May Contain Nuts

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    • What’s up with you today then?

      I thought I was having a good day.

      It’s been six months since my lumpectomy and a few days ago I had decided to treat myself and to be fitted for some new, more normal looking, bras. I’ve been wearing surgical bras at night and some post surgery bras every day for the past 6 months. I didn’t have to, but I found them to be a comfort and to help me deal with the changes in my body. Today would be different. Today would be the start of the next phase of my post cancer life.

      Simon had asked me if I wanted him to go with me. Only if you want to go – was my reply. You can come if you want to come, I’m a 54 year old woman who is more than capable of taking herself to get fitted for a new bra. If he wants to go out, I would be happy to take him there. He wanted to go to Hyde Hall on the way home. Not on your nelly. Hottest day of the year and he wants to walk around acres of garden with hardly any shade. Nope/No thank you.

      Emily asked yesterday if she could come shopping with me on my bra shopping day. There is a shop in the same arcade that sells Jellycats and they always like to come along to see if there are any new ones they want to buy. Plus we always pop in the book shop for a read. Of course she could come along.

      I woke up this morning, feeling a bit nervous and excited. Simon asked if I wanted him to go with me and Emily. For fs sake. If you want to come with me, just say you want to come with me and stop making it sound as if I’m a useless person who can’t do anything on my own. If you want to come along for a bit of shopping, ask. Hannah said she was going to stay home and rest. By the time I had got myself ready and taken my tablet, I didn’t have enough time to eat breakfast or get a drink before heading off. That’s alright, I thought, we’ll go to a coffee shop afterwards so I can get something there.

      We arrived at the shop and both husband and child decided they were going to take themselves off shopping whilst I was measured and fitted for some new bras. Okay, I said, I’ll see you in the coffee shop afterwards.

      I love the Bra Consultancy in Maldon. I have been shopping there for years and I have always recommended them to anyone and everyone. They are so knowledgeable, kind, patient, experienced, and just really lovely. I was assigned to Julie today. There were two ladies in the shop and both of them were booked for fittings, so as well as helping us they were taking in deliveries, answering the phone and serving in the shop. Julie was great. She would fit me into a bra, decide that it wasn’t right and then head back out onto the shop floor to find a better fitting one. I was booked in for a 45 minute fitting so I was really surprised at the end when I saw the time on my phone and realised I had been in for over an hour. That’s okay, I thought, I’ve got some gorgeous new underwear and I can sit down and have a coffee before we head home.

      As I was heading to the door of the shop, I saw Emily hanging around outside, closing followed by Simon. Oh bless them, I thought, they have finished shopping and have been hanging around outside the shop waiting for me. I came out, all smiles, with my new underwear, and feeling like a princess. We walked past a few shops and I was asked if I wanted a drink. Oh absolutely. I’ve had no breakfast, or drink this morning, and I’m absolutely gasping now. Are you going to get a take away one? – was what Simon asked me. It turns out that they had done the minimal amount of shopping and had been sitting in the coffee shop for an hour, having drinks and cake. They didn’t want to sit in there again. They were full. And bored.

      It’s okay – I said – we’ll just go home and I’ll have my cup of tea with my lunch. So I drove them there, and drove them home. No drink or sweet treat for me on my special day. Not the day that I had planned but I’ll go home and enjoy the rest of it.

      I called Hannah on the way home and asked her to make me a drink for when I got back. She did. A lovely steaming hot cup of breakfast tea was waiting for me. Along with two deliveries from the postman. I recognised one as my Electronic Sounds magazine but I had no idea what the other one was. Simon thought it was a battery because of the warning symbols on the outside. Turns out, the Look Good Feel Better Online Nail course that I had done a few weeks ago, also came with a free bag of goodies. It’s gorgeous. A Dior make-up bag with fancy hand creams, nail balms, nail varnishes and other delights. Wow, I really was being treated like a VIP today!

      We had lunch, Hannah went to work. It got hotter, and hotter, and I had to sit with the fan on me for most of the afternoon due to continuous hot flushes every time I moved. Simon went out in the garden and did some work on his cars (I think, I don’t know. I hear the angle grinder and the welder and just assume it’s for the cars and not anything to do with the house that we live in). He had said yesterday that he was going to do the weekly shop today, so I asked Emily to help me do a meal planner and a shopping list. She said she was going up for a shower before work, and off she went for an hour. I sat in front of the fan, reading different websites and their views on bras after cancer surgery and radiation. In fact, I went right down a rabbit hole and didn’t realise how long I had spent reading. Simon said he was going to go out for a slow walk and he would get dinner for tonight whilst he was out. Okay, that solves the dinner issue, but I still need to sort out a meal planner. It’s hot. I don’t like cooking in this heat, I need to think of things that are appropriate that everyone will eat and that I have to get myself motivated to cook.

      Simon comes back from his walk, Emily goes off to work. I should’ve moved my car back on the driveway when she left. I was too hot. The car was in the sun. I’ll do it later.

