Category: Happiness

Breast cancer lesson number 70: You can only play the opposition in front of you

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness3 Comments

I have always been one of life’s great worriers. Growing up, my favourite phrase (much to the frustration of my parents) was ‘what happens if…?’. If there’s an opportunity to obsess about something – from slugs and foxes to magazine deadlines – I’m there with my concerned face and (usually) my notebook!

That is, until now. Cancer, for all its flaws, has a way of putting life into sharp focus. It forces the mind to think about the only things that matter – namely life and death and how to enjoy one while avoiding the other. It certainly doesn’t eliminate worry, but it does have a way of helping you be a little more selective.

Cancer, and chemotherapy in particular, has given me a masterclass in a thing called ‘worthwhile worry’. This rather exciting strand of worry is related to concerns about events and side effects that are happening now and over which I have some control. There’s no ‘might’, ‘maybe’ or ‘what if’ in sight. Worthwhile worry, unlike 80% of the concerns that have filled up my diary over the years, is a good use of mental energy and it has a great way of pushing the unexpected phone engineer bills and missing parcels to the bottom of the pile.

Of course, I am not wishing life-threatening worries on anyone just so that they can let go of the empty washing-up liquid bottle and the overflowing laundry basket. But, I do think it is healthy to reflect on your existing list of concerns and challenge a few along the way. This year has already taught me that time is not for wasting. Time is not for throwing away thinking about things that might or could happen. Time is to be spent tackling the important obstacles that life has a habit of flinging in our direction. If it isn’t, you’ll look back and realise that you’ve got a few more unnecessary wrinkles and no time left to straighten them out!

As FEC chemotherapy cycle number two approaches, I am not worried about the side effects or just how pink my pee will be by 7pm this evening. I may not pass the pre-chemo blood test. I may react badly. But, the only thing I know will happen is that, whatever comes my way, I will get through it. I know about mouth ulcers and I have a stocked medicine cabinet to prove it. I have so little hair on my head, there’s not much more to take. I have a tub full of queasy drops and I’m not afraid to use them. By starting my anti-sickness meds at lunchtime, I am hoping I can stop the nausea in its tracks. I am prepared based on the experience of chemo cycle one. I will take it one day at a time. And, if other side effects wish to join the party, I will worry about them only when – and not if – they occur. Go into it relaxed and you’ll have far more energy to tackle those nasty little surprises.

Duncan was spot on when he said: ‘you can only play the opposition in front of you’. It’s something I plan to do today and for the rest of my life – and I hope you do too. Worry about tomorrow once you’ve got the real problems of today out the way. And, if tomorrow doesn’t look too demanding, don’t worry about it at all. That way, you’ll have more time to spend smiling and being productive and more strength for those worthwhile worries when they do come along. Because, rest assured, they will.

Breast cancer lesson number 68: Don’t count the days until the end of active treatment. Make every day count.

On By Jackie ScullyIn Charity, Exercise and breast cancer, Happiness2 Comments

This weekend I went for a run (although I guess jog/walk might be a more accurate statement). Ok, so I realise that in most households, this wouldn’t be headline news. But, if I tell you that, due to my hip, this is the first time in more than a decade that I’ve actually given my trainers more than just a light workout, you’ll see why it’s pretty significant. I’m slow, but at least I’m lapping everyone on the sofa.

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One of my biggest fears throughout this entire process is weight gain. I’ve been there. I’ve got the T-shirt. I gained more than a stone after hip surgery. And, I remember how much it hurt me when the clothes didn’t fit and the scales wouldn’t lie.

I went into chemotherapy with a body bruised from major surgery. Chemotherapy (contrary to popular opinion) does not tend to make you shed the pounds. The combination of steroids, appetite and fatigue-related side effects has led to people gaining stones not pounds. I say, not this time. The side effects have been kind so far, so I am taking advantage. Cancer already messed up my wardrobe once, and once is enough.

I am, however, not just running to keep the weight off. Every post-surgery recovery step I take is a step with a purpose. On Sunday 13 July I will be dragging my PICC line and my wonderful fiancée around the streets of London to raise money for Breast Cancer Care. Yes, it’s just 10k. Yes, it might sound more like a sightseeing tour than a serious race. But, for someone with a hip full of metal and chemotherapy drugs coursing through her veins (I will be 5 cycles in by race day) this is my iron man.

