Marking cancer milestones.

Cancer.

I have to admit, nineteen months post diagnosis and eleven months post active treatment, it is still something I think about every day.

Not in a constant, brooding sort of way, but it is always there, at the back of my mind.
A nagging doubt.
And I'm not sure if it will ever go away.

There will always be that fear of recurrence;  
Every time I pop one of the dreaded tamoxifen pills, when I'm wide awake in the middle of the night and find myself tip tapping on Google...when I'm fighting lower back pain.
Always there.

But one of the positive things to come out of the past year and a half - and there were a few - was that it's helped me to focus my business more on something I am passionate about.
Cancer.

We may be in 2019, but cancer still seems to be something that is whispered about, not discussed openly and referred to in vague tones.
Yet nearly half of us will be diagnosed with cancer in our lifetime.

There appears to be a distinct lack of cancer cards and gifts available on the high street.
A get well soon card just doesn't seem appropriate, so this year I've started designing my own, marking cancer milestones.

These are two from a range available at my Etsy Shop, 
https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/TheSherbetPatch

https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/552318150/chemo-card-cancer-card-chemo-is-tough?ref=shop_home_active_19

https://www.etsy.com/uk/listing/290553063/cancer-card-chemo-card-bald-brave-and?ref=shop_home_active_18

Hot, hot, hotter. Flushing my way through the menopause.

Menopause.

Growing up I had no real concept of menopause.
If it was talked about at all it was in hushed tones and never in public.
And definitely not discussed with men.
By early adulthood, my view of menopause was that it was something all women went through; an end to periods and a few hot flushes.
No big deal.
How wrong I was!

A year ago I was flung in to an immediate menopause after my second chemo. 
Boom!
No more periods, immediate hot flushes.
And fatigue...oh my goodness, the fatigue!

Two months later I started on Tamoxifen, which just cemented this sudden menopause.
No gradual decline of oestrogen over time, this was instant!

Now, the hot flushes and fatigue were joined by intermittent back pain, weight gain, disturbed sleep, and aching joints.

There is a definite roundness around my middle.
It has expanded alarmingly.

I find myself oohing and aahing as I unfold myself in bed in the morning.
Or getting up from a chair.

And brain fog. 
Finding myself mid sentence, only to get distracted and forget what I was saying.
Concentration is not one of my strengths.

Menopause is not for the faint hearted.
Whatever I had expected, it isn't this.
My new must have/can't leave the house without item is a folding fan.
I go through one a month before it starts to fall apart from overuse.

Duvets....oooft!
It's a 4.5 tog duvet or nothing these days.
And an open window.

My whole wardrobe has had to have an overhaul.
As a former freezer I have a cupboard full of sweaters.
However, within minutes of wearing one I'm having to wrestle it over my head as the hot flush hits.
I now live in summer dresses all year round.

And the icing on the cake?
These symptoms could last a decade or more!

Survivor. Reflection and Moving on.

A year ago today I was nine days past my first chemo.
I was anxiously clinging onto my hair and the unrealistic hope that I may defy the odds and not lose it.
I lost it, and had it shaved off on 4th June.

Today, I am reflecting on a year that tested me both physically and mentally.
Eight and a half months of gruelling treatment; baldness, nausea, mouth ulcers, joint pain, bone ache and crashing fatigue.
The fatigue and back pain continue today,  joined by random hot flashes and a definite roundness around my middle that wasn't there before...thank you, Tamoxifen!
The fear of it returning is ever present, at the back of my mind.
BUT...I survived!

So often I read that a cancer diagnosis changes your life.
I wouldn't say it's radically changed mine, but what it has done is change my outlook on life and appreciate the important things.

Family, nature, the changing seasons...
Last year I wondered if I'd see the daffodils bloom again.
This year, I have immersed myself into the garden, my happy place, with my mini allotment, visiting hedgehogs and special cats.
It grounds me.

Emotionally, I'm back on an even keel, but no one emerges from chemo unscathed.
Both physically and mentally, you take a battering.
And it's the mental battering that takes longer to recover from.
Every niggle or pain becomes a ''what if''
Anxiety rears its head at unexpected moments, and a complete nights sleep is now just a distant memory.

But on the plus side, having my head shaved was liberating.
Despite it being one of my biggest fears I quite liked bald.
It grew on me, and I never wore a wig.
And you know what?  I may just keep it short!

Going through chemo and coming out the other side...it makes you stronger.
Tougher.
A survivor.

June 2018                                            September 2018

     

February 2019                    April 2019

FEC T. One down, five to go.

''What did you do on the bank holiday?''
''Oh, I spent it on the chemo ward.''
And this bank holiday?
Same again!

Chemo.
I had so many preconceptions, yet little idea of what it would actually entail.

My first reaction to the initial cancer diagnosis was sheer terror.
Am I going to die?
People die of cancer!

Followed swiftly by 
''If I don't have to have chemo I'll be okay, it can't be that bad if I don't have chemo.''
''I can't go bald, I can't cope with bald, everyone'll know I've got cancer, I'll look ill!''

I'm having chemo.
And my hair is starting to shed.

