Breast cancer lesson 128: An arm without a PICC line is a wonderful thing

On July 19, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn ChemotherapyLeave a comment

Tonight is a momentous occasion. Tonight is the first night since 31 March that I will be able to shower without a plastic radioactive-style sleeve covering the best part of my left arm (see below for a reminder of my recent shower style). Tonight is the night my arm gets lathered in something other than alcoholic swabs and Cavlon. And, most importantly, tonight is the night I get another step closer to the normality I so desperately crave. And, you know what? I think it might just be the most exciting shower of my entire life!

Apart from a hard bit of, I guess, scar tissue, surrounding the entry site, the area is already healing well. Gone is the dry skin and going are the blisters and the sticky plaster residue. I thought I’d be walking round with the feeling that something is missing. In truth, the memory of the plastic tubing, the clip and the valve stopping the blood leaking out has already started to fade. I love my body’s amazing ability to forget.

We’ve had some good times (namely stress-free chemo sessions) and some not-so-good times (saline flushes and heart palpitations come to mind). But, I have to say, we’ve had a fairly uneventful relationship (I often forgot it was there) and the advantages have more than outweighed the disadvantages!

Tonight is also the night I hoover up the last of my steroids. That’s means an end to the crazy highs, swollen hamster cheeks, water retention and unfair weight gain. Woohoo! The only downside? The house might not be as tidy for a while.

Who needs alcohol, when I have the opportunity to enjoy a lukewarm shower and feel the water trickle over ALL my weary limbs? Us chemo bods sure know how to celebrate! I’d say ‘let our hair down’, but there isn’t much of that!

I may be some gone for some time… 🙂

Breast cancer lesson 127: If you can take on chemo, you can take on life. Take that chemo and take that cancer!

On July 18, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Baking, Chemotherapy, HappinessLeave a comment

I did it! By which I mean, successfully carried a really heavy sugar pill-covered cake through the city crowds to the cancer day unit, presented it to the team before presenting high blood pressure (due to the fact the cuff was on my leg), took one last dose of Docetaxel, ate a lolly, drank some tea and, most importantly, had my PICC line out and was disconnected from the saline flush for the last time.

In many ways, although brilliant, it is a strange sort of day. I am celebrating because the poisoning is over, but I still have a good three weeks of side effects (probably even longer) to go before I can start reclaiming my body. I can’t really drink alcohol and am pretty exhausted from a sleepless night due to heat, hot flushes, thunder and lightning and general excitement. I am happy, but I’m not exactly ready to paint the town red.

The cake and the ‘last chemo’ sign brought with it a celebratory atmosphere. The nurse started showing all the staff (including the chief nurse), my PICC flush lady popped in for a visit, and I even got to see my complementary therapist for a good chat. Everyone wanted a picture of the 450 pills – and I just wanted them to enjoy it before the buttercream seeped through the fondant icing. It had already started to resemble a boob in shape rather than a straight-sided cake! Apt you might say.

The highlight for me wasn’t hearing the chemo pump beep for the last time, however, but watching the PICC line wiggle its way out of my arm leaving me with nothing but a hole and a lot of dry skin. Here’s the PICC removal in action (just to show you how long it actually is). I was surprised it was a) so quick and painless and b) didn’t involve me lying down on some sort of couch. It was just whipped out in front of everyone in the bay!

How do you celebrate the unofficial, please-don’t-drink yet, end of the chemo you ask? Well, with a walk along the river and a lovely lunch at my favourite pub, The Cutty Sark. Fishcakes and lemon posset later, and we’re now hiding from the searing heat drinking tea in the living room. I may even treat myself to a little rest.

There is just one last three-week cycle, eight more immunity-boosting injections, 12 more steroids, two more Emend tablets, 20 Domperidone pills, 21 Fluconazole tablets, 32 Co-codamol pills and ad hoc Omeprazole to go before radiotherapy. I just hope the side effects are kind – especially now I don’t have easy access to my veins.

Chemo, you have taken a pretty huge chunk out of 2014. It’s time for me to take control.

Might just have a little sleep first…

Breast cancer lesson 126: The most memorable moments in life are the ones you never planned

On July 17, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Baking, Chemotherapy1 Comment

Ok, so I have slightly gone off-piste with the last cycle and veered away from ginger-related baked goods. But, given tomorrow is the last day I will have to watch chemotherapy drugs being pumped into my veins, I think it calls for something a little bit special.

