Coppafeel

Breast cancer lesson 177: Give a girl the right pair of shoes and she can conquer the world

Ok, so Marilyn Monroe probably wasn’t talking about a pair of running trainers when she came out with the above quote. But, when you’re standing on the starting line of a half marathon, the right pair of trainers can be the greatest of companions.

I can’t say I conquered the world on March 1 running around the streets of Bath in a giant boob costume for fantastic charity CoppaFeel. But, given I started the race with a hip injury that threatened to stop everything in just a few steps I certainly conquered something that day.

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I’d like to say the hip injury was as a result of extensive training and my two 13-mile practice runs, but the reality is actually a lot more amusing. The pain in my quad muscle (which felt like rock just moments before the race) was caused by sitting in a cross-legged position for too long in a silent meditation. I can hear you now. Jackie Scully can take on cancer, smile through treatment and run 13 miles for fun, but struggles with that challenging activity of sitting. It’s funny now. It wasn’t last weekend.

The run was emotional for more reasons that my clicking hip and aching groin. While comfy trainers can be the greatest of companions, so, too, can two amazing friends Alex and Fran. They stuck beside me, encouraged me with every step and gave me the confidence and the strength to get me to the end. I knew they could run faster, but the fact that they didn’t is something I will never forget.

Those of you who have followed my running journey will know that it was fantastic Fran who kept me hydrated and positive when I ran my first ever 10k just a week before my last chemo. It was Fran who lined up next to me for my next 10k just hours before the last day of active treatment. And it was Fran who stopped when I stopped and laughed when I laughed last Sunday – and even found time to dance along to the music being played. She says the running has been great for her. I am so thrilled, because her support has been great for me and I feel truly blessed to have her in my life.

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Then there’s Alex. Last year, my wonderful school friend ran the Bath Half for CoppaFeel after her mum was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her sponsorship page reminded me of a great friendship we’d once had and her amazing can-do attitude. We met up after seven years apart last summer and it was then that we vowed to support the charity that brought us back together in our home town this year. Last Sunday, it was Alex doing the chanting, encouraging and the energy gel supplying and I knew when I stood beside both her and Fran waiting to cross the starting line that we would find a way to get to the end together. (We were also joined by the lovely Kelly Packer and Amy Sparks on the course, both schoolfriends I hadn’t seen for 14 years!)

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I may sound dramatic, but when your leg is giving way and you can’t walk without pain going in to a half marathon, it takes a lot to even start. Thanks to a knowledgable physio, I knew I wouldn’t end up in my hip surgeon’s office with a rather guilty look on my face, so I knew it was up to my mind to convince me I could get round.

And convince me it did. Two hours and 30 minutes later (we ran all the way barring two stretching stops), we crossed the line holding hands only to fall into the arms of a Telegraph journalist. (For those of you with a copy of Friday’s paper, head to the back page of the sports section.) We also made the local Bath Chronicle too. And, the regional BBC news station took this as we crossed the line (it hurt that much)!

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My mindfulness course (the reason for which I was sat in a cross legged position for so long) may have brought on an injury, but it has taught me a very valuable lesson over the last eight weeks. Pain is inevitable and not something you can or should look to avoid. But, pain doesn’t have to lead to suffering. If you don’t resist it and accept what is happening to you, pain is just pain. I know what pain feels like, I know how to ride it out (and medicate against it) and I am proud of myself that I can run 13 miles aware of it, but not ruled by it.

You could say I was foolish given my hip history. I hope, however, you will just see me as even more determined.

How can you stand in a charity tent with Kris and Maren Hallenga (the amazing sisters who spend every waking moment trying to wipe out the late detection of breast cancer as part of CoppaFeel) and not vow to make it round.

They inspire me, it was their charity that brought me back to Alex, it is their charity that has seen me talk about boobs more times in the last year than I thought possible and it is their story that is the reason we should all feel happy to be alive.