      I’ve actually spent some of the afternoon messaging friends and catching up with them and trying not to sweat too much. I don’t know if it’s hormone related, the immunotherapy, the thyroid tablets, or all the treatment I have been through, or even just the heat, but my energy levels come with the highest of highs and the lowest of lows. The past few days have been low. I have forced myself to go out, but I struggle with exhaustion afterwards. So I go with it. I don’t beat myself up. I sit and rest and wait for the energy wave to come again. Today, I even had a treat of a doughnut from Emily. It was so sickly sweet that I was sure the sugar would give me a huge energy boost. Nothing. Not a peep.

      I thought I was having a good day. I thought I was quite level headed today. A bit lazy maybe but not in a bad mood, no sadness, no anger, and no tears.

      I took my glasses off, laid them next to me on the sofa, rested my head back and closed my eyes for a few seconds. Simon walked past the room and said – what’s up with you today then?

      I give up. What is up with me today.

      I’ll just put the oven on and start doing dinner and try and ignore the fact that I spent an hour in front of a mirror looking at a body that I don’t recognise anymore and a body that doesn’t behave like it used to. I’m still me but I seem to be trapped in a version of me that I don’t recognise. Just give me a moment or two whilst I adjust to that please.

    • Sunday 2nd August 2026

      I must apologise. My last post was a bit selfish. Some of you may have read it, some not. I didn’t post it on the day and I didn’t share it. I think I have been a bit angry at the world and the crap I have had to deal with. I’m surviving. I just need to have a word with myself sometimes.

      I have spent years, decades, of looking at pictures of myself and thinking – what was I thinking? My face looks fat, my teeth aren’t straight, my hair doesn’t suit me, my arms are too fat, my thighs are too large, my clothes are too tight, my clothes are too baggy, my clothes are too frumpy, I’m mutton dressed as lamb, and the list goes on and on and on. That has all changed now. I know I’ve gained weight, but I don’t care. I can do something about that and get fit again. I can smile and be happy and not worry about looking old, or fat, or ridiculous; I am alive. I get to live more days with my friends and families and I will continue to enjoy each day (even the down days because nobody is bloody perfect).

      I will always count myself as being a lucky person. Lots of things have happened in my life but with every bad thing there has always been good to balance it out. Maybe that’s more to do with the positive outlook that people say I have. I will, and always have, looked for the happiness and beauty in everything and everyone. Throughout my treatment, I still don’t see myself, and never did see myself, as a ill person. I know that I looked like it, but I never felt it.

      The NHS has saved my life, and I will always be eternally grateful to the radiographer who just wanted to take a biopsy as she wasn’t happy with the way a cyst looked. That one tiny lump has changed my life. It has made me change. I’m not going to say that I am going to eat healthy, I will eat what I want. I am not going to say that I stop drinking alcohol, I will drink whatever I want. What I will do is to eat and enjoy and make the most of everything that goes in my body as I can taste it again! You really don’t appreciate the taste of good food until chemotherapy destroys your ability to enjoy your favourite meal.

      I was never one to say no to a night out, but I would normally try to fit in with the people around me. I adapted and changed to who I was with, or where I was. Not any more. I will go out and be even more me. Which the people at work found out the other week. If I have hit the work event dance floor in previous years, I have fitted in. Done the mum dance, hid in the circle, smiled and nodded. But you can’t do that when the Prodigy is played, so I let a little bit of the old Shelley out and she had a ball. She was knackered as her strength wasn’t there, but she let her hair down (or spiked it up) and laughed and jumped in the circle.

      Some people may find dancing uncomfortable. I never have. I grew up in the Pink Toothbrush in Rayleigh. It was dark and safe and played the music I loved. You would hit the dance floor and would be squashed in with everyone else. You couldn’t stand still, you had to move or you would be knocked over. No-one looked at you, no-one cared. You could literally dance like no-one was watching. No-one judged. So we always laughed and let our hair down and busted out the Roger the Raving Turtle moves. If someone crashed into you, and they apologised, they would no doubt be a friend by the end of the night! You can’t be a delicate flower in a mosh pit. You bust out all the moves when the house music starts, you swing your pants when the dark goth sounds emerge, and you shoe gaze when the indie tracks hit. But there will always be happiness on the dance floor for me; that and laughter. The crazier the better.

      So that is how I live my life. I always roll with it. Let it take me where it wants me to go. We don’t have control over our health, there are so many different variables to contend with, so why complain? Why not just accept that things happen. I didn’t ask for cancer. Maybe my body had been fighting it off for years and it did everything it could to keep it at bay. But cancer adapts and fooled my body and it let it grow a little bit. I shall now call this part of my life the slow dance era. I was never a fan of that part of the night in Tots. Or as some people called it, The Erection Section. I always saw it more as the uncomfortable section where you see your friend being asked to dance and you tell them to go because why not slow dance with a boy they have never met before in their life! So you stand at the side, waiting for the music to change so that the party can get started again.

