It’s two years since my diagnosis so this is a reflection on my experience of cancer so far.
A is for antibiotics: when you have cancer nobody cares about resistance or dependence, they throw drugs at you for everything from a cough to constipation. I’ve had both A LOT.
B is for breasts. I had two, now I have one. They fed two wonderful daughters and I quite liked my cleavage. I had three tumours and a lot of cancerous lymph nodes even after chemo in one breast.
C is for ……oh, I can’t remember! Oh yes, chemo brain!
D is for Docetaxel, aka Domestos. This drug left me breathless and bed-bound and I only managed two cycles. Also, the dentist, who checks my jaws aren’t rotting on Denosumab and gives me special toothpaste for my dry mouth.
E is for EC, the Red Devil. This made my hair fall out within a few days and was like the worst hangover ever.
F is for freebies. I signed up for every care kit going and now have more lip balm than Boots. Also, my friends and family, a balm for the soul.
G is for GP. As in, don’t bother, we can’t tell you whether this medicine is compatible with chemo, ask your cancer nurse.
H is for hair, I didn’t look like Meg Ryan with my chemo curls. My head hurt and the wig itched.
I is for injections. In the first week of each chemo cycle my husband woke me up every evening to stick a needle in my stomach. I now have at least two injections every month.
J is for jealousy. You might be jealous of me getting attention, or living when others don’t. I’m jealous of those with a future to plan for.
K is for kids. Mine used to run off with my prosthesis, now they watch me in case I throw up or fall over.
L is for Letrozole. I take this every day to shut down my ovaries. Don’t tell me how great your HRT patch is because oestrogen will kill me.
M is for mets, breast cancer cells which travelled to my hips and spine, stopped in their tracks by medication.
N is for neutrophils, monitored by monthly blood tests to check my immune system can cope with the treatment. Also, nails, mine are ****ed.
O is for oncologist, the second most important man in my life who I actually miss not seeing every month.
P is for prosthesis: I have four fake boobs to choose from each morning, reconstruction isn’t on the cards.
Q is for questions: do I count life expectancy from now or diagnosis? Oh, s*** …
R is for reflexology. Cancer patients are told to try every complementary therapy from cannabis oil to turmeric tablets; this works for me.
S is for steroids. I once took sixteen a day which meant I cleaned lots of cupboards.
T is for tiredness, like I can’t stand up to go to the toilet kind of tiredness.
U is for ulcers. I suffered through a Chinese takeaway: it was totally worth it.
V is for values. Nothing teaches you what matters more than cancer. Love, honesty and courage for starters.
W is for waiting room feet. There’s a special dread sitting at the chemo unit anticipating bad news.
X is for X-ray, CT, PET scan, mammogram, biopsy, ECG, MRI, ultrasound, lung function test, chest port insertion, physio, surgery, radiotherapy, any other lying on your back being prodded experience which has ruined spa treatments for me.
Y is for you look well. If I had a pound for every time someone said this I’d be on my bucket list road trip around America right now, not writing this rubbish. And yet, I do!!
Z is for zzzzzzz, as in I can’t. Sleep. Without the Zopiclone.
These Boobs Were Made For Talking 