I am not a runner, but I am determined to give it my best shot to raise funds for a charity that has not just provided the literature to help me make informed decisions about my treatment but also given me the confidence to smile through hair loss. They have already done so much for me and I don’t want to wait until the end of active treatment to do something for them.

This charity – along with two school friends who reconnected with me earlier this year and are running the muddy version of the Race for Life to help fight cancer – is my inspiration.

Why run if I am not a runner? Running is my nemesis. Growing up I was teased for the way I walk (a walk I still have). In my twenties, I was worried I’d never run again when my leg started to fail me. I entered this race in 2006, but my hip pain meant I never made the starting line. If pain has done anything for me, it has made me a fighter. I will fight every step of this course for every person who has battled cancer and for every person with hip problems that can’t run the distance. This time, only the finish line will do. It won’t be fast. It won’t be graceful. It will hurt. But, if I can smile through eight months of cancer treatment, I can smile through this.

So, whether you can donate a few pounds, fancy coming to London on race day to cheer us on or feel like running the course too, I would be so grateful for any support. Click here for Justgiving page link if you’d like to donate or send me an email on jackie_scully@hotmail.com if you’d like to get involved on race day. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Together we can help more people smile through cancer.

Breast cancer lesson number 67: Why cancer won’t stop me eating chocolate… and it shouldn’t stop you either

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness, Reflections on cancer3 Comments

Scratch the surface of a cancer diagnosis and it won’t take long to discover that this nasty illness is not an easy one to understand. So, it will come as no surprise then that, for every piece of sound and practical advice delivered by research scientists and medical experts, there are a whole series of myths out there, waiting to prey on vulnerable cancer-dominated minds.

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The idea that cancer feeds off sugar is one such myth. As explained by Cancer Research UK in an interesting article: 10 persistent cancer myths debunked (click here for the full article), to say cancer has a sweet tooth is to oversimplify the issue and distort sensible dietary advice. While no one would recommend consuming your body weight in Cadbury’s Creme Eggs or having a piece of cake with every meal, fighting and preventing cancer isn’t about taking away all pleasures in life. It’s about adopting a healthy diet that limits sugar intake, but doesn’t eliminate it entirely. 

Science has confirmed the link between a healthy diet and reducing the risk of cancer. Yes, cancer cells have a taste for glucose. But so too do our normal cells, which use it for energy. Unlike us, cancer cells don’t have a soft spot for the sugar that derives from cream cakes and pavlova. Glucose is glucose and it also comes from carbohydrates, which are broken down in our digestive system to produce both fructose and glucose. You’re not going to hear people saying that vegetables cause cancer now are you? 

If you’re looking for a miracle cure, now is the time to stop. If it were scientifically proven that giving up sugar – or having coffee enemas for that matter – would prevent cancer coming back, I would try my hardest to stop chomping on Cadbury’s creme eggs (and would bulk buy the coffee). But, when it comes to diet, there’s a reason the oncologist said not to change a thing. 

I, for one, am going to enjoy my chocolate Easter eggs – alongside my seven a day – every year for the rest of my long and, hopefully cancer-free, life. And, I hope there’s a chocolate-covered treat waiting for you too.

 

Breast cancer lesson number 66: Always look on the ‘brighter’ side of life

On By Jackie ScullyIn Brighter Life List, Chemotherapy, Happiness2 Comments

What better way is there to spend an Easter Saturday than up a cliff on the Dorset Coast path? When the sun went in it was quite bracing, but with the wind on my face and running through my tiny strands of hair, it was a wonderful reminder of all that is beautiful and wonderful in the world.

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Standing on a cliff with no hair is number 17 on my ‘brighter life list’. I still have hair around the bald patches (although a lot less after my latest shower), so it doesn’t quite score me my first tick on the list, but as a dress rehearsal, it was pretty exhilarating. If you are ever presented with the opportunity in your life (and I hope it has nothing to do with illness), I would encourage you to get yourself to a coast path – and fast!

If today didn’t remind you of how happy you are to be alive, then make sure tomorrow does. My brighter life list is about seizing the day and not waiting for happiness to find me. I’ve spent too much of my time wishing my life away. Now I want to cherish every moment.