      So here I am, getting to the end of the slow section of my life and I’m waiting for the tunes to drop so I can bust my moves again. Some of the moves may be the same, same may be different and adapted because I am not a teenager anymore. But I look forward to where the music takes me as I love my life. I have the best friends, the best family and the best life. From the highest highs to the lowest lows. It’s my life, don’t you forget it.

    • Thursday 23rd July 2026

      It’s funny how a year doesn’t seem as long as it feels.

      This time last year I had so many worries and concerns about what was going to happen in the future. About what my treatment was going to be. About what surgery would be like. About losing my hair, about losing me. The thought of being stuck at home and feeling ill. Yet here I am, a year later, and it’s all a distant memory. Which feels so weird.

      I had six months of chemotherapy, I lost all my hair, I felt sick for the majority of it, but still seems like a distant memory.

      Have I changed? Physically yes. Mentally, absolutely. I still feel like me but there are a few things that have changed. I don’t have the patience with people that I used to have. I now hear people moaning and complaining, and all I can think is – what is your problem? We are only on this planet for a short time. Why be unhappy? And don’t get me started on people who complain about having a cold. I would’ve loved to have had a cold, but I got cancer instead.

      A part of me has broken in the past year. I’m not overly anxious. I think I know that if it comes back, I can cope. I’ve had a part of me amputated, so I am mourning the loss of that part of my body. I’m not the same shape, or fitness, or size. That doesn’t matter. But I do feel broken.

      I don’t want to hear about your friend who had it and how they are doing. I don’t really care what size or what kind of cancer they had/have. I don’t want to hear that they are out doing things, or what they have been up to, or what they did. It feels like I am being compared to others and that is when the break gets bigger. I never felt broken. It’s only when my journey is compared to others that I feel it.

      I know that every cancer patients journey is different. Do you know that every cancer patients journey is different? Do you know that everyone’s treatment is specific to them? Do you know that if I was given your brothers/sisters/aunts/friends chemotherapy that it may not have cured me? Or that it may have killed me? So why are you comparing me to them? You think that you aren’t but you are. I had cancer, I am having treatment. It’s a probability that it will come back. It may even be the thing that kills me. Don’t compare me to anyone else. Just like I’m sure that they don’t want to be compared to me.

      People say that I am brave, a warrior, amazing, a superstar. I look at their faces and I see the pity and sadness there, so I become animated and I make them laugh because I don’t want their fears to seep in. I worry that if it does it will break me even more. They have stopped seeing me. They just see cancer.

      Am I like this because I’m reaching the anniversary of firsts? Maybe it’s because my hormones are at an all time low. But I could really do without people right now.

    • Immunotherapy Day Tuesday 16th June 2026

      Immunotherapy Day Tuesday 16th June 2026

      It’s been a very weird week. Immunotherapy was booked in for Friday 12th June but the call I received the day before was not the news I wanted to hear. Oncology needed to send over the paperwork which then had to be reviewed, which takes three days. The chemo unit was only sent the paperwork on Thursday so they couldn’t give me a definite date yet. Bugger. Oh well, I can go back to enjoying a night out on Friday instead. Nope, Poorly guinea pig and tough decisions meant I was not in the right head-space for a night out. I was shattered.

      Saturday night we had an impromptu few hours at Katie and Alan’s, but I was still tired the next day,

      Monday was better. I had more sleep and Simon took me to the seafront for breakfast and a three mile walk. When we arrived home, the postman had been with a couple of hospital letters for me. One was for a call with oncology in September, the other was an appointment at the chemo unit on Tuesday 16th June at 4pm to start my immunotherapy. As you may have guessed, I wasn’t expecting much to happen after the current debacle. If it happens it happens; if I get sent home again then so be it.

      Katie and I had already organised to go for breakfast Tuesday morning so I told her that we should still go. I mean, I still have an appetite, and some decent food before the hospital would be a welcome treat.

      I arrived home with another rose for the garden. It was Katie’s 12 year new boob anniversary so I bought her a rose called Eyes for You, and I bought myself a lovely fragrant one called Blue for You. Quite apt as she has a lovely blue Skoda! Simon planted it for me and shortly after we set off for the hospital.

      Due to the previous cancellation, Simon wanted to stay close to the hospital. I checked in at reception and was informed that there was a 2 hour wait for treatment. I let him know and he rook himself off for a walk around the area, making sure that he was no more than 10 minutes away at all times, just in case. At 5pm I was called through, which was a surprise to me as there were three people in the waiting room whose appointments were before mine. I had to remind myself that we are all there for different treatments, and one of the ladies was only there for an injection. Did I tell you about autistic son women? When I was having chemo, I ended up sitting next to her and everything was about her autistic son and his autistic girlfriend. Well that was her needing the weekly injections.

      I was taken through to Bay 4 and given the option of the first or second chair. First was set up for my right arm picc line, so I went for that one. Got myself weighed (of course there was an increase) and settled into my chair and continued to read my book.

