An embarrassment of riches

Well, as I approach another year (and decade in fact), I have had time to reflect on how phenomenally rich I am. OK, just to note, these are by no means physical riches. A terminal cancer diagnosis does not have a positive impact on your bank account, or prospects for that matter. What it does do, however, is create a huge bank of spiritual riches. Here are some of them...

1. The richness of God's healing spirit when you are facing an imminent death (and then go on to live, and live and live...)

2. The joy of another Christmas with my Dad, my husband and my fabulous friends

3. The memories of those who gone from this life, but I long to meet again in Heaven

4. The incredible gift of time spent with loved ones

5. The richness of kindness and compassion

6. The priceless joy of giving

7. The myriad riches of seeing friends recover from cancer (Josie and Gill, you are both amazing)

8. The inspiration of a wonderful soul, taking on cancer with grace and humour (wonderful Cheryl)


Life is a precious gift that we should never take for granted. Its value is incalculable.

Amanda

Never have I ever...

A tee-total drinking game for all the family!

Brought to you by Post-Cranium Surgery.com

Anyone can play. All you need is some embarrassing post-cancer experiences and a bottle of squash.

Here goes...

Never have I ever waited anxiously outside my flat for a lift, one hour before it was due to arrive

Never have I ever sent the same person three birthday cards (all identical)

Never have I ever turned up for an appointment at the wrong time and at the wrong place

Never have I ever double-gifted (e.g. sent two different presents to the same person for their birthday)

Never have I ever put the wrong name on a card (twice)

Never have I ever sent a gift two months before the recipient's birthday

Never have I ever forgotten what I'm watching on TV during the commercial break (and had a lovely surprise when the second half came on)

Never ever have I walked into a wall or veered to one side causing people to walk around me in disgust

Never ever have I fallen down a hill and landed face-down in some nettles

Never ever have I said 'Welcome' on a live radio interview in a panicked response to the presenter saying 'Welcome' to me

Never ever have I been more grateful to God to be alive (long gulp of sparkling water - my favourite tipple)

Amanda

Gratitude is not a platitude

When I reflect on where I have been (in receipt of a terminal cancer diagnosis) and where I am now (cancer free) I am overwhelmed with gratitude. Often, when I walk or run, I literally count my blessings, so I thought I might share them. Note, they are in no particular order. They are listed as they came to mind.

I am thankful for...

