Research 2

Nine months since diagnosis and exactly two months since I finished radiation and I wake to another perfect, chilly morning, the sky an ache of crisp, cloudless blue.

On days like this, it's great to be alive and, make no mistake, I take every opportunity I can these days to Praise the Lord that I am here.

I am slow to rise after a vile night of snorting and sniffling as I battle the final vestiges of the cold I've had for more than four weeks. At least I can breathe now even though I still have the odd allergy attacks that, oddly enough, strike me around the same time each night: around 2.35 am.

I put this down to the fact that my nose hairs are still to regrow although I can report that on my head, the hair is doing well. I rue the fact, however, that it's looking pretty curly and the style is a little too 'toilet brush' for my liking.

With my body still not fully well, over the past two weeks I've tried really hard to rest. I didn't return to any exercise until Saturday, two days ago, when I put in a couple of hours of, I have to admit, some fairly lacklustre refereeing.

Yesterday morning, Louisa and I went for a 10 Km walk but it was a slow one - so I couldn't see the harm.

But today is the first day I begin the exercise and nutrition education program that is a part of my participation in the Wesley Research Institute's study.

Leading up to today, I had a blood test to look at the fatty acids in my bloodstream and, for the past 12 days or so I've been taking 5 capsules of what could or could not be Omega 3 Fish Oils. (Because this is what's known as a 'double blind' study - basically, the Rolls Royce of studies - neither I nor the researcher, the hunky Dr Cam, know what these contain.)

So today, after two Weetbix with milk and sliced banana, I jump in the car and head off to my first session.

As I walk into the hospital, I pass the ambulance bay where a very frail old man is being transferred onto a bed. I think about George.

On Floor 8 of the hospital where all these research sessions are conducted, I meet four other women all at different stages, post breast cancer treatment.

We can identify each other immediately by our short cropped hair and the fact we are all wearing exercise gear.

After some introductions, Cam gives us each a workbook and begins the session which is recorded so that we can refer to it anytime in case chemo-brain sets in and we completely forget we were ever here.

He tells us that, over the nine weeks of this program, we will gain incrementally more sophisticated knowledge about exercise and nutrition.

The purpose of this program is not weight loss, but muscle gain.

I won't bore you with all the details of absolutely everything we are told but here are some pieces of information I absorb and that I didn't know before:

1. Regular exercise decreases the chance of breast cancer recurrence by 50%.(Hooray!)

2. Alcohol consumption increases the chance of breast cancer recurrence so substantially that it considerably outweighs any heart health benefits that may be associated with a daily glass of wine. (Yikes!)

3. Women who have been through breast cancer will age the equivalent of 10 years within the first 12 months of treatment - if they do not undertake regular exercise (and pay attention to nutrition). That basically explains why my muscles have all but disappeared. (Booooo!)

4. Consuming legumes daily assists in the trimming of the oestrogen (the culprit behind breast cancer).

5. Dr Cam's hobby is swing dancing: apparently it's great for the mind and the body.

After the information session, we are shown some fairly basic exercises but what I notice is the way we all groan in unison almost, as we lower our carcasses to the floor for the push up and ab exercises.

One lady, Robyn, has to use a chair. She is so weak she can't even do a push up and has to do them against a wall. Two ladies opt for the easier chair exercise, and I and the girl called Amy (who looks much younger than me) do them normally.

When Cam jumps on the table to demonstrate a correctly executed push-up I ask him if he could do them in the nude for my general amusement.

When he raises an eyebrow, I explain that in the ancient Olympics, all sports were performed in the nude... with olive oil rubbed on the bodies to make them look more appealing.

"Virgin Olive Oil," Cam comments.

The lady called Jane comments on the hideous sight that must pose - especially in the case of pole vaulting.

This little gum nut about the Olympics is something I picked up just yesterday, in fact.

I participated as guest speaker at a cancer fundraiser held at our local golf club.

With some 130 people in attendance, including quite a few of my friends and general associates around the 'hood, I was unusually anxious about this speaking engagement in the week leading up to the event.

I angsted over my speech and put in several hours steering it in the right direction, including several wrong turns and cul de sacs.

Right up to yesterday morning I was tweaking it - and secretly fretting that I'd make a total dick of myself in front of people who I see regularly.

Thankfully that was not the case.

I received a standing ovation and was presented with a huge basket of roses that I especially appreciated because they are locally grown and they were arranged by an elderly man who lives in this neck of the woods.

A few old dears came up to me afterwards to tell me how inspiring they found my speech.

These compliments are appreciated, but I hoped they realised I am not talking about my cancer experience to elevate myself. It is very difficult in fact and I find I struggle to contain my emotions when discussing the subject in any kind of oration.

After the girls in my class disperse, I drive to the cafe strip at nearby Milton where I stop for a coffee at the Dolce Vita.

I read my book and enjoy the feel of the warm winter sun on my back. A radio is playing some obscure Italian song, and when the waiter addresses me as 'señora', I imagine myself transported to the Piazza in Rome.

On my way back to Redland Bay, I divert via Victoria Point to buy a present for my pal and chemo angel, Tracey who has a birthday today.

When I get home, I drive into Cleveland to drop Harry at the station as he has a big Maths test this evening, and post Tracey's present on the return trip.

On the way back I stop at the gym and do an hour of weights including 20 minutes on the bike. I must say I find it a chore.

Tomorrow Ben celebrates his 15th birthday.

Will I still be here in 10 years time when it's his 25th?

Even if it means must limit the alcohol (boo hoo!) today I realised that I will intend to do whatever it takes to make absolutely sure I am.