Little did my wonderful mum know when she met me at the hospital yesterday, that she’d be spending the best part of Thursday rolling fondant icing to help me make sugar pills! Each one of what must be more than 450 drug-shaped pieces is representative of the pill-fuelled journey that is chemo. From Steroids and Omeprazole to Domperidone, Emend, Fluconazole, Ondansetron, Clonidine, and Co-codamol (no to mention the obvious liquid drugs being pumped in), I think my body has no idea what normal is. If, in fact, there is to be a normal once more.

All I can say is, these pills had better taste nicer than Domperidone!

I have always liked to think of cake as having a rather medicinal quality. I think this is certainly the closest I’ll get to making it look that way and putting fuel into that argument!

After four months of poisoning, the last day of chemo is a big day (both physically and psychologically). Of course, it is not the official last day of chemo (which is Friday 8 August), but rather the last poisoning. Knowing that every day after tomorrow will be one day closer to a life without heart palpitations, bone pain, nail pain, muscle pain, a lack of taste, hair loss, dizziness, headaches, sickness, nausea, fatigue, injections, pills and, of course, toxic liquid infusions, is a wonderful feeling. So exciting, in fact, I have barely slept in days!

I have learned a lot over these last few months about surviving a chemo cycle. I have Ribena at the ready for when water tastes horrendous. I have frozen smoothie ice lollies and extra strong mints for a low-calorie sugar kick when the taste buds disappear altogether. I am armed with packets of Emend and Fluconazole to avoid the sickness from cycle two and the throat infection from cycle four. I have Difflam for mouth ulcers. I have a bran-based breakfast planned to avoid the Senna. I have a rainbow of nail varnish for those blackening nails. I have my mum to help me through the ‘emptiness’ days. And, I have a huge smile, which is probably my biggest weapon! Whatever this round is prepared to throw at me, I am ready.

I never thought I would be celebrating the end of chemo. I never thought I’d get cancer. I never thought I would cover a cake in hundreds of fondant tablets and capsules. But, I have. And I am a lot stronger – and stickier – for it.

The 18 July 2014 is not a day I will ever forget. And, I fully intend to enjoy it! Let’s hope the cake doesn’t melt before I get there!

Breast cancer lesson 125: Active treatment is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer you get to the end, the faster it goes

On July 16, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Radiotherapy2 Comments

Today was a big day. One last weigh-in. One last meeting with the oncology nurse (who loved her pink heart). One last chemo blood test. One last trip to the hospital pharmacy. And, one whistle-stop tour through the world of radiotherapy with an oncologist, my mum and two work experience students.

For me, the word radiotherapy means end. Yes, I will have to take hormone therapy drug Tamoxifen for ten years. But, when I walk out of the hospital on the last day of radio, active treatment will be officially over. And, just knowing that that day is no longer a day buried far in the future, is a fantastic feeling.

Radiotherapy is radiation treatment, designed to damage the body’s cells in a specific area. In my case, there are two specific areas. One is the chest wall and the other is the area above the collarbone where more of my lymph nodes are currently hiding. The two treatments are going to be run side by side, which means only 15 days of blasting! WOOHOO!

It does feel in many ways that they are saving the best treatment for last. For starters, the PICC line is coming out on Friday, so there won’t be any drugs involved. Secondly, the list of side effects is contained to one sheet (I think the seven-page chemo consent form will be imprinted on my memory for life). The main side effects are skin reactions and tiredness, both of which I would take tomorrow if it meant I could taste, sleep and not have to watch toxic drugs travel through a tube into my veins.

There are, of course, a number of other less common side effects that can present themselves even years afterwards. These include breast swelling, chest tenderness, the creation of scar tissue, rib fracture, breathlessness and, yes, more cancer (extremely rare as you can imagine). But, the benefits (risk of recurrence reduced by two thirds) make the risks more than worthwhile.

The appointment was an interesting one, with everything explained in full for the benefit of the two work experience students (and me of course). We started by talking through the treatment, the fact I have to have a planning session with a CT scan and some tattoos (the rebel I am!), followed by a ten-day wait before treatment can start. We then tested out the radiotherapy position (basically arms in the air) and had a good look at the area. The oncologist was very complimentary about my new boob (thankfully this part of the appointment wasn’t open to the 16-year-olds!). She even thought I was looking pretty symmetrical! I’ll take that!