If you haven’t found the right shoes to conquer your world, it’s about time you went shopping…

Breast cancer lesson 168: Why I am about to run for my life – and for charity

One thing you may not know if you haven’t had the pleasure of being prescribed an oestrogen blocking anti-cancer drug is that Tamoxifen, my new friend for the next decade, has a nickname. It’s a bit too ‘rude’ for me to mention it here (you’ll just have to trust me that it isn’t nice), but let’s just say, it’s a nickname that only now I fully understand.

While I will be forever grateful that there exists a drug that can reduce the chance of my cancer coming back (and I really am grateful), I do just wish it could do its stuff without raising my anxiety levels (trust me, this pill can make the washing up seem like an uphill struggle), stealing my sleep and generally ageing me by about forty years. When I heard about people’s experiences of the drug I honestly thought that, after chemo, it couldn’t be that hard. But, faced with taking a potentially mood altering drug for ten years, part of me would rather endure another short-term course of the toxic stuff than have to ‘check in’ with my body every five minutes to make sure it’s in one piece.

Don’t get me wrong. I am still really happy and thankful I have my life. And, if this is what I have to do to prolong it, I will do it. But, I guess Tamoxifen (the effects of which I think are starting to kick in now my body is leaving the effects of chemo and Zoladex behind) is my daily reminder that, far from finishing the fight for my life, I am still very much at the beginning.

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Which brings me to the title of this blog post. When I knew things were about to get tough before chemo, I hit the road with my, then, tatty trainers for the first time in a decade. I hit the road, not because I was a runner, but because I wanted to stay sane and counteract the weight gain. I did it for me (as well as raising money for charity) and I think it is one of the biggest reasons why I started and finished treatment with a smile on my face. Running (or more accurately, jog/walking) saved me this year. And, you know what? I think I need it to save me again.

I confess, I hate the thought of running. I even hate the getting dressed for running part. But, the feeling I get when I arrive back home after a jog through Greenwich Park is a feeling I wouldn’t give up for the world. It was that feeling that got me round the streets of London when I had chemo drugs running through my veins. It was that feeling that made me choose a run over a party at the end of active treatment. And, it is that feeling that I hope will help me over the finish line of my next, and biggest, running challenge to date. On March 1, I will be back on home soil running the Bath Half Marathon.

Whether my legs will go the distance is still a subject hotly contested at my family home in Wiltshire. But, while I can’t predict the future and second guess whether the hip problems that plagued my twenties will return, I know that I will give it my best shot. This time, it’s not about weight management (although I do get to eat more cake). This time it’s all about the mind and showing my body that, however hard it tries to bring me down with its cocktail of drugs, it will never take my spirit and my determination to succeed. However I do it (and it won’t be graceful), I will be crossing the line in March for every person who needs Tamoxifen to keep them alive. It seems a cruel joke that after nine months of active treatment, just when we all want a break, we should be faced with yet another drug-induced challenge. This is one challenge, however, I will overcome.

Of course, I am not just running for me. I am running for amazing charity CoppaFeel. Those of you who have been following the blog will know just how important CoppaFeel is to me. You just need to spend a few moments with twin sisters Kris and Maren (who founded the charity) to know just how special they are. They work so hard, with very few resources, in their fight to wipe out the late detection of breast cancer. Kris is dying. Maren has to watch her sister fight the disease every day. And yet, both are dedicated to making sure other people they don’t even know – or will ever meet – have the chance to enjoy a long and happy future. It seems to me the ultimate selfless act to give your life to helping others when you don’t know how much of it you have left. If that’s not worth a few quid, then I don’t know what is.

As with the last two races, I won’t be heading to the starting line alone. Back in July my wonderful friend Fran stuck by me (when I knew she could run faster) as I completed first the British 10k. She turned out again in September and has been persuaded to join me on this, no doubt, cold wintery day. She believed in me when I thought I had nothing left and, for that, I will be forever grateful. Duncan will be heading out too (we may even get him in a giant boob this time), although we probably won’t see him after the warm up. And, it means the world to me that my amazing school friend Alex will be returning to the course (after tackling it last year of CoppaFeel) to help me round. With that kind of back-up, I just have to hope and pray my legs don’t let the side down.

