 months of treatment but some bits were harder than others for me. Surgery I took pretty much in my stride but I didn't really have time to think about it, I was working right up to the night before surgery, I was on the test after test treadmill to ascertain if the cancer was contained within my breast or whether it had spread. I didn't have time to consider the consequences of surgery other than I was relieved that surgery was the first treatment I received.
Chemotherapy was the hardest, most brutal experience of my life and has left a lasting impact on both my physical AND mental wellbeing. It was my Kryptonite.
I think chemotherapy has mentally scarred me for life. Chemotherapy nearly broke me with its harshness, a harshness that my body wasn't used to. It made me feel really ill and my body screamed at me to end the treatment as it couldn't take anymore. But my spirit, it kept whispering at me to carry on and that's what I did. I finished those 18 weeks of chemotherapy, I suffered the horrendous side effects but I made it to the end of cycle 6. I was proud of myself, I had done it, despite the pain, despite the ill effects, despite the hospitalisation, I had done it, I had reached the end of chemotherapy.
Radiotherapy was a relative walk in the park for me after the brutal chemotherapy. Sure it caused some discomfort to the skin towards the middle of the 20 sessions but it was localised, it wasn't full body and the treatment itself was painless. It was a case of turn up, get into a medical gown, lie down on the radiotherapy machine bed, lay still for several minutes then up and on with the rest of my day. Maybe others found it much harder, had more side effects but for me, it was pretty straight forward and I'm grateful for that.
On the 3rd June 2018 I took my first ever Tamoxifen tablet just 10 days after finishing radiotherapy and I won't lie, I was apprehensive of it's side effects with the stories I had heard and of people giving up taking the drug because it was wreaking havoc on their quality of life. Tamoxifen to my body is like a lower dose of Kryptonite but I will save that for a whole other blog on it's own!
So, I guess you could say, I made it. I made it to the end of a rollercoaster ride of a treatment plan. I had the ups, I had the downs, I had the twists, I had the turns, I had the days where I felt I was suspended in mid air and the days where I felt I was speeding along on a downward spiral only to be saved by another twist and another turn. It was a crazy time of my life, an uncertain one, a time where I gave over control of my life to the Medical Team in an attempt for them to save my life, to eradicate the cancer from my body, to give me the best shot at living a life with No Evidence of Disease (NED) and for that I will forever be grateful. Without the medical treatment, I can't say with any certainity that I would be sat here just over two years later able to write this blog.
Honestly, I still don't know the answer to that question and I genuinely don't think I ever will. When I was first told I had breast cancer I was in a daze, I was in shock, the news was hard to take in. How could I have cancer? Where had it come from? What had I done wrong? Was I to blame? How had this happened? And the question most cancer patients ask themselves - "Why me?" In reality the answer is why shouldn't it be you? Why should it be inflicted on someone else? I guess that is the selfishness of being human, you think bad things happen to others and not you.
I didn't feel ill when I was diagnosed with breast cancer so it was hard to take in a cancer diagnosis. It was like in that moment of hearing those words "breast cancer", time momentarily stopped, the air became thin and life as I knew it in that moment had changed in an instant. A proverbial bomb had exploded and my life had shattered into hundreds of little pieces right before my very eyes. A hundred little pieces....and I was acutely aware that despite time and patience, I wouldn't find all of them again. Jo would never be whole again, Jo would always feel like a part of her had died in that very moment, that something was missing. It was all too apparent that there was a very faint line between life and death and none of us really ever know when that line will become apparent.
I didn't realise on that diagnosis day of 6th October 2017 that I had a gruelling 8 months of cancer treatment lying in wait for me. In fact I didn't really know what the cancer had in store for me. I didn't know if it was confined to just my breast, whether it had spread to my lymph nodes, whether it had travelled along my lymphatic system and settled elsewhere in another organ lying in wait. I didn't know that day what was ahead of me in the long term, I didn't know that I would eventually be told I would need chemotherapy as well as surgery and radiotherapy. I was hoping above hope that chemotherapy wasn't in the treatment plan. Chemotherapy scared me, terrified me even. I didn't want to lose my hair, I couldn't cope with that. I didn't have the resilience or the mental and physical strength for chemotherapy. I was defeatist before I had even been told I needed it.
