May Contain Nuts

It does exactly what it says on the tin

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    • Monday 7th July

      I had a lovely weekend. Simon took me out for breakfast at Scott’s and then treated me to a new Southend United home kit. Sunday morning, I went to breakfast with the Sweyne Girls, and Nicky, and had a good catch up with them. I miss seeing them every day at work, I’m currently trying to pretend that it’s the summer holidays and we wouldn’t see each other much anyway. 

      Sunday evening, I went to dinner with Lizzie and then saw Sara Pascoe at the Palace Theatre. It was good to laugh and do normal things. 

      This morning, the new garden furniture was due to arrive. Not long after 12pm, it did. So, Emily and I had our lunch, then moved it to the conservatory and battled with boxes to put it together.  

      Just before 4pm I received a call from a 0300 number. I was told that anything from the hospital would start with that number, so I answered. It was Karen from the chemo unit. She was calling to ask how soon I could start my sessions. 

      The first thing we discussed was the cold cap; was I going to use it. I’ve been quite adamant that I wouldn’t use it, but am I making the right decision? Would I be one of those people who it would work for? Could I sit there for longer, making my head cold? Well, I know that I can do it, but I would be gutted going through it all to just lose it anyway. So that was a positive as Karen said that I wouldn’t need to wait for the cold cap to be available. 

      Next, we discussed what I need to do before the appointment. I said that I must get a blood test done 2-3 days beforehand. Karen asked is I needed an echocardiogram … erm, I’m not sure! So, she will email the consultant to find out what needs to be booked in. I said – I have an appointment with the Breast Clinic on the 16th of July. Okay – she said – I’ll check if that will affect the start of the chemotherapy. Polite exchanges done and I put the phone down. 

      Well, this is it then. It’s all starting. I always knew it would, but knowing that it is, is making me wish that I don’t have to go through it all. The thought of all the side effects is making me feel sick. Will I be okay or will I struggle? How sick is it going to make me? How quickly will my hair fall out? Will I look sick? Can I still go out? How am I going to cope? What if the cancer doesn’t respond to the chemotherapy? 

      My brain is constantly asking me questions that I don’t have the answers to.  

      Jessie J has just been on the news. She’s 37 years old and was diagnosed with early-stage breast cancer, but she has had a mastectomy. I know they say that everyone is different, but I wonder why she had surgery first? 

      My breast shape has changed; it has puckered underneath the nipple. I wonder if the chemotherapy will irradicate the cancer and change my breast back to its normal shape, or will it be this shape forever more? I am sure I will let you know. 

      I’ve added a few more cancer help accounts on Instagram. One of them is a charity called Piccpals and they can send you covers for your picc line. I don’t even know if I will have one yet. I can’t even sleep comfortably with my bad arm, how am I supposed to sleep with a picc line stuck in me for the next 24 weeks. Will I ever get a decent night’s sleep ever again?  

      I need to stop over thinking. I’m meeting Katie tomorrow morning so hopefully she can give me some advice. 

    • Wednesday 2nd July 

      I made the decision today to transfer this diary onto WordPress. I thought it was a good idea to write down somewhere how I’m feeling, so that my girls have something to read and reflect on after I am better. But then, after a conversation with Simon about whether I should blog about everything or not, and him saying that he would like to read it too, I thought here would be a good place to share it with you. There are four other pages to read, the first one is titled “Diary for my girls” and it continues from there. 

      So, what’s happened this week? Well, yesterday I received a call in the morning asking if I could attend an oncology appointment in the afternoon. This was the exact reason why I had given up work, so yes, I was ready. But I don’t think I was ready for the news that they would give me. 

      My plan for chemotherapy is now 8 rounds of it every 3 weeks, and for the first 12 weeks I will have to go in every week to have an immunotherapy drug pumped into me. At least I think that’s what he said. So, my life all the way up to Christmas is just going to be chemotherapy. I’m still not sure how they can say it’s a tiny lump, its early stages, and this is the treatment that I am going to have. I will be taking chemo drugs for a year of my life. How can some people have surgery and then chemo and be back at work sooner than me? What are they doing to me? Why does everything have to keep changing? I don’t think I can keep doing this. I just get it all settled in my head and then it’s all change again. 24 weeks of feeling shit before I even get to surgery. Shit. This is shit. But this will be my life now.  

      As you can probably tell, I’m struggling today. Should I just curl up and admit defeat and do fuck all today? Should I go to the gym and get some happy endorphins? Should I just eat my weight in chocolate? Should I just drink myself into oblivion? 

      Why me? Why is this all happening to me now? Everything was going so well; we’ve been booking holidays and gigs for the next 8 months at least. Now we’ve postponed the holiday, and I don’t even know if I can attend any of the gigs. How am I supposed to survive? This is not fair, I’m a social butterfly. Fuck cancer.  

