Christmas comes but once a year …

And thank, God. I don’t think my liver could cope.

The festive celebrations are now in full swing for me and Mr P, heralded at 1am on Saturday by the birth of Niamh – Mr P’s niece. It’s all very exciting but now I’m busy trying to work out what she might like/need for Christmas.

We’re also preparing for another new arrival. My new cat. We’d popped over to the Mayhew Animal Home to drop off some items that our drama group are lending them for their charity dinner this evening and Mr P. suggested that I might want to look for another feline friend.

I used to have a lovely little cat, called Ellie, who I adopted from the Mayhew in late 2008. After a testy start and some wilful biting (her, not me) we settled into a very nice life together. We became the best of friends and I loved her dearly. Then one day, (Aug. 2011), she just disappeared.

She wasn’t the sort of cat to stay out for more than 24 hours, so obviously I was distraught. An army of friends (including Mr P.) put up posters, knocked on doors and scoured the area for any sign of my “little mate” – but there was none. And there hasn’t been since. She was less than five years old.

Suffice to say, I have often thought of her: the way she would jump onto the seat beside me and lick my hand while I stroked her paw, and the annoyed way she would come into the bathroom and ‘miaow’ when she thought I had been in the bath too long. She was a funny little lady.

But now, with my hospital treatment in its latter stages, I do feel ready for another house guest – and my new lodger (currently called 'Bubbles', but her new name to be decided) will move in after Christmas.

Saturday night was therefore quite a celebration with a new baby, a new cat and a friend’s birthday to toast. It was great fun … what I remember of it. And then on Sunday, Mr P. and I were invited to a ‘fizzy wine tasting’, where my friend (an award nominated wine blogger) educated us in the different types of sparkling wines and how they are produced.

It was a hilariously drunken way to spend a Sunday afternoon! In truth, I was probably just topping up my excessive Prosecco levels from the previous evening, and warming myself up for the Mayhew’s ‘Tinsel and Tails’ fundraiser tonight, but it was a great start to the week.

After all, if you can’t celebrate with ‘Bubbles’ at Christmas, when can you? ;-)

'Tis the season to be jolly

Blimey. It's December already. Doesn't time fly when you've been having fun ...?!

In many respects my life is settling back into the old routine while, in others, I'm still getting a few surprises.

The main 'surprise' is just how crap I still feel. Not physically as my chest muscle is improving, but mentally and emotionally. I'm on the verge of tears quite a lot of the time

It's hard to know how much of this is provoked by the Tamoxifen and how much was there already but, suffice to say that, the insomnia, hot flushes and now high cholesterol are really getting me down.

I've had some body hair fall out too which, after only 2.5 weeks of taking Tamoxifen is a bit concerning. Hair thinning is cited as a risk but I wasn't expecting it so soon. Maybe I shouldn't put the wig up the loft just yet?!

Fortunately, I do have a Counsellor at the 'Marsden and my GP is very supportive. And, of course, I have my lovely Mr P.

Ultimately though, I do have to manage this for myself and come to terms with the residual issues that are bothering me as well as the hormone-related changes that have been induced.

That said, I should also make a point of saying how supportive my company and colleagues have been. The return to work did cause me enormous anxiety but - with special thanks to AW and the HR team - my confidence is slowly coming back.

And I've also got a lot to look forward to this month: assorted shows, gigs, gatherings and parties ... Not to mention a new niece or nephew for Mr. P.

So while I won't be sorry to see the back of 2012, I do plan to enjoy what's left.

So far, so good ...

This week I've managed three days in the office, been to see the boob specialist and had a little haircut.

Going into the office was daunting. But Mr P. met me at the station, armed with an enormous cookie and a gingerbread latte, and that made me feel much better.

Everyone at work has been very sweet; welcoming me back but also recognising that it's going to take me some time to readjust.

I'm taking it slow, just working four hours a day, and having catch up meetings with people to get a flavour of what's been going on.

However, Mr P. and I did have some bad news on Wednesday from the fertility clinic about my test results. And I know you can never say never but, post chemo and with an ovarian function level that barely registers on the bottom of their scale, I've probably got more chance of winning the lottery than ever falling pregnant.

Of course, generally for people, IVF might be an option but (a) I'd have to do it before I'm 40 (on the NHS) and (b) I can't have any hormone related treatments because of my cancer risk. Oh, and Tamoxifen causes birth defects anyway ... Ho hum.

I should point out that at no stage prior to this, or even now, was I planning to have a baby. However, what is upsetting is that it seems that I should have been offered some options to preserve my fertility before/and during chemo and I wasn't. So, of course, I do feel pretty cheated and let down.

Anyhoo ... I've got enough to be getting on with, without crying over spilt milk. So, I had a haircut.
 

Weller: he may have soul
but he's got shit hair

Post chemo my hair has grown through, as it has always been, very thick and bushy. What doesn't curl or kink stands at right angles to my head. Up until now I've just about managed to keep it in check with a little bit of hair putty but, after blow-drying my hair for an early morning start and seeing what looked like Paul Weller staring back at me in the mirror, I decided that I needed a tidy up.