1. My incredible Dad who was there for every appointment and felt my pain like it was his own
2. My husband who slept upright by my hospital bed on multiple occasions to be there when I woke
3. Friends who visited me from near and far
4. Those who baked delicious home-cooked food for me
5. The women doing the Race for Life who reached out and touched my hand as they passed
6. The woman who alerted the nurses when I had two fits in the middle of the night in hospital (and is sadly no longer with us)
7. Those who prayed for my recovery (and still pray for my health)
8. The friend who said she would rather have my cancer herself (and meant it)
9. The friend who flew over from the States to see me
10. The people who gave me a sympathetic or empathetic glance when I ventured outdoors
11. The friend who made me beautiful silk hats that I could attach hair pieces to, when I couldn't wear wigs as they exacerbated my migraines
12. The note to Dean from my Godson's little sister saying that he was doing quite a good job in looking after me
13. The oncologist who gave me outstanding care and guidance
14. The incredible woman who removed both my cancerous brain tumours with amazing skill and confidence
15. The supportive nurses in the neurological ward (in particular our amazing Christian friend)
16. The gifted breast surgeon who performed a faultless lumpectomy (after kicking a filing cabinet in anger after I had been sent the wrong letter about the time of my operation)
17. Uplifting messages on Facebook from friends and well-wishers
18. Friends of friends who celebrated when things were good and shared love and compassion when things were bad
19. My church friend who supported me from diagnosis right through to healing
20. The friend who bought me soft satin pillowcases to alleviate the soreness of the scars on the back of my head
21. School friends who visited or sent gifts
22. College friends who raised money for a sponsored room at Oxford 
23. Close college friends who supported me throughout the myriad challenges of cancer and all its debilitating side effects
24. Friends who sent beautiful flowers
25. My friend who sent vases when I ran out
26. Clients and former colleagues who wrote lovely letters and cards
27. Students I taught at the University who made me a card and sent me uplifting messages (after having freaked them out when I started speaking unintelligible nonsense during their work experience)
28. My fabulous neighbours in Spain who made us delicious Indian feasts
29. My Mum, who despite the horror of having another daughter critically ill, managed to come to see me at the hospital
30. The lovely curate (my age) who I briefed on my funeral requirements and insisted he would be too old to take the service and would probably have retired by then
31. Friends who met my every need with thoughtful gifts such as audio books or box sets
32. My Yes Agency colleagues who organised a fantastic 'pre-funeral funeral' when I had only months to live
33. My former business partner and friend who was steadfast in his support and helped me back into work gradually
34. Those who cried for me when they thought that all was lost
35. Those who were sure that all was not lost and would not believe otherwise
36. The friend who sent me comedy books for each treatment that had me laughing out loud at deeply inappropriate times
37. The fellow cancer sufferers who are walking the walk and share the ups and downs
38. Cancer survivors who offered hope and advice
39. My former headmaster who came to my Mum's funeral and called regularly to see how I was doing
40. The people who pretended not to notice my enormous steroid-induced head when I was brave enough to be out in public
41. The kindness of strangers (which at times brought me to tears)
42. My in-laws who provided much-needed support for me and for Dean
43. My lovely chemo friend and fellow-blogger who has been with me on this cancer 'journey'
44. The family friends who supported me and my parents despite suffering themselves
45. The people who travelled from all over the country to join me at a church service
46. Those who have died but who have left an indelible imprint on my heart
47. Friends who continue to face cancer but selflessly shared in my good news
48. The woman in the bed opposite me who came over to hold my hand when I was told that my cancer had returned without my Dad or Dean there to support me
49. My former colleagues, now friends who brought me laughter and a good gossip
50. A huge box of chocolates (and I mean a box of many boxes of chocolates for me, or was it for Dean?)
51. The support of a bright and bubbly Dougie Mac palliative care nurse who has since been diagnosed with cancer herself but is thankfully well
52. Friends from all aspects of my life who came to see me, walk with me, make me smile and tell me about normal stuff
53. People from my church who came to take communion with me when I was too ill to attend services
54. The lovely old chaps who shout encouragement to me when I run (slowly) past them in my morning run *jog*
55. The delightful congregation of a local church made up of refugees and asylum seekers who celebrated my healing story with absolute joy
56. My extended family who supported me and my Dad through a very difficult time
57. The friends of my parents who have supported him practically, emotionally and spiritually through their own troubles
58. My incredible friends (the family I chose for myself) who have been there through thick and thin
59. My wonderful husband for whom 'in sickness and in health' was a promise he kept faithfully (but is now looking forward to the 'health' part)
60. The awesome God who saved me despite my complete unworthiness

I really could continue this list until the light fades (literally not metaphorically) so I guess you get the idea. I am supremely grateful to everyone whose love, friendship, support, guidance, prayers and medical skills mean that I am here today. My heartfelt thanks goes out to you all.

Amanda

More sorrows than joy

This morning I lost my friend to cancer. Her mother lost a daughter and her son and daughters lost their beloved Mum. I feel so sad to have lost her, and can only imagine the pain of her family.

Something that my Grandad had said to me when I was younger, was that there were more sorrows than joy in this world. I was saddened to hear that at the time, but today it resonated with me more than it ever had before. My grandparents were incredible, selfless and generous and the most unmaterialistic people you could ever imagine. They still had a toilet at the end of the yard and a bath in the kitchen before they died in their late eighties. Possessions were nothing to them. Family was everything. That's why they were devastated to lose their son, my Uncle Dennis and their Grand-daughter, Gillian to cancer. They then went on to lose my sister, Stephanie to meningitis. Having seen how my parents' lives were destroyed by Steph's death, I can understand how Grandad could talk about his sorrow.

