Breast cancer lesson 132: Every end is a new beginning

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With the end of active treatment fast approaching (currently down as 15 September), my thoughts have been turning to celebrations and a way of marking my official independence day. It’s a moment I never thought I’d have to experience – let alone celebrate – but it’s a moment I intend to enjoy.

Of course, I have considered the more conventional route of a party. But when the people I want to thank are all across the country (not the mention the world), it doesn’t seem quite right (and the pink hearts thank you campaign is already well underway). So, I have decided on a less conventional course of action (would you expect anything less?). That’s why, on Sunday 14 September, I will be making my way to a starting line at Wembley for the Run to the Beat 10k.

Marking the end with another starting line sums up how I feel about moving on. It is fair to say that running (and exercise in general) has been a real lifeline for me over the last seven months. It has cleared my mind and kept me from busting out of my clothes. It has lifted me when I felt like falling (so much so that it is the subject of my latest blog of Breast Cancer Care – click here to read). And, it is something I want to make space for in the real Jackie world, when I return to it in October.

For me, October is a new start, a new chapter in my life. It’s what I have been fighting for all along, so it is only fitting that I run towards it and grab it with both hands. Another 10k will keep me focused (and help me conquer the fatigue associated with radiotherapy). And, this time, I want to run the distance (so I can convince myself that I can conquer an even bigger challenge next year – watch this space).

Coming so soon after my last run (and being the same distance), I feel it would be wrong to ask for sponsorship in exactly the same way. So, I have a plan. I will be running the race for the amazing charity CoppaFeel (adding to my work as a Boobette, which you can read more about by clicking here). Rather than sponsor me, all I am asking for is a pledge from you. This pledge is simply to buy me a drink to celebrate the end of active treatment. For every pledge I receive, I will make a donation out of my own money to CoppaFeel. As I see it, it’s a win-win situation. CoppaFeel gets much-needed funds, I spend my hard-earned cash on a great charity rather than London room hire, you don’t have to travel to an end of active treatment party and I have an excuse to see you all individually to make good on every pledge. I really hope you’ll get behind my idea and help me celebrate, so I can enjoy your company at the same time as raising money for a fabulous charity. Convoluted I know, but I have never been known for taking the easy route!

To pledge, all you have to do is post here using the comment field. Don’t worry, it might just be a cup of tea. And, it doesn’t have to be collected soon. But, now I can taste again, it won’t be a Ribena or a cranberry juice.

The treatment chapter of my life is one I am keen to close. But, I am in some ways thankful it was opened in the first place. It has made me see that if you spend your life wishing for the next big event, you will miss out on living. The next big event might not be one of your choosing. In life, it’s the every day – and not the once in a while – that matters.

Best get those tatty old running shoes out again!

Breast cancer lesson 33: Smile even harder when things don’t go according to plan

It’s Sunday morning. Most weeks, I would be enjoying a leisurely lie-in and a lovingly-prepared cup of tea while putting the world – and the week – to rights. On this morning, however, I have had to go to hospital to make sure I don’t have dangerous levels of hormones running through my body. Thanks cancer, first you take my boob and now you’re going after my lie-ins!

It was supposed to be a blood test. And, it certainly started like a normal blood test. Left arm tick. Needle tick. Rubber band to bring up veins tick. Lovely smiley lady in scrubs who called me ‘darling’, tick. Only thing missing? The actual veins.

With right arm (otherwise known as obedient blood giving arm) now permanently out of action due to risk of lymphoedema, left arm is left in charge. Trouble is, left arm doesn’t like to play by the rules… Ever!

So, here’s what happened on my Sunday morning (before my morning cup of tea).

1) Smiley lady preps left arm and starts tapping. Nothing.
2) Smiley lady tries in three places to draw blood from my elusive veins. Nothing.
3) Smiley lady asks whether she can try my leg. I say: ‘go in anywhere. I have a high pain threshold’.
4) I, dutifully, start taking my jeans off. Smiley lady points out that by leg, she meant ankle, so no undressing required. Oops!
5) Smiley lady heads to my ankle. All I can think of is the fact I should have shaved more closely as it looks a bit hairy.
6) Ankle does not play ball.
7) Smiley lady looks less smiley as she asks me to sit outside and drink six cups of water and rub my hands together.
8) I head to the watercooler, realising that I didn’t do my jeans up properly after the aborted undressing attempt. Quick adjustment required.
9) I drink eight cups of water for good measure and look like I am rubbing my hands together in front of a fire. To others in the waiting room, I look like I have ants in my pants. I look weird. I am now the weirdo in the waiting room.
10) I need the loo. I cross my legs.
11) I go to the loo. Oops!
12) Smiley lady, rejuvenated by my epic water drinking, tries again. Four times. Nothing.
13) Smiley lady not smiley any more. I just feel bad that I haven’t been the perfect patient. My smiling looks a bit misplaced. My mind goes straight to the chemo nurses, the blood tests and the cannulas all waiting for me in the next round.
14) No more needles. Just another appointment tomorrow first thing with the anaesthetist. I have been upgraded from weirdo in the waiting room to annoying Monday morning patient with an arm that doesn’t play ball. Lucky anaesthetist!
15) I leave hospital with instructions to keep injecting (while still wondering about my hormone levels). And, guess what? It’s two injections for me today, not one. First Menopur, now Cetrotide wants in on the action!

By the way, if you’re wondering where everyone is on a Sunday morning in London, I’ve found them. They’re in the Assisted Conception Unit, watching me be a weirdo.

So, thank you cancer. You took my lie-in, you took my boob and, because you decided to spread out into my lymph nodes too, you took my right arm (for blood taking purposes).

My left arm looks like a dot to dot. My bladder feels like it has been abused (the body corset isn’t helping) and I really need a cup of tea. But, you know what? Even though I had the burning desire to start wailing in the waiting room, I didn’t. Every time you knock me, I’m going to dust myself off and come back fighting. Just let me have the tea first!