Strangely enough, I feel quite calm about the whole thing.
Having a plan in place, a timetable of treatment, is a huge help.
It's the not knowing, the endless waiting for results, that causes the most stress.
As soon as I learned that my sentinel lymph node had tested positive for cancer I knew that chemo was going to be offered.
And that was when an inner calmness just seemed to kick in.

Chemo is doable.
It's not easy, and I'm sure it'll get harder as time goes by, but with two good weeks out of every three, I can cope with that!
Gentle exercise and fresh air is key.
And sunny weather.
My veggie patch has never had so much attention!

Entering the chemo ward for the first treatment was emotional.
I felt I was signing the death warrant on my hair with the first red syringe.
I cried a few silent tears.

Two hours later I was leaving the ward, no more tears and armed with a bag of medication and the dreaded box of seven syringes, along with a shiny yellow sharps container.
The only instructions I had received for self injecting were 
''grab a piece of tummy fat with one hand and inject with the other'' 
I was apprehensive.

Google brought up some dubious sites, but I figured it out and the thought was worse than the reality.
And they worked...I had more energy than before chemo!

The mouth ulcers, now they were painful.
I wasn't expecting the mouth ulcers.
But Difflam mouthwash eventually worked its magic there.

And then there's the hugely emotive issue of the hair.
The oncologist had told me I'd be bald by my next session.

Day 11 and it started to shed.
Just the odd strand here and there, but a definite loosening.
Every morning I check my pillow, expecting to see large chunks of hair that have migrated from my head.
The hairbrush collects so much I'm surprised to still have a covering.
It's resiliant, and to the outside world my hair looks no different, but I can feel that it's thinner.

Today is day 19, and the shedding has picked up the pace at an alarming rate.
I'm having to wrap orders wearing a hairnet.
A headband in the wind.
And this morning I was picking stray hairs out of a tea cup.

I want to prove the oncologist wrong and still have a covering on Monday.
I'll be happy if my hair is still there on Monday.
But I think I'll be bald within a week.

Bald is going to be emotional.
While I still have hair it's a bit of an abstract concept.

The wig voucher is still sitting in an envelope, unused.
I'm not sure I want a wig.
I've seen some lovely wigs, but what I want is my own hair, and not an imitation.

I can't get my head around wigs, so will probably stick with an extensive selection of headwear, but never say never!
I'm sure by the end of chemo I'll be sick of scarves and ready to embrace a wig whilst my eagerly anticipated and frustratingly slow growing new hair is bedding in.


Two days until chemo number two.

My favourite hat by
https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/homegrownhat

Still Me.

18th January 2018.

A date that will be forever etched in my mind.
The date of my first national screening mammogram.

I remember the morning vividly - crisp, cold and sunny.

I was wearing a red and white striped jumper, with my favourite bell bottom jeans.
My only concern?
That I must be officially old to have received that particular invitation through the post!

Fast forward three and a half months and I am sitting here, two surgeries later and twenty lymph nodes lighter, contemplating the start of chemotherapy in thirteen days time.
It's a scary step into the unknown.

My world has been spun on its axle and breast cancer has appeared out of nowhere.
Small and early, but grade 3.

Each set of results was an emotional body blow.
Words like lymph nodes and oestrogen and calcifications acquired a whole new significance.
FEC T has become shorthand for my weapon of choice to obliterate any rogue cells still lurking around.
Cancer has suddenly become very real but I won't let it define me.

Still me.

Clouds of grey.

Sewing by fairylight.

For the past five days my sewing machine has remained in an unused and hidden state.

Today I reclaimed it for a retro Paddington coffee cosy, but only after I'd braved the grey clouds to mooch in the veggie patch, abandoned for most of December.

I'll use the term veggie patch loosely, as in December it tends to resemble a mud bath.
Although this morning, due to the compost bin upending itself and splaying the contents across the mud it looked practically tropical!

I love my veggie patch.
The perfect antidote to hours on the sewing machine.

Greenfinch

Winding down for Christmas. The twitchiness of adapting to the post orders lull.

For the past month or so my life has revolved around the daily post office dash, interspersed with the odd fabric crisis and packaging alarm calls before the sun has risen.

On the plus side, those early alarm calls meant the daily serenade of bird song.
And for the cats it meant an extra breakfast and extended snoozing, while I wrestled with cellotape, cellophane and the temperamental printer.

And then it stopped.

Thursday was my cut off date for sending before Christmas; the orders whirlwind has ground to a much needed halt.

And today I'm twitchy.

The sewing machine is packed away, and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms.
Twitchy.
The garden's soggy, no distraction there.
By tomorrow evening I'll be fine, but for now...it's taking a lot of willpower to maintain a distance between me and the fabric!

On the plus side, the machine free table, newly beeswaxed and bedecked with gingham, is looking rather wonderful.
Yesterday it was used for my first ever sit down meal for six.
A pre Christmas family dinner, and the perfect opportunity to dust off an ever growing vintage glass collection.
Cut glass bonbon dishes, delicate shot glasses for mini desserts, vintage trifle bowls...everything I love.

Christmas is family time, more than ever this year as my son emigrated to Austria a few months ago, so family time is precious.

And I love any excuse to bake, to cook...to rock a new apron!
(This one is blue and white whales)


Merry Christmas!

Family.

Josh.