Wow - this time a year ago I was in labour with my beautiful baby girl.
In fact, I think it was about this time exactly a year ago that I was on my way to the hospital. So that makes it kinda ironic that I'll be on my way there again in a minute...
I'll never forget the day I gave birthday to my daughter. I was terrified. I know all expectant mums say that... but I truly was absolutely petrified.
Particular quotes that I remember from that day -
Me to baby girl's daddy: "I've had enough now, it's your turn."
Me to one of the nurses: "When can I go home?"
Me: "I just want to go now..."
Afterwards, when I was being stitched up: "Fuck off, you sadist bitch!" Feisty!
It was all worth it. More than worth it. We were blessed on this day a year ago with the most beautiful daughter. And I wouldn't change a thing about her.
We've had an early start today, opening pressies and having her favourite breakfast... pancakes courtesy of her grandpops!
Now I have to get dressed and ready for a hospital trip.
Chemo Day.
Friday, 30 September 2011
Thursday, 29 September 2011
I forgot about it...
Yesterday saw me taking my baby girl to the doctor's for some more of her baby boosters. Just being able to be the mum and look after her for a change, allowed me to forget about the cancer for a little while.
Obviously it's always there. Always, always there.
But yesterday I was needed for something else. My girl threw the biggest hissy fit in the doctor's surgery... so much so, that we had to sit in the waiting room until she calmed down and then try again!
I know it wasn't nice for her, but I was so glad to be able to be relied upon. Even if only for a few hours. When we got home, Shorty snuggled up and fell asleep in my arms. There's honestly no nicer feeling.
I'm so blessed in so many ways.
Obviously it's always there. Always, always there.
But yesterday I was needed for something else. My girl threw the biggest hissy fit in the doctor's surgery... so much so, that we had to sit in the waiting room until she calmed down and then try again!
I know it wasn't nice for her, but I was so glad to be able to be relied upon. Even if only for a few hours. When we got home, Shorty snuggled up and fell asleep in my arms. There's honestly no nicer feeling.
I'm so blessed in so many ways.
Tuesday, 27 September 2011
Waiting game
I think the phrase 'playing the waiting game' can be applied to many things.
We play that game when we're as young as 16, waiting for exam results. Then again at 18, and once more in our early twenties as we reach the end of university.
Then you might wait to find out if an offer has been accepted on a house. You might be waiting for your boyfriend or girlfriend to commit - whether it be with a marriage proposal or another plan for the future.
There's the nine-month waiting game as you look forward to the start of a new life that you've created. That was my favourite kind of waiting game (not that we made nine months!).
Then there's this Waiting Game. (I feel it deserves the capitalisation.)
At the moment, everything is so out of control that it is very much a case of "wait and see".
We waited to get through the lung cancer, and it turns out that I was able to overcome that one... well, two.
Now I wait to see how the Ewing's Sarcoma is going to play out.
It's not really playing fair at the moment. I don't know if it has more players than me, or it just got to pick its team first so got a stronger support, but at the moment it's beating me.
I'm attending chemo, I'm eating how the dietician told me to, I'm resting, avoiding infection (how do you do that when you can't see infection?)... I'm behaving and doing everything right. But this one's out to get me.
My last scan wasn't my best.
It was just a friendly little update scan. I was expecting to hear "yep, see you again in a few weeks". I wasn't expecting to be told that the tumour isn't responding to the chemo. I wasn't expecting to be told this in such a quiet and level voice... the same voice they use to tell people how long they have left.
It didn't quite get to that, but the practical part of my brain is telling me that it's only a matter of time.
Let's look at the hard, cold facts -
1. Lung cancer. Twice.
2. Pneumonia.
3. Ewing's sarcoma.
4. Pleural effusion.
Someone or something is out to get me. My own body is out to get me!
Now I'm waiting to see if I can be fixed. My current Waiting Game is to see if I can survive this.
They'll scan again when this round of chemotherapy is over. Then they'll decide whether or not they're able to get in there and take out the bads.