No course of cancer treatment would be complete without the obligatory ‘banned’ list. And, unsurprisingly, there are a few comforts on there that are about to be taken away (should be used to it by now). Here’s a quick run down:

1)     No hot water when washing and no long soaks in the bath (that’s a shame now I have learned how to blow up my inflatable bath pillow)
2)     No shower gel, bath oils or bubble bath in treatment area (lovely!)
3)     No rubbing with a towel (ok, patting it is)
4)     No talcum powder (no real loss)
5)     No shaving under the arm (there’s no hair there anyway at the moment!)
6)     No perfumed moisturiser on the area (Doublebase or E45 is recommended)
7)     No tight-fitting clothing (what will I do with all those boob tubes J)
8)     No under-wired, lacy or tight bras (surgery sorted that out long ago)
9)     No swimming (the opening of the Olympic pool so close to my house still hurts me)
10) No sun exposure for a YEAR (probably a good thing given my tendency to go red just looking at the sun)
11) No hot water bottles (I think I should be ok in August!)

One radiotherapy planning appointment, one CT scan, three tattoos and 15 blasts of radiotherapy stand between me and the end of active treatment (please note the distinct lack of needles or scary tubes). That is, once I have navigated a little thing called THE LAST CHEMO on Friday! Wish me luck!

Breast cancer lesson number 124: Happiness is ticking off those appointments!

On July 15, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness, Zoladex1 Comment

Today, I looked down the end of the giant Zoladex needle for the last time. That means no more hospital trips, no more holes in my left side (it’s like my very own constellation down there) and, in just four weeks, NO MORE MENOPAUSAL SYMPTOMS (unless Tamoxifen decides life is just too boring without them).

I remember the oncologist joking about it being a useful dress rehearsal for the real menopause. You can tell my oncologist is a man :-). Trust me, there is no reason why any woman would wish to experience a hot flush before being forced into having one. Before active treatment started, I had not even given the menopause a second of my attention. Now, the very thought of going through this again for an extended period makes me want to run for the hills!

As I mentioned in lesson number 78, it does seem apt that the drug designed to shut down my ovaries to protect my fertility causes sleepless nights. I already have a huge amount of sympathy for new parents – just without the dirty nappies! All I hope is that the implant has done its job (the effectiveness of the drug for use in this way is still being examined) and that the giant needles will be replaced with not-so-giant periods in due course.

As you would probably expect, this momentous occasion was the subject of today’s ‘100 happy days project’ post on Facebook (I’m already up to day 21). For those of you not on Facebook, here’s a quick rundown of the first 20. You can also read more about the project by clicking here. It really is a great way to pick out a smile from every day and I do encourage you all to have a go if you haven’t already.

Day 1

These beautiful flowers, given to me over a cup of peppermint tea this morning, remind me of a lovely few lone-overdue hours spent with a friend. My friend said to me: ‘life is not about waiting for something big to happen. Life is all around, waiting to be lived.’ Thought it was a beautiful and apt message for the project. If I am allowed two, I have also just been sent a lovely e-card with the following quote in it: ‘You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself: “I lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.”’ I think it would be fair to say, I do enjoy a good quote! Hope you are finding happiness in your days!

Day 2

I decided to go off piste at the hospital and try and vanilla yoghurt shake instead of a breakfast tea. It was so delicious and certainly something to look forward to on a trip there. I also handed out two more of my pink hearts today (one to my physio and one to the lady who gives me massages at the cancer unit). I love writing out the accompanying cards and thinking of all the different ways in which that person has touched my life. NB: I have only handed out seven so far, and have many many more to go, so don’t worry if I have seen you and not given you one. They take a while to write. If you want to read more about my pink hearts campaign, visit: http://bit.ly/1nHsc4w

Day 3

Chemo day can be a happy day! Just two rounds to go. Ginger cookies baked for the cancer unit, experimental lemon and ginger muffins ready for sampling too and some jelly babies and lollies for mum and me! Smiling. Hope you find a small pleasure to raise a smile today! J xx

Day 4

Back at my family home for a wedding (on chemo day 2 no less)! Have just dug out my GCSE art book to remind me why I have always wanted to work in the creative industries. It sits in my bedside table at home and I get it out every time I stay. It always raises a smile! Possessions such as this are priceless. Packed with memories. Hope you are having a happy day. J x

Day 5

Today, the beautiful Hanne (pictured here) would have turned 33. Sadly, however, she lost her life in the Oslo bombings and I only found out about it last year while making a long overdue visit to her Facebook page. I am celebrating her birthday today because she was a real free spirit and a beautiful person who brought sunshine into the lives of the people she met. She loved life and I only wish she had lived to see more of it. The way in which I found out about her death showed me just how important it is to touch base with people outside the wonders of social media and remember the people who mean the world to me. Thank you Hanne for teaching me the importance of friendship. I hope you are still smiling, wherever you are. Much love, Jackie x

Day 6

I have always been a bit of a winter person (scarves, hats, gloves, Christmas, mulled wine etc). But since getting a garden and discovering the joys of growing, I have really started to see the beauty in all seasons. Fresh garlic is the latest bit of produce to find its way out of the soil and into our kitchen. I can’t wait to use it.