      Everyone is telling me to rest up. Rest up from what? I am feeling fine right now. I feel normal, same old me, nothing has changed. I’m stuck in the house, overthinking everything, and gradually spiralling down as I feel the next six months are going to be more of this shit. I said I was going to clean the house. I can’t even get motivated to do that today. I would ask Emily and Hannah to help, but Emily just spends all day on her phone/playing games/at work/whatever she wants, and Hannah just goes to work/Tom’s/holiday/wherever she wants. So, does Simon do housework? Washing up, yes. Vacuuming, yes. But somehow no-one in this house sees the actual housework that needs doing. Oh god, I might as well admit defeat and get a cleaner. Or I will be staring at the world through dirty windows and not inviting anyone over as who wants to see someone else’s shit stains in the toilet? I’ve ordered garden furniture so that I can sit outside with people, but we’ll be looking at two cars that are in the garden… 

      I hope I’m in a better mood tomorrow as this mood is vile. I think I’ll read a book.

    • Saturday 28th June 

      Saturday 28th June 

      I have come to the realisation that I’m shit at keeping this diary up to date. 

      Last week I had an appointment for the results of the MRI, and they saw something in one of my lymph nodes, so they want to take a biopsy of that. At least it’s just there and nowhere else in my body. That was my greatest fear; the breast cancer being the secondary cancer. Simon came with me, and he got to meet Mr Thomas the consultant and one of the Breast Care nurses. He was very nervous beforehand and came away with the same feeling that I always have; it may be a scary diagnosis, but they are all so positive about everything. 

      On Monday 23rd June, Hannah came with me to the breast clinic for the biopsy of the lymph nodes. We made sure she had eaten beforehand, and we had water with us. Tom messaged saying “sit down” (she fainted the last time she gave up her seat for someone at a hospital and cut her head and ended up being a patient at another hospital). When we arrived, we were directed down the corridor near the mammogram and ultrasound rooms. I was called in for the ultrasound by Maggie (one of the nurses), she was there on my previous ultrasound when they had taken the first biopsy. The doctor she was with this time was lovely and they both had a good rapport together. It helped to keep me at ease. The needle came off the anaesthetic and dribbled down my chin, so there was some laughter about that. Biopsy was taken, a big plaster was put on and then I was sent for a mammogram to check the titanium marker. 

      Two days later, I was back at the breast clinic to see Lesley, the Breast Care Nurse. The genetic marker test is to check for the specific genes, like the BRCA gene, that they know are hereditary and would mean that I might be predisposed to having breast cancer. That would affect my surgery as it may mean a double mastectomy and my ovaries being removed. Plus, it may also mean that my offspring and my siblings would have to get tested for it too. Emily came into the appointment with me as I thought it was something that she would like to see what happens in the rooms, rather than sitting outside and not knowing. I went into another room for the blood test and Emily sat with Lesley for a while. When it was all done, we came out into the corridor, where I saw Maggie again. She said hello and I thanked her for leaving plaster residue on my skin! So, we had a laugh about that. 

      Wednesday evening, Emily came for a drive to Harlow with me to get my coil removed. That was just a 10-minute maximum appointment that took nearly 2 hours of driving to get there. Oh well, at least it’s done now. It was already in for 4 years longer than it should’ve been, so I was relieved to have it taken out. I had fears that it would be imbedded in me, but of course it was fine. 

      Friday 27th June was my last day at work. Everything else is out of my control, the one thing I do have control of is the day that I finish. I chose the day the Year 6s come in as I don’t want to get too involved in anything to do with them until my treatment is complete. It wouldn’t be fair on the parents or the school if I get the appointment for chemo within a couple of days. Plus, I have lots of things to do at home and I want to see some of my friends before everything starts, At least I hope I can. 

    • Monday 16th June 

      I’m starting to realise that work may know what is happening, but there’s a difference between knowing and caring. Faye, Kim and Andrea care and try and get me to go home. James is just loading me up with work. My hours are 8am to 4pm, with half an hour unpaid lunch. I work all those hours, and more. I stay behind and help. And yet I feel that my family have always had to wait for me to get home, way past my working hours, on birthdays and celebrations. I know I said that I wanted to continue working for a bit of normality, but I’m not sure if it’s fair on them or me.

      On a different note, my right breast where they found the cancerous cells is being weird today. It’s much lumpier than normal and seems to take up most of the breast. I hope there isn’t a big cyst forming underneath it. I hope it doesn’t mean another mammogram on Wednesday. 