Running as a non-runner has been an emotional and amazing journey. This time, with winter training, double the distance to run and the same dodgy hips, we need all the support we can get. If you can spare just a few pounds to make that training (followed by mince pie eating) worthwhile, then please head to our Virgin fundraising page. Then all I ask is that you return to this page to post (as a comment) the song you think will motivate me, make me smile and remind me of you. I want to create a playlist of requests that remind me of the people who believe we can get there. I know that will give me the motivation I need to step out over the coming dark months even when the lure of Christmas lights and cooked ham is more appealing.

Together, we can help Kris and Maren make secondary cancer a thing of the past – and show Tamoxifen who’s really the boss of this body!

Thank you.

Together, we can help Kris and Maren make secondary cancer a thing of the past – and show Tamoxifen who’s really the boss of this body!

Thank you.

Breast cancer lesson 161: Ten things that will make you shout: ‘cancer made her do it’

I have a confession. About two months ago, I went to a studio in North London, met a photographer, and took my top off for Cosmopolitan magazine. It was for the amazing charity CoppaFeel – a feature designed to encourage people to extend their boob vocabulary to something more than ‘big’ and ‘small’ and say #whatnormalfeelslike. There were 30 other pairs of boobs involved (so I was in good company) and it was anonymous. So why, you might ask, have I chosen today to tell you all about it? Well, one because it’s a great campaign that is close to my heart (if you know what normal is for you, you are more likely to pick up any changes to your breasts). Two, it hit the shelves yesterday. And, three, it is completely out of character and has already been the source of much amusement among those I have told.

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Just knowing that pre-cancer Jackie was so not the kind of woman to ever taking part in a topless shoot makes me smile. This is coming from a person who thinks being in her pyjamas at 7pm on a Friday night is daring and wearing a tankini is out there! I have been known for my love of reading, my workaholic tendencies and my extreme love of Christmas time. But, I can safely say, I didn’t think I’d ever make a statement with anything north of my waistline (or south for that matter). Up until January, I was just another tired-looking commuter racing to work. Now, I am still a commuter, but one with a rather amusing secret (which I admit is no longer a secret to all regular readers here).

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I did it not because I have been transformed into an exhibitionist, but because I really want to make a difference to the lives of men and women everywhere. The campaign is bold and will probably divide opinion. But, if a spread full of boobs isn’t going to get people peering down through their shirts (their own shirts mind), then nothing will. It is also tied to a wider campaign, which includes Rankin-shot pictures on billboards across the country (although not on main road positions for obvious reasons). If it even saves one life, it will have been a worthwhile venture.

As experiences go, it was pretty liberating. Before this year, I had never had a make-up artist work on my face, let alone add foundation and glitter to my breasts. I liked the idea of the anonymity, so imagine my amusement when I turned up to discover I knew the photographer (professional hazard). Thankfully, a friendly catch-up was the perfect way to distract myself from the reality of the situation (and at least I had a bathrobe on for most of it).

Smiling at the magazine feature yesterday, I started to think about the things I have achieved this year that I would have never even considered just a year ago. I am a changed woman (I am even finding it hard to wear my old work clothes at the moment) and, you know what, I am absolutely delighted.

Here are a few highlights. I, Jackie Scully, have:

1) Got my top off for a national magazine – and the play the boob equivalent of Where’s Wally with colleagues! If you are wondering, yes, you can guess. Just don’t expect me to publically confirm (it is obvious to me, but then I do look at them every day).

2) Openly discussed the words ‘boobs’ and ‘breasts’ in a client meeting: it is amazing what can seem commonplace after spending your life talking boobs at the hospital. Good news is, no one is talking to my chest. Amusingly, one friend did say: ‘wow, but you look like you still have breasts’. That would be the reconstruction then!

3) Travelled across London bald (and wore a wig): first time was a little nerve-wracking, but now I don’t even think about it. Trouble is, when your hair is growing back the ‘is it cancer, is it alopecia’ debate is over. The better I feel, the more pitying stares I get! I should also add the fact I stood on a cliff with no hair. That was cold and liberating, however, and not quite as brave as baring all to commuters.