It’s time to stop dreaming and start planning.

Breast cancer lesson number 65: Don’t expect to make a quick getaway

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, HappinessLeave a comment

The Easter holiday weekend has brought with it a rather interesting and unexpected challenge. It seems chemo has turned the simple – and hugely tedious – job of packing for a trip away into task requiring military precision.

I was not born to pack. I like writing kit lists, but when it comes to running round the house and gathering my belongings, it’s a task from which I am always hoping to be distracted.

Packing with a chemo kit list certainly makes the process quite entertaining. Limited to a light overnight bag and rucksack, given my car is already at the destination (and heavy bags are on the banned list), I had to be selective.

For me, packing usually involves picking colour coordinated items to give me choice without volume. Trouble is, with pills and creams, mouthwashes, hats, sleep caps, scarves, a wig, big knickers and PICC armbands to pack, there’s not much room for anything else. Excited as I am about the novelty of choosing a hat to match my outfit and my mood, I almost forgot my trousers and my socks (I have one t-shirt and about seven hats with me). And, left with room for just one pair of shoes, I opted for tatty trainers over pretty pumps so I could get some exercise in. Cancer, what have you done to me?! At least I didn’t have to worry about shampoo and hair straighteners!

Thankfully, going to the family home means the digital thermometer, toothpaste and paracetamol didn’t have to travel (I can’t imagine packing for a weekend in a hotel). I’m also happy I don’t have to go through customs and undergo a bag inspection (they’d probably think I was a spy, the number of disguises I have tucked away in my overnight bag).

I had to laugh when leaving the house. Instead of opening the door three times to check whether I’d switched everything off or packed the right chargers, I was forced to unlock the door only to retrieve my LIMBO. Without this lovely piece of plastic to cover my PICC line I would have been unable to shower for three days (without a bit of well-placed cling film). It’s amazing what suddenly becomes essential when even basic daily activities are no longer straightforward.

So, if you’re planning a trip over the coming months and chemo is still on the agenda, I recommend you start packing now (or writing your kit list). Don’t expect to travel light and certainly don’t expect to be able to squeeze in a few nice-to-haves (unless it’s a hat or seven).

Cancer brings with it a lot of unwanted baggage. I, for one, can’t wait to unpack it all.

Breast cancer lesson number 64: Music does for the soul what medicine does for the body

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, HappinessLeave a comment

Life is like a piece of music. Sometimes you’re happy just getting carried along by the rhythm, rewinding to replay the chorus or fast-forwarding to the high notes. But sometimes, you will crave a song that understands you perfectly, a song that speaks when words fail.

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That’s why I believe everyone needs a playlist. By this, I don’t mean a list of the most meaningful and profound songs of all time, carefully crafted over a series of years to offer a window into your soul (trust me, you wouldn’t get far). By this, I mean a list of songs that capture a moment in your life and that sing to your tune.

They don’t have to mean anything to anyone else to make the cut. They don’t have to be particularly groundbreaking (music appreciation is subjective after all). They just have to inspire you, compel you to smile and make you want to keep fighting, whatever it is you’re fighting for. A great playlist is one that has been written by you, for your ears only. A great playlist is never complete.

As someone who has never been wedded to one particular genre of music – and has only ever been to one music concert in a school field and one gig in her lifetime – the soundtrack to this latest period in my life is not likely to rock anyone else’s world. But, that’s not the point. For me, music is a motivational speaker singing away in my ears. Travelling into the hospital or walking around the park it makes me feel untouchable and invincible. It takes me away from cancer and gives me the strength and the confidence to tackle anything in my path.

Before you ask, Gloria Gaynor’s I Will Survive is not among my greatest hits. Part of me thinks it’s a crime that Nina Samone’s Ain’t got no… I got life isn’t on there. With its lyrics: I got my hair on my head/I got my brains, I got my ears/I got my eyes, I got my nose/I got my mouth, I got my smile… I got life, it sounds like it belongs in the chemo suite. And, with a song title like No Scrubs, you’d think TLC would be a definitate (but it just means nothing to me). The truth is, apart from one recent addition, it’s not a list of cancer anthems. It’s just a list that makes me smile, and that’s all that matters.