Day 7

What does every cancer patient fighting fatigue need? A copy of Games of Thrones, that’s what. I have been saving it up for the right moment and now (thanks Claire Sargent for the loan) that moment is here. It is so important to have something to look forward to in life – even if that something is a little on the gory side. I may be gone for some time! Hope you are having a happy day. J x

Day 8

For me, the joy of baking lies not in eating cake fresh from the oven but in licking the bowl! Have just made a light ginger cake to try and distract myself from dizzy spells and this syrupy goodness (or not so goodness) was a real treat. J x

Day 9

It may not look like much, but this little but of paper, which now contains the date of my last PICC line flush, has a very special place in my heart. For me, it reinforces the fact that, whatever race you are running, there will always be a finish line. And, every finish line, however small, is worth celebrating. It may be a small stage in a longer race, but it is a sign the end is in sight. When you see the finish line you know you’ve been running in the right direction all along. So, there is just one thing left to do. Keep running.

Day 10

This is our Agapanthus, which until very recently was without a single bud (it had three last year). We discussed repotting it or planting it in a bed to make it flower, but ended up just moving it across the decking. As you can see, it now has 16 buds and they have started to come out today. When I look at this plant I think about just how important it is to give things time and be patient. Some things just take time. There’s a lot to be said for the phrase: ‘good things come to those who wait’. We won’t have to wait much longer! Have a happy day. J x

Day 11

Thanks to a wonderful friend, I am now the proud owner of the word ‘happy’ for one whole year. This kind gesture not only makes me smile the widest of smiles, it also supports the wonderful charity I CAN, which helps children communicate. Thoughtful friends are one of life’s most precious gifts and I feel truly blessed to have so many by my side. Thank you. J x

Day 12

Old friends, tea and ice cream. Perfect Sundays are made of this. Catching up on seven years! Great friends are like stars. You don’t always have to see them, to know they are there. Here’s to many more Sundays just like this. Hope you are having a great day. X

Day 13

This little garden scene at Eltham Palace is a short drive from my house and it has taken two years of living in the area for me to drive out and see it. Often when we live somewhere we don’t appreciate the beauty and the little details that exist right on our doorsteps. We are never tourists in our own back yard. But why travel when you can find your own slice of happiness a few steps (or miles) away! Happy exploring! J x

Day 14

Since being diagnosed with Breast Cancer, I have tried to make every day count and smile through this life-changing disease. Writing to help others (and myself) has been a massive part of that, so I was delighted when Breast Cancer Care asked me to become a regular blogger. Here’s my first post (just published)

http://www.breastcancercare.org.uk/news/blog/vita-bloggers/jackie
I have also spent the day being photographed for a magazine feature about smiling through cancer. Here’s me with new eyelashes, proper make-up and some cookies I baked earlier . I have never been in front of a camera in this way before, so am a bit scared about seeing the feature.
I hope, through my writing, I will be able to help more people smile through cancer. J x

Day 15

This little car and I have been together for 15 years. She got me to my A-level exams and she is still transporting me all round the country. She may be old and undesirable but that makes her really desirable in my book (especially on London roads). I am happy today because I have managed to get a really good deal on my car insurance renewal. Another reason to love this little blue bundle of unleaded-fuelled joy. Thank you little car. J x

Day 16

While I have embraced the wonders of the digital age (a bit), for me there is nothing quite as exciting as receiving a bit of post through the door. I have just opened this beautiful card with alliums on the front (selected because they are my favourite flower). It has brought a huge smile to my face. The words also, are beautiful. I won’t share it all, but the amazing sender writes that she (through illness) has: ‘learnt the value of ‘being’ rather than ‘doing’ as well as appreciating so many little things in life.’ She adds: ‘you are being given the opportunity to learn things that so many people miss as lives are so full of busyness.’ She is so right. Happiness isn’t about getting what you want. It’s about making the best of what you have and being grateful for it.

Day 17

Strangely Justgiving has stopped sending me emails when people donate, so imagine my surprise when I logged on just now to find I had received even more support. I am so humbled by all the kindness I have experienced over the last six months and can’t thank you enough. With your message, likes, cards, hugs, donations, flowers, chocolate, paperclips and love, you have given me so much strength. The 10k is on Sunday and, for me, it is a massive milestone. When I signed up, I thought it would take every last little bit of strength to get to the start line. My medical team think I am bit bonkers wanting to run a race with dodgy hips and chemo drugs in my bloodstream, but I want to do this for everyone who has every had to hear the words ‘cancer’ and get up day after day to face the rollercoaster that is active treatment. I wanted it to be hard and I know it will be. And I want every step to matter. I will cross that finish line on Sunday thinking of you all. Kindness is the best currency there is. Thank you for making me feel like the luckiest person alive. J x As a side note, I have also just had a wonderful day with a friend and her beautiful baby. I didn’t take a piccie although it made me very happy indeed!