4) Worn magic pants: I was nicknamed Bridget Jones at university by a few friends, but that had nothing to do with the quality (or size) of my knickers. Now, however, I have worn pants that come up to my waist and hold everything in (including my super-glued stomach). I must say, I won’t be channelling my inner Bridget again any time soon, but I know she would have approved of my post-surgery image.

5) Appeared in an exercise video: ok, so it wasn’t the most active of videos (designed to help people reduce the risk of lymphodema), but there were cameras and I was in exercise gear. It was produced for The Haven and it should be available soon. Watch this space.

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6) Run a 10k: Dodgy hips and toxic drugs do not a runner make. But, I am delighted to have crossed the finish line of not just one, but two, 10k races. I am now back in training for the next one (which may just be a bit longer)!

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7) Have a photo shoot – and appear in a magazine as me (plus The Guardian homepage): because of my career, publishing will always be part of my life. I just never thought I’d end up in front of the camera. I also never thought I’d ever by anything more than a byline in a feature. I feel very privileged that I have been able to share the positive side of treatment with so many readers.

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8) Make a boob cake: as the creator of digger cakes and Thomas the Tank Engine cakes, you might think a boob cake would be a natural next step for me. I am not sure the WI group I made it for will ever get over the bright pink icing and the boobie references though!

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9) Play the cancer card: admittedly it has only really worked on a courier and a restaurant (desperate as I was for their bread and butter pudding recipe). When it works, it really does work. But, my word of caution to others contemplating calling it in is, it isn’t always as powerful as you might think. Handle with care I say.

10) Become an official blogger and even received a tweet from a celebrity: while these things are unrelated (the tweet was for baking rather than blogging), I believe I have now truly embraced the digital age. I never thought I would have the confidence to write about my story (but I have, both here and for Breast Cancer Care). In fact, my blog has been read in 108 different countries. And, I never thought I’d have the confidence to bake a cake for a radio programme (but I did).

So what have I learned by undertaking all this abnormal activity? I have learned how to have fun, not take myself too seriously, be playful and be bold. When life is short, there are some things you just have to get on and try. I have also learned that life’s comfort zone is a bit too comfortable and, by being open and giving time for others, you can make the best of almost any experience.

Most importantly, however, I have learned that there are many ways to make a difference in this world. And making a difference is all I really want to do.

Watch this space and may you find your own novel ways to leave your mark!

Breast cancer lesson 154: Believe you can and you’re halfway there

What makes a great Sunday? Giant boob costumes, pink headbands, a cling-filmed rads-blasted boob, running shoes, a dose of determination and a celebratory pub lunch that’s what!

Yep, that’s right. We completed the 10k. And, with balloon-filled boobs on our backs, we did it in style.

Thinking back to yesterday’s aims, I am glad to report I finished in one piece with no missing body parts and we (by which I mean Fran, Sam and I as Duncan was up with the ‘running elite’) shaved off 12 minutes from the chemo run time. I think it’s fair to say when I pushed for the finish (I even had a bit left in the tank after three hills) imagining all of the amazing people fighting cancer on a daily basis – and all of those who have supported my fight – I couldn’t have been happier.

Thank you for believing in me, running with me and pledging drinks to help me raise money for such an amazing cause. I couldn’t have done it without you!

This is one finish line I won’t ever forget. Just one more active treatment finish line to go… tomorrow.

One sleep to go!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here’s the photographic evidence:

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Breast cancer lesson 121: Check those boobies and help stamp out late detection of breast cancer

When I think back to the early days of my diagnosis, there is one thing that makes me shudder. It’s the fact that, even though I could quite clearly feel a lump, I nearly didn’t go to the doctors. I convinced myself the lump was all in my mind. I’m 32. I’m too young to get screened, so how could I possibly get the disease you screen for? Given the lump appeared to double in size between diagnosis and surgery, I know now that this blog might have read a little differently if I hadn’t.

Stage three breast cancer is curable. Stage four breast cancer is treatable, but will never be cured. I don’t know how close I was, but all I know is I will be checking myself from now on and for the rest of my life.

