04/05/2024
đ The rollercoaster of emotions!
This post is not just âclose to homeâ, but in MY HOME!
My daughter-in-law, Katy, just dropped one of the most personal, authentic and emotionally honest pieces of writing I've seen outside of my work.
As an author, she's brought her A-game, delivering a raw, straight-up, account of her grappling with cancer during a pregnancy, which was so meticulously planned and then welcoming a firstborn into the world.
From the highs of new beginnings to the gut-wrenching lows of fear and uncertainty, she shows the importance of embracing all our emotions and allowing ourselves to feel deeply and fully.
It's a chapter of life with a crazy mix of emotions that âGrief & Lossâ causes. It's not around bereavement, but many other losses like health, control of your life, the hopes dreams and expectations as a mother. One minute you're bawling your eyes out and next, you're fist-pumping the air in triumph whilst reading what appears to be the script of a tear-jerking movie, except it's real life, and she's bossing it as the main character!
The âextrasâ in this movie are my husband and I sitting on the sidelines, discovering grand-parenting from a very different perspective to what we anticipated. Whilst the core theme is the same, everybody feels things from their own unique perspective. For me personally, it went like this:
Pride & admiration as my son supported his family head-on with strength and courage. I was in awe, yet devastated to watch him go through such emotional turmoil.
Grateful to the NHS for the amazing, coordinated care they gave Katy, yet angry as to why someone so young and fit was subject to such a devastating disease.
Appreciative of family and friends being so supportive, yet others were made assumptions, causing frustration.
As a parent/grandparent, every ounce of me was desperate to help and take over, but I had to restrain myself and respect they needed to find their own path to do what was right for them as a family.
Holding our newborn grandchild had me crying with pride and love but heartbreak for the treatment journey Katy was about to start, knowing that her pregnancy and discovering the joys of being a new mother were cut short to save her life.
I utilised The Grief Recovery Method which I know and love so well, to manage these conflicting emotions. Iâd already experienced first-hand the resilience and strength this tool gave to me and the clients Iâve supported. It enabled me to be present handling whatever painful emotions came up and continue to enjoy the best experiences in life moving forward.
So, do yourself a favour and give her article a read. Trust me, you'll laugh, you'll cry, as I did all over again!
If you are finding yourself being stuck and held back by painful emotions please get in touch to find out how can work for you.
đ˘đ
You know, I'm not sure I really ever appreciated the term "a rollercoaster of emotions" until recently, but these past 2 years have been just that. It was not part of the plan to disappear off the face of the earth and stop writing, but I did. Somewhere amongst that rollercoaster of emotions that I have been on, I lost my spark. Now I hope to regain it, but first I will tell you my story, a story I never thought I would need to tell.
Osteogenesis imperfecta is a genetic condition that causes bones to be weak and break easily, there is no cure. My husband and many of his family are affected by this condition and while we knew we wanted a child, we also knew that we did not want them to have to live with this condition. If we had a child there would be a 50% chance of them having OI and that was too high of a risk for us to take. Thankfully, science is a wonderful thing and thanks to some brilliant geneticists, the gene which causes OI could be identified and therefore avoided. So, we began the long and tedious process of pre-implantation genetic diagnosis IVF.
To cut a long story short, I felt like a consent signing chicken pincushion. It was eventually worth it, all the injections, hormones, driving around the country to different hospital appointments, piles of consent forms and having to isolate due to Covid restrictions â it was all worth it when I was told it had worked, I was pregnant.
After those first few tentative scans to make sure everything was ok, we thought we could relax, we had a lovely, healthy baby on the way. Everything was good. Then I found a lump. A painful, palpable lump.
Off I went to the doctors, and after an awkward, uncomfortable examination the doctor told me that it was just pregnancy related, nothing to worry about. Phew.
A few weeks later though, it still hurt and I could still feel a lump, so I went back. I saw a different doctor who nodded thoughtfully and said, it is probably just pregnancy related but weâll refer you to the Breast Clinic, they might not even see you because youâre pregnant. A few days later I got the referral though and I went to the breast clinic, hoping to clear things up.
The surgeon examined me and explained that pregnancy makes things difficult to tell, it was probably just pregnancy related normal lumps and bumps, but weâll do an ultrasound just in case. No problem, I had the ultrasound there and then on both sides. The sonographer explained that pregnancy makes it hard to see clearly but decided they were going to take a biopsy from one of the lumps. The surgeon seemed confident that it was nothing to worry about, we arranged a follow-up telephone call for the results the next week.
