The day I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my blood ran cold. I sweated a smell that I have never smelled before. It was acidic and VERY pungent, despite my deodorant. Pure horror/stress kind of stuff as I was only 34.
Straight after exploding my world, they put me in a mammogram machine to assess how bad it was. I felt such shame because I literally stank of shock. So now, every year when I go back, I am transported back to that smell and that moment. It’s terrifyingly visceral.
When the results came in, it was worse than anticipated. I had a 3.4mm tumour and a 1.8mm tumour, both linked with calcifications, and the cancer had already spread to my lymphatic system. This was back in 2018.
Scanxiety
I have my yearly mammogram coming up very soon. The extreme scanxiety for this is very, very real, even though I’ve now been living cancer-free for 7 years. If you know anyone going through the cancer journey, please be kind to them. Offer to make them a cup of tea. If they live alone when they are going through chemo, take some cooked food around and bung it in the freezer for them to reheat if they are having a bad day.
Don’t just text them, do practical things for them, like offer to walk their dog or do their shopping.
A cancer patient hasn’t just ‘been through’ cancer, they’re ‘going through’ it, even if their cancer diagnosis was many moons ago like mine and they’ve been all clear ever since. It’s just a question of perspective, and don’t, please, start telling me about all your relatives who died of cancer when I divulge that I’m feeling anxious about an up and coming scan.
After all, it’s not the scan that I’m worried about; I’m in the process of giving my own mortality a stoic death stare until I get the results. The scan is just the firing pin; it’s waiting for the results that’s keeping me from dreaming of fluffy sheep jumping over fences. Talking about your ghosts is not at all helpful and is likely to cause more of a sleepless night for me than was already on the menu.
I’m terrified enough. What I don’t need is your baggage on top of mine, cluttering up my head. In this economy, travel costs are expensive enough.
Ask me how you can help
To the very well-meaning head tilters out there asking: “Are you OK?” Please don’t ask this, because you really don’t want the unfiltered answer to that and I really don’t want to have say the words out loud!
Pink has a song that seems appropriate to explain my emotions here, better than I could ever:
🎵I swear, you’re just like a pill, ‘stead of making me better, you keep making me ill🎵
So, may I suggest, instead of asking, “Are you OK?” which makes me relive my inner fears… just roll with “I love you” instead. Or, “I hope it goes as well as it can”. This takes the sting out of the interaction and keeps things positive for everyone. A wise friend recently said to me when I told him about people sharing the pain of their lost relatives with me, instead of: “Treat others as you would have them treat you,” replace that old adage with: “Find out how they prefer to be treated and if it’s at all possible accommodate them…”
I was asked recently if I will have an adrenaline crash once the scan is over. No, my friend, this is just the start of the daily panic attacks every time the postman drops mail through the letterbox. And God forbid if I get an actual call from the hospital… I still have the ‘acute oncology’ number saved in my phone so I will know there is a problem as soon as it rings.
Celebrating results day
I have, however, made a positivity plan for the day post scan: Lock all social media down so I can take control of what I see of the world – and then go shopping. I’ve been working out hard since I came off Tamoxifen and have managed to drop a whopping 17.5kg of lard off of my backside through sheer determination and a lot of exercise. I need new running shorts again AND another swimming costume desperately because my last one has developed a saggy bottom due to said weight loss.
This will be my fourth cozzie since January. I now get to hang out in the size 8 to 10 part of any given clothing shop, which feels like a massive achievement. Once the ‘skinny-me’ retail therapy has been accomplished, I’ll get out into countryside and run like a bat out of hell for a bit, while trying to smash out a PB somewhere beautiful with Pink still singing in my ears:
🎵I think I’ll get out of here, where I can run, just as fast as I can, to the middle of nowhere. To the middle of my frustrated fears and I swear…🎵
Have a good one and be kind to each other. And to my best friends, I’m sorry for shutting you out for a couple of days. I love you.
And of course… check yourselves, or each other, you might even have fun in the process!
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