Ask yourself the question. How often do you check yourself (and men, with 400 diagnosed in the UK every year, that means you too)? If the answer is never, read on. If the answer is monthly, then congratulations, but please read on too because you could be quite useful. And, if the answer is somewhere in between, then that’s good, but there is still some work to do.

For those who have been reading this blog and who know me personally, you’ll know that I am trying to make every day count, rather than counting down the days until the end of active treatment. It’s hard, because I don’t know how I am going to feel from one day to the next. But, it is so amazingly rewarding and it gives me a reason to smile every day.

That’s why I won’t be sheltering from the rain this evening, but will be heading out to meet Barnes WI to discuss breast cancer awareness for the charity CoppaFeel. You’ll have heard me talk about CoppaFeel (www.coppafeel.org) and its inspiring founder Kris before, but basically, the aim of the charity is to get people checking their boobs, recognising the signs and symptoms of breast cancer and going to the doctor if they spot anything unusual. It’s a simple message, delivered in a fun way through presentations and giant boob costumes. But it’s a life-saving one too.

Because it’s the WI and because I love baking, I have cooked up a cake in the shape of a CoppaFeel badge. I love this picture, because it reminds me of my own little and large boobies (and is of something edible). Of course, the difference isn’t quite so marked, but you get the picture! I have put buttercream in the victoria sponge, which I know is a sin in some parts. Let’s hope I am forgiven for going off piste with a Mary Berry special.

If you’re keen to ‘cop a feel’, but are not sure how, then here’s a handy guide: http://coppafeel.org/boob-check/. The key thing to remember though is that there is no right or wrong way to check. You just have to get to know your boobs, know what to look for, and check anything that doesn’t feel quite right to you. You’ll know your body better than anyone else, so you’re the best judge when things change.

And, if you think you don’t have time or will easily forget, then why not sign up to the charity’s free text reminder service (after the first text which is charged at standard network rate in the UK). Just text ‘Boobettes’ to 70300 to get started.

If you’re inspired, then check out the latest ‘What normal feels like’ boob campaign (http://coppafeel.org/whatnormalfeelslike/). The idea is to extend the range of words people use to describe their boobs (when asked most people, say ‘big’, ‘little’, ‘medium’ or ‘flat’) and help people get closer to this rather wibbly part of the anatomy. So, have a good feel and then tweet your findings to #WhatNormalFeelsLike. I think of mine as ‘jelly’ and ‘belly’ for obvious reasons.

I’ll never know whether or not checking earlier would have saved my boob from surgery, my veins from chemo and my skin from radiotherapy. But, what I do know is that checking when I did on Christmas Eve saved my life.

So, please, do one thing for me today. Grab your boob and encourage the person next to you to do the same. You might just save a life.

I’m off to encourage a room full of women to do the same. Wish me luck!

Breast cancer lesson number 107: Cherish those who hold you up!

You could be forgiven for thinking that someone with chemically-induced pains, thinning eyebrows and no tastebuds, has every reason to not feel happy – let alone lucky. But right now, sitting here on the sofa I feel like one of the luckiest people alive. That’s got nothing to do with the fact I am far from a bar showing the hotly-anticipated England World Cup game tonight and everything to do with the fact I have spent the day being reminded of just how beautiful this little world of ours really can be.

Ok, so it wasn’t your average supermarket shopping and washing Saturday. I was actually at a CoppaFeel training day for The Boobettes. As those of you who’ve read lesson 104 (click here for a recap) will know, I have started volunteering for charity CoppaFeel to help amazing founder Kris Hallenga (who is living with advanced breast cancer herself) and her small-but-perfectly-formed team in their mission to wipe out the late detection of breast cancer. Today was my official induction and I have to say, I haven’t stopped smiling.

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I thought I’d learn a lot. And I did, which was fantastic. But, what I didn’t anticipate was just how inspired and moved I would be by everyone I met. From mothers and teachers to singers, knitters and writers, this was a meeting of driven, passionate and beautiful people all united by one common cause, and I felt so humbled to be in their company. I came away thinking I would never have met these people if I had never been diagnosed (I am just not cool enough it has to be said). But, I am so so glad I did. Cancer hadn’t made these people beautiful. They were already that way.

