A curious thing. . .

I realised this morning that my bathroom cupboard is still full of all the trappings of my pre-menopause, pre-chemotherapy life. Why have I not thrown it all away??? It seems bizarre that I haven't, given the fact that I've had hellish problems with it all over the years and had in fact been in discussions with my GP last year about the possibility of a hysterectomy. I wonder whether it is something in my subconscious not wanting to admit that my days of fertility are at an end?

That would be very strange considering that being a mother was not exactly ever on my list of priorities. Then again maybe it's an age/milestone thing? Perhaps subconsciously I am unable to throw everything away because it means admitting to myself that I am now most definitely in 'middle life' and having to deal with the consequences of growing old(er). Part of me also wonders whether it's just my brain still not able to come to terms with how cancer has affected my body - permanently.

All very strange to my way of thinking because whilst very few women 'celebrate' reaching the end of periods, mostly it is a huge sense of relief not to be bothered with the hassle of it all any more. I remember back in January when I'd realised that periods had stopped after my first cycle of chemotherapy, thinking 'well that's one thing less to worry about' and just being grateful that I wouldn't be dealing with that as well as all the chemo side effects.

Like I said - all very strange. . .this cancer thing, it messes with your head!

Stress

Just over a week ago I finally reached breaking point with all the flashbacks and nightmares etc and finally admitted defeat and went to my doctor for help. He has diagnosed me as having post traumatic stress disorder and thinks I need to see a therapist in order to try and get some closure after all the horrible nearly dying stuff. I've been put on some anti-depressants and given contact details for a therapist. Part of me has breathed a huge sigh of relief - I'm not going bonkers after all! However, part of me also feels guilty and, if I'm honest, slightly ashamed at getting in this kind of state in the first place. I know that's silly but it's been really hard to shake those feelings off, even though many medical professionals have told me that this sort of thing is actually very common after the experiences I've had. I'm normally the shoulder that everyone else cries on, so asking for help was really quite difficult. Also in the back of my mind I felt that I was letting down all those people who had praised me for coping with everything so well - I didn't want to shatter their illusions and neither did I want to admit defeat and admit there was something wrong.

Apart from the medication and the prospect of some much-needed therapy, I have come across two other things that have really helped me to deal with all of this. The first is Breast Cancer Care's Moving Forward Resource Pack which made me realise that what I am feeling now that active treatment is over is completely normal. I can't tell you what a relief it was to read through the pack and recognise that I'm not alone.

The other thing that is helping a lot is this book - The Cancer Survivor's Companion: Practical ways to cope with your feelings after cancer. It contains lots of helpful advice, tips and tricks for helping you to cope with how cancer has affected you and how to try and move forward after treatment has finished. It's a brilliant book that has already made a difference to me.

Where is the happiness button?

I am now officially two weeks from the last piece of active treatment and desperately trying to process everything that has happened to me over the last few months.

Nightmares and flashbacks are plaguing me with visions of my time in intensive care and the horrible fall. I just don't seem able to get them out of my head. My husband tells me that I cry and sound distressed in my sleep most nights and I'm getting flashbacks several times a day. They creep up on me unawares and leave me feeling tearful, depressed and scared. Surely after 7 weeks this should be starting to fade away now? The most frightening aspect of all this is that I feel like I've forgotten what it means or feels like to be happy, which is a very scary place to end up in.

I am also dealing with feelings of guilt at what this has done to my husband because the stress of it all has exacerbated a heart condition and is giving him angina. It's not uprising but equally it's hard to come to terms with the fact that my poor health has so badly affected his wellbeing. He's carried the burden of my care all these months and it has taken its toll on him.

The trip to ICU, knowing that I could have died, witnessing and being unable to prevent the horrible fall - goodness knows that would all be hard for anyone to cope with! To quote a popular cliché; we have been to hell and back more than once! I am so lucky to have his fabulous support, just knowing he's by my side has helped me so much.

Now though I am in a very strange place emotionally. I know that I need to deal with my feelings, find closure and move on and that I need to ask for professional help to do so.

But that's the hard thing. . . asking for help is not something I find easy to do.

Is it a sign of weakness or failure?

