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Reflecting on the old me & now present me…

Cancer at 25….

I always had a pretty laid back approach to how I lived my life. I was quite the avid partygoer; the experimenter; smoker and a big fan of the drink. I ate what I wanted and kind of did what I wanted, with minimal exercise.  Which is a far cry from my former 16 year old self; healthy, first team hockey player and a school prefect.

Fast forward through university, the horrendous hangovers, and the experimentation of new substances. Not to mention the copious amount of tragic tinder dates that resulted in nothing but disappointment. However, university I survived and passed with a strong 2:1 in psychology. Bagged myself a job as a banker straight away, making life long friends before later leaving to join the family business. Between the years of being a banker and then working for the family business, I was always out, drinking, still smoking and doing things that I shouldn’t – with the eating and lack of exercise only worsening but still averaging a solid size 12; just a wobbly one but I always maintained my self confidence.  Following endless more disastrous tinder dates and no success in love, I finally found myself a keeper in May 2018. Working for my dad was going great, I had my own house and of course a cat, my main man frank! I loved going out with my girls on the weekend, and spending time with my boyfriend, with no care in the world.

I have always been one to check my breasts regularly, mainly because they are big double D’s so you simply can’t resist touching them. There isn’t really any family history of breast cancer in my family, however I always felt that it was important to know your breasts on a month-to-month basis. So that you get to know what is normal for you. What some women don’t appreciate perhaps is just how firm you have to be sometimes, with larger breasts in particular.

One night at the start of December 2018 I found what I thought was a lump, but wasn’t sure. I got my boyfriend a couple days later to feel, which confirmed my fears – that this wasn’t normal and wasn’t there before. 2 days later I was at the doctors, which resulted in me booking privately for an ultrasound a week later, so i didn’t have to wait over 2 weeks for an appointment to come through via the NHS. It was on that scan right then and there that I knew it was serious. He scanned the lump, and then told me my lymph node in my armpit area was enlarged too, which I couldn’t feel. By this time, the lump and lymph node area was becoming tender to touch. (Whoever says, if it hurts, its not cancer. Was a liar!) Immediately I was fast tracked back on to the NHS system by the next day, getting 6 biopsies. 3 from the lump and 3 from the lymph node. This honestly wasn’t bad; it didn’t hurt, just left me with a couple of nice bruises and a small scar from the biopsy needle, which have almost disappeared now. I was advised results could take a week, but with Christmas fast approaching I was given the choice to either wait or find out the following week. I didn’t want to wait till after Christmas I wanted to know now. So on the 20th of December I was given the news that no 25 year old would expect to hear – you have breast cancer. Merry Fucking Christmas!

I was weirdly fine during the meeting with the consultant, who will also be my surgeon. I think that’s because I had already accepted that I had it and almost felt relieved for knowing – so I could now tackle it head on and beat this. I have triple negative breast cancer, testing negative for the Brca gene. My cancer is one of the more aggressive ones; in the sense it is more likely to come back than other breast cancers. Triple negative breast cancer is a type of breast cancer that does not have receptors for the hormones oestrogen and progesterone or the protein HER2, as well as it being a more rare type of breast cancer to be diagnosed with, it’s also very fast growing compared to hormone based ones; which makes it so aggressive. Scientists are still working on research to understand this complex type of breast cancer, which is why I ended up on a clinical trial for the first 12 weeks of chemotherapy.

I try not to let my particular diagnosis phase me, one day at a time, as there are those with success stories as well as those with sad stories. I chose to believe that I would be a success story.

The key for me at 25 and dealing with this, which has carried me through chemo is positive thinking  –  as cliché as that sounds. Cancer doesn’t have me and isn’t taking over me; I just have it for a temporary amount of time. I laugh and joke as much as I did before; I make the most horrendously inappropriate jokes. I go out for dinner with my boyfriend and family still and enjoy nights in with my girls. I am also now forced to live a healthy life again, no drinking, smoking and eating cleaner – hell I even went on jogs during chemo where I felt fit enough to do so. I also went to work nearly every day for at least 4 hours – although it’s a little easier when your father is the boss but the routine helped me keep that sense of normality. Now not everyone has the same experience through chemo, I know I am lucky. Upset stomachs, and tiredness with the occasional nosebleed was as bad as it got not to mention the piles – ouch! I am rocking a Phil Mitchell inspired hair do, but again that was something I took control of before it controlled me. As soon as my hair started malting, the shaver was out. I rock the turban and own many a fabulous wig. I wear my makeup bolder and brighter, with big earrings. I own the look, and accept this is my look for the time being. You just have to embrace it.