My future isn't in my hands at the moment.
I'm sorry, but I'm not very optimistic.
We play that game when we're as young as 16, waiting for exam results. Then again at 18, and once more in our early twenties as we reach the end of university.
Then you might wait to find out if an offer has been accepted on a house. You might be waiting for your boyfriend or girlfriend to commit - whether it be with a marriage proposal or another plan for the future.
There's the nine-month waiting game as you look forward to the start of a new life that you've created. That was my favourite kind of waiting game (not that we made nine months!).
Then there's this Waiting Game. (I feel it deserves the capitalisation.)
At the moment, everything is so out of control that it is very much a case of "wait and see".
We waited to get through the lung cancer, and it turns out that I was able to overcome that one... well, two.
Now I wait to see how the Ewing's Sarcoma is going to play out.
It's not really playing fair at the moment. I don't know if it has more players than me, or it just got to pick its team first so got a stronger support, but at the moment it's beating me.
I'm attending chemo, I'm eating how the dietician told me to, I'm resting, avoiding infection (how do you do that when you can't see infection?)... I'm behaving and doing everything right. But this one's out to get me.
My last scan wasn't my best.
It was just a friendly little update scan. I was expecting to hear "yep, see you again in a few weeks". I wasn't expecting to be told that the tumour isn't responding to the chemo. I wasn't expecting to be told this in such a quiet and level voice... the same voice they use to tell people how long they have left.
It didn't quite get to that, but the practical part of my brain is telling me that it's only a matter of time.
Let's look at the hard, cold facts -
1. Lung cancer. Twice.
2. Pneumonia.
3. Ewing's sarcoma.
4. Pleural effusion.
Someone or something is out to get me. My own body is out to get me!
Now I'm waiting to see if I can be fixed. My current Waiting Game is to see if I can survive this.
They'll scan again when this round of chemotherapy is over. Then they'll decide whether or not they're able to get in there and take out the bads.
My future isn't in my hands at the moment.
I'm sorry, but I'm not very optimistic.
Monday, 26 September 2011
And... the reality
The reality of it is cancer's a bitch. It ruined my year... well, my life.
I had a baby girl almost a year ago. She'll be a whole year old in four days. I'll be having chemo in four days. I should be at home getting ready for my baby girl's first birthday party, but instead she'll be at home with her grandpa while I'm in the hospital getting poisoned.
I haven't been able to do the normal things that new mummies do with the baby girls. I did, for two and a half months. Then my whole world fell apart. It should have been over by now - the lung cancer "fight" should have been over by now.
I should be able to take my baby daughter swimming. I should be able to take my little girl on a bike ride.I should be able to walk better than my wobbly little toddler girl can.
Instead, I'm almost confined to a wheelchair now thanks to my lumpy pelvis. And I can't go swimming due to risk of infection.
I can't be left alone with her at the moment in case anything happens and I can't help her.
I can't even keep my own baby girl safe.
No one can even begin to imagine how that feels.
And aside from the reality of that, there's everyone else - my dad, whose life has been put on hold to look after me; my baby's daddy, who has given up his life for a year to look after me; my friends, who give up on normality to look after me... basically, all the things people do and don't do to look after me.
I shouldn't be being looked after! I'm 26 years old! I'm an adult, for goodness sake! Why is my dad looking after me!? Why, on certain days, do I have to be lifted in and out of the bath by my baby girl's daddy? Why do I struggle to walk to the toilet on my own on a bad day?
It's not fair.
That's not to mention the love I've missed out on.
I had a baby girl almost a year ago. She'll be a whole year old in four days. I'll be having chemo in four days. I should be at home getting ready for my baby girl's first birthday party, but instead she'll be at home with her grandpa while I'm in the hospital getting poisoned.
I haven't been able to do the normal things that new mummies do with the baby girls. I did, for two and a half months. Then my whole world fell apart. It should have been over by now - the lung cancer "fight" should have been over by now.