As a quick aside, we were asked to name our boobs at the beginning as a way of breaking the ice. Mine are called cupcake (left) and muffin (right). The reason? Well, I love cake, I love baking, I feel my new right boobie is made up of all the amazing cake and chocolate gifts donated to me before surgery and the right continues to outgrow the left due to it remembering its origin (hence the difference in baked products). Just don’t ask me for the recipe! 

My great day didn’t end there. I drove home via a close friend’s birthday and seeing her face as I arrived at the table made me realise just how important it is to make the effort for the people you love. I couldn’t drink, I couldn’t enjoy the pizza or the homemade cakes prepared by her kind friends, but I could enjoy the company (most of which was people I’d never met who welcomed me immediately and didn’t say a word about my funny hat or the tube poking out of my arm) the chat (theatre, cake, more theatre, schools today) and a hug with my wonderful friend.

But, my great day didn’t end there. If we skip over the injection (which I deliberately took before my food so as to treat myself immediately afterwards), I got home to find a beautiful surprise on my doormat. Back at Breast Cancer Care’s Younger Women Together event in May (click here for lesson 87) we were asked to write a postcard to ourselves that would be posted to us after the event. While I found the whole event inspiring, I didn’t write about my experience but about the words of a beautiful young mother I met, who told me a great story about reading to her child throughout treatment. She often read the story We’re all going on a bear hunt and told me the words took on a whole new meaning for her. She said: ‘Cancer is like a bear hunt. You can’t go round it, you can’t go over it, you’ve got to go through it.’ I wrote this down and added: ‘So keep going’. I knew there would be tough times ahead when I wrote it and I thought it would make me smile. It actually did more than that. It reminded me of yet another wonderful and kind person introduced into my life because of this life-changing disease.

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But, my great day didn’t even end there. While making myself dinner I noticed a tupperware box filled with ginger biscotti that a friend had made and sent via Duncan. I am now munching my way through the tub and am delighted to report that I can actually taste them – and they taste wonderful. This box didn’t make me smile because it was filled with tasty goodies (although that certainly helped). This box made me smile because it reminded me that not only have I met beautiful strangers along the way, but people I already knew to be beautiful have become even more so (even though I thought that wasn’t possible). I never thought I would cry over a well-baked biscuit. But I just did!

But, my great day didn’t even end there. I check my phone and find on it a brilliant message from my sister-in-law about a book she had just picked up for her son. It’s called The Okay Book and it’s packed with great messages such as: ‘it’s ok to try new things’ and, amazingly, ‘it’s ok to have no hair’. I couldn’t agree more and I continue to smile at the thoughtfulness of this lovely lady.

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As a self-confessed perfectionist often on a mission to help others, I think I have spent too much time trying to be the best I can be and not enough appreciating just how amazing those around me really are. I feel truly humbled by old, new and hopefully soon-to-be friends (you know who you are)!

So, to all of those people who go out of their way to be kind, thoughtful, generous and basically amazing on a daily basis, I want to say thank you for being you.

I’ve had a wonderful day just by being reminded of how many of you there are!

Breast cancer lesson number 104: Small steps can make a big difference

If you’d asked me at about 4am this morning, what I hoped would be my achievement of the day, I would have said getting out of bed. With muscle aches, bone pain, a sore throat, tingling in my toes and my feet and a continued sense of emptiness, I woke up today – or rather decided it was morning – thinking it might be just one of those days when it would be ok to lose myself in a good book and a packet of painkillers and try again tomorrow. Sat in the evening sunshine with a smile on my face, however, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

There are two reasons why I made it out of my pyjamas and decided to fight the fatigue. Firstly, I had a dentist appointment. Usually, just the thought of those blue gloves and shining implements would be enough to tempt me back under the covers. But, having looked after me so well before chemotherapy, I felt I really should make the effort (especially given the surgery is about two minutes from my front door). It was a rather nice experience in a way, although I confess this had less to do with the shiny tools and more to do with the fact the chair worked wonders for my pains, almost hugging my body as it tilted me closer to the dentist. You know it’s bad when you look to the dentist for a bit of comfort!