    • Monday 9th June 

      MRI day. I’ve accepted what’s happening, I just need to have all these things done so they know where this cancer is. Simon is with me. We have a conversation, Mum had this done when she had her heart problems (I think). She panicked; I do remember that. I keep telling myself that I won’t. I can meditate and keep calm. What a joke!! 

      When you’re put feet first into a machine, face down, with your head surrounded by a head rest so you have no idea what is going on, the panic starts. I could feel my breathing becoming erratic. I can’t do this. Why on earth did I think I could? I’m not strong, I’m an idiot. The headphones were playing Take That, I concentrated on them. Then Fleetwood Mac, I sang along. The thumping and the buzzing and the juddering and the noise and the confinement continued. I hummed to myself, getting louder. I don’t care. Paul Young – nailed it mate. The dye went in my hand, more noise. Then it hit me, this is real now. This is what the start of the hunt for the cancer is. This is a short scan. I’ve got an operation to get through. I can put on a brave face to everyone else, I can do the dark humour and make them laugh. I can’t do it to myself. My brain knows how I feel. I’m scared, I mean really scared. This is the start, and I have no idea where it is going. My life for the foreseeable future is now going to be all about cancer. Getting it out. Stopping it spreading. 

      What if it’s not a small lump? What if I’m riddled with it? How much can I cope with? How is they going at affect my family? Why me? 

      I know I didn’t like the MRI, but will I think that’s a piece of piss when compared to the operation, or the chemotherapy. I have resigned myself to the fact that there is never cancer without chemotherapy. They are going to poison me to help keep me alive.  

      Text from Tracey: 

      “How did you get on today? Sending you a big hug xx” 

      “Very weird experience! Face down on some weird padding with my boobs dangling down, listening to Smooth FM and singing along to Fleetwood Mac whilst the machine makes loud noises for half an hour. And the nurse apologised for bruising my hand when the cannula was fitted. Overall, not an unpleasant experience but not a fun day out. 5 out of 10 xx” 

      Sent the same one to Andy too. 

      Did you see what I did? Yep, dark humour, make it funny and I can cope with it. If I can keep this up all the way through, it would be a bloody miracle. 

    • Diary for my girls

      I’m not sure why I’m writing this now, but I think I need to document it so that I don’t forget what I’m feeling. 

      On Wednesday 4th June, I went to the breast clinic to get the results of a biopsy that was taken from one of my breast cysts. I’ve had these cysts for years and they have all grown as different times over the years; some were big, some small, some burst before they could be drained. My right boob has a small cluster of cysts that they can’t do anything with, just drain when they appear. 

      During my last visit for a lump on my left breast, the ultrasound lady wanted to take pictures of my right one to compare it to previous ones. She wasn’t happy with a thicker lining of one of them, so she said that she was going to make a small cut to take a biopsy and was I ok with that? Absolutely, do whatever. So, she pummelled my anaesthetised boob and left me with a lovely big bruise as a souvenir. 

      Conversations were had at home about what it could be. In my head, I had thought it might be an operation to finally remove the cluster and give me some peace from constant mammograms. 

      The day of the appointment, Emily came with me whilst Simon and Hannah were at work. It was just another appointment. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

      The nurse collected me and walked me to the consultant’s room. He was already there with two other nurses. Not a problem, I’ve had trainees in with me before. Then he started talking. …” not what they were expecting” … “all surprised” … “there are cancerous cells”. My heart sank. This can’t be happening. I have Emily with me; this is not fair on her. I think I listened, I know I wasn’t. Not a triple negative. Negative oestrogen, negative Her2, score of 3 of something but I can’t remember what. Why do they try and tell you everything when your whole world is imploding around you? 

      The MacMillan nurse took me into a room with a couple of comfortable sofas for a chat and to give me some information. A pink plastic wallet. It reminded me of the baby Bounty packs. Welcome to your cancer pack. 

      I tried to be calm and to listen. I answered the phone to the MRI department. I think I did everything I was supposed to. Thank you, see you soon. I walked out into the waiting room, saw Emily and couldn’t hold it in. She hugged me tight and for longer than I thought she would. She put her arm in mine, and we walked arm in arm to the car. I called Simon, he didn’t answer. I can’t call Hannah, she’ll be devastated, and I can’t have her driving home from work like that; she’ll crash. 

      Every thought in my head was for everyone else. How do I tell my brother? Work? Friends? Simon called me as I was driving, I stayed calm, tried not to cry more, stayed strong. I got home. Ordered a pizza, cuddled Emily and just waited for Hannah. She cried, I cried, I stayed strong. Simon came home, I cried, we both stayed strong. I slept. 

      When I woke at 4:15am, I really wasn’t coping. And that’s how I was for over 24 hours. It was a shock. So, I took the Thursday and Friday off work.