Tastebuds – Welcome back

Everything has tasted awful for the last few months. Pretty much all foods, all liquids, even my own saliva.

Dysgeusia, or a change in the sense of taste, has been quite the issue as a result of chemotherapy.  Quite apart from the issue of not enjoying  or being able to taste the food that I ate, I found that I had developed quite an aversion for certain liquids too. After a lot of trial and error, I discovered that I could drink one particular mixed apple and grape juice. Having to remain hydrated, extremely hydrated, to flush your system is hard when a sip or two of water makes you nauseous.

Over the last few months, I have been buying the one juice that I could stomach in large amounts as it was, apart from a morning coffee, pretty much the only thing I could drink. The odd cup of tea appealed on occasion but not much else. Yesterday, I opened a different juice (as I had run out) and found that it was palatable. I never thought I would get excited about being able to buy different drinks but today, when I stocked up, I also bought different flavours!

Whilst not fresh juices (a whole ‘nother issue) the ability to enjoy orange juice again was an unexpected gift this morning.  In an ideal world, I would remain hydrated with water and a variety of delicious fresh juices but many of the juices made tasted so awful that I just gave up. It is beyond disheartening to spend all the time and money making a lovely, healthy, fresh juice only to have it make you feel queasy. Not to mention the cleaning of a juicer being of nightmare proportions.

I am cautiously optimistic about the Return of the Taste Buds (insert clashing cymbals of anticipation here) but am continuing to play it safe by eating the same meals on a regular basis. Meals need to be short and sweet in terms of preparation and cooking time to avoid the frustration of not wanting to eat what I have prepared. In the meantime, I can now understand the ‘metallic taste’ so many mention. I managed to miss out on that as my taste buds and sense of smell were affected quite quickly during chemotherapy.  With a return of my senses (insert sarcastic comment here) I hope my appetite will also return.   In a way, I have become somewhat wary of food so being able to taste  again will be fun, I hope.

‘Breast Cancer is Not a Pink Ribbon’

You want to be breast cancer aware?

Here is breast cancer in all its reality: http://www.thescarproject.org. I thought about writing ‘in its ugly reality’, but these images are not ugly. Disturbing, but not ugly. These women are beautiful in their courage and their strength. The raw beauty of these images is amazing and this is the reality of breast cancer that should be shared with everyone, not the pretty images the media touts each October.

From the start of this journey (for want of a better word) I have not wanted to be associated with a couple of things that I feel I am now forever linked to, labels I am stuck with when I do not want  to be labelled!

One is the whole pinkness of breast cancer. I just don’t do pink, it is far too girly twirly and I really cannot carry off the whole thing. Part of that is, obviously, my perceptions regarding what I tend to think of as ‘pink pathetic’. Whilst I enjoy dressing up for a night out or for special events, I am not sold on being all girly and feel somewhat of a fake when I wear dresses or try too hard to be ‘pretty’. This is similar to my feeling that someone is going to notice that I am not an adult. I keep waiting for that one person to start yelling that I am an imposter. Long story short, I don’t want to be a pink ribboner!

The second label I want to avoid is that of being a victim. I am not a victim. That, to me, implies a thinking enemy and a deliberate attack. Cancer is an abnormality, a growth. There is no war happening here, no battles, no fighting an enemy. There is simply living or not living, treatment or no treatment – and that is a choice that is easy to make. I don’t have to do much, no big battle, no enemy to vanquish.

Others may approach breast cancer, or any cancer, in a different way. They may see it as a great battle to be won, an enemy to defeat over and over until they emerge victorious and in remission. Perhaps my refusing to use this language says more about me wanting a reality where cancer was never a part of my lifeline than about me not wanting these labels. I could certainly do without the plastic fantastic and the scars accompanying it but some choices had to be made.

All of this is a somewhat longwinded introduction to a photographer whose work I admire. I freely admit that I wouldn’t have paid much attention to his work had I not been diagnosed with breast cancer, nor would his work have resonated so clearly with me. In a society that seems to want to think of women with breast cancer in the same manner as they are presented with women in adverts for sanitary products, David Jay is a realist. Breast cancer leaves scars and I, for one would rather be associated with these photographs than with the happy happy, joy joy folk that abound on too many breast cancer awareness sites.

