My last hospital appointment was a strange one. They have moved things around and the place I now go resembles an Airport departure lounge where they give you a piece of paper with a number on it then you watch a tv screen so you know when to go back to the reception desk, where someone will show you through to the clinic itself. So, I felt as though I was going to get takeaways before getting onto a plane. It was all very odd.
I was also told that I may not have gotten Cancer if I hadn't been pregnant. It is a long story, but basically if you are going to get this shit Cancer then you are likely to get it with pregnancy, especially your first pregnancy. I was told that it may have not shown itself until I was older or not been as bad.
I have different ideas.
I like to think that being pregnant just made it more obvious and helped to make it grow faster which made me get it checked when I did therefore saving my life. I like to think Wyatt saved my life by going "Hey mum, look at this" from the womb. I watched the 2012 Stand up to Cancer show and there was a brave lady who was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer and they never would of found it in time if she had not been pregnant, therefore her son is her Guardian Angel.
I believe that the Melanoma grew as fast as it did due to me being pregnant, which made me get it looked at quicker than I normally would of. It's bad enough I waited as long as I did.
So, Wyatt is my Guardian Angel. He saved me, in so many ways.
Friday, 2 November 2012
Friday, 26 October 2012
Friendships on the line.
I have always known that you find out who in your life really cares when the time comes that the support is needed. I personally experienced this over the past few months, and it is not a nice feeling when you realise there are people in your life who are just plain nasty. Most of my friends have been amazing, mainly through Facebook. Old school friends, friends I haven't seen for a long time and even online friends I have never personally met have shown that they care in different ways. Whether it be just liking a status, or sending me messages, it has made me feel, well, warm and fuzzy.
Alas, there are always the ones who are just too damn self centered to bother with anything. All it takes is a click of a button to like a status, or just a quick "how are you" message. Apparently, this requires too much effort for some. My last blog was about a so-called friend who told me that I have never had Cancer and to get over it. Yes, people like this really do exist. This short horrid bastard never wants to cross paths with Paul or myself. Nobody makes me feel like that. Nobody should ever have to feel like that, unless your a short horrid bastard in a loveless marriage such as that dickless asshole.
Well, I have woken up to the reality that someone who I have known for well over a decade also does not give a shit. I looked back over my Facebook posts from when I was first diagnosed with Melanoma and there were alot of virtual hugs and lovely written words from almost everyone who mattered. Except for this one girl. I have always known her to be a little bit selfish, it is just who she is, but I have always been there for her when needed. She has not once been there for me since this disease fought its way into my life.
I know I talk alot about Melanoma, but it is a huge part of my life and it is part of who I am. I will not back down from something I care passionately about and I will not stop raising awareness wherever and whenever I can. You don't need to comment, but even just a simple click on the like button from time to time will show me that you care, even just a little.
You really do find out who your true friends are when your life is on the line. And it sucks.
Alas, there are always the ones who are just too damn self centered to bother with anything. All it takes is a click of a button to like a status, or just a quick "how are you" message. Apparently, this requires too much effort for some. My last blog was about a so-called friend who told me that I have never had Cancer and to get over it. Yes, people like this really do exist. This short horrid bastard never wants to cross paths with Paul or myself. Nobody makes me feel like that. Nobody should ever have to feel like that, unless your a short horrid bastard in a loveless marriage such as that dickless asshole.
Well, I have woken up to the reality that someone who I have known for well over a decade also does not give a shit. I looked back over my Facebook posts from when I was first diagnosed with Melanoma and there were alot of virtual hugs and lovely written words from almost everyone who mattered. Except for this one girl. I have always known her to be a little bit selfish, it is just who she is, but I have always been there for her when needed. She has not once been there for me since this disease fought its way into my life.
I know I talk alot about Melanoma, but it is a huge part of my life and it is part of who I am. I will not back down from something I care passionately about and I will not stop raising awareness wherever and whenever I can. You don't need to comment, but even just a simple click on the like button from time to time will show me that you care, even just a little.
You really do find out who your true friends are when your life is on the line. And it sucks.
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Not a killer? Don't I wish!
I am stumped. There are places in this strange world of ours that are promoting Breast Cancer awareness with tanning!
People are going to support breast cancer awareness by getting a damn tan? By using sunbeds? So we're going to fight one cancer by encouraging people to get another? Oh how the mind boggles!
Is that to say that there are those out there who do not believe Melanoma is a serious disease? Oh wait, there actually are those who think Melanoma is not that great a threat. And I know a few like that!
In the past couple of days I have read status updates on facebook about how fantastic it is having the sun out so it can be enjoyed by either getting sunburnt or tanned. I asked one friend if he had used sunscreen and the answer was not impressive. He said "Sunscreen? Umm, no I did not, I Usually use things that will help me tan". Another friend and I had a massive debate through private messaging and the end result was me in tears and my partner wanting to throttle the bastard who had me that upset. It started with him stating "You have had a couple cut out ... Don't stress, get over it. You don't have cancer.... Not even close to it." Um, so stage 2 Melanoma is apparently not a cancer *rolls eyes* Oh, the ignorance of some people. I was then told by this person not to push the whole summer sun sucks shit, that the sun may or may not cause it. I let him know that it is not the sun itself, it is the UV rays etc.
I will NOT stand by and keep quiet about the dangers of tanning! New Zealand is primitive when it comes to the treatment of Melanoma, and alas just as many people die from this killer disease each year as those that die on our roads.
So, Melanoma is not a cancer and tanning is perfectly safe. What kind of fucked up world have I fallen into?
People are going to support breast cancer awareness by getting a damn tan? By using sunbeds? So we're going to fight one cancer by encouraging people to get another? Oh how the mind boggles!
Is that to say that there are those out there who do not believe Melanoma is a serious disease? Oh wait, there actually are those who think Melanoma is not that great a threat. And I know a few like that!
In the past couple of days I have read status updates on facebook about how fantastic it is having the sun out so it can be enjoyed by either getting sunburnt or tanned. I asked one friend if he had used sunscreen and the answer was not impressive. He said "Sunscreen? Umm, no I did not, I Usually use things that will help me tan". Another friend and I had a massive debate through private messaging and the end result was me in tears and my partner wanting to throttle the bastard who had me that upset. It started with him stating "You have had a couple cut out ... Don't stress, get over it. You don't have cancer.... Not even close to it." Um, so stage 2 Melanoma is apparently not a cancer *rolls eyes* Oh, the ignorance of some people. I was then told by this person not to push the whole summer sun sucks shit, that the sun may or may not cause it. I let him know that it is not the sun itself, it is the UV rays etc.
I will NOT stand by and keep quiet about the dangers of tanning! New Zealand is primitive when it comes to the treatment of Melanoma, and alas just as many people die from this killer disease each year as those that die on our roads.
So, Melanoma is not a cancer and tanning is perfectly safe. What kind of fucked up world have I fallen into?
Thursday, 27 September 2012
Neverending.
I have always known that cancer not only affects the diagnosed person, but the people surrounding that person. It hit home this morning when Paul admitted that his greatest fear is losing me and having to raise our son alone. He knows he would be surrounded by family but he would still be the solo parent. Just him and Wyatt. I tried putting myself in his shoes, and if it were the other way around I would be just as scared. I would feel helpless and out of my depth. Being the person with stage 2 Melanoma is a bitch. But, those that have to stand by and watch a loved one go through it finds it just as hard. Just for different reasons. And Paul is certainly finding it hard watching me go through the pain I am in right now, as he is unable to do a damn thing and it frustrates him to no end.
I ended up at the doctors this morning due to horrible crippling pains throughout my arm, wrist, hand, fingers and thumb, which has lasted the past 4 days. I have endured this before and thought it was over, but it has come back to haunt me. It could be nerve damage from my Lymph Node Biopsy, where they could of accidently nicked a nerve or damaged something. I was prescribed Tramadol for the pain, but when Paul gave the Chemist my script, he was told that it would not be a good idea to take this as it could, combined with the antidepressants I am on, have a toxic reaction. Yep, sounds just bloody awesome. So, we went away while they interacted with my doctor about what I could be put on to help the pain and swelling. Once we returned, they had it sorted. I was given antibiotics just in case of infection in the arm and some paracetamol/codine tablets aswell as some ibprofen. As it happens, I can only take ibprofen if really needed and not for long term as they can also have a bad reaction with my antidepressants. Apparently the lovely happy pills have reactions with alot of things and makes me quite, as the Chemist put it, tricky.
