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.

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?



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.


 

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.

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.