Day 18

There are two things making me particularly happy today. The first is the fact that I have just put out two window boxes full of marigolds Duncan grew from seed. Last year, somebody stole one of our window boxes. At the time, it upset me, but by moving them up to the first floor, we are fighting back. This is my small way of saying to the world, sometimes you try to take things away, but I will always find a route through to happiness. The second is the fact we have just spotted a tomato growing out of the drain at the back of our garden. I think we could all learn a lot from nature. Nature doesn’t give up. It just finds a way. It’s like a weed growing through a crack in the pavement. If obstacles are put in its path, it just creates a new one. Here’s to nature! J x

Day 19

I am delighted to report team small boobs, big smiles have all crossed the finish line. 9k jog/running an 1k walking not bad for a lady with no hair, dodgy hips and chemo in the system. Thanks so much to all those who sponsored us. Feeling so humbled due to all the support and a little bit proud. One massive finish line crossed, just a few more to go!

Day 20

This may look like an ordinary glass of water, but it is, in fact, very special indeed. That’s not because it comes from a special spring or bottle. It is straight out of the fridge and it is the first glass of water in about four months that I can actually TASTE! The simple pleasures in life are the best! Brief respite before I lose my taste buds all over again.

May your days be as happy as they are long!

Breast cancer lesson number 123: Take the first step and see just how far you can go

On July 14, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Charity, Chemotherapy, Exercise and breast cancer1 Comment

If you want a reminder of all that is good in the world, then you just need to visit London on a day when the streets are packed with charity runners, not commuters and cars. Yesterday, I, along with Duncan and three friends, took to the city streets to do our bit for Breast Cancer Care. I had convinced myself we’d be touring the landmarks and stretching our legs. In truth, it was a whole lot harder than that.

Having only done the 5k Race for Life many many years ago, I had forgotten just how inspiring and amazing a crowd of runners and spectators can be. Running with my close friend Fran, I was overwhelmed by the kindness of those around us. I thought the spectators would give us a lift (which they did), but I had no idea the runners would be quite so encouraging. We were tapped, squeezed, blessed, thanked, congratulated and applauded. At one point, I was even kissed by a fellow runner, which was slightly disconcerting and astonishing. I thought I was going to trip with the shock of it all and I did well up on more than one occasion.

I am delighted to say that we jog/ran about 9km of the route and walked the other 1km. At times it was exhausting (at 3km I thought I’d never make 7km let alone the full 10km), at times my hips were hurting (thankfully, my body is back to normal today so no harm done) and, at times I felt like the tank was pretty much empty (even though I had had breakfast and a trusty banana). But, just thinking about all the amazing support, friends, and those waking up to face cancer every day, kept me focused and got me over the finish line.

The moment we crossed the finish line is a moment I will never forget. It wasn’t graceful and I can’t say I had a massive spurt at the end. It was special, however, because it marked the end of a journey that, at times during chemo, I thought I would never complete. It was my mountain and I’d climbed it. It feels amazing to have raised money for a worthwhile cause (between us we’re up to about £3,000 in sponsorship) and achieved something for myself at such a difficult time.

I am glad to report the legs, PICC line and heart are still in tact and the head feels refreshed after all that rain. It was hard. But would I do it again? Absolutely. Just maybe not tomorrow!

To top it off, I got home to find a wonderful friend had sent me a book all about running to inspire me to keep going. It was perfectly timed and is something I will both enjoy reading and treasure forever.

So thank you for your messages of encouragement, your tips, your sponsorship money, your Facebook likes and your unwavering support. Thanks to the amazing small boobs, big smiles team for running a great race and joining me on the course. Thanks to all the kind strangers who gave us a boost with their words of encouragement (and kisses). Thanks to Breast Cancer Care for being a superb motivator. Thanks to my trainers for not giving up even though they’ve seen better days. And thanks to my body for going the distance. There were times when I thought I wouldn’t make it (I had my acute oncology card in by back pocket just in case). But, I am so happy I did!

If you’re hesitating over filling out an entry form or worried about whether or not your trainers will make it round a course in one piece, I would urge you to apply for something soon. It was such an amazing discipline and gave me a reason to get out of bed every single day (even when the pain was willing me to stay under the duvet). It has been great for the mind – and the weight management. And, it is the reason I have been smiling for the last 24 hours.