However, on the morning of that appointment I received a phone call from the clinic requesting I attend in person instead. I said ok, hung up and just cried. I knew then. They didnât say anything but I knew what they were going to tell me at the appointment.
Cancer.
You have cancer.
You are 32 weeks pregnant and you have grade 3, invasive ductal carcinoma.
I sat in silence.
We need to do biopsies of the other lumps, mammograms, get you a CT and an MRI. We canât do all of the tests because youâre pregnant. Weâll discuss with your obstetrics team and the oncologist to discuss the plan. Itâs good youâre this far along, it means it probably doesnât matter if we wait a few more weeks for you to give birth and then you can start treatment right away.
Our plan for our baby flew out of the window. My husband had to sit alone with his thoughts and fears as I had four more biopsies taken followed by six mammograms. I had the CT and MRI within the next week. Everything became a blur of hospital appointments. The excitement we had shared was obliterated by that single word, cancer.
F**k.
We got home and just laid on the bed and cried. I was so scared. Then I thought how do I tell my mum? I called her and she asked me if I was ok and I just cried and shook my head.
"I have breast cancer."
It made it real. I don't think I have ever cried so much as I did in that first week after diagnosis. Everyone was telling me it would be ok, I was so strong and so brave, but god I didn't feel it. I felt like everything was over.
The results were back quickly ER negative, PR negative, HER2 positive. But then another spanner was thrown in the works, those were the results from one of the tumours, the other two were triple negative. All words Iâd never even come across, I didnât realise there could be different types of breast cancer, let alone it being possible to have more than one type at once. This complicated things, as if things werenât complicated enough. The two different types had different treatment courses that couldnât be given simultaneously.
At first they suggested having surgery first, just cut it out, nice and simple then follow up with chemotherapy. They even suggested having surgery at the same time as I had a c-section to deliver my baby. I firmly told them no. I wanted to meet my baby, surgery could wait. However, as the oncologist had never come across another case of two types of cancer at once, we got a second opinion. The second opinion was that I should have chemotherapy first to nuke my system and hopefully any stray cancer cells along with it, followed by surgery.
It was agreed, chemo and then surgery. But first, I had to have my baby. I was 35 weeks pregnant by this time and it was decided that this was too early for the baby to come when we could afford to wait a couple of weeks to help his lungs mature. So, at 37 weeks I had a planned c-section and for a few moments as I held my gorgeous baby boy, the word cancer was forgotten about. It was just us and him. The staff were amazing and took incredible care of us until we went home.
Just four days later I had to go for my contrast scans that I couldnât have while pregnant. Getting onto your front for a chest MRI, four days after having a c-section was not a fun experience, but it had to be done. My scans came back clear, there was no metastasis which was good news. Weâd caught it early. Iâd caught it early. I couldnât help revisiting that moment and wondering what would have happened if I hadnât gone back to the doctors. There was no use dwelling on it, I had done, this was the rollercoaster we were on and there was no getting off it.
Two weeks after giving birth I started chemotherapy. I lost all of my hair, I lost my taste and appetite, I lost 9 kilos (not including the weight of the baby!), I lost my spark. I was more fatigued than I thought possible, having to sit down to brush my teeth and have more naps in a day than my newborn was having. I could barely eat or drink, I couldnât exercise, I could barely lift my baby out of his cot some days, let alone go out with him. When people say the usual âOh, I bet these months have flown by!â in reference to the baby, they didnât. These months dragged on and on, not because of him, he is a little star, but because my body was being poisoned. Chemotherapy is a funny drug. Funny in the sense that they hope it kills the cancer before it kills you.
My husband has been phenomenal. My family and friends have been so supportive. The midwives, obstetrics, labour ward, breast clinic and chemotherapy teams have been fantastic. I have been well looked after and I'm grateful for that.
It was a rollercoaster and not the fun kind. But it was worth it. All 3 tumours had a partial response to chemotherapy. Surgery was successful with clear margins and no lymph node involvement. Now I still have a year of treatment to go to make sure the bastard doesnât come back, but itâs not as bad as the first lot and things are beginning to feel much more normal.
Thank you for bearing with me. Iâll try to make sure my next story is a bit more fun than this one.