Now ladies (and gentlemen), I have to be honest. Yes I am positive at large, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had my bad and dark days. Days I have cried, or been uncomfortable and in pain at times. I look at my once favourite assets, and feel like they have let me down – and couldn’t even bring myself to look at my breasts for a while, which knocked a part of my confidence away. Before starting chemo, I chose to freeze my eggs, so the gruelling process of injecting my stomach over 2 weeks and receiving internal scans before being put to sleep for a small procedure was a lot to deal with for any one but especially someone in their 20’s. Not to mention my hormones were all over the shop during that time. (If you have the chance to freeze your eggs if ever in this situation, for me it was a no brainer. I know I have that back up in case I suffer from infertility following treatment, which is a high possibility. )

Once my first chemo session was under way, I found I didn’t cry as much, and I can now look at my breasts again and i am learning to love them all over again.

The only thing breast cancer has taken away from me slightly, is that I am no longer carefree. I now think about what I put in my body, and I think about my future and how long that will be. I know that it will get easier as time passes. All cancer patients fear it coming back. However it is simply out of our control, you just need to enjoy each day and not let your thoughts run wild.

The next step for me as I approach my last chemo session in a few weeks is surgery. For me this will be a lumpectomy with removal of some lymph nodes. I should be out of hospital the very next day, and then a month later I will receive 3 weeks of radiation. Which is every day except weekends, how kind of them to give me my weekends off! Hopefully then for me, I will officially be able to say, I am cancer free. Well here’s hoping.

Ladies (and gentlemen) know your breasts, know what is your norm. Never be afraid to go the doctors if you’re unsure about something. Checking your breasts takes a minute of your time. If not caught early, Breast cancer can take away your life. Be smart and check regularly.

5 years on & thriving

A little note to those that followed me during my cancer journey, i am still here.

Its been just over 5 years on from diagnosis, no relapse, and no health concerns. There are happy endings with triple negative patients. I promise.

I am also thrilled to say that not only am i still cancer free, i am also expecting. A child is something i always wanted, but was certain cancer would take away. Fortunately, myself and my now fiancé conceived naturally and very quickly. Expecting in June 2024.

To those that have had TNBC or recently diagnosed, life continues. You will be happy once again. And you will live the life you always envisioned of living, once again.

Thats it from me! I hope all that followed and read all those years ago are still doing well out there. To new readers, hello and goodbye 👋🏼

Taking A Step Back…

Sorry it has been so long, but i am fine.

Its January, its raining and windy here in England, and i am fighting a bad cold thats lasted 5 days, ending up with a chest infection and being bed bound for most of it, so i am writing to you from my germ riddled lair. During a year of intense cancer treatment, i didn’t get ill once. Oh the irony. I think my body is gradually adjusting back to normality.

A lot has gone on since i last wrote to some degree. I have caught up with my surgeon, my oncologist, had bloods and a mammogram, and had an infusion of zoledronic acid, to strengthen my bones. This will now either continue as infusions, or i may start taking it orally. I am waiting (anxiously) for my first annual mammogram results, as well as a date for CT. Oncology have decided its best to do a one off CT Scan in February just before i see them again at the end of it, to make sure i am all ok. This i believe is simply down to the fact that i am young, had an aggressive type of breast cancer, and i had a shit load of lymph nodes involved. Although i am shit scared of having the CT, mainly because i worry about once again receiving bad results, i am also very grateful. A lot of cancer patients aren’t offered this at the end of treatment, and are advised they’re cancer free, based on the fact that the area they initially had cancer in, was scanned, and came back clear. Seemingly, for a lot of patients, this isn’t quite the case, and cancer has metastasised throughout their body. A petition to offer a full body scan at the end of each patients treatment has therefore started. Which i am completely on board with.