As for my breast reconstruction, it's going well but I've opted not to have any more saline injected as I think further inflation will (i) be uncomfortable, (ii) look odd, and (iii) probably pop a few cardigan buttons.

Instead I'm having a fat graft, from my belly or thigh, which will soften the overall appearance and add another, more natural looking, bit of volume - particularly in the original lumpectomy area. If I do decide to have more saline, I still can, but - assuming I don't - I'm probably looking to get my 'proper' implants from mid/late April - just in time for summer. Nice.

But for now, I'm tired. Really tired. Normal life is exhausting!

Turning the page ...

This week a new chapter of my life begins. Today, I start a five year course of Tamoxifen and, tomorrow, I go back to work.

Tamoxifen is what they call 'maintenance chemotherapy'. It suppresses oestrogen and keeps it away from any potential cancer cells which, given my cancer tested 8 out of 8 on hormone responsiveness, is undoubtedly a good thing.

However, all drugs have their side effects and I'm understandably apprehensive. No woman wants to read that she might get fat and grow facial hair!

But needs must ...

I'm also nervous about going back to work. I'm sure that once I get back into the swing of things it will all be fine but I have had a few sleepless nights.

I was chatting about it this morning with my GP. He reassured me that it was natural to feel low, as I have done, since the mainstay of my treatment ended. When you're in the thick of chemo and operations you become overwhelmed by the process. But, when it does end, you can finally 'exhale' and reflect on what you've been through.

And that's the bit that I've found hard. I think I'm doing alright but can then, quite unexpectedly, suddenly get breathless and start to cry. It's quite odd - like all the residual emotion that I've still got bottled up is trying to release itself.

I know some people might think that it would be better to let it all out in one go but, apart from the fact that I don’t think I could, I do think that would be like trying to open a fizzy bottle of lemonade. This way I just release the pressure slowly and a little bit at a time, instead of making an unholy mess!

However, please don't think that everything is glum and that I'm not still able to enjoy myself. Mr P. and I have just come back from a fabulous week in San Francisco and Las Vegas: visiting Alcatraz and the Grand Canyon, playing the slots and doing our best to live up to the name of the 'Big Belly Buffet'!

I even got home from the 10 hour flight back and went out to a pyjama-party-themed Hen do. It was a raucous affair but at least when I finally crashed and needed my bed I was dressed and ready for it ...

And so the next stage of our story begins. I'm sure it will still have its unexpected twists and turns but I'm rather hoping that it will be more 'JK Rowling’ than 'Stephen King'.

Mr P and I are hoping that our luck
might be about to change

A pink night in ... and night out!

As many of you will know, last Friday was 'Wear it Pink Day', the annual event to raise awareness and money for the fight against breast cancer.

As part of that campaign, women across the UK were encouraged to have 'A Big Night In' - so that's exactly what we did! Many thanks to my lovely friend, Wendy, for hosting and to Hannah from Stella & Dot who will be making a donation from October sales to Breakthrough Breast Cancer. So, of course, I did my bit and am now eagerly waiting for my new jewellery to arrive ...

Then, on Saturday, was our ‘Wear it PUNK’ party – also in aid of Breakthrough Breast Cancer. My 'big' indulgences of the previous evening almost threatened to put a dampener on things but I rallied and, with the help of a few left over anti-sickness tablets from chemo(!), was back in action for a bit of ‘skanking’.

Thank you to everyone who attended or made a donation, (additional donations still welcome!), but special thanks must go to Mr P. for his fantastic musical efforts - which had the entire pub dancing by the end - and to Teresa and Thayu at The Viaduct for their generous support (and AMAZING food).

However, today marks the end of Breast Cancer Awareness month, and also my period of extended sick leave. It’s been a tough ten months but the time is now right for me to head back to work.

I’ll be returning to the office, albeit part-time for a few weeks, from Wednesday 14th November. I’m sure it will feel strange (and tiring) but also good for me to get back into a normal routine.

But before that, Mr P. and I are off on holiday – we hope! We’re meant to fly to the US on Saturday but that minx, Hurricane ‘Sandy’, is causing no end of trouble.

So we’re keeping our fingers crossed; not just for ourselves but for all concerned.

No pain, no gain?

Seriously. My newly inflated boob really hurts. The tissue expander is certainly doing its job.

It’s there because the final implant will go under the pectoral muscle, instead of over the top where the breast tissue once was, and the muscle needs to be stretched to get used to having something there.

The sensation really is distracting at times; at best, tight and sore and at worst, sharp and scratchy. The discomfort will die down, of course, as it did after its first inflation post-mastectomy but I had got used to not feeling uncomfortable and now I’ve got to go through that cycle again. (And for a third time in November). It affects the upper arm muscles too and can make it difficult to sleep.