The second reason is a little closer to my heart. Today, I had a rather important message to deliver and I’d promised myself I would do my utmost to get out of my fluffy slippers and deliver it – pain or no pain. And, that’s exactly what I did.

So, at 1pm today, I wasn’t surrounded by cushions, but a group of business women on their lunch hour all waiting to hear what I had to say about boob checking and why ‘copping a feel’ might just save their lives.

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If you’ve been following my journey you’ll know that I took the decision early on not to count the days until the end of active treatment, but to make every day count (click here to read lesson 68 where I explain a bit more). Giving back for me isn’t just about raising money, dusting off my trainers and hitting the city streets (although that is still crucial and you can still sponsor me here). It’s about using every bit of my experience to make a difference. Today that meant putting on a Boobette jacket for the amazing charity CoppaFeel and striking up a healthy conversation about boobs. Today that meant encouraging people to make boob checking a part of their daily lives. Today that meant burying my pain in a pill packet and reinforcing the work of dedicated founder Kris Hallenga, who has a treatable, but incurable form of the disease.

As I stood in front of those women, I knew that even if they didn’t remember the slides, the number to text or the latest breast cancer statistics, they might just remember the woman who stood before them with a hot flush, a funny hat and a desire to make a difference. I thought my message might be that little bit more powerful if I was speaking with toxic drugs in my system. I think I was right.

So, ask me what my achievement of the day is now and I’ll probably overlook the getting out of bed part (although I’ll admit, it was key). Back in my fluffy slippers now, I can rest easy knowing I did my bit to stamp out the late detection of breast cancer and give young women the confidence to go to the doctor. 

I’d like to say that had earned me a lie-in, but I have pilates first thing! Here’s hoping the pain starts to ease soon! 

NB: By the way, if you’d like to find out more about CoppaFeel and even get a visit from a Boobette at your workplace or school, please do get in touch. I am on Boobette training at the weekend, so will be a fully-fledged volunteer come Saturday!

Breast cancer lesson number 89: A chemo day can be a good day

Believe it or not, today was a good day. I should qualify this by saying that most good days do not come with a helping of toxic drugs on the side. But as days on active treatment go, it was a complete success.

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I passed my blood test (yay!). My levels are good for someone on chemo (could be seen as a compliment). I had a lovely lunch with my lovely mum (that I could taste) and a walk along the river (in the sunshine). I met a friendly nurse who furnished me with a whole rucksack full of pills, mouthwashes and eye drops (including the mighty Emend/Aprepitant for vomiting). I got the chemo drugs (yay-ish because it wasn’t delayed) and actually waved goodbye to Epirubicin as the last red syringe was drained into my PICC line. I now know the name of the lovely lady who does my PICC line flushing every week (she doesn’t wear a name badge and after a few sessions, I felt it would be wrong to ask). I have sorted out my appointments for the next round (chemo is moving to a Friday). And, most importantly, the chemo unit LOVED the ginger cookies (although you could question whether or not a unit of patients with questionable taste buds is a robust test).

I also discovered a few new things (and we all know how much I love learning things)! One, there is such a thing as a menopause clinic, because I’ve been referred to it in an attempt to help me get a convincing night of sleep! (watch this space). Two, baked goods (with ingredients listed) are welcome on the unit (I did wonder whether health and safety would get in the way). Three (not the best revelation), the next set of chemo cycles requires me to have around 24 injections to help keep my white blood cell count at a good level (nothing like a few sub-cut injections to remind me of those fertility days). And last but not least, according to my stats, somebody discovered my blog by searching ‘extraordinary boobs’. Whoever found my blog by searching for this, all I can say is: great search terms (I wimped out after Googling it and sizing up the main subject matter) and I am sorry that I really don’t have extraordinary boobs. They are certainly not ordinary, but I am not sure that is what you were after!