      I wondered if any of the staff would remember me. They did. Asking me how I was and why I was back. I told them I’m fine, it’s just immunotherapy. Everything has done its job. They came round with my treatment at 5;30pm but I still hadn’t had my obs done or been connected to a drip. Once that was all done, my half an hour of immunotherapy went ahead as planned. They asked me if I wanted any anti-sickness pills, I asked if they thought I would need them? Probably not, was the reply I got, so I decided against them.

      I was in the Bay with four other people. The man opposite me was just on his headphones the whole time. The man at the end from me was on a call and then finished his treatment and left. Now, the lady opposite was a bit weird. She had hardly any of her own teeth so her cancer may have been in the mouth/neck area. She was having immunotherapy for the first time and they were offering her anti-sickness pills. That wasn’t the weirdest part. Her phone rang, a few times. The ring tone was Lady in Red by Chris de Burgh. Nothing wrong with that I guess, but it was the ring tone for her son. Surely that’s a ring tone for your partner, not your child? Anyway, the lovely man by the window was quite funny and we had a few laughs.

      Didn’t feel too yucky afterwards. Simon drove us home and we had takeaway pizza for dinner.

      Terrible nights sleep. Not sure if it was the heat, or my arm, but I felt like I was awake every 40 minutes. Maybe I was worrying too much about feeling ill. Whatever it was, I’m hoping tonight I sleep better.

      Today was quite eventful. Had my picc cover changed at the Hockley Clinic by Sally. She’s lovely, we always have a laugh. I told her my treatment had started again which she was delighted to hear. I had a meeting booked this afternoon with HR to discuss my return to work. With everything agreed, I can start back on Monday, and only for an hour a day to see how I cope. I know it sounds sad but I’ve missed work. I’ve missed the staff, and the students, and being part of a team. The Head Teachers PA said something lovely when I saw her. She said that they have staff members that have time away from work, and they are missed, but she said she had never known a staff member leave and the ripples are felt throughout the whole school. What a compliment. And then, to top it all off, HR said that they have never had so many members of staff asking if they knew when I would be back at work. She said she could tell I was very well thought of and loved by the staff. I nearly cried. I held it together, but I nearly blubbed like a baby.

      By the time I got home, after spending far too long at school, I was exhausted. I still am. It’s 22:13 and I should’ve gone to sleep an hour ago. So I’m going now before I give myself a headache.

      But boy, I’m one excited bunny to be going back to work on Monday. That may change if I get any bad side effects from immunotherapy. But so far, so good. I just hope this thick head is just me being tired and hot.

      **UPDATE** had a terrible night’s sleep, my arm was so painful. Had the physio today and, yet again, she has worked miracles with it. I’m looking forward to a better sleep tonight.

    • Tuesday 9th June 2026

      Tuesday 9th June 2026

      This should’ve been a blog all about the immunotherapy yesterday but unfortunately, due to problems between the chemo unit and the oncology department, I was turned away from the hospital as there was no prescription for me. The pharmacy said my oncology doctor hadn’t filled in the paperwork so there was no funding for my prescription, my oncology department said the paperwork is there as I had a break in treatment for my surgery and radiotherapy. They assure me that treatment will go ahead on Friday, and I should make sure I get the chemo unit to check on Thursday that everything is definitely in place for me.

      I didn’t mind the disruption yesterday, they assured me that my appointment for Friday afternoon will definitely go ahead if the prescription is there. So in my head I’ve been thinking only three more infusions to go, with three weeks between them. I was wrong. I got my hopes up and had them come crashing down again.

      My oncology appointment went okay. It wasn’t with Dr Algurafi. He said his name, but it wasn’t one I recognised, and then my brain forgot it a few seconds later. He asked about radiotherapy. I said I think I have coped well seeing as it is only three weeks ago. My breast has shrunk in size (as to be expected) and I don’t get much pain from it. I try and remember to put creams on daily. The skin on my nipple started peeling off last week, but not in a weird weepy way, just a general dead skin removal with new skin underneath. I have felt tired, but not too exhausted. He asked me how I got on with the chemotherapy previously, I said that I struggled with the sickness but I eventually learned how to cope with it and I took the tablets and had control of my bowel movements. He said immunotherapy is not like chemotherapy so it doesn’t leave me vulnerable, and I am being booked in for six rounds of it, every six weeks. My heart sank. Treatment finishes in November – he said. I nearly cried. I’ve already had eight – I said – I thought there were just a couple left. It seems I was wrong. Six more to go.

      I asked for a fit note. Leave it for a few weeks and see how you feel – he said to me. But I know how long it takes them to get letters sent out so I asked him if they could get it started now. He said that he thinks the letter should come from my GP and I should contact them about it. And that was it. Meeting done.

      After a quick call to the GP’s receptionist (who agreed with me that it should come from oncology and not the GP), I filled in a request for a fit note and emailed it to the surgery.