Well obviously the logical part of me knows that it is neither but it is a tough thing for me to admit that I need outside help. I am so used to being the shoulder that everyone else cries on. It feels alien having to reach out for help on my own account. I want, no that's not right; I need to take that step, to accept that there are some things you just cannot do on your own. It's not a cry in the wilderness because there are people who can help - if I ask.

Part of the problem is that I feel like I am also having to cope with the burden of everyone else's expectations. All along the way the medical staff and my friends and family have told me they are inspired by my fortitude, bravery and general stoicism.

But here's the thing folks; being brave has nothing to do with it! You just have to suck it up and get on with it. I want to live therefore having treatment was the only sensible option, it's as simple as that.

Bravery, 'courage under fire' whatever you want to call it, I don't see that as being a good label for me. These are descriptions of those who put themselves in danger for the sake of others. I was doing this for me, not for anyone else's benefit. I just had to take a deep breath and get on with it and that's what I did. No one could have predicted all the crap stuff with Docetaxel or that I'd end up as ill as I did.

It just happened and it doesn't happen to everyone.

But I am still here! I might need help to move on but I am here and that's what counts the most!

I know that my happiness button is inside me somewhere lying dormant and waiting for a gentle push. Just because it's hiding right now doesn't mean it will stay lost forever. I may be looking up from a deep abyss but at least I can see that there is light. It's not very bright, a long way off, I just need a little help to reach it.

Moving on after active treatment has finished is one of the hardest things that anyone with breast cancer will have to do. I think so many of us breathe a big sigh of relief when we get to the end of surgery/chemotherapy/radiotherapy, even if there is hormone therapy to follow. Sometimes it's only then that the enormity of what we've been through sinks in and there is an emotional fallout to cope with - just when people around us think we are finally on the mend.

In many ways it's just as tough as living through all the trauma of active treatment because it seems like your support system has been wrenched away. This is the time for pouring balm on a troubled psyche - it's the heart, mind and spirit that need nurturing now. That's where I am now - looking for a way out of the turmoil that has invaded my peace and understanding that this is not something I can do alone.

I will find the way upwards, onwards. It is possible to do that, there is help out there to enable me to do so. I just need to take that first step.

I want to believe that I can be happy again.

I can be happy again.

I can. . .

A treatment update part 2

I have now officially finished active treatment. I had 16 radiotherapy sessions and I've been started on two years of Tamoxifen.

The last few weeks have not been without their dramas though - I never do things by half! Less than a week after being discharged from hospital I had a very serious fall whilst struggling up some steps using the walking sticks. I fell quite a distance onto concrete outside our house with my treatment side taking almost the whole impact. The end result was 4 broken ribs and excruciating chest pain, plus I was scared I done damage to my mastectomy site but it turned out that I had two broken ribs and a haematoma on my lung directly underneath. I was given Tramadol to help with the pain and the following Monday I started my daily expeditions to the other side of the county for radiotherapy. I am enormously grateful to Go North Devon and the North Devon Cancer Care Trust who fund a subsidised service that collects patients from home and drives to the hospital direct. I couldn't have managed to get to treatment at Exeter very easily without this service. We live on the opposite side of the county and it would have been very expensive to get there using our own car. I would leave home around 1.45pm and not get home again until about 7pm - a very long day!

The first week was nothing short of agony because of my ribs and on day four for some reason the radiographers couldn't get me lined up properly. It took far longer than normal, was very painful and reduced me to tears. The staff were nothing short of magnificent; they were so upset that they were hurting me when they didn't want to and during the course of my treatment showed me a huge amount of compassion and care. A brilliant example of the NHS at its best.

Apart from a small patch of radiation burn the treatment has gone pretty much without any problems - a nice change for me! As the three weeks came to an end I was getting more and more exhausted though. Nothing really prepares you for the daily grind of treatment 5 days a week and by the end I'd had enough both physically and mentally. My body demonstrated this by presenting me with a 4 day gastric bug just a week after treatment was over. I kissed goodbye to much of the weight I had managed to put back on so I'm back on the food supplements again. I am happy to report though that my mobility is greatly improved. I'm now only using one walking stick and that's when I go out, at home I'm now pretty much managing without any additional support.

Physically I am over the worst now, emotionally though things are completely different and I'll talk about that in my next entry.