Despite the scan results, and the ever looming CT scan to follow, mentally i feel a lot better. Before christmas, i was struggling. They always say the end of treatment is the hardest, and i never quite understood why that would be. However, now i get it. From being amongst medical professionals almost weekly, and being in a treatment bubble of security, and not really focusing on anything other than your next appointment. When it all stops, it is strange, and weirdly lonely. For the first time, it is just you, your thoughts and your new body. Now you must adapt. I am full time at work, i am going out and socialising, whilst trying to get to grips with losing weight and being as healthy as possible. I am booking holidays in advance, which makes me hugely anxious. I often worry about reoccurrence, and follow up appointments. How often should i be checking my breasts? Am i doing it too often? Should i talk to someone? All these emotions, and new norms i have had to adapt to, and it kind of all imploded a little bit back in November. So when i told my surgeon, mentally i am at my worst, i was offered the names of people i could use for support and help. Have i used them yet? No.

Admitting it alone i think helped, and then i began to exercise more, and he himself reassured me that what he was feeling in my breasts and chest was normal. Which relaxed me a little bit. I have tried to focus on me, my health and what things i have to look forward to. And less of the things i can’t control; and i do think it has helped. I feel stronger in my mind, and in myself. I of course still have my days of doubt, and anxiety and worry, but that won’t ever change. It is as i have said before, my new norm.

Throughout treatment i was having monthly zoladex injections to turn my ovaries off, which puts me in a medically induced state of menopause, and prior to that i had had a successful round of IVF to harvest my eggs, incase that state or menopause, became permanent. I have now come off the injections (wahoo), and it has been a total of 2 months. No periods as of yet, however i have been told it can take anywhere from a couple months to a year sometimes. If it gets to a year, then i will probably have some tests done. In the meantime however, i need to appreciate how much my body has actually been put through, and healing really does take its time. The hot flashes seem to be almost none existent now, and i don’t appear to want to murder people quite so frequently, so i am hoping that means i am slowly and gradually coming out of a menopause state. It is simply a waiting game now, but i have never wanted to see my period so much. To be able to one day conceive naturally after this ordeal, would be simply, amazing. But, we shall tackle each day as they come.

Many people have told me how ‘brave’, or ‘amazing’ i am. That i smashed through cancer treatment like an absolute ‘warrior queen’. Whereby this is lovely to hear, and it makes me feel good about what i have accomplished, i always respond the same. ‘I have done what any of you would have done in that situation’. And i strongly believe that. The concept of a cancer diagnosis for most is hard to comprehend, and it is easy to say that i wouldn’t have dealt with it as well as you. But you do. You just do. You have no choice to. It wasn’t all smiles and positive instagram posts, there were some hugely dark days. You just roll with the cards you have been dealt.

As it stands now, i am going to try and take a step back from cancer, cancer updates and blogs. Unless all my scan results all go horrifically wrong, and i start this journey all over again (please god no!). But, i don’t think it is healthy to surround myself constantly with something that impacted my life so negatively for a year. I want to focus on normal mundane crap, like ‘what am i going to have for dinner’, ‘when are me and the girls getting together for drinks?’, and ‘when the heck is my next holiday.’ I am always an open door for support and questions surrounding my cancer journey, so don’t let that stop you, but do not expect to see frequent cancer posts anymore, unless my situation drastically changes, which i am hoping to god, it doesn’t ever, or at least not for a very very long time.

Thank you to everyone that read my blog posts, and followed me on my journey. I never could have imagined that i would get near to 3000 views across so many different countries when i first started blogging last summer. Lots of love to you all xoxox

Im still breathing…

In the words of the singer Sia, ‘im still breathing.’

I have been very quiet recently, by no means on purpose. But life seems to have started up again, and my social calendar that has remained fairly empty over the last year, has now begun to fill up.

As i try and get a grasp of life after cancer, i often wonder, do we ever completely get over it?

I last saw my oncology team back in June before my July surgery. Radiotherapy has come and gone, finishing all active treatment nearly 7 weeks ago. My paranoia is worse than ever. I actually find myself looking for new lumps in my breasts. It has gotten to the point that i mistake my own high rib-cage for a lump. I am actually losing it. However, my GOOD boob is definitely a lot lumpier than it used to be. One side was recently ultra sounded, but showed nothing. However, because they didn’t ultrasound the entire breast, i am still paranoid and think i have lumps growing all over the place. Perhaps being on these zoladex injections for a year, that have suppressed my ovaries, have caused breast changes, and i am simply, just lumpy now. One hopes this is the case.