      Back when I had my first meeting with Dr Algurafi, he said that my treatment would take a year. I came to terms with the fact that 12 months of my life would be given up to hospital visits and appointments and treatment. November is not a year. It’s 16 months. I want my sleep back. I want to have a shower without having to wear a cover on my arm. I want the picc line gone and I want a normal arm again. I will speak with the nurses in the chemo unit and find out if my veins look like they will cope with cannula’s again. If they say they will, then I’m requesting a picc line removal as soon as humanly possible.

      I thought I would be excited after my oncology meeting. I’m left feeling extremely melancholy. I have had plans change on me, appointments move, blood results that are too low, machines that do not work, but the timeline has always stayed the same. Today, it changed. I need time to process and adjust, just like I did at the beginning, and to accept the fact that I will not be out of active treatment this year.

      https://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-cancer/treatment/drugs/pembrolizumab

    • Sunday 7th June 2026

      Sunday 7th June 2026

      Life after cancer is weird.

      Friday night, I went to my first gig in 11 months and I learnt a few things about my new self. I don’t look ill. I look weird, just not cancer ill. I was very aware that people may have been looking at me and thinking – did she actually choose to have that hair cut? I have too much hair to be wearing one of my hats, but not enough hair to have a style as such. It’s thick and bushy and just there. But so is my facial hair! I thought I looked like Noddy Holder…

      I realise now that I actually look more like Monkey…

      … maybe the eyebrows are not as accurate, but I have thought about wearing headbands and this is all I can visualise.

      What I am not seeing is what got me here in the first place. The doctors appointment, the mammogram and ultrasound, the biopsy, the second ultrasound and biopsy, the MRI, the picc line surgery, the 12 rounds of paclitaxel, the 4 rounds of carboplatin, the 8 rounds of pembrolizumab, the 40 tamoxifen injections, the 4 rounds of epirubicin, the 4 rounds of cyclophosphamide, the second mammogram and third ultrasound, the 18 blood tests, the lumpectomy day surgery, the 10 rounds of radiotherapy, the 34 district nurse visits, and the untold amount of pills and creams on top of that (anti-sickness, steroids, thyroid, pain relief, diarrhoea, cooling gel, soothing lotion, daily creams) and all the other forgotten things that got me to this date. The NHS has spent hundreds of thousands of pounds to keep me alive, and all some strangers saw was a tubby woman with a weird haircut. I say tubby woman, a waiter, the other week, directed me to the men’s toilet. So maybe I do look more like Monkey or Noddy Holder?

      My point is, I had a brilliant time and no-one, apart from my friends, knew what I had been through recently. Just like we don’t know what those strangers had been through to get where they are today. Some scars are hidden, some are invisible, some have healed so much that it’s hard to see where they are anymore. But we all see our own scars and we all carry them with us. So why are we not kinder to each other?

      I’m not an expert on cancer, I’m an expert on what I went through on my journey. My advice may not help someone else, but kindness and thoughtfulness will. They were the things that kept me going during my darkest times. The messages from friends, the cuddles from my family, the gentle touches and hugs from those who came to see me, the gifts, the compliment from a stranger telling me what a lovely colour my hair is, being told that I am in peoples prayers and thoughts. All of it. The human kindness and empathy that I received filled my heart. And this tubby woman is so grateful for everything; especially all the breakfast, lunch, dinner dates, walks, evenings out, evenings in, and those who popped in to see me on their way home from work or who were just passing by. So much kindness and so much love.

      What I have learned is how much one small gesture of kindness can mean. It can make the forgotten feel seen, and that can completely change someone’s day. Don’t put off that text/call, do it now. If someone pops into your head, tell them you’re thinking of them. We are all so different and we all have hidden scars that we cover every day, or demons that we battle with. Kindness is universal.

      Kindness is the language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see – Mark Twain

    • Thursday 4th June 2026

      Just a normal day. Not much going on. Simon is painting the skirting boards in the hallway, Hannah has been at work all day and Emily went to uni to collect her art work and then started work at 4 o’clock. It has rained a few times.

      My mind is not having the best of days. It was exactly a year ago today when I attended my breast clinic appointment and my whole world collapsed. I had told Simon that he didn’t need to come with me, they were only going to discuss what to do about my breast cyst cluster. Emily wanted to come with me, so I wasn’t on my own. I drove us there.

      I can remember everything about that day. I was at work in the morning. Nicola had told me to leave at lunch time. She said it was better to take my time and get there relaxed and less stressed. I wasn’t worried at all. I am your typical menopausal woman with breast cysts. They are just taking precautions.

      “I am surprised to be telling you that they are cancerous cells” is what Mr Thomas told me on that day. See, even they thought it was just a cyst. That radiographer took a biopsy because she didn’t like the look of the wall of the cyst in my right breast. Funny how I had gone in for a cyst on my left breast and they had aspirated that one just fine. No problems there.

      “Do you want me to check the cluster on the right?” is what she had said.

      “Might as well, whilst I’m here” I said.