I have never met my paternal grandparents as they both died tragically, leaving my Dad all alone in the world at just fourteen. You could be forgiven for thinking that he too would be defeated by sorrow, but he created our wonderful family and we experienced lots of joy and happiness. After my sister's death at just fifteen, family life was never the same again and when I was diagnosed with cancer in 2015, this tipped my Mum over the edge. She died not knowing that I would survive despite my 'months not years to live' diagnosis.

Although my recent brain scan was clear (the Oncology Professor himself was kind enough to call me with that news), it is not possible to celebrate when others are suffering. My Dad's motto has always been to turn a negative into a positive, and despite the sorrows in his life, he is joyous and generous and funny. I know he would do anything for me and he extends this to my friends too. Yes, there may be lots of sorrow in life, but there is also boundless joy, laughter and hope. This life is painfully short so let's seek out the joyous moments, remember with fondness those who have gone to a better place and praise God for the gift of having those people in our lives and still in our hearts.

This post is dedicated to Yvonne, an incredible woman, committed Christian, loving mother and avid Stoke City supporter. I know she is with God now and her suffering is over. She will be greatly missed by the Church family and my heart goes out to her loved ones.

Amanda

A blog post from my Dad

Well, it’s been quite some time since I’ve posted a blog on here as well!   As Amanda said on her latest blog, things appear to be rather quiet on the cancer front.  However, as Amanda’s father I have the constant worry about her health, every ache or pain she endures worries me intensely, and I guess that life will never be the same again.  I usually accompany Amanda to her hospital appointments, and have got to know her oncologist and brain surgeon very well, they are remarkably talented people and I feel very privileged that God has put Amanda in these extremely capable hands.

I clearly remember the day that Amanda told me and her Mum about the lump in her breast, and the feeling of complete devastation.  Losing Amanda’s sister to meningitis was life changing, and the thought of losing another child was just too much to take in. 

However, following this initial breast tumour operation and two brain cancer operations, Amanda is still with us.  Sadly, Amanda’s Mum died three years ago and didn’t witness Amanda’s miraculous recovery.  I strongly suspect that had Amanda’s Mum seen the incredible healing, she would have found the strength and determination to carry on living. 

I will be taking Amanda for her CT scan on Friday, praying with all my heart and soul that it will be clear.  Amanda is here by the Grace of God (that phrase reminds me of a Gospel Hymn that I know extremely well) and has had incredible support from Dean, her family and friends and the Cancer team at The Royal Stoke Hospital.

My philosophy is to take ‘One step at a time sweet Jesus’ (another song – Lena Martell) and to watch Amanda very soon feel the grass beneath her feet that she referred to in her blog – that would be absolutely wonderful! The cancer ‘journey’ (a very overused phrase) is torturous, and so many fall by the wayside, and it hurts me so much to see so many young people suffering from this dreadful illness.  I will continue to pray every night for the full recovery of these people and for strength for their families to support them….

Amanda’s Dad….

It's all gone quiet over there

Well, it's been a while since I've posted a blog on here. The reason for this hiatus is a good one. It's all still quiet on the cancer front. Apart from the niggles and worries that I can never really shift (as every other so-called cancer 'survivor' knows) it's been pretty much plain sailing.

A lovely lady from Church asked me today when I would be posting again, and Facebook seems to be doggedly on my case to put my virtual pen to virtual paper and share an update. So, here it is...

My last oncology appointment was in May. It was a routine appointment with my eminent, world-class Professor, highly regarded by all who have been fortunate enough to be treated by him. I was checked for lymphadenopathy and breast lumps. Neither were evident. It's seems strange to me now that the origin of my cancer was in the breast, as the metastatic, malignant Triple Negative Breast Cancer tumours in my brain have somehow dwarfed the memory of the breast cancer.