So here’s a quick glimpse into my ‘songs-to-keep-Scully-smiling’ playlist. I won’t share them all here (just my top ten) and there’s certainly room for expansion if you have any powerful suggestions. The song titles are linked to You Tube clips, so click away!

1) Stronger (what doesn’t kill you): I thought I’d start with an obvious one from Kelly Clarkson. This gets an airing in part due to the lyrics, which include: ‘What doesn’t kill you makes a fighter/Footsteps even lighter/Doesn’t mean I’m over ’cause you’re gone’, ‘Think you’ve got the best of me/Think you’ve had the last laugh/Bet you think that everything good is gone’ and ‘Thanks to you I’m finally thinking about me/You know in the end the day you left was just my beginning’. But, it was actually recommended to me as the soundtrack to a chemo-related music video on Youtube, that is worth a watch if you are familiar with the inner workings of a cancer day unit.

2) Happy: I couldn’t escape this song when I was going through tests in January. And now, I wouldn’t want to. You won’t catch me clapping, but you will catch me smiling. And, I am not sure I feel like a room without a roof (I quite like my roof). I do, however, love the title and often feel that ‘nothing can bring me down’.

3) Paradise: Every time I hear this Coldplay song, I feel like I am running the last stretch of a marathon race. We all need to believe that paradise is within reach.

4) Halo: I don’t listen to the lyrics (sorry Beyonce), I just soak up the sound.

5) Payphone: Ok, so with lines like: ‘If “Happy Ever After” did exist’ and ‘Now I’m paralysed’, it may seem like a random entry. Again, with this Maroon 5 number, it’s all about the sound and not the sentiment.

6) Just give me a reason: There are some beautiful lyrics in this Pink song. It may have nothing to do with cancer, but I can certainly relate to the words: ‘I let you see the parts of me/
That weren’t all that pretty/And with every touch you fixed them’, ‘we’re not broken just bent’ and ‘it’s been written on the scars in our hearts’.

7) Diamonds: I may not shine bright like a diamond, but there is something on my left hand that certainly does! Again, it’s an upbeat song that brings a smile to my face. Like Rihanna, I choose to be happy.

8) Hall of fame: I could just listen to the intro on repeat, but the rest of this Script song is pretty special too. I’m not after a seat in the hall of fame, but I love the line: ‘You can walk straight through hell with a smile’. It’s certainly one to lift the mood and encourage action.

9) Love story: I listen to this and I don’t think of love, life or Taylor Swift. I think of the film Letters to Juliet. It’s cheesy, but it always teases a smile out of me.

10) A thousand years: Yes, there may be a small link here to my Twilight days (although I would like to add that I have moved on). This song is rather beautiful though and I feel relaxed just listening to the tone of Christina Perri’s voice.

Bonus track: Pride and Prejudice (opening title music). As far as I am concerned, there is only one adaptation of this wonderful book worth watching, and that is the 1995 Colin Firth TV version. The opening credits have always had a place in my heart and listening to the music transports me back to Pemberley and that lake scene!

There are currently 31 songs and 3 sleep tracks on my iPod mini. Whether it’s Jessie J, Gary Barlow, music from The Piano or the BBC concert orchestra, each track is designed to just one thing: make me smile. I have to say, it hasn’t failed me yet. I certainly needed it yesterday.

When you have an invisible illness, no one can see your scars or feel your pain. Music is a magic crutch that keeps you going when everyone around you can’t see that you need a lift.

Whatever challenges you face, I can guarantee there’s a soundtrack out there to help you move forward. You’ll have to find your own rhythm and lyrics that speak to you. But, once you’ve found them, you’ll never be far from a smile.

 

Breast cancer lesson number 63: You can be hair free and carefree

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness1 Comment

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Ok, so hair free may be a slight exaggeration, but as far as I am concerned, a number two with a couple of bald patches is pretty much there. While I am not sure it is right that I should have less hair than my fiancée, I have to say, I like my head shape and, as haircuts go, it was pretty exhilarating. Who needs wig Suzie when GI Jackie is in town?!