      It’s Triple Negative Cancer.

      https://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-cancer/breast-cancer/types/triple-negative-breast-cancer

      Who knows why I got it, I don’t really match the criteria. It happened. It threw my life upside down, but I’m still here. I don’t feel brave, or strong, or a warrior, or a survivor. My life has been on hold, whilst everyone around me has carried on about their normal day to day business. Yes, my family has been affected, but only by my presence and the inconvenience of having to do things for me. They have mostly been spectators. I’ve been on a journey that I would never want any of my friends or family to ever have to go through. I sit here, a year after my diagnosis and I don’t feel like me. Maybe that’s because I am still having treatment, maybe I’ll feel different when the immunotherapy is done and the picc line is out. My gums and my hearing haven’t recovered, my eyesight has been on a downward spiral, my waistline has increased, and my fitness has decreased. Mentally, I swing from happy to sad, and back again within the space of minutes. I look at this body every day and I don’t see myself anymore, I see a body that has needed medical science to keep it alive. I am truly, truly grateful for everything they have done for me. But I still haven’t come to terms with the “why me” part of it all yet.

    • Monday 2nd March – 20 days post-surgery

      As you can see, it’s been a while since I last wrote anything about my treatment. A few things have happened, so this may be a long one.  

      Most notably is my new hair. I’m really pleased and proud of the growth. As you know, the main reason for me doing the scalp cooling (cold cap) was to give my hair follicles the best chance of regrowth. I didn’t do it to keep my hair during treatment; I did it to make sure I kept my hair. I’ve seen some amazing women go through such harsh treatments and get a full head of hair back, but I worried about the chance of getting alopecia. I was relieved that it’s growing back all over my head, it didn’t at the start, but it is now. 

      The day before surgery was another weird day for me. I was nervous, yes, but I wasn’t upset like I was before the first chemotherapy. I did over think everything again. I worried about it going wrong, about not waking up afterwards, about being in so much pain afterwards, about them finding more cancer hidden. I managed to fall asleep, but I was awake just after 4am. I listened to podcasts and waited for Hannah to wake up so that I could be with her before she went to work. I know she was worried about me. She didn’t talk to me about it. In fact, neither of them has spoken to me about their fears, even though I told them to. I’ve tried to get them to be more open with me as I have with them, but still, they stay quiet. I can’t cope with the not knowing how they feel, it makes me more worried about them. Bloody kids. 

      Anyway, I said goodbye to Hannah and then got myself dressed and ready. I had to be at the hospital at 7:30am so we knew there wouldn’t be much traffic. I said goodbye to Emily and off we went. Simon wasn’t allowed to come in with me, so he dropped me off outside and I walked into the reception alone. 

      There were lots of people sitting around with their hospital bags close to hand. We all sat patiently waiting for our names to be called. The woman with the wheeled suitcase stood out the most to me. How long was she staying in for? I thought this was day surgery. She then got a two-litre bottle of water out of another bag. We were called through four at a time and guess who got called through with me. Of course it was suitcase woman. She was struggling to pick everything up as quickly as the rest of us, so I asked if she needed any help. Thankfully she didn’t, but she did explain to me that most of her case had make-up in it. I thought she was joking; she wasn’t. 

      We were taken to the nurse’s station where there was a board on the wall with numbers and names. I think I was C17 or C18, something like that. C was the bay/ward, and the number was the bed. There were seven beds in C; four on the left and three on the right. I was second on the left, the make-up lady was third on the right and safely in the corner. We were told to put the surgical gowns on and sit and rest on the beds. I was given a wee pot, with my NHS number on it and told to leave it in the toilet. A short while later a nurse came to tell me that I wasn’t pregnant. I could’ve told her that. Having chemo, losing your libido, and suffering with vaginal dryness, do not make me feel like a woman at all. But I guess they must double check. 

      On our ward, myself and the lady in the next bed up from me were having to go to the breast unit to have a guide wire put in. I was told that they needed to do this so that it would be easier for the surgeon and they wouldn’t need to open me up too much. One of the surgical team came in to go through the paperwork with me and do all the pre-surgery checks, and to draw an arrow on my hand on the side of surgery and an arrow near the lump. I had no idea where the cancer was as it’s hiding within a cluster of cysts, so she put an arrow roughly where I thought it might be. I got dressed again and waited for one of the breast care nurses to come and collect us.  

      Suitcase woman was walking around in her flimsy dressing gown and fluffy mules. She had broken a mirror in one of her eye shadow sets when she had closed her case, so was quite vocal in asking where the bin was and kept telling everyone about it. Then took a call from someone and had it on loudspeaker, which just annoys me. There’s no need for that, put it up to your ear. I heard a nurse tell her off as it was nil by mouth, only water, and she was drinking flavoured water. She said, “it’s only lemon squash”. They explained that water means water, not adding squash to it. She then disappeared for a while, and two nurses went searching for her. She was outside having a fag. I could tell they had their hands full with her. 

      The breast care nurse came to get us just before 9am. We walked over to the Nightingale Centre and I went in first.  