Last thursday i finally saw my oncology team, Professor Hickish. He was pleased with how well i have been coping, and impressed that i have had two abroad holidays since finishing radiotherapy. He expressed how important daily exercise was, and to keep up what i was doing and increase it. He advised i could now come off the zoladex injections (yay no more medical menopause). He also said i would be getting at least one more bone strengthening drug intravenously, then maybe go to pill form. I will have a CT scan in feb, once my body has adjusted itself, to make sure i am looking all ok. A meeting with my surgeon next week, will shed light on how frequently i will be followed up, and how exactly they will do that. Most like mammograms. The ct scan in feb, makes me anxious. I want it, but at the same time i dont. Waiting till feb seems like a long time to wait too. But i guess they know what they’re doing right?

I think once my surgeon has seen me next week, and hopefully he has a good feel of both boobs, he will be able to put my mind at ease more. (Bloody hope so anyways). Because as I approach 1 year since i was diagnosed, i feel like my whole world could come crashing down once again.

Which i think answers my earlier question. No, we don’t ever get over it. We just learn to live with it, and the fear that burns inside us forever.

Coming To An End.

I am still alive! I have been quiet on here for several reasons. 1 being, there just isnt much to update you all on, and 2, i’ve been trying to get back to normaility, whatever that is.

So i am currently in Sutton, London undergoing radiotherapy at the Royal Marsden, and i am now in my final week, i have just 4 more sessions left. YAY. Currently, my boob is slightly warmer than my other one, and the skin is ever so slightly more red, with my armpits skin darkening. However, all in all, its been ok. I ve not been tired, i have weirdly actually struggled with sleeping. However, i put that down to not doing enough in the day, as all i do is go to the gym and swim, and eat. Very counter productive i know.

The past few weeks have gone fairly according to plan, treatment was delayed a week, but that was all out of everyones control. Due to a significant reduction in my seroma, i had to have a new radiotherapy plan made for me. On the weekend before i officially started rads, i had a major freakout – i thought i had found a new lump, but on my GOOD boob. 24 hours later, i was having an ultrasound, and just told i have lumpy breasts and there wasnt anything abnormal on the scan. Talk about paranoid.

I often wonder whether this shear paranoia will ever go, and i realise, no it probably wont, but i will just learn to deal with it better over time. I am sat making plans for next year, and looking forward to upcoming holidays and christmas. God i am looking forward to christmas this year. Why? Well 5 days before christmas i was told i had cancer at 25, so this year i want to celebrate being cancer free and looking to the future. Whilst planning ahead, and looking forward to all the things i have upcoming next year already, weddings and hens, i sometimes cant help but think, am i being stupid making all these plans? There is apart of me that thinks i should take each day as it comes, and that i could just be setting myself up for a future fall. Then on the flip side, i am like fuck that, imma make plans and enjoy my life. Cancer or no cancer.

The hair is slowly growing back. Before all this bullshit, i was unfortunately blessed with fine hair genes. It would seem, that i am still unfortunate and my hair is taking longer than anyone else i know, to grow back. There is full coverage, it just needs to thicken up a little more on the sides and top. You know, the places where you actually need hair the most. Classic.

As of friday, that will be it. Active treatment is done. I have completed 9 months of treatment, just like that. So what next? I haven’t a clue! Maybe a new trial, a chat to my oncologists. We shall see. However, for now; i am going to keep rubbing alo vera on the old boob and get some sleep. Good night!

Paranoia

I have been a little quiet on here as of late, for a number of reasons. Mainly, it’s because there isn’t a lot going on or to report at the moment. Lastly, i am trying to get back to normality, whatever that is.

As of Tuesday, i will be starting radiotherapy, which will hopefully be the start of my last active treatment. Am i nervous? sure! Everyone says it is a doddle compared to everything else we have been through, which i believe, but i am just worried about getting sore skin, and if my skins breaks and blisters. But one step at a time. I will be enduring radiotherapy over at the Marsden, so for me that means, the hotel life. I will be staying alone at a hotel in Sutton during the week and coming back on Fridays for the weekend to be with loved ones.

In the past i have spoken about being in the limbo stage, and the sense of getting back to reality, and how reality and normality is very different to what it was prior to my cancer diagnosis. I am currently 12 weeks post chemo, and 6 weeks today post surgery. Right now i would say that my paranoia and anxiety is probably the worst its ever been. Yes, i had a complete pathological response with regards to what they removed in surgery, and yes that is fabulous news. However, the couple of active lymph nodes i had more in the middle of my chest, towards my collar bone, which they haven’t removed (hence the radiotherapy), the assumption is that this too has had the same response. But…this is just an assumption. Now although they are the experts, and i am not. This is not very reassuring for me still. I want to be scanned, i want to be examined, and i want to be told that my cells aren’t acting naughty again, and that i am ok.