Sitting in the hairdresser’s chair (not sure I should have chosen lunch hour at Canary Wharf but never mind), I didn’t feel at all sad. Funny as it may sound, I felt privileged to have the chance to experiment and liberated at the prospect. Four weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine having a pixie-shaped do, and I loved it. One month on, and all I could think about as the locks fell was how lucky I am to a) have a head shape that doesn’t resemble an egg and b) have so many wonderful friends and family all willing me on.

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How did I prepare for my exciting turn in the salon? As well as a nice glass of wine last night to toast my old locks, I plucked my eyebrows. Now it may sound strange to be voluntarily attacking the hair that doesn’t want to fall out (yet). But, my view was that if my head was going to look a little naked, I best make an effort everywhere else. Why the leg can’t fall out first is beyond me!

This morning, after examining my bald patch, applying some eye makeup and adding a headtie, I met up with Duncan and headed for the clippers. My hairdresser was amazing. He tucked me away at the back of the salon and cut my pixie down to size (first with scissors and then clippers) before washing and oiling my head. It felt like a proper appointment. I even got time for a cup of tea. And, the best bit? It was free! I do think the lady sat opposite actually thought I was making a conscious style decision as I laughed through the whole thing. Her facial expression first had a hint of pity and then a hint of confusion (or maybe just fear). It felt good – and a little naughty.

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Surprisingly happy with the new look (and the fact that I will be saving loads in shampoo and conditioner), I left Suzie in her bag and opted for a fun blue hat. On the train on the way to work, I found myself fascinated by the lack of hair demonstrated by other passengers (style choices I might add). I also had a burning desire to whip off my hat and join in. One thing I love about London is that nobody cares. They’d probably just think I was channeling my inner Jessie J.

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The hat didn’t last long (lovely as it is, it just feels wrong wearing it indoors). My office were quick to embrace the new look and share in the excitement of the day. After that, it was au naturel all the way. Yes, people had a good look. But, the truth is, I don’t look ill. I just look like I’m making a rather bold fashion statement.

How do I feel now? I couldn’t be happier. I took control. I no longer have to watch the strands fall. Cancer can’t take what isn’t there and just knowing that makes me feel empowered. Plus the feeling of a light breeze on my head is unlike anything I have ever experienced. It soothes me in a way I can’t articulate. I’d say try it, but that might be a bit extreme, so you’re probably safer taking my word for it.

Today I was strong. I looked cancer in the eye and I took charge. I also discovered that hair is over-rated. It isn’t a part of who I am. It’s just a little nice-to-have. I will miss it, but I know I’ll be a better person for having lost it.

Coco Chanel once said: ‘a woman who cuts her hair is about to change her life’. It’s only now I truly understand the meaning of that phrase.

All I can say is, if it’s coming off, take it off. It may not be a haircut I’ll ever choose again, but it’s probably the best haircut I will ever have – and the one you will probably always remember.

Breast cancer lesson number 58: If in doubt, just ask. Kindness is never hard to find

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness, Kindness3 Comments

Cancer has done one thing for me for which I will be forever grateful. It has restored my faith in human nature and forced me to not just see and appreciate, but actively look for the beauty in others.

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In lesson number nine, I talked about the fact that kind people rarely make the headlines, but that if you looks beyond the stories of sadness and destruction, you’ll find a real beauty that will move even the strongest person to tears. I am delighted to report that nearly three months after my initial diagnosis, these people remain my front page and my headline news.

I was reminded of this only yesterday, when I returned home from hospital to find a parcel waiting for me on the doormat. It had come all the way from the US and it contained a creative solution to a PICC-shaped problem.

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Anyone who has seen the picture accompanying lesson number 48 will know that a PICC line is basically a piece of plastic tubing poking out of my left arm. Yes, it’s practical, yes it’s clamped into position with another piece of clinical-looking plastic and no it doesn’t actually bother me (except in bed when I try to sleep on it).

The trouble is, I think it bothers everyone else. It certainly is no oil painting and Duncan won’t even let me show him the tubi-grip style bandage protecting it. In fact, I had a few messages from friends telling me they couldn’t even read that day’s post because the photo looked a bit menacing. While I am fond of my pink cardigans, I’m not sure I want to wear them all summer.

So, what can turn my patient-looking arm into something a little more palatable? The answer, even if you spend hours diligently googling, is not very much. If you want a radioactive-style armband for the shower (see lesson 51) or a waterproof swimming cap cover, you’re in luck. If you want something made out of fabric that looks more like an iPod holder sleeve, you won’t get far.