And, my tit feels enormous! Very round and very firm ... but it doesn’t move and has no feeling, now that the nerve endings have been cut. It’s like having half a grapefruit stuck to my chest.

Fortunately, I have invested in some mastectomy bras (and a bikini for my holiday) that have a pocket for me to insert a gel ‘chicken fillet’ and balance what are now uneven sides. That does seem to work quite well and you’d never know through my clothes.

In fact, people tell me that I’m looking very well - which is nice - even though they also seem convinced that I’ve lost weight. (I haven’t) I think it’s just that, without my voluminous mane of hair, my short crop exaggerates how slight in build I am.

That won’t last though, because my barnet is coming through thick and fast and it won’t be long before I have to blow the dust off the hairdryer and straighteners.

And it also won’t be long before I return to work. I’ve got a meeting on Friday to discuss a phased return in November. Mr P. and I both agree that getting back into a routine will do me good, as I’m getting to be very, very lazy!

But before that happens, we’re going to go on holiday – a week in the US to mark the end of this chapter. We’re off to Las Vegas, baby, and I’m feeling lucky!

With our compliments

Yesterday I was back at the 'Marsden for the first time in five weeks. It felt familiar and strange all at the same time.

I’d gone in for two appointments, the first of which was to see my Counsellor. Clearly a lot has happened since I first saw her in August, so it was good to be able to chat openly, and positively, about how things had progressed.

In particular, I was able to talk about how - with a few exceptions - my life is pretty much back to normal. I've healed from the operation and my boob is looking good. My hair has grown back and I've finally been able to get jobs done at home and visit friends and relatives that I've not been able to see during treatment.

Indeed my short, wavy hair is proving quite a talking point. Even complete strangers, with no knowledge of my cancer, are complimenting me on my barnet. It's flattering, if unexpected.

However, being the awkward, embarrassed sort when someone says nice things to me I must learn to resist dropping the 'C' bomb as some sort of mitigation for my hair style. I give you 'The Case of the Friendly Neighbour' ...

There is a gentleman who lives on my road and with whom I have been chatting and exchanging pleasantries for the last four or five years. I don't see him that often, and do specifically try NOT to talk to him when he's running in his Lycra onesie, but he is a lovely guy.

However, the embarrassing fact is that I can't remember his name. Worse still, he always remembers mine and too much time has elapsed for me to ask for a 'reminder'. Anyway, it transpires that we can't have spoken for quite a while as the following embarrassing exchange recently took place:

Neighbour: "Kate! Hi! I've not seen you in ages ... Love the hair!
Me: "Thanks ... I've had chemotherapy."
Neighbour: [stunned silence] Oh. God. I'm so sorry ... "
Me: "Oh. No. Honestly, I'm fine ... and at least I've got some hair now."
Neighbour: [long awkward pause] “Yes*.”
*The man is completely bald.

When I’m not shoving my foot in my mouth though, life is going very well and the reconstruction process is now well underway.

After my counselling and a spot of lunch in the ‘Marsden cafe, where I was pleased to find it was music free – (last time I went they had ‘Never say goodbye’ by Bon Jovi on continuous repeat, which I did think was a bit much in a cancer hospital) – I had an appointment to see my surgical consultant and breast care nurse.

And it was all good news. The mastectomy has healed well and the swelling has gone down, which meant that I was ready to be ‘pumped up’ a bit more to stretch the pectoral muscle to make room for what will be a silicone implant in the new year.

I have to say though, apart from surface skin sensation, I have little to no feeling in my new boob so when she jabbed a needle into the tissue expander and started to inflate it with water it did seem a little surreal.

Part of that strangeness is also the fact that they have to put a magnet to my chest to locate the valve. Not any old magnet, I should add – fridge magnets don’t work (we’ve tried) – but the metal in the implant does mean that I can’t have an MRI while I have it inserted, and that my boob needs its' own ID card to get through airport security.

Anyway, post inflation, I’m now looking lop-sided. I’m also feeling sore again, like I did straight after the operation, as the pectoral muscle is being constantly pulled. On the plus side though, it does appear that I will – in the wider scheme of things - automatically get bigger boobs than the ones I started with as they want to to ‘perk up’ lefty to match the shape of my new righty, so I will get implants in both sides. Ree-sult!

It’s up to me how much bigger I go, (probably not that much), but I do have one more injection scheduled for mid November. After that, I’ve opted to have some fat injected over the tissue-expander to try and make it look a bit more natural before I get the proper implants.

That will require an operation, in early January, but a relative minor one I think. Basically, they put a couple of nicks in the back of my thigh – siphon out a bit of fat – and pop it in my chest. How good is that? A boob job and lipo-suction, all in one!

When I’ll actually get my final matching pair though, I’m not quite sure. It would be nice to have them in time for Mr P’s birthday at the end of March ... I think he deserves them. Failing that, mine at the end of June. That really would be one hell of a 40th birthday present.