      I was told to lie down on the bed and had another ultrasound to find the titanium marker. It took her a while as the arrow was nowhere near it. As soon as it was found, they gave me a local anaesthetic so that I wouldn’t feel the guide wire going in. I didn’t look, I never do, so I was a bit surprised to find the end of guide wire pointing out towards the centre of my chest. Maggie, the breast care nurse, then had to cover the end in gauze stick it onto my breast, I then went for a mammogram to make sure it was in the right position. Thankfully the local anaesthetic was doing its job, and it was the easiest mammogram ever. I then had to get dressed again and wait for the other lady to have the same thing done. We got to talk whilst waiting for Maggie to take us back to the day surgery unit. Her name was Patricia and she had been booked in for surgery on the same day her husband was being released from hospital after having bowel cancer surgery. She was being picked up by one of her sons and she was going back to stay with him while she recovered after surgery. It then turned out on top of the surgeries they had just moved back into their family home after they were forced to move out after having a fire, and there was no water last night so her sons were trying to get that sorted whilst she was at the hospital. So much going on in that family and she was still smiling. 

      When we walked back to the ward, all the other women and their beds had gone. Patricia and I got dressed into our surgical gowns and surgical stockings, and shortly before 11am the surgical team came to get us. They told me that I was going to have a surgical block which means that when the general anaesthetic wears off, I will have a local anaesthetic to help with my pain relief. I had no idea what the difference between that and what everyone else was having, but I was happy to have whatever they could give me. I was then asked to undo the back of my surgical gown and lie down on the bed, and then I was wheeled into theatre. 

      The room where they administer the anaesthetic has connecting doors to the theatre. The staff were walking in and out and the angle of my bed meant that I could see there was already someone in there having surgery. Thankfully the door didn’t open too much after that, but it didn’t help the fear and panic that starts in your head. Usual things: is this the last time I will see another human? what if the electricity goes off during surgery? But I wasn’t alone enough to over think too much. The staff were making conversations with me that were about the weather and the usual things to keep me talking and not thinking. A canula was fitted in my left hand and I was told that a relaxant would be administered before the general anaesthetic. The bed was lowered down flat and I was attached to a drip, and I could see that something was injected in through the drip feed. At the time, I wondered if they would tell me before it went in, but the next thing I knew I was coughing. I heard a nurse saying to me that my throat may be sore as a tube had been put in to help me breathe. I could also feel that my legs were wrapped up. I could feel pressure on my calves, and I thought they were taking my blood pressure on my legs. It wasn’t, they were there to help my circulation during surgery and were removed now that I was waking up. I did try to open my eyes, but I was told to rest and take things slowly. The nurses were putting my arms into the surgical gown and one of them made a comment about the bruising on my chest. I didn’t want to look under the gown after she said that. I would wait until I got home. She asked if I wanted a drink and went off to get me a jug of water. Within minutes, another nurse asked me if I wanted lunch and she went to get me a tea and an egg mayonnaise sandwich. 

      Those drugs are good. I couldn’t feel any pain, and I was very happy to be in the hospital! They pulled the curtains back from round the bed and I sat up to eat my lunch.  

      My Aunt Tracey had been in touch with me before my surgery to say that her friend Debbie was booked in to have surgery on the same day as me. She sent me a picture of her, and I had said I would look out for her. So, imagine my surprise to find the lady in the first bed looked just like her. Remember how I said that the drugs were good? Well, I leant towards her and asked her if she happened to know my Aunt Tracey! We spent the next few hours talking. Debbie was lovely and we chatted and laughed and it made the time fly past. Once she had eaten and had then been to the toilet, she was allowed to go home.  

      I sat on the bed after that, trying not to listen too much to the suitcase woman being sick. I did try to talk to Patricia, but she was resting a lot and looked like she was in pain. I remember looking at the clock when I woke up and it was near 1pm. It got to 3pm before I remembered that my phone was in my bag and I should really message Simon to let him know that I was awake! The nurses disconnected the drip and took the canula out of my hand. I got up to go to the toilet but couldn’t work out how to tie up the back of my surgical gown. Thankfully the nurses must’ve taken pity on me and they came over to help. Once I had been to the toilet, they said I could get dressed and someone could come and collect me. When I was leaving, suitcase woman was still being sick. I said goodbye to Patricia, and they let me out of the ward. 

      I got a big hug from Emily when I got home. I’m sure I ate all my dinner too. To be honest, I can’t remember much of the journey home, let alone remember what I ate. No wonder they tell you to have someone with you for 24 hours after surgery. I think I slept okay that night. Things became more real when the pain started in the afternoon. 

      When I was discharged from the hospital, they asked if I needed some pain relief. I had said yes, just in case I needed something stronger than paracetamol. I still had the co-codamol that Simon bought for me when I was having the back pains with immunotherapy. I knew that I would struggle with my bowels and pain killers will block me up even more, so I opted not to take anything and to see how I would cope. I am now 20 days post-surgery and I still haven’t taken anything for the pain. I wouldn’t say it was a bad pain. It’s uncomfortable, it’s sore, it’s continuous, but it’s manageable. 