Here’s a piccie of me in the unit ‘copping a feel’ (albeit not exactly going for a full grab) to show my support for the wonderful charity Coppafeel (click here), which was set up by a wonderful women called Kris, who was diagnosed with Stage four (advanced breast cancer) at the age of 23. Her mission is to make sure young women are more aware of their boobs, completing those regular checks that could just save their lives. It’s a simple and powerful message, and one I am going to help her spread over the coming months and years.

I may be nibbling my ginger cookies at a rapid rate to tackle the nausea inside me, but I think, as days go, it was a goodie. Let’s just hope I don’t have to make friends with my old washing-up bowl again tonight!

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I hope you’ve all had a good day!

 

Breast cancer lesson number 44: Living with cancer doesn’t just mean being treated for it

It’s official. I am being stalked by cancer. It is not enough for me to be diagnosed with the illness. Everywhere I go, I am bombarded with adverts, campaigns and television plot storylines. I can’t even go on Facebook without seeing the latest no make-up selfie. I keep asking myself has it always been this prevalent? The answer is probably yes. I just wasn’t looking.

Have you ever found that when you learn about something new, you suddenly find yourself seeing it everywhere? For me, it started with a train journey after biopsy day. Suddenly, it seemed every carriage brought with it a message about cancer. After I was diagnosed, I felt like every advert break on TV was talking to me in some way. Is it strange that the first film I watch on returning home from hospital ends up with a bit of cancer at the end? Is it stranger that the book my mum was reading at the time took a turn towards breast cancer halfway through? Even the TV soap Eastenders decided to get in on the action – just as Hayley was saying her goodbyes on Coronation Street.

Interestingly, I am not alone. Apparently I am experiencing what is known as ‘frequency illusion’ or the Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon. What this means is that while you think you are seeing things more often, it is likely that whatever it is you’re seeing has been there all along. A lot of discussion on this subject surrounds the discovery of things that you’ve never heard of before (a town name or a song title for example).Ok, I appreciate cancer isn’t new to me. But, until 17 January, it was a generic term to describe a serious illness in different parts of the body. I have known loved ones who have been affected by it, but I wasn’t being reminded of it every day. My cancer radar is now in overdrive. Trust me, if there is a cancer story out there, I am probably going to be drawn to it.

With cancer constantly beating a drum in my head, I have been truly touched by the stories of those undergoing treatment and the way in which people have chosen to raise awareness. Only last night was I watching an inspirational BBC3 programme Kris: Dying to live about Coppafeel founder Kris Hallenga. Diagnosed at 23 with stage IV breast cancer, she has had to learn to live each day with cancer as her boss. Now 28, I think she’s doing a pretty amazing job. Then you have Lisa Lynch. Soon to be made famous in a TV programme with Sheridan Smith playing Lisa, the dark humour in her book The C Word really moved me. While she may have lost her battle (after being originally diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer), her story lives on through her words. She will continue to inspire those going through treatment and becoming all-too-familiar with hospital corridors!

The truth is, cancer is everywhere. It affects us all. One in three people will get it in their lifetime. Cancer stories move us because they’re real. They’re being played out in your next door neighbour’s house, in your extended family, at work or, even worse, at home. We are all living with cancer and the more stories that can be told, the more awareness we can raise and the more comfort we can bring to those facing the illness.

As an aside, you may be wondering why I haven’t done a no make-up selfie yet. Initially troubled by the whole concept (my blog is positive not political hence the radio silence), I was delighted to see how much money it raised. I have donated about three times already and am storing up my selfie for when my hair falls out (I don’t really wear make-up, so it would just be a picture of me currently, and nobody needs to see that). That is the true face of cancer and I’m afraid no amount of make-up will ever really conceal its effects (a good wig, yes, but more on that after wig shopping)!

Cancer, I’d like to think one day you will just be another zodiac sign. But until then, I say bring it on (not more disease, just stories)! I would like to be stalked. I want everyone to know just how mean you are. I also want everyone to know that while you do so much harm to this world, destroying lives and ripping families apart, you have inadvertently created millions of strong, beautiful and inspiring people. You should be recognised for your contribution to the arts, the amount of amazing words and films for which you are responsible.

Yes, it would be great to think we could live in a world without cancer plotlines. But, while there is cancer, I want to be moved and touched by each and every one.