Enter Courtney, otherwise known as Riley Jane Designs. This wonderful ER nurse from the US makes beautiful PICC line chemo cuffs. Having experimented on patients to get the design just right, she has been shipping them across America in an attempt to bring a splash of colour to the arms of those undergoing treatment.

That is, until now. Unable to find a UK equivalent, I contacted her on the off chance she might either be able to make some for me or send me the pattern so I could have a go myself. Within hours she had replied. Within days she had bought the material and just one day after supplying my arm measurements, they were packaged up and travelling across the Atlantic to my doormat. She didn’t know me at all. She didn’t question why I needed one. She just picked some fabric and, in so doing, made my day. Goodbye tubi-grip and hello handmade chemo cuff (they are reversible too, so with two cuffs, I get four different styles to choose from).

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Courtney is a beautiful person and all I hope is that, every day, someone reminds her of that fact. Thank you for being a kind and thoughtful stranger. You make the world a beautiful place just by living in it.

So, this is my little way of reminding you to seek out and thank the people who bring happiness and a smile into your lives.

Kind people matter and they shouldn’t be allowed to forget it.

Breast cancer lesson number 47: The importance of being normal

On By Jackie ScullyIn Breast reconstruction surgery, Chemotherapy, Happiness1 Comment

For those of you currently splitting your days between the waiting room and the living room, I am delighted to report that there is life beyond these walls. I have seen it. I know it’s hard to imagine. But, it’s still there, being interesting, just like you left it.

The truth is, daily walks, daily planned-in box set viewing and almost-daily hospital visits – although vital for post-surgery recovery ­–­ do not a life make. In recent weeks, I have felt more like an observer on my own life, rather than a participant in it. If health allows, however, and you are brave enough to open the door to the other side of you (the pre-cancer normal), I would encourage you to do so – right now.

By normal, I don’t mean dull. By normal, I mean the bits of life you enjoyed before cancer swept in and took them away. Yes, be selective (you may wish to live without the ritual of Friday night pizza). Yes, make adjustments (I am seeing more friends and having more laughs than ever before). But make normal your base and, you’ll find it’s the hospital appointments that start getting in the way – not the other way round.

Since the day I was diagnosed I have made a conscious effort to not be a cancer patient (she says writing a blog on the subject!). I don’t want to hide away with only my thoughts for company. I don’t want to be defined by the clinic and chemo dates in the diary, because I know that when the dates stop coming, life can go from being very busy to very lonely overnight. I want to use the time cancer has inadvertently gifted me to cherry pick the bits of life I love and shut the door on everything else. There’s a lot of truth in the phrase, ‘you are what you do’. Give yourself over to cancer and you’ll forget the life you’re fighting for.

The great thing about rediscovering your ‘normal’ is that something you’ve taken for granted for years suddenly becomes more exciting and beautiful. Take Thursday night. I had a theatre date in the diary and I was determined to keep it. It’s probably worth mentioning at this point that my taste in theatre is acquired. While I do love my musicals, a bit of Shakespeare and the odd sedate play, I also like to explore the world of immersive and promenade theatre. Those of you who know me well will know I’ve been kidnapped by vampires in Barbican car park, sent on a mission underneath Waterloo station and electrocuted (mildly) in the name of art. If it’s rather strange and often devoid of a coherent plotline, I’m there.

While I was making my way to Shoreditch Town Hall basement to watch Philip Pullman’s Grimm Tales, I was trying to remember why it was I’d booked it in the first place. As I approached the theatre it hit me – or should I say the wording on the poster did. It was immersive. That meant involvement. Instead of my usual nervous excitement, I suddenly felt completely vulnerable. I didn’t look even remotely ill, so how would I be able to keep my arm, boob and tummy protected when surrounded by focused actors and curious theatre-goers. I didn’t feel ready.

The great news is, that rather running for the exit – or back stage to find someone who could furnish me with a big ‘don’t touch me’ sticker – I grabbed a glass of wine and had a wonderful evening with a friend. While I would have loved to have found a seat in each of the rooms and, while I slept well that night, I found being at an event where only one other person knew what was going on beneath my clothes really exhilarating. Cancer wasn’t centre stage and, you know what, I loved it.

