Chemotherapy about to begin

As I sit down to write this, wanting to communicate with whoever wants to be communicated to, I get knots in my stomach. I want to share a bit of my world but it’s hard enough processing it myself, let alone communicating it onwards. But there’s something rather therapeutic about the writing… and the sharing…and the knowing that, even though not in physical proximity, I’m letting others in.

I’m feeling nervous about the process ahead – the chemotherapy begins tomorrow – but I’m always reminding myself that I have no idea what actually is ahead. In fact, none of us do. It’s just that my particular circumstance highlights this more so than the average situation. I keep on projecting what it will be like. My mind does a convincing job of making me think that it knows, but it doesn’t.

Kate and I went to the chemotherapy information session last week to learn about what the process entails, or could entail, although the nurse specifically highlighted that they don’t know what each individual is going to go through, so it’s just a case of ‘wait and see’. At least she didn’t pretend. We had the most straight up nurse talking us through it all – not all happy clappy trying to make light of the situation, nor all doom and gloom, but basically telling it how it is, that it’s not going to be easy but that her and her team are there to make sure I get through it. Maureen’s her name. Completely gorgeous, as were the rest of the nursing team that we met.

The chemotherapy unit itself though is, in a word, grim. It’s enough to make you feel ill even without the chemotherapy. How is it that whoever designed that space thought that ‘hospital blue’ wipe-down arm chairs in a pasty white room, with that sterile feel in the air and with everyone sitting round the circumference of the room looking in, like an old age home, was a good design for a chemo unit, conducive to people getting better?! Maybe it’s part of a test as to who can maintain their centre in the toughest of situations in the grimmest environment possible. Well…I’m up for the challenge.

Kate and I were pretty pleased with ourselves that we still had our feet firmly planted on the ground as we walked out of there. In fact, so much so that we ended up doing a bit of shopping round Brighton and then out for pizza and a glass of wine in Lewes in the evening. First glass of wine in over 6 months. Delicious…despite the restaurant not having my favourite pinot noir. My excuse for the wine was that I thought it’d be a good idea to give my liver a bit of a wake up before it has to deal with the chemo. Nuh, I actually just felt like celebrating. Despite a difficult session at the chemo unit, life felt good. Really good.

I had to laugh when I was just reading through my new book Anti-cancer, a new way of life by Dr David Servan-Schreiber. A friend who’s going through breast cancer in New Zealand uses it as her bible and on first glance it does seem fantastic. I was just flicking through the ‘anti-cancer’ foods chapter and my eyes stopped at the Red Wine section: ‘red wine contains many polyphenols, included the resveratrol (which I take as a supplement anyway)…[which] can slow the three stages of cancer development... by blocking the action of NF-kappa B’. The scientific jargon won’t mean much to most of us but the funniest part was flicking to the end of the section ‘pinot noir…is particularly rich in resveratrol’. Positives come out of every situation - my favourite wine has anti-cancer properties. What a result.

Now I find myself having a bit of a moral dilemma as I’m writing. I’ve gone through the last 6 months painstakingly trawling through research, tearing my hair out, being bombarded with information by doctors, therapists, friends and family about what they think the right foods are to be eating, the right drinks to be drinking, the right lifestyle, the right this, the right that to fight cancer. It’s a really really tough part of the road that you wouldn’t know until you’re in it. It was all new to me. I didn’t know any part of what I’ve learnt before I was diagnosed and then suddenly having to filter the onslaught of information… It’s near to impossible without going crazy. I desperately wanted to put the ‘right’ things into my body but there are so many views on what those are. Along with the shock of the diagnosis, the fear of the process ahead, the logistics, the communication… the sheer amount of information was overwhelming. That process of working out what’s right for me, what me and my body need still continues, now with the new challenge of chemotherapy to add to the mix.

