Before my last chemo…

31/7/17

Before I begin, I just want to say *thank you* to the many people who have supported me (us) and encouraged me (us) along this part of my cancer journey. Chemotherapy has been hard, and your friendship, meals, putting up with my vague-Rebecca-chemo-brain, minding, entertaining and helping with our children – it is all so greatly appreciated. 

Special thanks goes to our kids’ school community, which is currently supplying us with three meals a week! It is an amazing help. Honestly, it makes such a big difference for us.

Chemotherapy is unpleasant. I never had symptoms of my breast cancer, other than repeated mastitis and a 2cm lump I found. But the surgery has left me in pain and with a sensitive and sore arm. And the chemo has left me with aching bones and joints; incredible fatigue; intermittent nausea and alopoecia. And my mouth gets dry and sore, with a gross taste in it. My taste buds are ruined so I can’t enjoy food and wine like usual. My skin breaks out and I get puffy and retain all the fluid. My tummy is sensitive, and I have discovered that bread and dairy make me feel quite ill. 

So. It is not fun. Not just for me, but our family. I don’t have energy to do stuff. I just don’t. It was great earlier in the year, when I was fit and happy and ran around doing my jobs and singing and making jokes and then cooking all the goodies in the kitchen. It was good then. Great even. I felt on top of the world.  I guess that’s a dangerous place to be, because it suddenly came to a halt. My mood has been crap. My body has been feeling crap, getting heavy and unfit. I am desperate for winter to be over; for chemo to be over; for this cancer business to be over. 

However. I should not let myself wallow too far into this cancer fug. I am NOT dying of cancer. I am NOT even living with cancer. The cancer is gone. I’m doing what I can to reduce the risk of this disease coming back, so I can be here longer with my family and friends. And I ought to rejoice that I have that opportunity. This is not a death sentence. This is a blip on the highway of my life. 

Ok. Not just a blip. It’s a pretty enourmous mountain I must trudge along. 

And it is not the worst thing I have had to endure with my family. 

For some reason I have been thinking of Charlotte so much more. The grief comes back strongly when I am not expecting it at all. Maybe it’s because I’m not as busy as usual, and I have more time in my own mind. Maybe it’s that my mood is already low and vulnerable. I am vulnerable. I miss my daughter. I imagine I’m cuddling her one last time. 

Anyway. That’s where I am. 

One day I will write about the best birthday I’ve ever had. My 40th was amazing, with friends and family surprising me on the day, and being surrounded with loved ones at my 40th birthday party. I had fun. It was so good. I am overjoyed and overwhelmed when I think about it! 

But today I am embarking on the last round of my chemotherapy. In about 4 weeks I’ll start radiation therapy, which will go for 6 weeks. I can see the light at the end of this tunnel. So much love and support from my family. Feeling loved is getting me through. 

Thank you again for all the support and love. 

Bless 

xox

9/7/17

2 Responses

  1. Coco71
    Coco71 August 1, 2017 at 8:07 am |

    Ohhhh… this shouldn’t be “???”… strong arms…

  2. Coco71
    Coco71 August 1, 2017 at 8:06 am |

    You are such a strong lady!!!!! I wish you all the best!!???

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