So, I have pain from a surgery that was needed to figure out my stage with the cancer and there is little that I can do about it. Well, this just keeps getting better and better.
When I was first diagnosed with Melanoma, I honestly thought it would be a simple cure of cutting it out and that be it. Was I ever so wrong. I have had trips to a specialist, the hospital, my GP and even Mental Health (to talk about the fears etc). I have had surgeries, Catscan, a hospital stay, numerous skin excisions/biopsies and it still is not the end. It never will be the end. I will always be a stage 2 Melanoma chick, and I will have to have more excisions, but I can live with that if it means I never visit stages 3 upwards and if it means I never have to hear those ugly words again "You have, what they call, a very nasty cancer".
May remission be where I always live. And for a very long time.
I ended up at the doctors this morning due to horrible crippling pains throughout my arm, wrist, hand, fingers and thumb, which has lasted the past 4 days. I have endured this before and thought it was over, but it has come back to haunt me. It could be nerve damage from my Lymph Node Biopsy, where they could of accidently nicked a nerve or damaged something. I was prescribed Tramadol for the pain, but when Paul gave the Chemist my script, he was told that it would not be a good idea to take this as it could, combined with the antidepressants I am on, have a toxic reaction. Yep, sounds just bloody awesome. So, we went away while they interacted with my doctor about what I could be put on to help the pain and swelling. Once we returned, they had it sorted. I was given antibiotics just in case of infection in the arm and some paracetamol/codine tablets aswell as some ibprofen. As it happens, I can only take ibprofen if really needed and not for long term as they can also have a bad reaction with my antidepressants. Apparently the lovely happy pills have reactions with alot of things and makes me quite, as the Chemist put it, tricky.
So, I have pain from a surgery that was needed to figure out my stage with the cancer and there is little that I can do about it. Well, this just keeps getting better and better.
When I was first diagnosed with Melanoma, I honestly thought it would be a simple cure of cutting it out and that be it. Was I ever so wrong. I have had trips to a specialist, the hospital, my GP and even Mental Health (to talk about the fears etc). I have had surgeries, Catscan, a hospital stay, numerous skin excisions/biopsies and it still is not the end. It never will be the end. I will always be a stage 2 Melanoma chick, and I will have to have more excisions, but I can live with that if it means I never visit stages 3 upwards and if it means I never have to hear those ugly words again "You have, what they call, a very nasty cancer".
May remission be where I always live. And for a very long time.
Sunday, 23 September 2012
New discoveries.
I keep photo records of moles so that, instead of freaking out when I think I have a new one, I refer to the photos. I did this yesterday, and instead of peace of mind, I ended up a bundle of nerves. Not only do I have one new mole, there is also one that has risen. Oh crapola! Thankfully I have my next hospital appointment in just a few days time, so will be showing them and am assuming that off they will come. And then the wait for the rest results will begin. I am not a patient person, and the waiting time agitates me.
I did well yesterday. Instead of sitting around dwelling on it, I loaded up with sunscreen and a hat in order to mow my mothers lawn. It helped. It was a much needed distraction. And then everything went to shit. It turns out I cannot do a jungling act with making dinner, loading auctions online, putting washing away and tending to a toddler. So much for being woman. Paul came home from work and I was cranky. I showed him the moles and the photos, then proceeded to be a Bitch for a while. I realised it was just fear, and managed to calm down and talk rationally to my ever so patient partner about what I was feeling. He understood why I was feeling scared and angry, but he couldn't understand what I was actually going through. All he can do is be supportive, which he is amazingly good at.
My family and alot of friends are pretty awesome with me, but why is it that when going through this kind of crap, some people tend to back away or just pretend it doesn't exist? Is it easier for them to not acknowledge that big scary word, Cancer? Or is it that they just don't know how to act? Or maybe it is fear? I have friends, who claim to love me and consider me a close mate, and not once have they asked how I am or how things are going for me in regards to the whole Cancer nightmare. One thing about getting diagnosed with a horribly nasty disease is that you find out who your true friends are. And those are the ones who are worth keeping.
I also know people who, even though they see what I go through, STILL love to tan! Is it really worth the risk? Is it not better to be pale and healthy, rather than being tanned and scarred?
Sometimes, I wish that if I had to be diagnosed with a Cancer, it could of at least been a curable one.
So, We may be able to survive Melanoma, but we will never be cured. And we will never know whether or not it will come back to haunt us. All we can do is live just one day at a time. And believe me, that is easier said than done at times like this.
I did well yesterday. Instead of sitting around dwelling on it, I loaded up with sunscreen and a hat in order to mow my mothers lawn. It helped. It was a much needed distraction. And then everything went to shit. It turns out I cannot do a jungling act with making dinner, loading auctions online, putting washing away and tending to a toddler. So much for being woman. Paul came home from work and I was cranky. I showed him the moles and the photos, then proceeded to be a Bitch for a while. I realised it was just fear, and managed to calm down and talk rationally to my ever so patient partner about what I was feeling. He understood why I was feeling scared and angry, but he couldn't understand what I was actually going through. All he can do is be supportive, which he is amazingly good at.
My family and alot of friends are pretty awesome with me, but why is it that when going through this kind of crap, some people tend to back away or just pretend it doesn't exist? Is it easier for them to not acknowledge that big scary word, Cancer? Or is it that they just don't know how to act? Or maybe it is fear? I have friends, who claim to love me and consider me a close mate, and not once have they asked how I am or how things are going for me in regards to the whole Cancer nightmare. One thing about getting diagnosed with a horribly nasty disease is that you find out who your true friends are. And those are the ones who are worth keeping.
I also know people who, even though they see what I go through, STILL love to tan! Is it really worth the risk? Is it not better to be pale and healthy, rather than being tanned and scarred?
I read the following sentence online a few days ago and it stuck. "What truly sucks about melanoma is that it is a tricky and unpredictable disease. You can never say never with it. It can come back after 5-30 years. So when other cancer survivors are considered cured, this is not the case with Melanoma."Sometimes, I wish that if I had to be diagnosed with a Cancer, it could of at least been a curable one.
So, We may be able to survive Melanoma, but we will never be cured. And we will never know whether or not it will come back to haunt us. All we can do is live just one day at a time. And believe me, that is easier said than done at times like this.
Sunday, 2 September 2012
Emotions in overdrive
A new beginning. A little bit of sadness, a touch of happiness and some relief. I was discharged from Mental Health services on Thursday. I am now well enough to get through the insanities of life without needing the guidance of my therapist. I never thought I would be able to get to this point.
When I was at my worst, the world was ending and there was a nudging thought in the back of my head that wondered if I would be better off not being here. I was close to losing my mind. Much more panic and I could of lost my life. Post natal depression on top of general depression and anxiety had me feeling as though I was barely balancing on the edge of a cliff.
I was lucky in the sense that, being a victim of depression already, I knew the warning signs. I didn't bottle anything up and I was as honest as I could be at the time with my family and doctor. There was no judgment and with the support of people around me, plus some lovely "miracle" pills, I managed to slowly back away from that cliff edge.
Yesterday has left me feeling all different emotions, from hope to sadness to anger. I had to wonder if getting discharged from Mental Health was a bad move. I realised that I have nobody in the professional sense to talk things through with and it is a little bit scary. Then I took a deep breath and decided that I cannot run into the arms of a safe haven everytime I have one of these days. I have incredible support around me anyway, which is more than alot of people out there have.