      There was a clear plaster under my armpit and one under and covering my nipple. I was told that I could remove the platers after 5 days. The district nurse, Carolyn, had said that I could always ask them to remove the plasters for me on the Monday. I wasn’t brave enough to do it. I left it for an extra day and thought I would see which district nurse it was and maybe ask them. It just happened to be Carolyn, and she was more than happy to help me. She was brilliant. She took off the plasters off so gently and she was so lovely. I feel lucky to have had her support. Otherwise, I would’ve left the plasters on for another week at least. 

      I am now nearly three weeks post-surgery and yesterday was the first time I have looked at myself, properly, in the mirror. I’m know I’m lucky that they have only taken a small area and the consultant was right when he said it wouldn’t look too different. It’s smaller, it’s a bit mishappen, but I still look like me. I am happy, but I still have that fear in the back of my mind that it could be the start of a few more surgeries on it. Now, I wait for the results to come back. 

      More waiting. 

    • Monday 9th February – Surgery Eve

      On 12th January I had an appointment with Mr Thomas, my consultant, where he did another ultrasound. This was unexpected as I had only just had a mammogram and an ultrasound 10 days previously. He then looked in his diary and said he would like to book me in for breast conserving surgery on 3rd February. Simon suggested that this may not work as both him and Hannah were booked onto a tour at the Tottenham Stadium. Mr Thomas changed the date to the 10th. I still can’t believe my surgery was changed because my family went on a football stadium tour! I asked about my immunotherapy as I was booked in on 13th January for the next course of it. He said that this would continue until surgery and will be postpone afterwards until I was strong enough to continue. We then sat with the breast care nurse whilst she went through everything I needed to do before surgery. She gave me a bottle of antibacterial wash to use which I expected to smell like dettol, it has no smell at all which I found quite surprising. She also said that she would apply for a surgical box from Little Lifts, which turned up a week or so later with more amazing stuff to spoil me with. More Moo Goo cream too, just as I was running out of it. 

      By the time we got home from the appointment, the chemo unit called to say that my immunotherapy has been postponed as they want me to build up my strength before the surgery. So that was a bonus. 

      On 21st January I had a telephone pre-op assessment where they asked me hundreds of questions about my health and what tablets I take, then booked me in for a hospital appointment the next day to have an ECG, a breath test and a blood test. So off Simon and I trotted to the hospital again. ECG was done, no problems there. I was a bit concerned about the breath test as I didn’t think I had enough puff in my lungs to do it. As it turns out, my lung capacity is normal, I just get out of breath when I walk around. I was then given a blood form and told to wait with the others for a blood test. I asked if she could take it from a picc line, turns out she wasn’t so I said I would get the district nurse to do it when she comes round on Monday. How can staff at the hospital be unable to do blood tests from a picc line? I was told a picc line would be the safer and easier option. I don’t want to keep being stabbed with needles if I can help it. The pre-op nurse said that my thyroid levels were high and I should get it checked by the doctor as my medication may need adjusting, so I’ll do that after surgery. In the meantime, I was more concerned about my low red blood count as my last blood test showed that it was at 97. We asked her what a normal person is and she said 130. If it comes back the same, they will book me in for another blood transfusion. 

      I received no phone call after the blood test was done so I can only assume they were happy enough with my levels. 

    • Wednesday 7th January 2025 

      Day 21. The end of 24 weeks of chemotherapy. Normally I would be getting myself prepared and my bag packed for a visit to the chemo unit in the morning. There is no visit tomorrow. I’m all done. My immunotherapy continues Tuesday 13th January. I’m hoping the side effects of that are a lot less than what I have had to deal with. I’ve never had it on its own, so I’ve never knowingly experienced what they are. Will I miss the chemotherapy? Hahahahahahaha, nope.  

      It all feels so surreal as it only felt like a few ago that I was sitting on the edge of my bed, crying, because I didn’t think I had the strength to go through it all. Now, after sitting on my bum and taking the tablets, I know that I could. I coped. I had a wobble at the beginning because I had never been through it before. For some reason, when people hear chemo, they think of sickness and frailty. I have never felt frail. I’ve just been me. Same old miserable, moany me. I’ve always been positive about the treatment because that is my nature. Why would cancer change that? 

      There are times that I have been scared that the treatment wasn’t working. I wasn’t scared about getting worse and feeling ill. I was more upset about missing out on seeing my girls grow up. I want more years with them. More years to make great memories together. Not sadness and heartache. 

      They say that going through a cancer diagnosis changes you. I hope it does. I’d like to have longer legs and curly auburn hair. Oh, and smaller nostrils. Will it make me stronger? I thought I was always strong. Will it make me more carefree? I doubt it. All I know is that so far, I don’t feel any different. 

      I’ve missed out on nights out; I put my recovery first. Now I’m looking forward to having the freedom to go out and be me again. I just have surgery and radiotherapy to get through first. I just hope I don’t have to stay stuck in this house again. I mean, I love my house, I really do, but I would like to choose to stay at home rather than feel like I must stay home. I’m looking forward to that.