It's certainly going to be a new experience for me to watch what I eat over the next few weeks.

Now (sad face) I suppose it's time for a glass of water.

Radiation 2

It's a lovely day, a brisk wind blowing with a nudge of autumn in the air.

Today I start the second week of radiation and can report that so far so good. Apart from feeling a little tired by the Friday, I have no skin irritation yet and no real discomfort to speak of.

I have found out that I am to have 24 shots in total so I'm counting down them off one by one: 6 down, 18 to go.

As my days are now organised around the time of my appointments, I have started a reasonable routine.

This morning Ethel and Al go to collect George's ashes while I go to the gym.

This is the fourth week of my mission to somehow regain something of the fit body I used to have.

The first three weeks, I was too embarrassed about my bald head so I wore a hat. But the last few days, I haven't been bothered. It's just too hot.


Today when I arrive I think to myself that, after literally decades of regular gym exercise, I don't think I've ever seen anyone who looked like they'd been through chemotherapy. (You could call it a Double-X Chromosome Chrome-Dome Free Zone, all in all.)

I wonder what the other gym goers think of me but really, I don't care.

Now that the swelling from the drugs has receded a bit, I am able to fit into some of my old sports bras. I just stuff Fake Nicky into the gap and off I go.

Last week, the prosthesis got really hot and sweaty while I was on the running machine, so I just took it out in disgust and popped it into the drinks holder.

Still, it's useful missing a breast because it creates a handy space in which to stick my iPhone. Sometimes I take my iPod but I have to watch out because it falls through the crevice and can end up in my crutch.

I am winging this business of getting back into exercise as my research into the subject of mastectomies, breast cancer and exercise has proved largely fruitless.

Women wanting to get a little bit of their strength and conditioning back generally rely on the information shared by other breast cancer sufferers, as there's not a huge amount of information out there about the 'dos' and 'don'ts'.

As it is, I try not to spend any more than one-hour in there as it's important not to over do it. Even I know that!

All that time, I assiduously avoid my reflection, other than to check whether the tits are even. (A loose prosthesis tends to misbehave, somewhat. Especially at golf - I've only played once so far - where it ended up under my chin!).

Six months ago I had a fairly flat stomach and now, I have a Buddha-esque paunch. It is a little sad but what can I do other than breathe in - 2-3-4 and breathe out 2-3-4 while attempting to maintain good form?

After the gym, I have been trying to do some writing but today things are a little different.

Today, Ethel and I go to my mum's for lunch with a good friend of my parents, John. He and his wife Dell have just returned from a big trip around Australia and, on their journey, I kid you not, he has telephoned every single week to check on my progress.

John actually gave the toast to my parents at my wedding. As a dear old pal of my dad's, I think he realises how close I am to my father. Dad has had many sleepless nights since I was diagnosed, and I know John really understands his distress.

I am really glad Ethel comes out with me. As you can imagine, she has had to make a huge adjustment in her life lately. She and I share one thing at the moment: we are both trying to create a new 'normal' in our lives.

When Ethel and I arrive, John and Dell and another couple, Richard and Ruth are there. I think it's good that I made the effort to go because John looks relieved. Ruth comments on my 'good colour'.

It's only now, I guess, I realise that there seems to be a stereotype of 'cancer sufferers'. I think people expect us to be kind of pale and wasted and sickly looking! Maybe a bit like Dr Evil after a couple of months on the water diet?

Indeed, many people seem to be surprised at the activity I am managing. Two weeks ago I even returned to being a soccer referree.

Physically, refereeing can be as hard or as mild as you want to make it. Some of the fatter ones will call a ball in or out from the other side of the field because they are too lazy to run. (I'm sure some would call the game from the change room if they could get away with it. We soccer girls call these ones "special". You know the ones?)

But importantly, it's a good brain exercise because it involves spatial awareness, observation and memory.

And it's good for my confidence, which, I have to admit has taken a bit of a knock in recent months.

The real test of that came last Friday when I had to attend a Youth Referees Seminar. There were 400 or so of us, mainly, well YOUTHS in an auditorium at Griffith University. And there I was with my bald head.

I wasn't as self-conscious as I thought I would be. However, at one point, I realised I kept trying to shift my prosthesis into a more comfortable spot. I fear, it was only later I realised it must have looked as if I was channelling my inner porn star.

So today at lunch, I am careful to keep my hands away from Fake Nicky and, instead, I enjoy the company and conversation.

Afterwards, I leave Mum and Dad's place with an Esky full of left overs for the family dinner. Score!

Ethel and I drive into South Brisbane but I'm in a bit of a lather. My appointment is at 2.55 pm and I don't allow enough time. I end up speeding a little as I think I'm running late. (I get every red light and there are ALWAYS roadworks on the M3).

At the Mater, I ask Ethel to park the car and sprint to the Radiation building. Virtually as soon as I sit down I am called in and as usual, everything happens quickly.

I know the routine like clockwork already: Strip, pause, chat, bed, chat, zap, chat, front counter, carpark, home!

We end up with a cruisy journey home with not much traffic. We pick up Harry from Capalaba and get home.

With no dinner to be prepared, I manage a short stroll with Spunky then settle down with a weak Scotch and soda.

Outside it is a cool, clear night with a crescent moon. In the bedroom I can hear Ben chuckling in his famous Scooby-Doo-esque way at something funny on Youtube. With Spunky at my feet, the world is otherwise quiet and still.

All in all, this is a great moment for breathing.

I for one, am not taking a minute of this thing called living for granted.