You don’t have to be fast to call yourself a runner. You just have to try and take that first step. Yesterday I was runner among a field of amazing runners. And, all I can think about now is when can I do it all over again?

If you have any suggestions for my next challenge, please let me know. And, if you fancy joining me, you know where I am!

Breast cancer lesson number 122: It’s not the finish that matters. It’s the fact you had the courage to start

On July 12, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Charity, Chemotherapy, Exercise and breast cancer1 Comment

I have just been safety-pinning my race number to my running top and arranging meeting times with friends and, I have to confess, I am so excited about tomorrow’s 10k.

Funnily enough, this feeling has little to do with the race itself. Reaching the start line alone will mean more to me than registering a time. That’s because, when I signed up for the race months ago, I never thought I’d make it.

Up until I started training, I had never run more than a 5k. I did the Race for Life many years ago and it was enough to give me the groin strain that eventually landed me on the operating table having major hip surgery in 2007. I think it is fair to say I don’t have runner’s legs (or runner’s anything for that matter). And, I think from the looks given to me by my medical team, trying to develop them when your body is being systematically destroyed and rebuilt with chemo drugs, is a pretty odd thing to do.

For a runner, 10k is a bit of lunchtime exercise. For me, it’s a marathon uphill on cobbles with no trainers. Just training for it, however, has given me strength, confidence, a reason to get out of bed and, most importantly of course, slightly better thighs :-). Running (by which I mean jog/walking, but running sounds better) has been my lifeline and my motivator. It has given me space to think, dedicated me time, the justification to eat a few treats and the energy and strength to kick cancer out of the park. Put simply, running has made me happy.

When I submitted my entry, I remember thinking this run (if I get there) will be a fantastic way to celebrate the end of chemo. I cannot believe this run is tomorrow. Every step will be on step closer to the end of active treatment (which I am hoping will be the end of September). Tomorrow’s finish line isn’t the real aim. It’s the finish line at the end of radiotherapy that I am aiming for. I know running will get me there.

When I stand on the start line tomorrow I won’t just be thinking about how far I have come (both physically and emotionally). Tomorrow, I will be running for my life and for the lives of all those who have been affected by cancer.

Knowing that I will have close friends by my side, who have gone out of their way not just to train, but to raise money too, means everything. And knowing that I have received so much amazing support from friends and family will give me the motivation to put one foot in front of the other, when it gets tough. (For anyone worried about this from a medical perspective, I promise to run my own race and take it steady!) Thank you from the bottom of my heart for believing in me, giving me a reason to battle the bone pain, and helping me raise money for such a superb cause.

They say happiness in life comes from achievement with purpose. I think that’s pretty accurate. I would urge anyone trying to get fit – or just get out of bed every day – to set themselves a challenge that means something to them. It could just be a really small thing, but it might be that that small thing makes the biggest difference in your life. Trust me, if I can run around the streets of London with chemo drugs in my body, you can face your fears.

So, whatever it is you are doing at 9.35am tomorrow, spare a thought for Duncan and Rob (who are running through injuries to support the cause), Emily and Fran (who are mothers challenging themselves and helping a friend) and me (the girl with no hair who decided to make every day count not so long ago). I must also mention my physio who is running the race too. I hope we all get to the finish line in one piece, but I am just so happy that we will be standing on the start line together.

Whatever challenge you set, may it be rewarding and life-enhancing. I wish you every success.

Breast cancer lesson number 119: Do more of what makes you happy

On July 8, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness4 Comments

Thank you. Thank you for following, liking, commenting, clicking, finding me by typing ‘boobs cycle door’ and ‘boob bald’ (yes really!) into Google and joining me on my cancer journey now and again. Thank you, because by reading not just this post, but the thousands of words that have come before, you have given me the confidence to write again and a reason to smile.

When I set out on my travels through active treatment, I was determined to do more of what I love. And, by blogging about everything from leeches to dark nail polish, I have done just that. But, for me, this blog has been much more than a playground for positivity and a chance to reflect on my time in hospital. It has helped me rediscover all that is beautiful in the world and indulge my passion for creativity. Cancer tried to take my life away, but has (inadvertently) through inspiring me to blog and celebrate life, actually given it back. And things look even brighter than before.

Cancer has taught me to do the things that make me happy. And that is something I wish for you too (happiness, not cancer that is). I have a new to-do list packed with positive things and it is a real joy to tick off each one. Life has a habit of getting in the way and filling our days with its endless admin. But, take a step back, work out what it is that gives you a real boost (usually the thing you do to procrastinate) and I guarantee you’ll be able to find time to do a little more of it (or get started). Go on, I dare you! Life is too short to have a clean cooker and well-filed bills.