The Prof also performed an examination of both breasts as part of the trial I was part of, called Import High (where a higher and more focused dose of radiotherapy was administered to the cancerous breast). There was "slight breast shrinkage" but in comparison to my breast cancer peers, many of whom who needed mastectomies, and others who tragically died, I got off lightly. It was also reassuring to be checked over by a specialist. In my previous appointment with the surgeon who conducted my wide local incision (medical lingo for cutting out the lump), two young male medical students inspected my breasts. They were not training for breast surgery, so they awkwardly patted them as if they were a pair of unexploded bombs, looking around the room to avoid catching my eye!

The next step is a CT scan on my brain on Friday. Unlike the usual protocol, if all is well, I won't have a review meeting and I will be advised by letter. The Prof also wants to do another CT scan in 2020 to coincide with year 6 of the Import High trial. To me, it was extremely important that a trial of this kind would make a difference to breast cancer patients in the future. So, the cancer journey (to coin a completely overused phrase) continues. I'm on a narrow country lane now, far from the fast-paced motorway I was on three and a half years ago and at some point I will leave it all behind and feel the grass beneath my feet.

I am here by the Grace of God, by the gifts of the magnificent team at Royal Stoke Hospital and with more than a little help from my friends, husband and Dad. My heart bursts with gratitude and I hope and pray for the healing of those who are still in the eye of the storm. You know who you are.

Amanda

Apologies for the over-use of (mixed) metaphors and hyperbole 

Women of Substance

In my opinion, there is no greater test of character than when a woman is diagnosed with cancer.

I am incredibly inspired by those around me who are facing the manifold challenges of this disease, applying bucket-loads of strength, dignity and good humour to withstand their treatment. Having walked in their shoes, I know how important it is to dig deep to face the daily onslaught of symptoms, the mental challenges and the management of the feelings of those around you. It is impossible to describe how one day you are living a 'normal' life and then in an instant, your world has turned on its axis and you just have to completely re-orient. You have no choice over what happens to you after a cancer diagnosis. What you do have a choice in, is how you deal with it. So this brings me to five amazing women.

I met Kate at my first chemo in Jan 2014 when she was already an old hand and took the whole thing in her stride. Her hair had long gone and she was on chemo for life. I was struck then by her emotional resilience and watched in awe (and great sadness) as this impressive woman took blow after blow from her vicious cancer which has stolen her career, her life and her future. It was devastating to hear that recently she was told that she could no longer drive and would be confined to a wheelchair. And, whilst she was facing this mammoth situation, both her parents went through cancer themselves. This is a feat of endurance that would break the rest of us. She is a courageous woman and is still with us despite everything that has been thrown at her.

As I was celebrating my 'cancerversary' (five years since diagnosis) in October of last year, my beautiful oldest friend, a clever, witty, warm-hearted person, accomplished wordsmith and narrowboat-dwelling free spirit was there to celebrate with me. She was overflowing with love for her partner and radiating happiness. One day later, she was taken ill and eventually diagnosed with lung cancer (she has never smoked). She has handled this horrible news with grace and humour, her usual sunny disposition and all-round loveliness (fuelled by fabulous vegan meals cooked by her partner). I am humbled to see how she is dealing with cancer and I am praying for a full recovery.

The first of Dean's friends I met when we started going out was Josie (who made me so welcome when we were attending a wedding in Florida). A warm, intelligent and funny person, she is the heart (and soul) of Dean's group of friends. She is incredibly generous and throws a fabulous party. I was extremely shocked to learn that she had been diagnosed with cancer in her head and neck, including her tongue. However, despite the intensity of the treatment ahead, I knew that Josie would tackle this with the strength and no-nonsense attitude I always associate with her. It's been arduous so far but Josie is ploughing on and I respect her greatly for her fortitude and spirit.

Another of Dean's friends (and mine too), Gill, has also been diagnosed with cancer. One of the most gentle and delightful people I have ever met, she is approaching this with such dignity and patience that again I am in awe. Already facing unpleasant side effects from chemo and losing her beautiful hair (which must be even more unpalatable as she is a hairdresser) she maintains the brightest of smiles despite everything.

