RETURNING TO WORK

Over the past week, I’ve been admitting to a few friends and family members that the last few months have been a struggle for me. It’s something that I’ve been hiding, even from myself, not wanting to admit that life coming out of a cancer diagnosis and treatment, can be harder after the surgery and weekly hospital visits end.

My honesty has coincided, though not intentionally, with the uniting of Breast Cancer Care and Mind to push for a focus on improved mental health support for people diagnosed with breast cancer. A recent survey by Breast Cancer Care of nearly 3,000 women found that 33% experienced anxiety for the first time in their lives, 45% had a continuous fear of recurrence following treatment and 75% found themselves more socially isolated than before diagnosis.

Whilst in the medical machine, there is often little time for fear or worry. Personally, as a real doer, I immersed myself in finding out about my diagnosis, finding out what I could do to help myself and focus my mind on. Whilst the weekly hospital appointments were often scary due to their uncertainty or potential for hearing unwelcome results, they held me in a bubble of perceived care and comforting routine. There were always the wonderful Breast Care Nurses and support staff, familiar faces to ask questions, talk with, share concerns…even if they sometimes disagreed with the path I was choosing.

Instead, the fear of recurrence has recently been my constant companion, my stalker. Is that ache in my back a sign of spread or simply because I’ve spent too long sitting in a bent position on my laptop? Am I feeling more tired because the cancer is growing somewhere else, or is it just because one of the side effects of the hormone medication I’m on is erratic sleeping patterns?

What wasn’t mentioned in the Breast Cancer Care survey is survivor’s guilt. Since my diagnosis last October, a childhood friend of Shell, a close friend’s mum, and a close friend of a friend have all died from cancer. One of my friends has been diagnosed with endometrial cancer and had a hysterectomy, a friend’s mum has had a recurrence at Stage 4 of stomach cancer and another friend’s mum has been diagnosed with Stage 4 skin cancer. In the online groups that I have received incredible support and information from, mums, dads, sisters, grandads are all dying from cancer, or being given terminal diagnoses.

So who am I to complain? How can I cry, grieve, say I’m feeling a bit low when my diagnosis was “only” Stage 2 and had not spread to my lymph. I’m living, I’m here, I’m well. Why did I deserve to be one of the lucky ones, especially when the type of breast cancer I was diagnosed is normally caught at the later stages? The medical profession refer to it as the “sneaky” cancer due to the difficulty to spot it on mammograms and ultrasounds, and it rarely forming the traditional revealing lump.

I managed to avoid chemotherapy and radiotherapy, treatments that are incredibly harsh and leave your body and spirit wounded for many months if not years. What did I have to complain about? Following my mastectomy, I was only taking a hormone pill once a day. So what if it increased my risk of endometrial cancer, blood clot, stroke and put me into early menopause…it isn’t that bad…and could be worse!

This guilt quashed all my intentions to be authentic as I tried to be happy, grateful and pleased that mine was “less serious” and I was doing really well. I also felt guilty for feeling fed up with the self-imposed vigilance I had put on myself of a healthy eating, non-drinking, supplement rattling, cancer researching life. Where was the fun party girl who used to dance in a bra and hot pants on a podium?

I gradually felt numb and grumpy. I found it hard being around people, becoming increasingly irritable at minor squabbles, inane gossip or little moans about life. I know I’ve always had a tendency to be “a little too serious”, but I’ve always loved a massive dollop of fun on the side, yet life suddenly felt really serious. My mortality had been up front and personal, and I didn’t know how to reach my fun place. I lost my humour and it increased my sadness.

I was also angry. Angry that the type of breast cancer I had is completely driven by hormones. Cancer Research UK has shown that levels of oestrogen in women, is increasing on average by 7% every year…and oestrogen (well oestradiol the bad oestrogen) is the driving force of my breast cancer. Professor Trevor Powles from the Royal Marsden, as far back as 2004, stated “Principally, I think breast cancer has increased because of environmental reasons (including oestrogens and other agents/chemicals in food), and intake of hormones like HRT and contraceptives.” Where are the politicians making laws to reduce the poisons that are now in our food, air and water? Ironically, the same company that makes hundreds of millions of pounds from Tamoxifen, the daily hormone therapy drug I take, also makes hundreds of millions of pounds from many of the chemicals that are known hormone disrupters causing this problem…and it makes me really angry!

As a result of carrying this potent cocktail of fear, guilt and anger, I withdrew from everyone, even myself, whilst craving living. I wanted authenticity, truth, meaningful conversation, compassion, caring and face-aching belly laughs…yet to get to that I had to go through the painful honesty of how I was feeling.

So that’s where I am today, telling you that life post-cancer treatment can be pretty shitty too. If you’ve got a friend or family member who has recently come out of treatment, they need you there still providing support and love, even if they disappear and withdraw from the world. Don’t try and rush them back into how things were or to get things back to normal. There is no normal anymore…or maybe a different normal. Allow them space to be themselves…real, authentic and honest.

The moment I realised where I was (with a little honest tough love from my EFT/Matrix Re-imprinting therapist) and started to speak the truth, my mood began to lift and I was able to reignite the things that help me to stay well physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Walking Woody on a beach, laughing with Shell, paddle boarding, diving, spending healthy time with friends and family, meditating, reading, writing, being out in nature.

I no longer feel guilty. I went through a really tough time. I had my boob removed and it’s still something I’m coming to terms with. I thought I might die. I’m taking a carcinogenic drug to stay alive (I know…go figure but it’s all that’s available due to The Cancer Act!) I’m still scared of it coming back and think I always will be. I’m still angry, but I’m using it to start campaigning against the hormones and chemicals that are forcing women to cut off our boobs, something nature gave us to promote life, to try and prevent us from dying. In two weeks I’m attending a More to Life course with Sophie Sabbage ,The Cancer Whisperer and Lifeshocks author, to help me get on track with finding my purpose for this life I’ve been woken up into and being the best I can be.

My hibernation is ending in time for Autumn, and I’m available for authentic belly-laughs anytime.