I had an appointment yesterday morning, with the Professor who originally removed the Melanoma from my back. I needed answers. I needed someone who would be honest and straightforward. And now I need some processing time. My outlook is not bad, in fact it is looking pretty good. Melanoma's above 1mm are not at all good. Any Melanoma is not good, but above 1mm is just shit. Mine was 2.2mm. I had tissue invasion, but was incredible lucky that my Sentinel Lymph Node biopsy came back clear which means the cancer appears to not have spread. I have only a small chance of having a new node grow back cancerous in the same area that the other was taken and just need to keep going to my hospital appointments every 3 months to get checked. My 5 year survival rate, according to statistics, is about 75% which is pretty fucking good for a cancer survivor. The bad news was not so nice though. I can never get pregnant again, as there is a high probability that the Melanoma would come back. It could mean giving up my life and not watching the child I have now grow up and become, what I hope to be, a wonderful loving man. I can physically get pregnant, but it is not advisable and not worth the risk of having to go through another cancer battle. Paul asked if, in 5 or 10 years down the track, I was still cancer free, could pregnancy be on the table then. We were told no. Crap. So, Wyatt shall be an only child. Don't get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful for my son. I am thankful that I have a child when there are people out there who don't get that chance, but it still sucks. To have that option taken away is horrid and unfair. So now I have to not only be extra careful with my skin, I also have to be careful not to fall pregnant. I feel as though I should wrap myself in bubble wrap.
I am sometimes asked if I am going to have another baby, and get told that I should give Wyatt a playmate as being an only child is not fun. I guess I am being selfish with wanting to make sure Wyatt has his mummy around for a very long time. There are people out there who purposely get pregnant to keep guys, neglect and/or abuse their kids, are just shithouse parents and yet these are the people who get to keep breeding! It also appears to be societies way that the perfect family has one boy and one girl. Apparently having one of each gender is ideal. Well, even if I could chance another pregnancy, what's to say I would want a little girl? Why does gender matter so damn much, when all that should be important is the health of the child? The first thing alot of people said to me when discovering I was carrying a boy was "Oh, Paul must be so happy". There is pressure that males prefer sons, then there is pressure to have one of each to make it a perfect family. What the hell is perfect? Does it even exist? I think not. And to clarify, Paul was stoked that he got to be a dad. He didn't mind the gender, he just wanted a healthy and happy child. It's all we both wanted. I guess now, when people ask me if and when I am going to give Wyatt a sibling, I shall have to think of something witty to reply with.
Unfair. That's life. What a fucking Bitch.
When I was at my worst, the world was ending and there was a nudging thought in the back of my head that wondered if I would be better off not being here. I was close to losing my mind. Much more panic and I could of lost my life. Post natal depression on top of general depression and anxiety had me feeling as though I was barely balancing on the edge of a cliff.
I was lucky in the sense that, being a victim of depression already, I knew the warning signs. I didn't bottle anything up and I was as honest as I could be at the time with my family and doctor. There was no judgment and with the support of people around me, plus some lovely "miracle" pills, I managed to slowly back away from that cliff edge.
Yesterday has left me feeling all different emotions, from hope to sadness to anger. I had to wonder if getting discharged from Mental Health was a bad move. I realised that I have nobody in the professional sense to talk things through with and it is a little bit scary. Then I took a deep breath and decided that I cannot run into the arms of a safe haven everytime I have one of these days. I have incredible support around me anyway, which is more than alot of people out there have.
I had an appointment yesterday morning, with the Professor who originally removed the Melanoma from my back. I needed answers. I needed someone who would be honest and straightforward. And now I need some processing time. My outlook is not bad, in fact it is looking pretty good. Melanoma's above 1mm are not at all good. Any Melanoma is not good, but above 1mm is just shit. Mine was 2.2mm. I had tissue invasion, but was incredible lucky that my Sentinel Lymph Node biopsy came back clear which means the cancer appears to not have spread. I have only a small chance of having a new node grow back cancerous in the same area that the other was taken and just need to keep going to my hospital appointments every 3 months to get checked. My 5 year survival rate, according to statistics, is about 75% which is pretty fucking good for a cancer survivor. The bad news was not so nice though. I can never get pregnant again, as there is a high probability that the Melanoma would come back. It could mean giving up my life and not watching the child I have now grow up and become, what I hope to be, a wonderful loving man. I can physically get pregnant, but it is not advisable and not worth the risk of having to go through another cancer battle. Paul asked if, in 5 or 10 years down the track, I was still cancer free, could pregnancy be on the table then. We were told no. Crap. So, Wyatt shall be an only child. Don't get me wrong, I am incredibly grateful for my son. I am thankful that I have a child when there are people out there who don't get that chance, but it still sucks. To have that option taken away is horrid and unfair. So now I have to not only be extra careful with my skin, I also have to be careful not to fall pregnant. I feel as though I should wrap myself in bubble wrap.
Master Wyatt and I waiting to see the Professor
I am sometimes asked if I am going to have another baby, and get told that I should give Wyatt a playmate as being an only child is not fun. I guess I am being selfish with wanting to make sure Wyatt has his mummy around for a very long time. There are people out there who purposely get pregnant to keep guys, neglect and/or abuse their kids, are just shithouse parents and yet these are the people who get to keep breeding! It also appears to be societies way that the perfect family has one boy and one girl. Apparently having one of each gender is ideal. Well, even if I could chance another pregnancy, what's to say I would want a little girl? Why does gender matter so damn much, when all that should be important is the health of the child? The first thing alot of people said to me when discovering I was carrying a boy was "Oh, Paul must be so happy". There is pressure that males prefer sons, then there is pressure to have one of each to make it a perfect family. What the hell is perfect? Does it even exist? I think not. And to clarify, Paul was stoked that he got to be a dad. He didn't mind the gender, he just wanted a healthy and happy child. It's all we both wanted. I guess now, when people ask me if and when I am going to give Wyatt a sibling, I shall have to think of something witty to reply with.
Unfair. That's life. What a fucking Bitch.
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Attachments
I took a day off work today. I needed to lay a kitten to rest. It all started 3 days ago when this gorgeous little girl found her way to our house. She was friendly, although underweight and non-active. Once we realised she had no home, it was decided that she would stay here. Paul named her Patches and settling in didn't take her long at all. We honestly thought she just needed some TLC and good feeds. Apparently not. This morning was a discovery we didn't like. Patches couldn't support herself at all. She couldn't stand, let alone walk. We put her on the bed and she promptly collapsed onto her side. Off to the vet for her!
We went to the vet closest to our house (the only one in our town) and left feeling angry and unhappy. They would only look at Patches if we paid in full and if she needed to be put to sleep we would have to pay for that also. Otherwise we could surrender her to them but they would put her to sleep without trying to help her. Payday was not today. And we were not giving up on our Patches! 30 minutes away is another vet where we have taken other much loved pets and not needed to pay in full so off we went. They were waiting for us and the vet who looked her over was amazing. He did a test and came back with the dreaded news. She was in bad renal failure, dying slowly and the kindest thing would be to put her to sleep. Paul got angry and left the room as he couldn't deal with watching an innocent animal being "killed" so I stayed with her. It was quick and painless. It was also heartbreaking and guilt-wrenching. The vet didn't charge us for putting her to sleep and he even put her into a little boxed casket for us. His words were "At least you tried". It doesn't feel good enough. I failed her.
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We went to the vet closest to our house (the only one in our town) and left feeling angry and unhappy. They would only look at Patches if we paid in full and if she needed to be put to sleep we would have to pay for that also. Otherwise we could surrender her to them but they would put her to sleep without trying to help her. Payday was not today. And we were not giving up on our Patches! 30 minutes away is another vet where we have taken other much loved pets and not needed to pay in full so off we went. They were waiting for us and the vet who looked her over was amazing. He did a test and came back with the dreaded news. She was in bad renal failure, dying slowly and the kindest thing would be to put her to sleep. Paul got angry and left the room as he couldn't deal with watching an innocent animal being "killed" so I stayed with her. It was quick and painless. It was also heartbreaking and guilt-wrenching. The vet didn't charge us for putting her to sleep and he even put her into a little boxed casket for us. His words were "At least you tried". It doesn't feel good enough. I failed her.
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Paul, Patches and another cat named Floyd
Master Wyatt with Patches, Floyd and Tempest
Why must I get so damn attached so quickly? Alot of people would turn their backs on an animal in need, but I just wouldn't be able to live with myself if I were to do so. It was bad enough putting Patches to sleep, it went against everything I believe in. But, I am grateful that she went quickly and without suffering throughout the failure of her organs.
Paul is still home from work with his bloody finger. It has been 3 weeks now and he is getting twitchy. He is not one to be able to stay still for long. And he has finally realised just how much of a handful Master Wyatt can be.