I am reading a book at the moment that says: ‘The real source of happiness can be stated in a word: achievement.’ This is something to which I can really relate. Sometimes the sheer thought of hard work or sitting down to complete a task can be enough to send me in the direction of another ‘boring-but-essential’ job (like laundry). But there is no greater feeling than the feeling of having really achieved something – especially when that achievement can actually help someone else. For me, writing is like that. It’s often hard to get started (I do have very clean clothes), but to finish brings me more pleasure than a long soak in the bath or perfectly-formed sponge (although that is admittedly a close second).

Throughout this process, I have wanted to use writing to help people (by which I mean not just other breast cancer patients, but also those seeking to reflect on and improve their lives). I hope I have achieved this in some small way through my blog. I am also delighted to say that Breast Cancer Care has just asked me to become a regular blogger for them, offering tips around a theme for others in my position. My first post on body image has just been published and I feel so thrilled to have the opportunity to try a make a difference. Here’s a link to the feature and I hope you will support me by having a read: http://www.breastcancercare.org.uk/news/blog/vita-bloggers/jackie

I have also been asked to write a few articles about smiling through cancer, which I hope will encourage people to seek out the positives at what is a very challenging and distressing time. Amusingly, I have just spent the day on a shoot for one feature. Little did I think when the hair started to fall that I would actually be welcoming a photographer into my house just three months later to take a shot of my bald head! But today, in my little corner of Greenwich, that’s exactly what happened.

For someone with a history of ‘red eye’ and a face that is currently sporting dry lips, few eyelashes, fading eyebrows and a sun-grilled cheeks, I was pretty worried I wouldn’t quite scrub up. But, the make-up artist, editor and photographer were amazing and so supportive and that’s why I am currently writing this with stuck-on eyelashes and a painted on smile. It makes me laugh that I have managed to spend my entire working life to date in publishing behind the camera (if we overlook a rather strange mock-mugging shot I was in in my first job – oh and the one of me on a motorbike with an oversized jacket). And, it’s only now, with no hair, that I am brave enough to face the lens!

Here’s a sneak peek of the day. I felt so privileged and humbled by the whole experience to be honest. It was also liberating to spend the day with my bald head in full view. I am so grateful to the lovely ladies who took the time to make the whole experience really special.

There was only one downside. I was stroking my head at the end of the session only to discover two lumps sitting there that I hadn’t noticed before. I tried for about 45 minutes to photograph the top of my head to see them and could only make out a bit of redness. Lumps when you’ve been diagnosed with cancer are never a welcome sight. I spent a good few hours feeling them and googling horrendous things and it was amazing just how quickly my happy day filled up with fear. Cancer does that. It enters your life. You fight it. But, no matter how hard you fight, the fear of it returning will live with you forever. Cancer makes it difficult to know what is and isn’t worth paying attention to. And, for someone still going through active treatment and not yet thinking about it coming back, today’s lumps (which I am sure are just bites or spots) are a harsh reminder that as much as I like to think I’m in control, I’m not.

Now I have stopped googling and have convinced myself there is no link between the dizzy spells, the near-fainting episode of last week and today’s lumps, I am smiling once more. That’s because I am writing, because I am picking out the positive parts of each day and because I am choosing to the do the things that make me happy. If anything, the lumpy blip, was the reminder I needed to tell me I’ve got my priorities right.

I have made a promise to myself to keep writing and do more of what I love. And, I hope that you can find the strength, time, energy and determination to follow your dreams too. We, none of us, know what is round the corner, so we owe it to ourselves to get the most out of every day.

Breast cancer lesson number 113: Being strong sometimes means not holding back the tears, but letting them fall

On June 25, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness7 Comments

Today, I took my brave face and my busting-at-the-seams pink notebook – complete with list of side effects from Tax – to the oncology clinic. As I sat there reading them out and describing the last three weeks, however, that brave face quickly fell away.

Knowing that this is the first day of my #100happydays project (you can read lesson 112 here to find out more), you’re probably thinking I’ve had a bit of a false start. But, I have to say that having a good cry in front of my oncology nurse was actually rather liberating.

It’s often hard to successfully describe symptoms when you’re no longer experiencing them. But tears never lie. Reliving the panic I felt the night my temperature spiked teased out those teardrops. Describing just how hard it is to spot the symptoms and determine what is and isn’t serious accounted for more than a few extra drops. And, discovering that my liver may be struggling with the chemo and that they may need to lower to dose to stop it being damaged permanently, certainly increased the flow. (Fingers are crossed for Friday chemo).

