Two months ago, I was diagnosed with stage 2, Her2 positive Breast Cancer. Clearly they got that wrong. I aced the pre-surgery quiz, I am 38, mum to two fabulously crazy little people, wife to stubborn but incredibly caring and handsome husband, family driver, organiser extraordinaire, full time Marketing Manager, wholesome cook and yet my name and address are typed in black and white at the top of the diagnosis sheet.
I do not understand. There is a heavily weighted brick in the pit of my stomach whose weight vibrates throughout my body. I feel sick. I do not understand.
Things move quickly, I have already a breast surgeon. A God if you like, at least that is how I view him. He swiftly and respectfully pencilled in my partial mastectomy and three node removal between a seven year old boy’s big toe operation and a lady’s kidney follow up.
In the two weeks since ‘that Friday’, I feel like I have jumped out of the plane of my life. The dreaded but exciting freefall of the surgery has led way to a bumpy float to new ground. I am still floating. I do not know where I will land or how rocky that particular patch will be and although the floating is a relief after thinking I might actually die from the freefall, it’s a little on the painful, confusing and uncertain side. Plus, I know the landing will most certainly be traumatic.
In this time though, an amazing thing has happened. I have seen through the fog of my life by metaphorically attaching a 50mm lens to my mind and vision. Through this, I have learnt some valuable lessons that I know will stay with me far beyond this particular season of my life.
In no particular order…
1. Stars shine bright in the darkness. Some from the most unexpected of places and some from where they quietly shone all along.
2. Block out the noise. Be clear on what is important and listen to that.
3. Be grateful. I am truly grateful for so many things, too many to list but here’s a taster:
- I know what true love is – I have felt it every day for over 13 years.
- I have my kids – to me, the greatest gift of all and now I am given the clarity to be present with them.
- My family and close friends do not come with conditions or an expiry date. Their love and care is unconditional. They have the strength of heart to cry with me and smile at me, even though their hearts are breaking just as much as mine.
- I live in an era of technology where a quick comment can keep you in touch.
- Cancer treatment is a different game now to the pictures and memories inside my head.
4. Action beats anxiety, in every way. Almost always, the anticipation is worse than the reality.
5. Cooking for someone that is ill or going through trauma is true kindness. It takes effort and bravery but it demonstrates real care and nourishes not only the body but the soul.
6. I heard it all the time: ‘Your health is everything’ but never gave it the gravity it deserves. Fact: Your health (mental and physical) is everything.
7. Always be kind, you do not know what battle anyone is facing on any given day.
8. Doctors, nurses and carers literally make a real difference in every interaction with a patient. Respect and active listening is paramount.
9. Make new friends:
- Find the funny – humour is a powerful ally in this fight.
- Get comfortable with the fear – it will be your loyal travelling companion.
- Believe that you will survive – I know this will not be easy, but one day, I will look back on it as a harsh season in my life.
- It’s okay to accept help, especially if you park it until later because a pink journey is not completed overnight.
- Settle on your own language to help you through
- For me, it’s the Pink Caterpillar, slowly facing forwards, crawling along a rocky road, soon to get a little ‘ugly’ before morphing into something altogether more beautiful, strong and free.
10. Be open and the most wonderful things will happen because all of a sudden, you are present to experience them.