As someone newly diagnosed with breast cancer, these images would have been scary but they would have also made me more aware of what exactly I would be going through and what I would be dealing with after the operation. Having a meeting with a doctor who talks quite matter of factly about cutting you up is somewhat disconcerting and the pictures I saw seemed almost unreal, being only pictures of the breast, not the person. I couldn’t equate my own person with the images I was being shown.

Go, take a look and then make sure that the women in your life are breast aware.

 

On the occasion of my fortieth birthday

When I awoke this morning, I was forty. It is quite unreal. Forty year olds are meant to be adults and do adult things like be married and have families and know what they want to do with their lives and know who they are. I still don’t feel like an adult at times and often wonder when someone is going to spot the imposter parading about in the adult section and kick me out.

Forty. Another milestone met. I am not really one for celebrating birthdays but today did make me look back at other milestones across the years. Some are societal, such as hitting a certain birthday, but most are more personal events so today has been bitter sweet. It also made me question what I am doing and where I am going.

Time moves on and I think back to the first birthday after my mother died with a sense of shock. She has been gone for a quarter of my life and that thought fills me with such sadness. I know how she would have responded to my email in September – she would have booked the next flight out! I think of all the things she has missed: her grand kids and some big birthdays, successes she would have celebrated and failures she would have commiserated over. I still miss her everyday and wonder if my wanderings are a way of running away from the lack of her existence.

Other milestones are less emotional and more obvious, such as previous birthdays or events I recall from living in various countries. I will certainly not be forgetting living here – the place I found a few lumps and lost a breast! That said, had I been elsewhere, the outcome may not have been the same and I may have had to return to the UK for treatment. Some milestones I have yet to appreciate, although I am sure that time will come.

One milestone I have met today is that of being a non-smoker when I turn forty. I found a packet of cigarettes hidden away today and gave in to the impulse to smoke one after being smoke free for several months. I felt nothing really, and am glad. Glad that I didn’t enjoy the sensation and glad that I couldn’t really understand what had had such a hold over me for so long. Long live the e-cig!

My celebration this evening consists of a few friends and a lot of Greek food at a local hotel which is featuring a Greek chef. I am looking forward to some memories of my time in Greece and, hopefully, some of my favourite foods too.

Delaying celebrations

Four weeks past my final chemotherapy session, I am yet to experience the expected jubilation about the end of my treatment. Whilst there are still other treatments I have to undergo, the worst part is now over as long as a) my heart remains strong and b) cancer isn’t found elsewhere. All that is left is being sent into a fake menopause. You’d think I would be dancing in the streets and shouting it out to all and sundry. I’m not.

Unfortunately, other things have overshadowed what I imagined being one great big party. A cake had even been planned (I wasn’t going to bake it though!) in the guise of a pink ribbon. However, I find that I simply can’t summon up the emotional wherewithal to be happy about having no more chemo or even returning to work, both things I was seriously looking forward to a mere couple of months ago.

So, what changed? A couple of things did:

Some folk that had, superficially at least, appeared supportive and understanding turned out not to be, leaving me with a bitter taste in my mouth and a timetable I may not be able to fulfil to the best of my ability. Extended periods of concentration still leave me exhausted so I could be dozing off at work. It is a pity really as popping into work every week was one of the highlights of the last few months and it now all seems soured. I feel like something of an idiot for continuing to go in and doing the work that I did when I could have spent that time on other things. Now, instead of being pleased to be back, I resent it instead.

My sister, who had been living with me whilst, theoretically at least, advancing her qualifications has now returned home. I told her two months ago that she had to leave by mid-year as she had done no advancing and she decided to leave once my last cycle was over instead of renewing her visa for another three months. It is oddly quiet without her here even though we hadn’t had much in the way of extended communication over the last couple of months. Apathy and lethargy combined to leave us sat in silence most days.

As a result, all I have felt for the last month is anger and resentment. A bit difficult to engender any excitement or celebration out of those two emotions. I am hopeful that a week back at work, with all the vagaries of the teenage mind, might blow away most of the negative emotions. If not, there is always Easter and my long awaited visitors to entertain.