It was another beautiful day in Launceston. A slight breeze ruffled the trees, and the sun brought a lazy warmth to the air.
I spent the day in the house, dozing with our 15yo Tibetan spaniel, first upstairs in the morning, then downstairs where it is cooler in the afternoon. I didn't get lots of sleep, but I needed the rest. I'm surprised by how tired I feel, and how I am interested in resting above all other things. I didn't expect to feel this way - I've never been good at lazing around, and I didn't realise that having the surgery would make me feel fatigued and sore for this long. I'm also surprised at how I'm accepting my body's need for rest, and I'm feeling quite protective towards myself.
The seroma under my mastectomy scar has filled up again overnight, but it's not uncomfortable. The worst discomfort comes from the prickly numb sensation under my arm and on my side. I'm still doing my exercises, and have a pretty good range of motion in my arm, but I expect to be bossed around by the physio when I have my first session next week. I love physios, it's their job to be bossy, and I have liked every physio I've ever met (even though I feel a bit intimidated by their bossiness;)
One wonderful thing that has happened since the diagnosis is that I now enjoy snuggling up with our poor little dog, and I feel great delight with other people's dogs, especially the two sweet puppies that I've met in the last fortnight. Perhaps is shift has come because I'm feeling vulnerable and recognizing that I need other people to support me.
Before the diagnosis, I was trying to battle on through all the adversity that has been coming my way, and having to deal with an incontinent, deaf, blind, confused and circling dog when he had lymphoma last year was just too much. I couldn't let myself get upset about him, and I could rarely relax enough to enjoy sitting with him and patting him. I felt that I had enough people and things to worry about - the boys, Ben, his mum, my mum, my cousin as she kept fighting her cancer, the conference, work, the invisible stigma of brain disorders, the fact that so many people I've loved have died - without getting caught up in feeling for a sick dog. I was irritated by his illness, poor thing, and while I didn't want him to suffer, I couldn't allow myself to feel too much for him. I wasn't comfortable with feeling this way, but I had to do it to survive.
Last year was really tough, but it's strengthened me for the treatments ahead. I know that I can keep functioning when my heart is broken, that I can and will cry when I need to, that I'll be irritable and hyper-sensitive to noise and stimulation and children ignoring me, that I just need to play the piano or go for a walk or phone a friend, or simply breathe, to chill out. I've also discovered that it's okay to feel lost, afraid, and confused when wondering about the future, because the future isn't written. If I focus on the present moment, everything will be ok, even if it's not as expected.
Merde, I hope so!
I worry that I'm talking myself into believing a rosy picture of the world again, as I always do, because it helps me to cope with the challenges I'm facing. Damn you, author of Pollyanna, whose name I can't remember and am too tired to google. And thank you. It's good to have a lifetime of practice putting a positive spin on things, even if my other skills aren't well-developed.
Anyway, I feel good that I'm now cherishing the chance to snuggle up with my sweet little dog, and I know it signifies a shift in how I'm coping with adversity. All the love and support I've been getting has opened my fearful heart, and it's now sending love to every living thing throughout the universe. In opening my heart, I no longer resent his need to be held before he sleeps (which is for most if the day, he is an old dog). I just need to be able to let go of my frustration at children who keep wanting me to do things for them when I'm feeling unwell... More breathing, and a good night's sleep is in order.
This hobbit doesn't want to leave her comfortable home on the hill any time soon.
A blog started in 2013 to inform family and friends about my treatment and progress for early breast cancer. Then I went and got two brain tumours,,both GBMs, completely unrelated to the breast cancer, so the blog continues.
Background and overview
I learnt more about the health system from being an inpatient than I had in 20 years of working as a neuropsychologist. I was unexpectedly diagnosed with two brain tumours on 4/9/13. They turned out to be grade IV Gliomas (glioblastoma multiforme (GBM)). After removal of the right parietal and left occipital tumours, I received the standard treatment under the Stupp protocol (combined Temozolamide (TMZ) and conformal radiotherapy 5 days/week for 6 weeks), but the TMZ had to be ceased after 5 weeks because I had started to develop pancytopenia, where more than one of my blood counts had begun to drop. By Christmas 2013, I had become anaemic and needed a couple of blood transfusions. I ended up in hospital for 3 weeks of the 2014 new year after experiencing my first seizure (suggestive of a right temporal lobe focus) on 31/12/13). They were so worried about my bone marrow, they did a biopsy. Luckily, it was all clear of any nasty disorders. It had just been suppressed by the TMZ My blood counts slowly returned to normal with daily injections of GCSF, which stimulate bone marrow function, for several months. For 17 months I was doing better each day, without any physical impairments or major cognitive problems A third brain tumour was found in the right temporal lobe on 2/1/15, and removed 6/1/15, only to reappear on 17/2/15 after I started to feel vague symptoms at the end of 2014. I had my 4th round of brain surgery on 1/3/15, followed by stereotaxic radio surgery of a residual, inoperable, tumour, on 17/4/15. I've been feeling like my old self again since that highly precise form of radiotherapy, and it feels fabulous.
My way of coping.
I choose to live in hope that everything will work out for the best. I've learnt that even though things are sometimes unpleasant, life and love go on forever. I put my faith in the life force that created and unites us all in love, across all time, space, and dimensions. I refuse to succumb to fear, which is an invention of our imaginations. There are an infinite number of things to fear, both in this world an in our imaginations, and most of them never eventuate. I choose not to dwell on them, and to focus instead on counting my many blessings, current and past, and to have faith and hope that if I look after the present moment, the future will look after itself.
If you're reading, and haven't been in touch, please don't be shy, send me a brief private message using the contact form on the right. It's nice to know who's out there. Blogging can leave me feeling a little isolated at times (I used to have recurrent dreams of being out on a limb over a canyon, or of starting to strip off in a crowded waiting room). Your emails are appreciated, although I can't necessarily answer all of them.
