Encore Performances

Operation number 9.  I’m hoping this is it!  I’ve made it clear I’d be happy not to make it to double figures..

You’d think after the weekend I would have slept pretty well – but I didn’t.

Here’s me sitting in admissions while waiting for my call up. This is what the Gold Coast Bulletin ran on the Pink Polar Gala.  It really was a case of ball gown to theatre gown in the space of 48 hours.

You can check out the official shots of the night from the awesomely talented Brad Wagner  As well as raising breast awareness by sharing my story and Geoff’s pursuits with the Pink Polar expedition – we collectively raised more than $70,000 for the McGrath Foundation. UNREAL!  I LOVE the Gold Coast.  A massive shout out to the little Pink Polar Committee that made it happen and a super hug of congrats to the pocket rockets that drove this event – Tess from Allamanda and Karla from ProMedia.  These two are THE BEST!

To ease the boredom of the long wait for surgery, I had my phone with me.  As it turns out, I forgot.  I was awake to be able to climb onto the operating table and remember seeing Dr D.  What I don’t remember was this….

KC Operation #9

Yes – my fabulous Anaesthetist decided to moonlight as a movie maker.  HILARIOUS!

Not long after arriving home, I put my head down.  Only to be woken by the almighty rumble of heavy machinery rolling down our street.  All of a sudden there were car doors slamming and lots of voices.  The machinery was positioned in front of the house directly opposite ours and within minutes, the demolition crew began destroying the waterfront house.  Bang, crash, creak, boom – every dog in the neighbourhood barking!  Perfect.

So, there’s a bit going on….

I’m excited about lots in life – Pink Polar’s going full steam ahead, I’m back writing, I’ve done a bit of media lately and thoroughly enjoyed it, I’m designing/sewing pretty well (if I say so myself), I’m back in touch with some old friends (some of whom have been around while I’ve been sick – others who haven’t) and I’m preparing for the next surgery.

Emotionally – I desperately miss some of these people and having them in my life.  But my life is not what it once was.

Two of our biggest events for Pink Polar are happening Friday and Saturday, then I have my surgery on Monday morning.  I’ve been asked about what messages I wan’t to get through to the audiences at these events.  I realise some of the critical members of my care team will be in the room on Saturday night, while others will not.  How am I going to feel standing up there in front of 400+ – just fine.  But in front of them – I hope I manage to make them proud.  To make them feel like some of the awful elements of their jobs are worthwhile in the long run – because people like me don’t waste the opportunity of a second or third chance they have helped provide.

The significance  of Operation #9 is huge.  I hope, with all of my being, that this is it now.  But – I know only too well given my serious case of de javu with the second diagnosis, to ‘never say never’.

It’s 2.04 am, I can’t sleep.  I’m at the computer and just clicked on a link to a story about one woman’s aim in life, following her diagnosis of breast cancer.  (There are a lot of these stories going around at the moment in the lead up to Mother’s Day).

Hoping (maybe wrongly expecting) to be inspired – I got three paragraphs in, to read ‘unfortunately  the cancer returned, this time to *name withheld*’s liver, brain and lungs, and in December last year she lost her three year battle’….

Unfortunately?!  Who wrote this?!

Unfortunate doesn’t even begin to describe this situation.

I haven’t finished reading the article.  I shut down the page with tears in my eyes and a heavy, heavy heart.

It’s no secret some of the medication I’m on is really wreaking havoc with my thought processes.  So, I guess it’s no surprise that I’ve had a shocker of a dream.  You know the kind where you wake having been completely perplexed, taken aback at the imagery and confused by what it really meant?

I’d gone back to working at a radio station.  In the newsroom.  I was on-air with an announcer I thoroughly enjoyed working with in my previous life.

The screen froze – no script (what once was my worst nightmare.)

I looked up for the announcer to help, have a conversation (save me!) – but through the glass I saw a sea of faces I didn’t recognise.

They were all staring…….at what?

I looked down.  My top had slid down to reveal my bare, disfigured chest.

I’m not even going to try and analyse this one!

Today marks a year since my first chemo.  What a different day it’s been.

I woke in a different house, with my gorgeous girls (Paul was at work bright & early), had a leisurely breakfast (I could taste!), took myself off to a yoga class and said many silent but heartfelt thank you’s.  I also spent time on Pink Polar with Geoff.  What an awesome way to ‘move forward’ as Julia (Gillard – Prime Minister) would say!

A year ago the dread of preparing for the first treatment, walking into that Oncology Unit, laying on that bed, getting hooked up to that stinky drip (ohhh the smell….it’ll never leave me), Deni giving me the ‘sex talk’, having the bizarre sensation of a destructive, but necessary cocktail of drugs etc.  I truly had no idea of the horrors which lay ahead.

I got some flowers for Dr Horwood and the team at the chemo unit.  The cards, well, where could I possibly start.  I simply wrote ‘one year on from first chemo – thank you’.

How far I’ve come, with much help.  Pardon the self indulgence, but I’m marking today with a tiny pat on the back and a quiet glass of red wine (as opposed to a drip full of revolting red chemo!).

I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.  Life, I know can be a struggle at times, but it’s good to be alive…..;-)

Appointment with my Medical Oncologist.  As I walk into the consult room, he already has films up on the light-box and a printed report on his desk.

I’ve come on my own.

We speak about the difficulties/problems since finishing Chemo.  He asks about how I’m going with the bone pain, hot flushes, Tamoxifen……..?

I look left to the films.  Mental note – I feel like I’m hanging off a cliff….at the mercy of this disease.

There’s ‘something suspicious’ he tells me, a ‘grey mass’ in the centre of my sternum – my chest.

‘We can monitor’ he says. ‘Unless Danny has any other ideas………..?’

I have NO idea how I’m supposed to get through to April knowing there’s something suspicious.

So glad to be seeing Daniel tomorrow.  Time to do some thinking and homework.

Well..

Today started with a session with the physio, followed by a swim (with no ‘breastroke’)

Then it was off to the hospital again to have my portacath flushed.  After my chemo nurse Elke took care of the minor procedure (done every 6 weeks), we grabbed a bite to eat together.  I must say how nice it was to spend a bit of time with her while she wasn’t tending to the port or administering chemotherapy!  We had a lovely chat and she was warmly supportive of the whole Antarctic idea, even wondered whether she might be able to come along as part of the support crew?!  Now THAT would be very cool!  Elke also offered to help with the fundraising.  I’ve said it many times before, people who work in this field are very, very special.

As I was driving home, the Oncologist’s rooms rang to confirm that it’s time to start on the Tamoxifen.  It was a short call, yet by the time I’d hung up I had tears in my eyes.  I’m not looking forward to taking this medication…………………………………………………………

Then, an email I’d been waiting for.  Confirmation from the McGrath Foundation that the Pink Polar Expedition is a supported fundraising activity.

Geoff is stoked too!  It’s been an eventful day for him as well.  His first full day on Mark’s ‘bulk up’ eating plan.  I had to laugh when he told me the eggs are like snot – I agree!!!  Geoff also paid the deposit on the custom-build hot pink kevlar ‘boob’ sled.

Geoff told me his last patient of the day was also a ‘breast cancer’ lady.  She shared with us a poem she wrote – ‘Granny gets her mojo back’….