But you know what, when you are diagnosed with cancer, after the initial shock comes a will to survive, a will to overcome the cancer and to beat it into submission or expel it from your body. That will to survive is a strong one and it comes from the depths of your being, it's almost like a supernatural strength. Sure enough the initial shock of a cancer diagnosis feels like a numbness descending and want to just shut out the world and everyone in it. It's that need to process the shock, the need to understand those words of "you've got cancer" and the very powerful realisation that in that moment, life will never be the same again.
Treatment is a long road and for me I guess I was fortunate that my active cancer treatment lasted 8 months, for others its a much longer road and for many more people, their diagnosis means that they may never finish their treatment.
I won't lie, I had several occasions along my treatment path where I thought I was going to give it up, where I thought that I may never make it to the end of the active treatment and that I was going to tell the Medical Team that enough was enough, I couldn't take anymore. My body couldn't take anymore, my mind couldn't take anymore and my spirit was slowly waivering. But, there was that little shining light hidden deep inside, the little glow that said to me that I could do it, I couldn't give up, I had to see the treatment through to the end. I can't really describe that light, that will, that strength nor that resilience to keep going, it was just there, I could feel it under my rib cage, I could feel it willing me to keep on, keep accepting the treatment and that will to survive.
How did it feel?
It was a long 8 months of treatment but some bits were harder than others for me. Surgery I took pretty much in my stride but I didn't really have time to think about it, I was working right up to the night before surgery, I was on the test after test treadmill to ascertain if the cancer was contained within my breast or whether it had spread. I didn't have time to consider the consequences of surgery other than I was relieved that surgery was the first treatment I received.
Chemotherapy was the hardest, most brutal experience of my life and has left a lasting impact on both my physical AND mental wellbeing. It was my Kryptonite.
I think chemotherapy has mentally scarred me for life. Chemotherapy nearly broke me with its harshness, a harshness that my body wasn't used to. It made me feel really ill and my body screamed at me to end the treatment as it couldn't take anymore. But my spirit, it kept whispering at me to carry on and that's what I did. I finished those 18 weeks of chemotherapy, I suffered the horrendous side effects but I made it to the end of cycle 6. I was proud of myself, I had done it, despite the pain, despite the ill effects, despite the hospitalisation, I had done it, I had reached the end of chemotherapy.
Radiotherapy was a relative walk in the park for me after the brutal chemotherapy. Sure it caused some discomfort to the skin towards the middle of the 20 sessions but it was localised, it wasn't full body and the treatment itself was painless. It was a case of turn up, get into a medical gown, lie down on the radiotherapy machine bed, lay still for several minutes then up and on with the rest of my day. Maybe others found it much harder, had more side effects but for me, it was pretty straight forward and I'm grateful for that.
On the 3rd June 2018 I took my first ever Tamoxifen tablet just 10 days after finishing radiotherapy and I won't lie, I was apprehensive of it's side effects with the stories I had heard and of people giving up taking the drug because it was wreaking havoc on their quality of life. Tamoxifen to my body is like a lower dose of Kryptonite but I will save that for a whole other blog on it's own!
So, I guess you could say, I made it. I made it to the end of a rollercoaster ride of a treatment plan. I had the ups, I had the downs, I had the twists, I had the turns, I had the days where I felt I was suspended in mid air and the days where I felt I was speeding along on a downward spiral only to be saved by another twist and another turn. It was a crazy time of my life, an uncertain one, a time where I gave over control of my life to the Medical Team in an attempt for them to save my life, to eradicate the cancer from my body, to give me the best shot at living a life with No Evidence of Disease (NED) and for that I will forever be grateful. Without the medical treatment, I can't say with any certainity that I would be sat here just over two years later able to write this blog.
Brilliant post ..
ReplyDeleteThinking of my sister in laws daughter as I read this she sent us a photo of her wedding last year every much the blushing bride and now this at the tender age of 30. I know what I felt like at 30 young energetic ready for anything .. I was in my 50s before the chronic fatigue and ageing really began to show.. life is completely unfair ..
ReplyDelete.