Of course, there is a small note of caution. It is worth remembering, you’re still not normal, even though you’re playing the part. I was reminded of this on Friday night when having a takeaway with friends at home. I ate my usual healthy (or not so) Jackie-sized portions (at my usual fast Jackie pace) and enjoyed some of our engagement Champagne and wine. It was only later that I realised the body corset/curry combo was not a particularly good one. I didn’t enough have space for water and was still reliving the experience 24 hours later. A few less mouthfuls and a lot less speed, and I would have been fine.

People talk about discovering their ‘new normal’ after finishing active treatment. I have around six months to go and think it is important I use this time to go back to my version of normal so that I can work out what I want my ‘new normal’ to be. I know it will include a hair cut every eight weeks (once there is something to style. I am already craving the smell of product knowing I won’t be there as a client for a while). I know it will include immersive theatre. But I know it will be different. It has to be. There are already 40 things on my Brighter Life list for starters and I am determined to complete each and every one.

I know it will be busy, but I know it will be better. And, there won’t be a single cannula, oxygen mask or blood pressure cuff in sight.

 

Breast cancer lesson number 45: If it helps, pass it on

On By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness, Kindness4 Comments

Throughout my life, whether it be guide camp, bikram yoga, school, work or swimming, I have always been the one to look the part. If it comes with a kit list, I am in my element. And, if it doesn’t, I will feel duty bound to create one. I buy the t-shirt and, eight times out of ten, I do detach the price tag! (One notable exception is a yoga top that I know would be guaranteed to put people off their postures. I like to look the part, not get arrested!)

The same goes for cancer. Our house is packed with every factsheet and leaflet going. Given the seriousness of the illness, I didn’t think my old tracksuit bottoms and loungewear wardrobe were quite up to scratch. So, two weeks after being diagnosed I made a trip into central London to buy some new pairs (along with zip-up tops and button down nightshirts). I bought a White Company toweling robe because it was ‘essential’ and even found matching slippers to go with my hospital dressing gown. For the next stage, I already have the hats on order, ginger tea in the cupboard and udder cream on the bathroom shelf. I have booked my ‘wig referral’ and my PICC cover research is also well underway. That chemo chair is coming, and I want to be ready!

Something wonderful happened to me yesterday while trying to compile the ultimate chemo kit list. First, I posted my chemo queries on a secret Facebook group (it’s called the Younger Breast Cancer Network (UK) and it’s open to any young women with a breast cancer diagnosis). Within minutes, there were so many great recommendations posted (from ice pops to boiled sweets). Then two women sent me private messages offering to pass on both unused and rarely worn items (that probably seemed like essential purchases at the time). When I received these messages I was so touched by their thoughtfulness. I was also reminded of the fact that I am not alone in my desire to stock up and take the ‘Be prepared’ Scouting motto to extremes!

A lot of the time, what we’re buying is specific to the treatment we’re having. In truth, I probably won’t need a sleep cap again and there is such a thing as too many headscarves. I will try and be inventive in redeploying the more fabric-based items, but I was inspired by these women (my latest kind strangers) to think about how I might ‘pass it on’ too. In lesson 37, I talk about the concept of ‘passing it forward’ and starting a chain of kindness. I would like to think when my caps have done their time, they could be warming someone else’s head. I would love to imagine someone getting joy and a self-confidence boost out of one of my summer caps (that have admittedly not made it onto my own head yet). I would also like to think that I could share more than words with others facing up to a breast cancer diagnosis.

In both cases, I have accepted their kind offers. In return, I have asked each one to nominate a breast cancer charity so I can make a donation. I plan to pass on the items that have made me smile (or brought me relief) when cancer has had enough of me and I would encourage anyone reading this to find a way to do the same. While I am not geared up to be the cancer equivalent of freecycle (or a cancer swap shop), I would like to think I could help you find a new and loving home for your cancer cast-offs (there’s a swap shop in the secret group for starters on which I could post items). If you have something to share and no one with which to share it (or are a hospital or charity looking for donations of drain bags or other treatment-related items) please post here or contact me directly (see Get in touch for more details). Together we can share the love – and the expense!

Second-hand comes with a story attached and that thought makes me smile.