A few days ago, he was put on antibiotics due to blood poisoning in his finger from the wound and luckily that has cleared up but alas there is still healing to be done so another week at home for him at the least. I don't know how he will survive. Hell, I haven't a clue how I am going to survive! It means another body in the household day and night to make messes and to get in my damn way. Actually, to be honest, he is pretty good........ for a male. He still helps with the housework and has things done for when I arrive home from work which is pretty fucking awesome. Don't get me wrong, the bastard still has his faults!
Paul's healing finger
How the hell does one finger manage to cause so much bloody inconvenience?!
Saturday, 4 August 2012
Not a visit for me.
Last night was a trip to the hospital, and for once it was not me being the patient. It was my partner, and I got to see what it is like through the eyes of the person being there as support. I like it as much as I like being a damn patient, and I never want to go through it again. It was hard being the support person while fighting the build up of anxiety that threatened to send me into the land of meltdown.
The hospital and myself do not get along. Everytime I enter that scary place I feel as though I am going to have a panic attack and last night was no exception.
Yesterday was a fantastic day. The housework was done in the morning and bike riding was enjoyed in the afternoon. Then everything turned shit. It all started with turning the oven on for dinner. The damn thing smoked the fucking house out which lead to us deciding not to use it until it was given a complete scrub out the following day. Hindsight is oh so damn awesome. Paul decided to use the electric whisk to beat some eggs for dinner and when the blade chose to fall out, he had the not so good idea of pushing it back in while his other hand was near the power button. And then there was blood.
My mother (who lives across the road) came to the rescue with looking after Master Wyatt while I drove Paul to the hospital, which is about a 30 minute drive on a good day. He does not make a good passenger!
Paul had to have 3 local injections to numb his finger which gave him an insight to what I have been through with all the ones I have had over the past few months and he did not like it. I don't blame him. Admittance for surgery, due to his finger being a hell of a mess and being that the silly bugger had hit bone, was almost carried out but the on-call surgeon decided to wait any longer would just increase the risk of him losing his finger so it was decided that stitches would hopefully suffice and help it heal, which meant being able to come home the same night thankfully. Fuck having to drive home then back again the next day, I hate that fucking place! I also would of had feelings of guilt and sadness if I ended up having to leave him there. Now I know how he felt the times he has had to leave me in that horrid place.
*screams with frustration*
I do understand where Paul is coming from. I know what it is like to be limited and have to rely on others more than usual. I also know what it is like to be stubborn and to like feeling helpful, which is also what he is doing. He really is trying, and he feels like shit which I totally sympathise with. I am trying to be as understanding as possible, which should not be at all hard for me, but why the hell did he have to have his hand near the bloody power button?!
The hospital and myself do not get along. Everytime I enter that scary place I feel as though I am going to have a panic attack and last night was no exception.
Yesterday was a fantastic day. The housework was done in the morning and bike riding was enjoyed in the afternoon. Then everything turned shit. It all started with turning the oven on for dinner. The damn thing smoked the fucking house out which lead to us deciding not to use it until it was given a complete scrub out the following day. Hindsight is oh so damn awesome. Paul decided to use the electric whisk to beat some eggs for dinner and when the blade chose to fall out, he had the not so good idea of pushing it back in while his other hand was near the power button. And then there was blood.
The culprit.
My mother (who lives across the road) came to the rescue with looking after Master Wyatt while I drove Paul to the hospital, which is about a 30 minute drive on a good day. He does not make a good passenger!
Paul had to have 3 local injections to numb his finger which gave him an insight to what I have been through with all the ones I have had over the past few months and he did not like it. I don't blame him. Admittance for surgery, due to his finger being a hell of a mess and being that the silly bugger had hit bone, was almost carried out but the on-call surgeon decided to wait any longer would just increase the risk of him losing his finger so it was decided that stitches would hopefully suffice and help it heal, which meant being able to come home the same night thankfully. Fuck having to drive home then back again the next day, I hate that fucking place! I also would of had feelings of guilt and sadness if I ended up having to leave him there. Now I know how he felt the times he has had to leave me in that horrid place.
Looking incredibly good after stitches and a cleanout.
Today has challenged me and had me near breaking point a few times. I managed to trap my finger in pliers and Master Wyatt had a couple of falls which resulted in tears. I have felt anger towards Paul for being such a stupid moronic fool and ending up being a one-handed idiot, thus leaving me to have to work harder and attempt to take control of everything. Well, control is not happening. More like chaos. I would be safer in a den of lions I am certain. Master Wyatt has chosen today to be a temperamental little shit which does not help matters. Why can he not just understand that Daddy is more handicapped than usual and cannot be used as a jungle gym right now. 15 month olds are hard bloody work at times and then some.
I do understand where Paul is coming from. I know what it is like to be limited and have to rely on others more than usual. I also know what it is like to be stubborn and to like feeling helpful, which is also what he is doing. He really is trying, and he feels like shit which I totally sympathise with. I am trying to be as understanding as possible, which should not be at all hard for me, but why the hell did he have to have his hand near the bloody power button?!
Friday, 20 July 2012
Disturbing thoughts.
I wonder what people's reaction times would be if they knew about the most disturbing, random and unwelcome thoughts that invaded my head were. I finally found the courage to tell my therapist about some of these fucked up thoughts and she assured me that about 60% of the population have them.
Have you noticed it is spelt "the-rapist"? Strange. Although, I guess they are people trained to "rape our minds" as such. They would certainly be able to mind-fuck their patients if they so desired I am assuming.
Anyways, back to the disturbing thoughts. I also told my partner some as they popped into my head and he was abit weirded out, and it takes alot to disturb him. My answer to this was saying to him "Well, try being the one having the fucked up visions". I don't want them, and I most certainly would never act on them. Apparently they are thoughts of curiousity, and perfectly normal. What the hell is normal? I sometimes wonder if maybe the people with severe mental health issues and trapped in their own worlds were the sane ones and the ones, such as myself, living in the so-called real world are crazy and this isn't really reality but we are trapped here while our bodies are elsewhere?
And no that is not one of the random disturbing thoughts I have, just a random one. Can I write here some of my thoughts? Hell NO! Oh ok, maybe it will help others who have similiar thoughts realise they are not alone. But I shall only mention a couple of very tame ones as I am abit scared about what people will think. I will mention the ones that most people supposedly have.
One thought I have alot is that sometimes when the phone rings at work, I think it is someone calling me to tell me that my partner and son have been killed in a car accident.
Another is that sometimes I wonder what the damage would be if I were to drive into a truck. Surely I wouldn't be hurt that much? Surely I would survive?
Friends dying, family hurt, animals in pain. The list seems neverending. These thoughts are NOT welcomed, and I would NEVER act on them, but it does make me feel very alone and very much like a total nutcase.
Have you noticed it is spelt "the-rapist"? Strange. Although, I guess they are people trained to "rape our minds" as such. They would certainly be able to mind-fuck their patients if they so desired I am assuming.
Anyways, back to the disturbing thoughts. I also told my partner some as they popped into my head and he was abit weirded out, and it takes alot to disturb him. My answer to this was saying to him "Well, try being the one having the fucked up visions". I don't want them, and I most certainly would never act on them. Apparently they are thoughts of curiousity, and perfectly normal. What the hell is normal? I sometimes wonder if maybe the people with severe mental health issues and trapped in their own worlds were the sane ones and the ones, such as myself, living in the so-called real world are crazy and this isn't really reality but we are trapped here while our bodies are elsewhere?
And no that is not one of the random disturbing thoughts I have, just a random one. Can I write here some of my thoughts? Hell NO! Oh ok, maybe it will help others who have similiar thoughts realise they are not alone. But I shall only mention a couple of very tame ones as I am abit scared about what people will think. I will mention the ones that most people supposedly have.
One thought I have alot is that sometimes when the phone rings at work, I think it is someone calling me to tell me that my partner and son have been killed in a car accident.
Another is that sometimes I wonder what the damage would be if I were to drive into a truck. Surely I wouldn't be hurt that much? Surely I would survive?
Friends dying, family hurt, animals in pain. The list seems neverending. These thoughts are NOT welcomed, and I would NEVER act on them, but it does make me feel very alone and very much like a total nutcase.
Tuesday, 1 May 2012
Strange coincidences.
There are a few things that seem to overlap today. And it's just a little strange.