I should be able to take my baby daughter swimming. I should be able to take my little girl on a bike ride.I should be able to walk better than my wobbly little toddler girl can.
Instead, I'm almost confined to a wheelchair now thanks to my lumpy pelvis. And I can't go swimming due to risk of infection.
I can't be left alone with her at the moment in case anything happens and I can't help her.
I can't even keep my own baby girl safe.
No one can even begin to imagine how that feels.
And aside from the reality of that, there's everyone else - my dad, whose life has been put on hold to look after me; my baby's daddy, who has given up his life for a year to look after me; my friends, who give up on normality to look after me... basically, all the things people do and don't do to look after me.
I shouldn't be being looked after! I'm 26 years old! I'm an adult, for goodness sake! Why is my dad looking after me!? Why, on certain days, do I have to be lifted in and out of the bath by my baby girl's daddy? Why do I struggle to walk to the toilet on my own on a bad day?
It's not fair.
That's not to mention the love I've missed out on.
The fight
Everyone calls it the "fight". Everyone who hasn't done it, that is.
I'd better say one thing - all these phrases and stereotypes that surround cancer, I despise them. So please, don't patronise me with them.
I'm a stright to the point, practical kinda gal. I look at the facts, I deal with the facts.
Everyone, from my best friend in the world to my dad, tells me "you can beat this", "you're stronger than it", "don't give up the fight"... it's not a fight, it's an illness that I am trying to recover from; I can't beat it, I can try to get over it but I don't really have any control. And I'm not strong... I'm doing my best, but I'm not this strong person who can "kick cancer's ass". I'm just doing my best.
So here's what's happened and what's going to happen -
I had an op to remove the first tumour from my lung. All good.
I had some chemo. Not good, but it did its thing.
I had another op to remove the second tumour from my lung, along with half a lung. All good.
I had some more chemo. Meh.
Then the Ewing's.
I'm on *another* round of chemo for this. Then, if this chemo kicks in, they'll operate... they'll whip out the tumour and, if they have to, my pelvis. I'll get a shiny new pelvis. Or at least half a pelvis. The right half. Or wrong, if you will.
That's that.
I'd better say one thing - all these phrases and stereotypes that surround cancer, I despise them. So please, don't patronise me with them.
I'm a stright to the point, practical kinda gal. I look at the facts, I deal with the facts.
Everyone, from my best friend in the world to my dad, tells me "you can beat this", "you're stronger than it", "don't give up the fight"... it's not a fight, it's an illness that I am trying to recover from; I can't beat it, I can try to get over it but I don't really have any control. And I'm not strong... I'm doing my best, but I'm not this strong person who can "kick cancer's ass". I'm just doing my best.
So here's what's happened and what's going to happen -
I had an op to remove the first tumour from my lung. All good.
I had some chemo. Not good, but it did its thing.
I had another op to remove the second tumour from my lung, along with half a lung. All good.
I had some more chemo. Meh.
Then the Ewing's.
I'm on *another* round of chemo for this. Then, if this chemo kicks in, they'll operate... they'll whip out the tumour and, if they have to, my pelvis. I'll get a shiny new pelvis. Or at least half a pelvis. The right half. Or wrong, if you will.
That's that.
In a nutshell
Hi, I'm Emmy. I'm 26. I'm a mummy. And I have Cancer.
I guess that's it. In a nutshell.
It started about nine months ago. It started in my lung. Then it made an unwanted second appearance in my lung. Then, despite having outstayed its welcome, it's returned... in my pelvis. It's even got its own fancy name.
Ewing's Sarcoma.
It's persistent, I'll give it that.
I guess that's it. In a nutshell.
It started about nine months ago. It started in my lung. Then it made an unwanted second appearance in my lung. Then, despite having outstayed its welcome, it's returned... in my pelvis. It's even got its own fancy name.
Ewing's Sarcoma.
It's persistent, I'll give it that.
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