Finally, a church friend who welcomed me when I was new to the congregation has been valiantly facing cancer second time round. Yvonne is an inspiring and incredibly strong woman who has tackled many challenges with her powerful faith and indefatigable courage (even enduring the woeful Stoke City season that has recently passed). Testament to her character is that she is still standing despite countless blows, stints in our local hospice, her foot in a cast and pain throughout her body as a result of the spread of her cancer. After all that, she maintains a great sense of humour and supports other cancer sufferers with her empathy and understanding. She is an incredible example of God's work in her life and I pray for healing for her.

Well, if you have had the perseverance to read to the end of this blog post, then you have a tiny fraction of the strength of these inspirational women. I am proud to know them and place them all in God's hands to guide them through this perilous journey.

Amanda

Stating the obvious

We've all heard of fake news of course. Everyone loves good news. But what about completely underwhelming news?

Case in point: Obesity is the second biggest preventable cause of cancer in the UK. Thanks Cancer Research UK for this incredible insight. Next they'll be researching whether smoking causes cancer or indeed whether the Pope is Catholic.

I think research into curing cancer is incredibly valuable and I hope and pray that one day, these brilliant minds will come up with a cure. However, it feels to me like this pointless finding is going to have little impact on people's lives.

Before I was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer in November 2013, I was a tee-total pescetarian who had never smoked a cigarette, ate healthily and exercised regularly. The friends I have lost to this vicious disease were (and are) people who lived a normal, moderate life. In fact, many were incredibly committed to a super-healthy lifestyle and it was a bitter pill to swallow that these people, despite their diligence and commitment to their well-being died anyway.

Prior to having cancer I never gave a thought to trying to prevent it. I find it hard to believe that many people do. If they did, would anyone smoke, drink to excess or over-indulge? Cancer is abstract for the uninitiated. So, it seems counter-intuitive to put measures in place to mitigate against something that may never happen. We are all just people. No-one has a perfect lifestyle (even those who pretend they do on social media). So, who is going to look at this news and get themselves to boot camp forthwith to make sure they keep cancer at bay?

The other part of this announcement that I find irksome is that there is an element of implicit blame on cancer sufferers. Nobody deserves cancer, whatever their lifestyle. It's not helpful to those who are going through treatment to feel like something they did resulted in cancer. Cancer is indiscriminate. All of us should look after ourselves and do our best to be healthy, but we are people, not automatons.

At my Church, instead of giving something up for Lent, we are going to take up something good for us instead. This may be prayer, reading the bible, being more compassionate or finding ways to help others. I would suggest that we all consider changes to our lifestyles, not to prevent cancer, but to be the best version of ourselves that we can be. It's pretty obvious really.

Amanda

A tale of love and loss

When we were young we had family friends that really were family. Steph and I were pristine, dressed in whiter than white knee socks and neatly tied pigtails, the boys taught us how to play cricket, had an underground hideout and took us crabbing. On the amazing holidays we shared over the years, we loved spending time with each other as did our parents. The Macs and Cokes were a family of eight.

This week I saw those boys, now accomplished men with children of their own, support each other as they delivered their beloved Mum's eulogy. Sue had been a special part of my life since I was a baby. She was an incredible woman. Strong but kind. She had been with Pete, her husband, since her late teens and they had a marriage that was so solid that others could only dream of it. She was incredibly supportive to me during my cancer and I was devastated when she was diagnosed with it herself. But, she didn't stop supporting me even when her cancer was advancing and at her funeral I met a woman who had cancer for whom Sue had done the same. She was the heart and soul of the family and loved spending time with her grandchildren. She died just before Christmas and her loss is devastating to her family and to us, her extended family. I look at the photo of us all on my wall and it is terribly sad that three of us, my Mum, my sister and now Sue are no longer with us. But my memories will endure and love lasts beyond death.