Wyatt is a whole year old today. It is also the Wicca New Year. Today is the first day of Melanoma Awareness month. It is also the day I have my post-op checkup at the hospital, in the same building that I delivered Wyatt. My favourite colour is black, and the Cancer I have fought is represented by that same colour.
Melanoma, witchcraft and my son's birthday seem to be entwined together. Wyatt was not due until June, yet decided he was too impatient to be waiting any longer and wanted to meet the world sooner than anticipated. I choose to believe that him being born on an important Wiccan day will bring him good luck. I also like to think that him being born on the first day of Melanoma Awareness month will bring me good luck.
I have always had some faith in luck and fate. So may today bring loads of good charm to both Wyatt and I. May he live a happy and health life. May I do the same.
Melanoma, please stay away and allow my son and I to live many wonderful years together.
Wyatt is a whole year old today. It is also the Wicca New Year. Today is the first day of Melanoma Awareness month. It is also the day I have my post-op checkup at the hospital, in the same building that I delivered Wyatt. My favourite colour is black, and the Cancer I have fought is represented by that same colour.
Melanoma, witchcraft and my son's birthday seem to be entwined together. Wyatt was not due until June, yet decided he was too impatient to be waiting any longer and wanted to meet the world sooner than anticipated. I choose to believe that him being born on an important Wiccan day will bring him good luck. I also like to think that him being born on the first day of Melanoma Awareness month will bring me good luck.
I have always had some faith in luck and fate. So may today bring loads of good charm to both Wyatt and I. May he live a happy and health life. May I do the same.
Melanoma, please stay away and allow my son and I to live many wonderful years together.
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
A year later...
Recalls. Flashbacks. And not nice ones either.
Next Tuesday my baby will become one year of age. Next Tuesday I have my post-op checkup at the hospital. Wyatt was born a few minutes before 3pm. My checkup is at 3pm. This appointment is also being done in the same building as Wyatt was born and where Wyatt and I had to stay for a few days after he came into this weird and wacky world. It was the start of post-natal depression and the start of feeling as though my world was falling apart. This makes me very nervous. And a little scared.
Maybe I am just feeling this way due to not being very well right now and having an unwell little boy who is waking throughout the night and becoming unsettled. The sleep deprivation causes anxiety. And I am pretty certain that part of what causes depression is lack of sleep. It fucks with ones mind and thoughts and makes everything seem worse than what they really are.
Almost a year ago was the start of sleep deprivation for me, due to having a newborn baby. Almost a year ago was the start of bad post-natal depression for me. Almost a year ago it felt as though everything was being turned upside down and inside out.
Then again, almost a year ago I met my little man and became an overprotective lioness. Almost a year ago, I gave birth to a prem baby who has since thrived and made my heart burst with pride. So, if I start having the depressive thoughts and feelings, maybe I need to attempt to push them aside and replace them with some positives. Hard to do at the time, but one can only try.
There are parents out there who would give anything to watch their children grow yet won't get the chance. I know I should consider myself lucky that I have managed to beat Melanoma and I get the chance to see Wyatt grow. There are times I feel frustrated with him, and then I feel guilty because I feel as though I should be enjoying every moment, even the bad ones. But, are there really any parents out there who don't feel some frustration at times? I think bloody not.
Next Tuesday my baby will become one year of age. Next Tuesday I have my post-op checkup at the hospital. Wyatt was born a few minutes before 3pm. My checkup is at 3pm. This appointment is also being done in the same building as Wyatt was born and where Wyatt and I had to stay for a few days after he came into this weird and wacky world. It was the start of post-natal depression and the start of feeling as though my world was falling apart. This makes me very nervous. And a little scared.
Maybe I am just feeling this way due to not being very well right now and having an unwell little boy who is waking throughout the night and becoming unsettled. The sleep deprivation causes anxiety. And I am pretty certain that part of what causes depression is lack of sleep. It fucks with ones mind and thoughts and makes everything seem worse than what they really are.
Almost a year ago was the start of sleep deprivation for me, due to having a newborn baby. Almost a year ago was the start of bad post-natal depression for me. Almost a year ago it felt as though everything was being turned upside down and inside out.
Then again, almost a year ago I met my little man and became an overprotective lioness. Almost a year ago, I gave birth to a prem baby who has since thrived and made my heart burst with pride. So, if I start having the depressive thoughts and feelings, maybe I need to attempt to push them aside and replace them with some positives. Hard to do at the time, but one can only try.
There are parents out there who would give anything to watch their children grow yet won't get the chance. I know I should consider myself lucky that I have managed to beat Melanoma and I get the chance to see Wyatt grow. There are times I feel frustrated with him, and then I feel guilty because I feel as though I should be enjoying every moment, even the bad ones. But, are there really any parents out there who don't feel some frustration at times? I think bloody not.
Monday, 2 April 2012
The good things in life
Last year was an incredibly full on year, from being dignosed with Melanoma to delivering a prem baby followed by Post Natal Depression which had me believing the world was ending. It really was. And it was scary.
I once believed that I had no fear of death. Now I know better. Facing your own mortality is one hell of an eye opener. And although the fears never completely disappear, I have come to realise that I really do have some good things happening in life. This year seems to be the makeup for all the crap I experienced last year.
It all started with being told that my having crisis cover in my life insurance covered my Melanoma. I forgot I had the cover, so to find out that there was money to be paid to me was quite fabulous. Bills were paid, shopping was done. The money went fast, but it was a blast!
I then found out that I was entitled to free accomodation for 4 nights at a Motel in New Plymouth, so in just a few days I will be heading to one of my favourite places with Paul and Wyatt for some pampering, relaxation and cuddles with different breeds of animals.
A CT Scan was done for me 2 weeks ago, and tomorrow I have more moles being removed, but I am choosing to believe that it will all come back ok and I will still be able to say that I am in Remission. I may feel differently tomorrow, but will cross that bridge if and when I come to it.
Remission. What a strange word. What an inbetween word. No sign of the disease, but not cured. A word that can cause one to feel fear and relief all at once. Well, it does for me. Maybe the intense fear I feel with this Cancer stems partly from the Depression I have. Or maybe it is perfectly normal. The lines are blurred.
I know I am luckier than alot of people out there. I have my own home, a loving partner, a gorgeous son, naughty animals, supportive family, and best of all I am still Cancer-free 13.5 months later which enables me to enjoy all of the above.
So, while I am feeling pretty good right now, why is it that when I have the negative thoughts and feelings I cannot see the good things in my life? Why can I not focus on those positives every day? Damn ying yang. Damn balances. I want to be able to feel goodness all the time! Although, if that were to happen I guess I wouldn't appreciate the good things in life when they come around.
I once believed that I had no fear of death. Now I know better. Facing your own mortality is one hell of an eye opener. And although the fears never completely disappear, I have come to realise that I really do have some good things happening in life. This year seems to be the makeup for all the crap I experienced last year.
It all started with being told that my having crisis cover in my life insurance covered my Melanoma. I forgot I had the cover, so to find out that there was money to be paid to me was quite fabulous. Bills were paid, shopping was done. The money went fast, but it was a blast!
I then found out that I was entitled to free accomodation for 4 nights at a Motel in New Plymouth, so in just a few days I will be heading to one of my favourite places with Paul and Wyatt for some pampering, relaxation and cuddles with different breeds of animals.
A CT Scan was done for me 2 weeks ago, and tomorrow I have more moles being removed, but I am choosing to believe that it will all come back ok and I will still be able to say that I am in Remission. I may feel differently tomorrow, but will cross that bridge if and when I come to it.
Remission. What a strange word. What an inbetween word. No sign of the disease, but not cured. A word that can cause one to feel fear and relief all at once. Well, it does for me. Maybe the intense fear I feel with this Cancer stems partly from the Depression I have. Or maybe it is perfectly normal. The lines are blurred.
I know I am luckier than alot of people out there. I have my own home, a loving partner, a gorgeous son, naughty animals, supportive family, and best of all I am still Cancer-free 13.5 months later which enables me to enjoy all of the above.
So, while I am feeling pretty good right now, why is it that when I have the negative thoughts and feelings I cannot see the good things in my life? Why can I not focus on those positives every day? Damn ying yang. Damn balances. I want to be able to feel goodness all the time! Although, if that were to happen I guess I wouldn't appreciate the good things in life when they come around.