Every tingle, ache and throb makes me panic. Is this something new? Is this the cancer spreading? Am i dying? Am i actually in remission? Or am i completely fucked? I know i am getting radiotherapy, which is the last thing hopefully for me to endure. But it all seems a bit vague as to what happens next. Where i still have a seroma post surgery, that is still reducing in size, and did cause an infection a couple of weeks ago. I am getting a sort of throbbing aching pain in my upper chest (near to where the naughty lymph nodes are), so this i would hope and assume is my seroma causing this pain, and shoulder pain is a factor as well to consider. However, i cant help but worry and think, that this is cancer still.

When i phoned my research nurse, she told me to stop panicking, enjoy my holidays i have coming up, and to know that i am having all the necessary treatment, and have had a significant amount already. Which is all well and good for her to say, but doesn’t actually quite reassure me. Because at the end of the day, they’ve been wrong before with other patients, so what if they’re wrong with me. What if i am sat here typing to you guys now, and i have cancer working its way all around my body. It is unlikely, but it sure is possible. And that….is the reality of a cancer diagnosis.

Getting Back To Reality.

As my active treatment on this long and overwhelming cancer journey, gradually comes to an end (here is hoping anyways). I cant help but feel like the last 8 months have been a complete blur. I feel as though I have blinked, and now here I am awaiting radiotherapy dates; the final piece for me. Of course I am not complaining about how fast the year has gone, I ll be glad to see the back of 2019 for sure. However, it has made me reflect on how I have coped and managed over the last 8 months. How does any cancer patient cope really? It is something as humans we have all been made aware of, cancer, and for many we have witnessed others battle this horrible disease. But we never assume we would be so unfortunate to take on the battle ourselves. But here we are…fighting. So how do we do it?

The answer is, we have no choice but to.

No matter your age, circumstance, or relationship status, the battle against cancer, is at large for most of us the same. It is a journey that impacts us greatly both physically and mentally. Bringing us to near breaking point on a daily basis. On the outside we smile, but inside we are hurting and suffering as well as lonely. No matter how many loved ones surround us, it still feels on those days sometimes, that we are sat completely alone. And that’s not just because chemo brain has well and truly settled in, and we have lost all ability to follow a conversation. It is far deeper than that.

On looking back on my own journey, has it been as bad as I thought it would be? No, not at all. Has it been easy? Absolutely not. Losing my hair was fine, I knew it would grow back, and gradually it is. Pain, I could deal with as long as it wasn’t constant, which it never was. Tiredness, I knew I could overcome. What I didn’t prepare for was everything else. How I feel in my body; changes to my skin. My once spot free skin, now covered with small pimples. Weight gain from steroids, which I am battling to lose, and not getting very far. Joint pain and general aches, making me feel 20 years older than I am. Missing my period; something I never thought I would say. As I don’t yet know whether I will be able to conceive naturally yet and wont for a while, my fertility therefore plays on my mind constantly. Knowing that I shouldn’t drink as much as I used to, or eat certain things as much as I used to, has been so, so very hard. The greatest struggle of all though, is losing how carefree I was. Having to now think about everything I consume, do, and feel, is simply frustrating and tiring. Although I lead a much healthier version of my life now, I cant help but still ask, why me?

Often on reflection I wonder to myself, am I going to wake up now, and is this just a nightmare? That the last 8 months haven’t really happened, and 2019 is only just starting? One can dream. Some days it doesn’t feel real what is happening to me. How did I get this unlucky at 25 for fucksake? I was once a carefree blithering idiot who drank too much on the weekends, afraid of stepping foot in a hospital, mainly because of the smell, who never had any health scares before. To now a regular hospital goer, drinking only on special occasions, unphased by anything doctors now throw my way. I might still be a blithering idiot, but that’s not the point. It truly is amazing what you can withstand as a human. I didn’t think I had it in me, but I guess I proved myself wrong.

Although I have been told that I had a complete response to treatment prior to surgery, which is amazing I know. There were however a couple lymph nodes in the upper/middle of my chest that they don’t remove. Although assumed they have responded just as well and happy to call me cancer free, I don’t think I ll fully accept that until my next scan. Apart of me, like any cancer patient I am sure, we think the worst now. Scanxiety is still a very real and prevalent aspect of my life now. I always plant a seed of doubt in the back of my mind. Well what if the cancer has spready elsewhere, and you just don’t know? What if I need more treatment? And still the one that prevails most in the back of my mind…what if it comes back?