Sadly, cancer continues to blight my life and the lives of the people I love. My beautiful, clever, lifelong best friend has been diagnosed with lung cancer. A talented wordsmith, witty and warm with the biggest of hearts, she was by my side throughout my cancer challenges of the last five years. She even told me that she wished she could take it from me. It is devastating that now she has to face it too. I have been praying my heart out for her and I know she will face this with the humour, grace and optimism she has always displayed. It makes me even more sad that she had been the happiest I had ever seen her, due to her relationship with a man that she loves wholeheartedly. I know however that with her partner, family and network of friends she will be overwhelmed with love and support.

Shortly after I met my husband eleven years ago, he whisked me away to Florida for a friend's wedding. We were all staying in a villa and as I arrived, Dean went off to the stag do with the boys and I was left in the villa with a group of women I had never met. Although slightly intimidated I could not have been made more welcome by these lovely people. One of them in particular was so kind and funny that I liked her enormously right from the off. Fast forward to today and this lovely friend has been diagnosed with head and neck cancer (including the tongue). She has been characteristically upbeat, and again has an army of supporters and a fabulous husband.

It's harder than I expected to be the person who is watching and supporting friends with cancer. When I was suffering I knew that my loved ones were suffering too, but not to the same extent. My view on that has changed now. I feel helpless, but I know I can play my part in supporting them. Maybe that's one of the things I've learned from having cancer. It's a hateful disease but love is irrepressible and will overcome all.

Amanda

To know or not to know, that is the question

So, yesterday I had a hospital appointment with the Professor who conducted my original breast cancer operation in December 2013. At the end of my previous appointment with my oncology Professor (the hospital does roll out the big guns), he had mentioned that the next step would be to understand why I had got cancer in the first place and whether it may be genetic. He also mentioned a trial I had taken part in called 'Impact' (a super blast of radiotherapy to the area where the tumour was) for future review and discussion. I didn't expect it to be a significant appointment, rather just a catch-up on both issues and an examination of his handiwork from five years earlier.

I had an hour-long session with a delightful medical student whilst I awaited the Professor's grand entrance. And then...there I was (alone for the first time at a hospital appointment, normally I would have my trusted back-up team of my Dad and husband) and was expecting a light-hearted discussion about how the trial results would 'impact' on women with breast cancer in the future. I had completely forgotten the conversation with my oncologist about genetics. The Professor arrived with an entourage of the first medical student, a new student and my former Breast Care Nurse.

I had the customary breast review (a thorough investigation from the Professor and a more tentative feel from the two young men, who I think were worried about hurting me!), we all exchanged pleasantries and I awaited a cursory discussion about the trial. Things started well with a positive note from the Professor who said he was delighted to say that sometimes the specialists can be wrong and that he was extremely pleased that I was healthy and on good form. So far, so good.

He then began to explain why he wanted to see me. I expected to discuss the trial, however, the conversation was entirely focused on genetics. My family is no stranger to cancer (and other life-threatening diseases), however, on consulting the cousins on my Mum's side, and my Dad on his side of the family, none of them had been through breast cancer.

The mood in the room darkened and I was completely unprepared for the subsequent discussion. I was vaguely aware of the BRCA gene and that those who carried it had a significantly higher risk of getting breast cancer than those who do not carry the gene. The Professor advised me that I may or may not have the gene and if I wanted to have the test, I would then have to deal with the implications of a positive result. I could be opening myself up to the prospect of surgery, pre-emptive treatments, high insurance premiums and many other issues further down the line.

I have only just celebrated my five year 'cancerversary' and was hoping to have left cancer in the past (concentrating on supporting those for whom cancer is well and truly in the present). So, do I want to open that can of worms? Erm...no. I really don't. This may be a contentious decision and I may live to regret it. I am not Angelina Jolie or Michelle Heaton (although I have been mistaken for the former several times *joke*). They are brave women who made life-changing decisions. I respect them greatly, but I trust that God will keep me safe and that I will not need to go down that road. I am still unsettled, but my heart tells me that this is right for me, right now and so I'll put down my can opener and move on.

Amanda

I'll do what it says on the tin