Something that gives a sense of joy or safety. For example, hugging your pet or watching a beautiful sunset.
I notice glimmers a lot now. I have always appreciated time spent watching the clouds or drawing, or anything that gives me some peace or joy. But now, with my days limited, I see the little treasures more easily because I can’t take them for granted anymore.
Autumn is my favourite season. Partly beacause the heat and headache-inducing brightness of summer is over, and partly because nature is so beautiful as it prepares for another season of death and cold in the Winter.
I breathe in the cool clean air and stamp on crunchy red and yellow leaves. The conkers, blackberries and apples appear. Sunny, frosty days are the best. Night time is great for snuggling in blankets with hot chocolate and a book.
God reminded me today, though nature, that sometimes the season of waiting for death can be the most precious.
I don’t know how many Autum days I have left to enjoy. But I am glad that I have today.
After my diagnosis in July, I did not Google the life expectancy for my type of cancer; stage 4 metastatic breast cancer spread to the spine; as I would rather not know. Anyway, everyone is different and I am praying and hoping for miraculous healing.
But, I have been told that some people live 10 years of good quality life after diagnosis. I have also heard that 3 years is the average life expectancy.
Macmillan’s website confirms that some people live for several years, while the average is only 2 years! Two years… my daughter will only be 12 then. Which teenage girl can succeed without a mother? My son will probably be at uni. Will he be able to finish his course? Will my husband Mike be isolated after the kids have left home?
But, my oncologist said that I should be able to survive for ‘several’ years; that is dependent on my being able to stick to my (previously horrific) initial treatment plan, which now includes a newly discovered ‘wonder’ drug that shows good outcomes.
However, if I get half the side effects that I had on the drugs after my primary diagnosis, then I will not be able to cope with the treatment for more than a few months.
I have always believed that quality of life (incl. peace, some joy and being able to make happy memories with my kids) is more important than dragging my years out in some shadowy existence where I try desperately to not be consumed by extreme anxiety, anger and all-encompasing misery. It’s not a lot of fun.
In a (rather pathetic) act of hope, I have bought myself a 5 year journal. If I write in it every day, then I need to live for at least 5 years, right?
Having struggled to write a journal since my son’s death 4 years ago, this is a big step for me. Before that, I was fairly prolific since childhood. But only having a tiny amount of space to write in each day is so freeing, and sometimes I wish there was more space. 🙂
It feels good to carry out this tiny act of faith. And also my kids will be able to read it after my death, and find out what a boring person I really am. I know that I should write them both letters and diary entries about memories with them too, but at the moment that feels like too much pressure.
Although I am not afraid of dying, I am worried about abandoning my kids when they are so young, and my husband, who is so disabled by long covid. Who will remember to buy the milk when we run out and send birthday cards and gifts when I am gone?
There is a long list of things that I want to do while I am still physically able. But having limited money and energy makes it hard. I am not sure what I want to prioritise. I want to be selfish and buy books and art supplies, but also spend time with my family and give the kids some treats and happy memories before they become bereaved for a second time.
I want to go back to work soon, partly for normality and because I love the job, and partly because we need the money. But I can imagine how exhausted I will be then, so art and fun will be pushed to the side while I fight to keep going with work, housework, parenting, caring, life admin, treatment side-effects and becoming more poorly over time. It’s like a complicated puzzle, trying to fit all of the pieces together.
I hate puzzles: no matter how much you struggle to solve them, the outcome has already decided by someone else. And you probably lose a vital piece along the way.
“It is not death that a man should fear, but rather he should fear never beginning to live.”
I am generally a pretty calm and content person. I don’t spend a huge amount of time afraid, but recently have been worrying about many things.
My metastatic (secondary and therefore terminal) cancer treatment starts soon. Drawing about and ranking my fears has been helpful. Here is the current list, with biggest fear first.
Treatment side effects.
Paralysis.
Pain.
Death.
Future.
Money.
Burden.
Loneliness.
Boredom.
Mike and the kids are not a fear, but I do fear for them, more than myself. Especially when I become very ill and eventually die.
If you can pray, please pray for us? Thanks.
PS: Please don’t tell me to not be anxious. That is extremely unhelpful and judgemental. It also shows that you just don’t get it. Thanks. 🙂
A few weeks ago, my GP said that a recent stomach CT scan that I had showed some odd changes in my right lung: the scan just happened to pick up the bottom of my lungs. This was a suspected lymph node infection. Problems with lymph nodes are a red flag in cancer survivors (I had stage 3 breast cancer in 2015.)
I am grateful to a radiologist who noticed this and suggested that I be referred for a chest CT for a better look at my lungs.
The chest CT showed the small change in my right lung, but also cancer in my T3 vertebrae (between my shoulders) in my spine.
The change in my lung may be just the infection, or another cancerous site. The area is not really big enough to biopsy. The do not want to do a spinal biopsy, because they are dangerous and painful.
An MRI scan confirmed the cancer in my spine. I had a full body PET scan yesterday, which will show if I have any other cancer in my body and if there is an easier site to biopsy.
As the original cancer has now moved to my spine, this is called stage 4, or metastatic cancer. This is not a curable disease, but they can treat it, possibly for many years, if my body tolerates it and the treatment keeps working. I will have cancer for the rest of my life.
My oncologist warned me years ago that someone with my age at primary diagnosis (early 30s) and the type of cancer that I had, as well as its speed of growth meant that my life expectancy was below 50 years of age.
So this is not a shock to me.
I do not feel afraid to die.
I feel worried for my kids possibly losing a mum so young. There is a chance that I will live for many more years though.
I feel sad for Mike who is very disabled by long covid, and so cut off from friends and many of his old sources of support. He can’t just meet up with a friend for a drink or go for a day out, or even get to church. Many people have moved on and forgotten about him.
My cancer is not pressing on my spinal cord, so I am not in need of immediate treatment.
Update:
Most of my friends and family already know about this, but thought that I should put it on my blog too. I know that many people who I don’t personally know, have followed my blog since my initial primary diagnosis in 2015.
The PET scan revealed that I have cancer in two vertebrae: one in the T3, between my shoulder blades, that I already knew about; and the C7, which is in my neck. Thankfully, both are stable and there is no spread to other organs yet.
I start treatment soon and am very worried about it. The side effects can be absolutely awful, but I need to stick to it as long as I can. I would like to see my daughter reach 18, even attend her graduation from university ceremony one day, if I can dare to hope to live that long. And one of my life goals since I was a kid has always been to meet my grandchildren. That seems a little unrealistic at the moment.
Just another blog 