Wednesday, 22 February 2012
Melanoma sucks.
What the hell?!
Where the fuck has all this anger and resentment come from? It became so incredibly overwhelming today that the tears arrived and they just would not stop flowing! I am angry that my neighbour is a shit mother. I am angry that a workmate is a horrid backstabbing bitch. I am angry at companies wanting to bleed me dry. I am angry that there is never enough money to pay everything in one week. I am angry at the world. But what really pisses me off more than anything is never going just one day without thinking about that horrid C word. You think I mean Cunt don't you? Well, it would be awfully strange if I thought about that every day. The most dreaded word in the world for me now is Cancer. It is the one word that brings an array of emotions to the surface. Everything from fear to anxiety to rage comes flowing out and I hate it. I hate having that word pop into my head every goddamn day of my fucking life. I hate not being able to "just move on and think positive". If only it were that bloody easy. Even though it has now been just over a year since they first cut into me, the Cancer still has the ability to rule my life. I do try and push it aside, but it is a stubborn bitch and likes to dance around in my head tormenting me from time to time. Right now is one of those times. Stupid fucking thoughts and emotions. What I really hate is people saying that they can only imagine what it is like. Imagination is not that extendable to be able to have even the slightest bit of understanding as to what someone like me is feeling. Unless you have ever been told that you have Melanoma, you cannot possibly have any inkling of the fear and resentment that I feel at times.
I have a Mental Health appointment tomorrow, my first one in a few weeks. I have no idea if I can find the words to express what is going on in my head, but I know I need to try.
There is a girl that I work with who thinks she is an expert on parenting, yet she is not and never has been a parent. It annoys the hell out of me when she goes on about babies and parenthood when in reality she really has no bloody idea what it is like. Well, that is what it is like when people who have never been diagnosed with Melanoma think that they know what I am going through.
You haven't a fucking clue.
Where the fuck has all this anger and resentment come from? It became so incredibly overwhelming today that the tears arrived and they just would not stop flowing! I am angry that my neighbour is a shit mother. I am angry that a workmate is a horrid backstabbing bitch. I am angry at companies wanting to bleed me dry. I am angry that there is never enough money to pay everything in one week. I am angry at the world. But what really pisses me off more than anything is never going just one day without thinking about that horrid C word. You think I mean Cunt don't you? Well, it would be awfully strange if I thought about that every day. The most dreaded word in the world for me now is Cancer. It is the one word that brings an array of emotions to the surface. Everything from fear to anxiety to rage comes flowing out and I hate it. I hate having that word pop into my head every goddamn day of my fucking life. I hate not being able to "just move on and think positive". If only it were that bloody easy. Even though it has now been just over a year since they first cut into me, the Cancer still has the ability to rule my life. I do try and push it aside, but it is a stubborn bitch and likes to dance around in my head tormenting me from time to time. Right now is one of those times. Stupid fucking thoughts and emotions. What I really hate is people saying that they can only imagine what it is like. Imagination is not that extendable to be able to have even the slightest bit of understanding as to what someone like me is feeling. Unless you have ever been told that you have Melanoma, you cannot possibly have any inkling of the fear and resentment that I feel at times.
I have a Mental Health appointment tomorrow, my first one in a few weeks. I have no idea if I can find the words to express what is going on in my head, but I know I need to try.
There is a girl that I work with who thinks she is an expert on parenting, yet she is not and never has been a parent. It annoys the hell out of me when she goes on about babies and parenthood when in reality she really has no bloody idea what it is like. Well, that is what it is like when people who have never been diagnosed with Melanoma think that they know what I am going through.
You haven't a fucking clue.
Saturday, 18 February 2012
The following is just a few things that fuck me off.
People who chew gum while talking to shop assistants etc.
Shop assistants who chew gum.
Handwriting I cannot even attempt to fucking read.
ATM's not giving out $5 notes. What if I only have five bloody dollars in there and I want it?!
Vending machines not having the ability to use eftpos. Don't they realise more people would use them if they were able to slide a bank card in and get a cold one in return?
Dog fur on the carpet. Could they not learn to brush themselves?
Assholes who leave the toilet seat up.
The toilet paper not being put on properly.
Sleepless nights.
Bitchy customers.
Driver's not giving way to me when I am a pedestrian.
Pedestrian's not getting out of the way when I am driving.
Having the last of the chocolate disappear before I get to it.
Child and Animal Abuse. It gets my blood boiling and the rage overspills.
Cancer.
Child and Animal Abuse. It gets my blood boiling and the rage overspills.
Cancer.
Sunday, 29 January 2012
Obsession. Compulsion. Not a good combination. According to the internet, my 5 year survival rate is 75-77% which is scaring the hell out of me. So, do I believe a surgeon who seemed to have no clue what the fuck he was on about or do I lean towards the statistics that every website seem to agree on? I want to see my usual man at the hospital, but he was not available the last time due to the clinic being understaffed at the time. And now I have to wait until April before I can see him again, and this time round I will not be settling for anyone else! I want some bloody straightforward and honest answers, but I want them to be answers that don't scare me. The surgeon scared me. He went into worst case scenerios and was quite brutal. Bastard. Winston (my usual guy) was confident that the cancer had not spread to the lymph nodes but recommended I have the node biopsy for peace of mind. He was right. So, I would probably trust him with statistics and other bits of information needed.
Maybe I am feeling horrid and paranoid due to lack of sleep and dealing with a teething baby who is being a horrid little shit. I feel as though I have not achieved much this weekend due to having a grumpy temperamental 8.5 month old terror needing attention and that frustrates me. Today was the first time in a long time that I felt like I was not mother material. I felt that I wasn't good enough for this role. No matter what I did, he was not happy. My confidence lowered and I felt out of my depth. Maybe I just need some sleep. Maybe I need a break. Maybe there just needs to be more hours in the goddamn day!
Paul is home, I have a beer and the shower is about to be invaded by me.
Fuck this weekend.
Maybe I am feeling horrid and paranoid due to lack of sleep and dealing with a teething baby who is being a horrid little shit. I feel as though I have not achieved much this weekend due to having a grumpy temperamental 8.5 month old terror needing attention and that frustrates me. Today was the first time in a long time that I felt like I was not mother material. I felt that I wasn't good enough for this role. No matter what I did, he was not happy. My confidence lowered and I felt out of my depth. Maybe I just need some sleep. Maybe I need a break. Maybe there just needs to be more hours in the goddamn day!
Paul is home, I have a beer and the shower is about to be invaded by me.
Fuck this weekend.
Thursday, 19 January 2012
Sunday, 15 January 2012
I walked away. With already feeling like I had been hammered into the ground, the last thing I needed was to have my face being torn apart and my hair pulled by an 8 month old lil shit.
At first it was all ok but after a while I could feel myself getting frustrated. It was more to do with the horrid over-tiredness than anything else but the last thing I wanted to do was get more flustered while dealing with my child who was also in dire need of sleep. So, I did the right thing and safely tucked him into his cot and walked away. Well fuck me, the bugger got comfy and dozed off. Nice for some!
I felt horrible leaving him and going to the other end of the house to get my thoughts sorted, and guilty because I was nearing the end of my rope and was unable to be the perfect Mummy and just deal with everything including the annoying child. I know it is the best thing to do when in that situation and I know it is better for baby to be safe than to have a pissed off parent, but there was still that slight feeling of failure happening which sucked. I felt like I was supposed to be Super Woman and be able to fit work, household chores and a baby all into one day, every day. So, when am I allowed some "me" time? Is it ok to have this sort of time or is it selfish to want it? Is sleep considered this? Well, if so, I am shit out of luck as sleep and I are morbid enemies. Sleep likes to play hide and seek with me alot. It hides, I seek, I catch, it gets away and then this repeats all over again. Stupid vicious circles.
There are fucktards out there who actually do put themselves first and foremost, before their kids, at all times. Even if it poses risks. That I could never do. Yes, there are times that I put myself first, but is that not normal? Surely it must be ok to do for yourself at times, so long as there is no endangerment for anyone? If we didn't have some time-out would we not then go more crazy
So my conclusion is that being selfish is ok at times, so long as everyone is safe and nobody is being put in harms way.