For now, I will sit patiently (she says having just rang her oncologist) for my radiotherapy destination and dates and my oncology appointment and scan. Hope for the best, and start my new norm. My new cancer free life. Well I bloody hope so anyway, because I am quite over this cancer malarkey now, as I am sure you all are as well. I do fear not having my regular appointments with the doctors, as it becomes up to me almost to spot any secondary symptoms. At the moment I am wrapped in a cancer bubble, protected by family, friends and doctors. That bubble is soon going to pop, and it is back to my new reality. And it is that, that scares me the most.

My New Norm

It has been nearly 2 weeks since my operation. To say i am bored is an understatement. No driving for 2 weeks; no work; no ability to raise my arm above shoulder height. To top things off further, i also developed a seroma once the drain was removed, which has caused me some discomfort, but this is getting better on its own now.

Now as i discussed previously, i was due to meet my surgeon today, which i did. In which i was expecting at this meeting to discuss how my operation went. To find out whether he thought i ought to need a further operation, and to see how i was healing. I also hoped that with this meeting, i would finally get my pathology results, from what he removed during the operation. A complete pathological response, is whereby the chemo a patient has received prior to surgery, has actually done a complete job. It kills all the cancers cells that were in you. This is a desirable outcome for all cancer patients, because it also means our chances of reoccurrence are lessened. Supposedly. However, a complete pathological response is less common, particularly for those with an aggressive breast cancer like mine, triple negative. It is only upon doing research that i came across this information.  I assumed that a complete pathological response was most likely. Therefore, going into my meeting with the marvellous Dr Anthony Skene, i was fairly optimistic, and fairly calm. I thought to myself well if a complete pathological response isn’t as common as i had assumed, then i shouldn’t be disheartened if i don’t achieve this, as the surgery alone would have done the job, in making me cancer free…well i was hoping so anyways.

Now as we are talking and catching up and he inspects my healing, i hear those magical words. That i, Hannah Wadland, have had a complete pathological response. An overwhelming amount of emotion succumbed me. I couldn’t believe i had been this lucky. Everything that my body has been put through, was worth it. This is all i wanted to hear. I felt like i could breathe again, and that now i can enjoy things that i used to again. My journey is not yet over, as i will still go on to have some radiation, just to be on the safe side. But that really is nothing compared to what i have already gone through. Radiotherapy i can handle (famous last words). Due to the fact i had some lymph nodes active in the middle of my chest before starting treatment, he has referred me to the Royal Marsden for radiotherapy to see if they think its necessary i go there for it. If so, great, if not, then this will be conducted at Poole Hospital instead.

I am now looking forward to my new norm. Not the norm that has been the last 8 months, of cancer Hannah. But now my new norm as Cancer free Hannah. She is not as carefree as she used to be, and her red meat intake is nearly non-existent. She doesn’t smoke anymore, and enjoys exercise once again. However, she sure does still enjoy a glass of vino. Hello to my new norm, Hannah 1, cancer 0.

Traumatic, but over.

On Friday the 26th of July, i went into the Royal Bournemouth Hospital for my wire guided insertion (lumpectomy), and axillary node clearance of the left side. Up until the surgery day, i had been overcome with anxiety and worry. I have never had an operation before, and the whole idea of it all scared me. However, alongside the fear, was reality. The reality being that this operation is effectively saving my life. This operation is potentially giving me back my cancer free life.

As i was welcomed into the ward, i was advised that i would be 3rd down. When it got to midday i was told ‘it was time’, and i walked over the corridor and said an emotional goodbye to my mum. I walked through to where the theatre was, and met with the anaesthetist, who was there to cannulate me, ready to put me to sleep. I have always been hard to bleed from, hence why i was given a PICC line for treatment. So after nearly 2 hours of attempting to cannulate me via the arms, wrists, feet and groin; eventually they decided to cannulate me via the neck. Yes…the fucking neck! Now let me tell you, after being stabbed 10 times all over my body, with numerous failed attempts of getting into an actual vein, the neck was the last option. At this point my anxiety was through the roof, and i was even more petrified than ever before. Not to mention the fact that i knew my family would all be expecting me to be done by this point with my operation. Not realising that they still hadn’t been able to cannulate me. To cannulate someone in the neck is not a simple process. This involved them scrubbing in, numbing my neck with three injections and then finding the vein. The pressure and force from the anaesthetist on my neck as he was forcing the line in through my neck and vein, hurt alone. The sensation was horrible and reminded me of when my PICC line was inserted. They also then had to stitch in place the cannula so that it wouldn’t move. And yes, i felt them stitching it through my neck. Finally, i was cannulated and they really wasted no time in putting me to sleep. I started to taste the drugs then 3…2…1…. and i am waking up in recovery.