For me, these tears were an acknowledgement of the fact cancer has shown me just how fragile life really is. One day you’re just another person trying to decide which kind of breakfast cereal to try. And then all of a sudden you’re a patient with no hair, clutching a thermometer hoping you don’t have a potentially fatal complication. That is, after you’ve got rid of the cancer! Life is fragile and oh so precious. And, having a good cry about that fact made me feel so much better.

I did learn a few interesting facts once I had wiped away the tears. Firstly, when on Tax, the temperature thing is a slight red herring. Not hitting 38 degrees that night was no reason not to call the out-of-hours registrar. If you feel unwell, you need to pick up the phone. I also learned that, as well as lowering the dosage, they can transfer me to a drug called Paclitaxel (on a weekly infusion) to try and lessen the side effects. The prospect of another six chemos instead of two made me resist this option, but it may be something to revisit if chemo five is as brutal as four. I also learned that I should carry tissues more often. NHS paper towels aren’t so kind on the eyes! (Coincidentally, the opportunity to buy some came moments later on the train home when I was approached by a lady selling them to feed her children. Good will and soft tissues works for me.)

Of course, I did find more than a few happy moments to offset the tears. I had a good chat with the nurse about her PHD and how different patients respond to the same information. I had a lovely cup of tea in Greenwich with a thoughtful friend (who bought me such beautiful flowers), received a beautiful e-card from another and have just spent the last few hours eating birthday cake (not constantly I hasten to add) and watching my nephew (to be) stack plastic doughnuts. The icing set nicely on the cake too. In a strange way, being reminded of the fragility of life made me even more grateful for the little details it had to share with me today.

We, none of us, are guaranteed a tomorrow. But that doesn’t mean we should hide our tears today.

There is also no greater smile than the one someone gifts you when you still have tears in your eyes.

Breast cancer lesson number 112: Today is a gift. That’s why they call it the present.

On June 24, 2014August 18, 2014 By Jackie ScullyIn Chemotherapy, Happiness6 Comments

Long before chemotherapy got hold of my veins (back in lesson number 19 to be precise – click here to read), I described happiness as a little moment in time that makes you smile. Happiness is a piece of cake on a cold and rainy day. Happiness is a flower in bloom (with an extra smile if you grow it yourself). Happiness is sitting with a good book in a comfy chair. Happiness is a cup of tea you can taste – and preferably one that doesn’t bring on a hot flush. Happiness can come from nothing and mean everything.

I have calculated that, all being well, I have around 100 days left before I can declare active treatment officially over. And, if I’m honest, it’s getting hard to greet every day with a smile. That’s not because I’m not remaining positive when I can, but I think the sheer volume of appointments, needles and pills and the ever-increasing list of side effects is starting to catch up with me. I can’t look in the mirror without seeing cancer. I can’t look at my hands typing away without seeing cancer. I can’t even look at my diary without seeing cancer. Every night I go to bed hoping for sleep. And every night it eludes me. Every morning I get out of bed wanting to make a difference. And every morning I am reminded of the fact that now is not my time. And, you know what? It really hurts.

I knew there would come a time when I would have to dig deep. My oncologist warned me of this moment. But, before I get out my spade and hit the soil, I would like to try a new tactic. Many people have recommended the 100 happy days project to me (you can read more about it here). And I think, with around 100 days to go, now might be the perfect time to test it out. The idea is simple. By actively seeking out and photographing one thing every day that raises a smile, the project encourages us to enjoy the moment and cherish those little details.

When the next round of bone pain descends, I want to remember the Dahlia flowering in the garden not the next dose of painkillers (although I don’t want to forget them otherwise there would be trouble!). I want to remember the things and the people that transport me far away from the drugs in my bloodstream.

With my next round due on Friday, you might think now is not the time to take the challenge. But I think anything that distracts me from the prospect of injections, muscle aches, taste changes and sore throats can only be a good thing. I believe you can be happy and have bone pain! I don’t want to spend the next 100 days thinking about the life I want. I want to enjoy it now. The big picture is not for now. The small details are what matters.

As a quick dress rehearsal, here is a beautiful cup of flowers that reminds me of a wonderful two hours spent with a friend this morning. For me, this is less a cup of purple flowers and more a representation of my friend. It’s beautiful, it’s thoughtful, it’s bursting with life and it makes me smile.

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#100happydays starts tomorrow on chemo bloods day. I will be posting the photos on Facebook and providing updates on the blog. Question is, are you brave enough to join me (with the project not the blood test you’ll be relieved to hear)? Click here to sign up.

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	Susan on Breast cancer lesson 166: Why…
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Small boobs, big smiles

Tag: happiness and cancer