At first it was all ok but after a while I could feel myself getting frustrated. It was more to do with the horrid over-tiredness than anything else but the last thing I wanted to do was get more flustered while dealing with my child who was also in dire need of sleep. So, I did the right thing and safely tucked him into his cot and walked away. Well fuck me, the bugger got comfy and dozed off. Nice for some!
I felt horrible leaving him and going to the other end of the house to get my thoughts sorted, and guilty because I was nearing the end of my rope and was unable to be the perfect Mummy and just deal with everything including the annoying child. I know it is the best thing to do when in that situation and I know it is better for baby to be safe than to have a pissed off parent, but there was still that slight feeling of failure happening which sucked. I felt like I was supposed to be Super Woman and be able to fit work, household chores and a baby all into one day, every day. So, when am I allowed some "me" time? Is it ok to have this sort of time or is it selfish to want it? Is sleep considered this? Well, if so, I am shit out of luck as sleep and I are morbid enemies. Sleep likes to play hide and seek with me alot. It hides, I seek, I catch, it gets away and then this repeats all over again. Stupid vicious circles.
There are fucktards out there who actually do put themselves first and foremost, before their kids, at all times. Even if it poses risks. That I could never do. Yes, there are times that I put myself first, but is that not normal? Surely it must be ok to do for yourself at times, so long as there is no endangerment for anyone? If we didn't have some time-out would we not then go more crazy
So my conclusion is that being selfish is ok at times, so long as everyone is safe and nobody is being put in harms way.
Wednesday, 11 January 2012
"I don't want to hear anymore"
These are the words that came out of my mouth as I felt the familiar coldness in my head which could only mean one thing. Panic. I needed to focus on getting the anxiety under control before it had me in a complete state of terror.
One of the horrible things about suffering from depression and anxiety is that hearing the worst case scenerio feeds the monster.
Yesterday morning was my first hospital appointment since having my Sentinel Node Biopsy, and the doctor was being incredibly honest and straightforward. Don't get me wrong, I like honesty, but as the saying goes "The truth hurts". Or in my case "You can't handle the truth!".
I have now been told that if Melanoma comes back to haunt me then the prognosis would not be very good. He then went on to talk about the worst case scenerios which led to me telling him to stop. Paul was also feeling concern, over me getting twitchy and also what we were hearing. It was then that the surgeon realised that the good side of things needed to be voiced. So the positives I have discovered are that even though they can never be 100% sure that the cancer did not break off and go anywhere else, they are pretty confident this is not the case. Melanoma thicker than 1mm is very very bad, but even though mine was 2.3mm they did manage to cut it all out and it did not invade my nodes which is a good sign. Because I am "young, healthy and have no history of this disease" my prognosis right now is good. Most people they see who are in similiar stages as myself end up being discharged after 5 years and being fine. I just need to keep a very close eye on my skin and always go to my 3 monthly checkups without fail.
My survival rate is 90%, so why is it that the 10% weighs heavily on my mind? Since that appointment I have felt fear, angst, sadness and paranoia. Is it the existing Mental Health issues that comtribute to this, or are these feelings normal for someone in my shoes (or barefeet as the case is)? It is incredibly difficult to distinguish where the line is. Should I not be happy that I have a very good high survival chance? Is it selfish to want 100% instead of 90%? I am happy that my survival rate is so high, and I do realise that my chances are pretty damn good, but that fear just seems to stay lurking under the surface and that is something I have no idea on how to deal with.
I had a Mental Health appointment this morning, but dammit, it was cancelled. And this was one appointment I so desperately needed! So, what to do when oneself is at loose ends and feeling out of sorts? A day out with Paul, Wyatt and the 2 dogs ended up being the agenda. I have never been one for colour, unless you consider black to be one, but somehow I now have a white summer skirt and a white/blue striped singlet amongst the clothing I own. Black attracts the sun. White does not. You do the math. Before we left the house this morning, I made sure sunscreen was used. And then I reapplied it to myself in the car as the sun became brighter. I probably looked like an idiotic fool sitting there in the passenger seat with my feet up on the dash and flashing my undies to the world, but I figured I would rather have random strangers see my undies than take the risk of getting even the slightest sunburn. I then started feeling paranoid about being exposed to the brightness in the sky and have come to the conclusion that winter is safest.
The sky started to change this evening and we ended up with lovely cooling drizzle, so I took advantage and did some gardening. Gardening in light rainfall is actually quite refreshing and there is no fear of the sun doing its worse. Does that make me insane? Crazy? Or just carefully cautious?
These are the words that came out of my mouth as I felt the familiar coldness in my head which could only mean one thing. Panic. I needed to focus on getting the anxiety under control before it had me in a complete state of terror.
One of the horrible things about suffering from depression and anxiety is that hearing the worst case scenerio feeds the monster.
Yesterday morning was my first hospital appointment since having my Sentinel Node Biopsy, and the doctor was being incredibly honest and straightforward. Don't get me wrong, I like honesty, but as the saying goes "The truth hurts". Or in my case "You can't handle the truth!".
I have now been told that if Melanoma comes back to haunt me then the prognosis would not be very good. He then went on to talk about the worst case scenerios which led to me telling him to stop. Paul was also feeling concern, over me getting twitchy and also what we were hearing. It was then that the surgeon realised that the good side of things needed to be voiced. So the positives I have discovered are that even though they can never be 100% sure that the cancer did not break off and go anywhere else, they are pretty confident this is not the case. Melanoma thicker than 1mm is very very bad, but even though mine was 2.3mm they did manage to cut it all out and it did not invade my nodes which is a good sign. Because I am "young, healthy and have no history of this disease" my prognosis right now is good. Most people they see who are in similiar stages as myself end up being discharged after 5 years and being fine. I just need to keep a very close eye on my skin and always go to my 3 monthly checkups without fail.
My survival rate is 90%, so why is it that the 10% weighs heavily on my mind? Since that appointment I have felt fear, angst, sadness and paranoia. Is it the existing Mental Health issues that comtribute to this, or are these feelings normal for someone in my shoes (or barefeet as the case is)? It is incredibly difficult to distinguish where the line is. Should I not be happy that I have a very good high survival chance? Is it selfish to want 100% instead of 90%? I am happy that my survival rate is so high, and I do realise that my chances are pretty damn good, but that fear just seems to stay lurking under the surface and that is something I have no idea on how to deal with.
I had a Mental Health appointment this morning, but dammit, it was cancelled. And this was one appointment I so desperately needed! So, what to do when oneself is at loose ends and feeling out of sorts? A day out with Paul, Wyatt and the 2 dogs ended up being the agenda. I have never been one for colour, unless you consider black to be one, but somehow I now have a white summer skirt and a white/blue striped singlet amongst the clothing I own. Black attracts the sun. White does not. You do the math. Before we left the house this morning, I made sure sunscreen was used. And then I reapplied it to myself in the car as the sun became brighter. I probably looked like an idiotic fool sitting there in the passenger seat with my feet up on the dash and flashing my undies to the world, but I figured I would rather have random strangers see my undies than take the risk of getting even the slightest sunburn. I then started feeling paranoid about being exposed to the brightness in the sky and have come to the conclusion that winter is safest.
The sky started to change this evening and we ended up with lovely cooling drizzle, so I took advantage and did some gardening. Gardening in light rainfall is actually quite refreshing and there is no fear of the sun doing its worse. Does that make me insane? Crazy? Or just carefully cautious?
Sunday, 8 January 2012
Reflecting on the past can be both horrifying and humourous. Going through old storage boxes and finding old diaries that date as far back as 1996 is quite funny...... until you start having a browse and realise you were quite the mess all those years ago. So many words enter the mind. Slapper. Death. Lonely. Angry. Sad. Confused. Scared. And so many more.
2011 would have to be the most terrifing year of my life so far. Even more so than those I experienced during my horrid teenage years. I was 30 and pregnant with our first child when I found a rapidly changing mole and had it cut out. It was discovered in February 2011 that this mole was Melanoma and even though the mole was gone, the cancer was not. My father decided that being pregnant, this was something that needed attention right away so with his help we went to a world renowned surgeon who specialises in the skin and he took a nice big chunk out of my back. We could not do a Node Biopsy while I was carrying this living creature inside of me so the surgeon went 3 stitches deep into my back in the hopes of getting all of this killer cancer.