Waking up in recovery was an experience in itself. My immediate first thought and therefore first sentence was, ‘i am going to be sick’. So there i am, half awake, chundering my guts up. However, i was given anti sickness immediately and i stopped being sick rather quickly. The neck cannula was removed from my neck, and i was wheeled down to Ward 12 an hour later where i would spend just one night, which was actually quite a pleasant experience, surprisingly.

Now, for most people their experience wouldn’t be quite as traumatic as mine was at the start. If they hadn’t of had such a trouble cannulating me, i would be a lot more positive about the experience. I am a tough old girl most of the time, with a high pain threshold. But honestly, that moment before i was put to sleep, was hands down the worst experience of my cancer journey so far. Whether you think that is dramatic of me to say or not, i do not care. Because for me, it was awful. The rest of it was fine. Sitting here in bed writing this, relaxing and recovering is easy. My pain and discomfort is at a 1. I am simply just bored out of my mind, and frustrated that i can’t drive just yet, and wont be able to get out on the paddle boards for at least a month. From what i can see of my surgeons work, he has done a marvellous job. Very neatly done, and hopefully will heal well over time.

As i manage this drain coming out of me for the next few days (out on Friday). My thoughts turn to the next chapter. I will meet once again on the 8th with my surgeon, where he will be able to tell me whether the chemo killed all the cancer, or whether there was still cancer left in me before he removed it. He will also advise how he felt the operation went, and what will be next for me. Will it just be a few weeks of radiation? Will i need another operation? Am i cancer free yet?

There is still very much an element of the fear of the unknown. I personally hope that my cancer journey is coming to and end, and that it is just radiation left for me to tackle. I will update you all at the end of next week, once i have spoken to my surgeon. Thank you all for your support and kinds words so far.

A Lonely Journey…

I wasn’t going to write an updated blog post until after my surgery on Friday. However, the fact that my surgery is only in three days, has forced out of me this latest post.

Going through a cancer journey, in my opinion, is unlike any other journey a human could go through and experience. From the shock when you first hear those words uttered to you; to the gruelling treatments your body is put through; and then there is the strain it has on you mentally as well as physically. Although many cancer patients may find comfort in talking to other fellow cancer patients, or to those who have been on a cancer journey and are thriving in their newly adjusted life. It still is, extremely lonely. I have found many women, diagnosed with the exact same breast cancer as myself, who have even been on the same trial as myself. Although we can compare notes and there are similarities to our journeys, you wont find another individuals journey that is completely the same as yours. Thus, making a cancer diagnosis a lonely journey that many embark on.

Friends and family can attempt to imagine what you are going through, but the reality is, no one will ever be able to understand what is exactly like. When people say ‘oh you’re nearly there’ or ‘theres light at the end of the tunnel’ (which i too have been guilty of saying), it frustrates me. Nearly there with what? Yes i have nearly finished treatment, but then what? Whats next? In my mind, i will always be fighting against cancer. Fighting to prevent it coming back. Fighting against the affects treatment has had on my body physically and mentality. I may get to hear the words ‘You are cancer free’, but my mind will never be free from it. It will always be in the back of my mind, no matter what.

As my surgery fast approaches, i am living with complete anxiety and worry. I have never had surgery before and that scares me. I worry about how my left breast will look following surgery. I worry about how much pain i will be in and how my scars will heal. I feel as though my brain is doing over time, and that a good nights sleep is a thing of the past.

Don’t be fooled by our smiles, and laughter. Just like any cancer patient on their lonely journey of fighting this dreaded illness, we are all capable of being positive, but we are also capable of the opposite. It is a continuous struggle, and lonely uphill battle, don’t assume that just because we smile and joke, that we are ok. Most of the time we are not. It is simply a case of learning to adjust to our new life, whilst mourning the old one that we have left behind.

(Follow my journey via instagram: Hannahwadland)