I planned on going on Maternity Leave when I was 3 weeks away from my due date, but alas a month before my due date my waters broke. At work. Oh shit. And then came the denial. I spent the next day going shopping with my other half, Paul, and cleaning house. Every now and then I would keel over in pain but no, I was NOT in labour as I was not bloody ready for it! That night was the first night I spent in the hospital hooked up to machines and sucking in the gas..... which apparently made me so high I ended up flirting with Paul while going through contractions. Sunday afternoon, the 1st of May 2011, after having every pain relief possible, including an epi, I finally got to meet my son, Wyatt, via a forceps delivery. He was only 5lb 14oz. 53 hours after my waters broke and the first thing that went through my head was "Ha, little grey alien. Cute". The next few days had both Paul and I at the hospital in a single room with Wyatt and his lack of feeding on top of Jaundice. A bottle fed baby he became. Once home we got settled into the sleep deprivation as best as we could, and then along came the Postnatal Depression. And fuck was it bad. The world was ending. We were all going to die. I just needed to figure out how and when and why. No, I didn't want to deal with the baby. I was too nervous. Too scared. It was all too much. Bloody hell child, do you ever shut the hell up? So, another trip to the doctor was in order. I already had Depression so I knew the signs of it getting worse and I knew I needed help. The doc was fantastic. All I needed to do was take an extra pill a day and Hey Presto! Isn't medication just bloody marvellous? It was not a quick fix, but after a few days I certainly felt the difference and was able to start functioning like a Human Being again.
Luckily for me, Wyatt was sleeping through the night when I went back to work, but alas now I had to book in for a Sentinel Node Biopsy. This was in November 2011. You are wondering what that actually involves? Well, they put you to sleep then make a cut under your arm and remove the Sentinel Node for a biopsy. The Sentinel Node is basically the gatekeeper to the other Nodes. If the Sentinel Node is positive for Cancer then chances are more are affected. But, firstly you need to have radioactive dye injected into you around the original Cancer site and yes the needles going in hurt like Hell. So, once the dye is injected they have you lie on a bed under a strange machine that can see which Nodes the dye travels to. Basically, it is making a map so the surgeons know where the Cancer would of gone if it spread. Just before I went into theatre, the surgeon decided that he wanted to take more of my back aswell just to be on the safe side and to make the Melanoma more preventable of being able to come back and visit. What was supposed to be a day surgery ended up with me being admitted overnight. Did I tell you I hate hospitals? I was not a happy camper! The next day, I was discharged and was on my way to healing.
I got my results back and I can now say that I won the battle and there is no sign of Melanoma existing within me now. I do need to go to a clinic at the hospital every 3 months to get checked over and I will need the checks for the next 5 years. I also take photos every few weeks so I can compare and refer to these if the paranoid thoughts over whether a mole is new or not takes over.
I have days of fear and terror. Those days where I am so scared of having the deadiest Skin Cancer come back and take my life. Those days of utter panic and breakdowns. But those days are becoming less often and I am becoming less fearful. The worry will never go away and it will never be ok that I ended up with this ugly disease in the first place.
I know how lucky I am to be surviving the big C, but this does not mean I no longer have bad moody days. It does not mean I no longer have fat days. And it certainly does not mean I am never a Bitch. Afterall, I am human.
I have never been one to bathe in the suns warmth and have always covered myself in sunscreen and am even one to wear a hat whether I am going for a walk or swimming in the lake. I am not a beach person and have never been very fond of the summer months and the heat that comes with them, but I did burn as a child. More than once.
2011 would have to be the most terrifing year of my life so far. Even more so than those I experienced during my horrid teenage years. I was 30 and pregnant with our first child when I found a rapidly changing mole and had it cut out. It was discovered in February 2011 that this mole was Melanoma and even though the mole was gone, the cancer was not. My father decided that being pregnant, this was something that needed attention right away so with his help we went to a world renowned surgeon who specialises in the skin and he took a nice big chunk out of my back. We could not do a Node Biopsy while I was carrying this living creature inside of me so the surgeon went 3 stitches deep into my back in the hopes of getting all of this killer cancer.
I planned on going on Maternity Leave when I was 3 weeks away from my due date, but alas a month before my due date my waters broke. At work. Oh shit. And then came the denial. I spent the next day going shopping with my other half, Paul, and cleaning house. Every now and then I would keel over in pain but no, I was NOT in labour as I was not bloody ready for it! That night was the first night I spent in the hospital hooked up to machines and sucking in the gas..... which apparently made me so high I ended up flirting with Paul while going through contractions. Sunday afternoon, the 1st of May 2011, after having every pain relief possible, including an epi, I finally got to meet my son, Wyatt, via a forceps delivery. He was only 5lb 14oz. 53 hours after my waters broke and the first thing that went through my head was "Ha, little grey alien. Cute". The next few days had both Paul and I at the hospital in a single room with Wyatt and his lack of feeding on top of Jaundice. A bottle fed baby he became. Once home we got settled into the sleep deprivation as best as we could, and then along came the Postnatal Depression. And fuck was it bad. The world was ending. We were all going to die. I just needed to figure out how and when and why. No, I didn't want to deal with the baby. I was too nervous. Too scared. It was all too much. Bloody hell child, do you ever shut the hell up? So, another trip to the doctor was in order. I already had Depression so I knew the signs of it getting worse and I knew I needed help. The doc was fantastic. All I needed to do was take an extra pill a day and Hey Presto! Isn't medication just bloody marvellous? It was not a quick fix, but after a few days I certainly felt the difference and was able to start functioning like a Human Being again.
Luckily for me, Wyatt was sleeping through the night when I went back to work, but alas now I had to book in for a Sentinel Node Biopsy. This was in November 2011. You are wondering what that actually involves? Well, they put you to sleep then make a cut under your arm and remove the Sentinel Node for a biopsy. The Sentinel Node is basically the gatekeeper to the other Nodes. If the Sentinel Node is positive for Cancer then chances are more are affected. But, firstly you need to have radioactive dye injected into you around the original Cancer site and yes the needles going in hurt like Hell. So, once the dye is injected they have you lie on a bed under a strange machine that can see which Nodes the dye travels to. Basically, it is making a map so the surgeons know where the Cancer would of gone if it spread. Just before I went into theatre, the surgeon decided that he wanted to take more of my back aswell just to be on the safe side and to make the Melanoma more preventable of being able to come back and visit. What was supposed to be a day surgery ended up with me being admitted overnight. Did I tell you I hate hospitals? I was not a happy camper! The next day, I was discharged and was on my way to healing.
The above is what my back looked like a few days after the surgery.
Below is under my arm.
I got my results back and I can now say that I won the battle and there is no sign of Melanoma existing within me now. I do need to go to a clinic at the hospital every 3 months to get checked over and I will need the checks for the next 5 years. I also take photos every few weeks so I can compare and refer to these if the paranoid thoughts over whether a mole is new or not takes over.
Above is my back once the dressings were able to come off.
Below is under my arm.
What is strange is that my son was born on the first day of Melanoma Awareness Month and my clinic visits for the cancer will be in the same building that my son was born. Odd.
I have days of fear and terror. Those days where I am so scared of having the deadiest Skin Cancer come back and take my life. Those days of utter panic and breakdowns. But those days are becoming less often and I am becoming less fearful. The worry will never go away and it will never be ok that I ended up with this ugly disease in the first place.
I know how lucky I am to be surviving the big C, but this does not mean I no longer have bad moody days. It does not mean I no longer have fat days. And it certainly does not mean I am never a Bitch. Afterall, I am human.
Above is what my scar on my back looks like.
Below is under my arm today.
I have never been one to bathe in the suns warmth and have always covered myself in sunscreen and am even one to wear a hat whether I am going for a walk or swimming in the lake. I am not a beach person and have never been very fond of the summer months and the heat that comes with them, but I did burn as a child. More than once.
Childhood sunburn can lead to adult Skin Cancer.
Adult sunburn can cause Skin Cancer.
Sunbeds can cause Skin Cancer.
Melanoma is the deadliest form of Skin Cancer.
Melanoma will kill 80 people in New Zealand alone this summer.
Be Sun smart. Be sun safe.
And ask yourself:
Is a tan really worth your life?
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