The point is, though, that having had 6 months of that, my first reference in my blog to my findings and efforts on diet and lifestyle is to red wine!? Ah well, it made me laugh, so I thought I’d share. I’m sure you’ll hear more in due course on aspects of diet and lifestyle that I’ve been working hard on. But for anyone that’s now wants to get smashed on pinot noir because of the anti-cancer properties, obviously the book is suggesting drinking a very limited amount, but it is nice to know that it might do good if and when I do have some.

So I began this blog referring to my nerves and wanting to share and the above is what came out. I didn’t try to ignore the nerves but I don’t want to give them much attention either. I think it’s just a case of letting that uncomfortable feeling be there and carrying on, again, knowing that I have no idea what lies ahead so I may as well stay here, in the present, where I do know.

Arrival into Picture Perfect England

Irony or just as the universe intended? We've landed into the most perfect dream home that we could have ever imagined...kind of amusing that it's to embark on possibly the most challenging journey of my life… or is this just how it's meant to be? Little Keepers Cottage - to support and hold us through all this. As soon as we stepped foot inside it felt like coming home.

I got up this morning at 3.30am and couldn't actually stay in bed any longer. All I wanted to do was go downstairs and 'be' - soaking up the warm, homely vibe of our cottage. I actually can't believe it's our new home - set up so perfectly by the rest of my family. I sat waiting patiently for the first light before I could put my wellies on and go and introduce myself to the sheep. I walked around the paddock smiling, listening to the sounds of the morning - the birds, the cockerel, the peace in the air. I'll say it again - I actually can't believe this is our new home. If there's any place that's going to support and nurture me on my healing journey, this is it. 

So yeah...we've arrived.

My head's shaved - may as well start as it will continue. You may or may not know that I shaved my head last year so it wasn't as big a deal for me as it may be for some. I felt like it's nice to do it whilst I still have the choice and get used to the shaved look with eyebrows and eyelashes before I go completely bald. Any ideas on rockin' the bald look gratefully received. Hehe.

...so here I am - no boobs, no hair, but same me...knowing that I am soon to be embarking on something big, something profound. But I'm ready as I'll ever be. Always trying to remember that the fear of suffering, in my experience so far, is harder than the suffering itself. It’s the projections of what the road ahead might be like that cause the problems. If I see those projections and fears for what they are and stay here, present, in this very moment, that’s where life for me is at its easiest. Right now, right here in this very moment, life is perfect.

On our way

I started this blog entry sitting on the plane from Nelson to Auckland, feeling the most incredible sense of gratitude for the last four and a half years that I’ve spent in the Land of the Long White Cloud, New Zealand.  The sun was setting in its purest beauty as I looked out from above, listening to some heart-opening kirtan. My whole being filled with smiles. Hazel, my sister, said the other day on Skype that it must be really hard for me to leave and say my goodbyes. Somehow, though, it feels totally ok and exactly as it’s meant to be… and now on to the next chapter.

I was meaning to post a wee blog update that I was all good to fly as we landed in Auckland airport but it was a bit of a whirlwind of activity getting from domestic to international, through security and on to the next plane so that didn’t happen. The next leg, on to LA, was fine…well, about as fine as long-haul flights go and the beautiful Oli met us the other end. Now, Kate and I are being looked after beyond belief (well, you can believe it, its Oli after all)– a good Jewish Shabbat lunch awaiting us, smoked salmon, pickle and olives, soup and bread, followed by snooze in a big white cloud of a bed, hot shower, snuggley towels, the full works. Now sitting writing with a blueberry smoothie in hand and another 24 hours or so to recuperate before we do the final leg.

All fairly straight forward really. Each Joseph with a smile on their face and word of dinner from a yummy veggie restaurant this eve. Whoop whoop xxx

Wrapping up in New Zealand

It’s a little bit difficult to know exactly how to begin this blog to be honest. I can’t go through all the details of the last six months but I can tell you it’s been both heavy and magical, and a million other things, all at the same time. The consultations I’ve had, the anxiety and fear, the laughter, the incredible people I’ve met, the learnings in it all… the experiences are indescribable really but at the same time so deeply deeply treasured.

I’m just a few days away from leaving New Zealand, a country that I love so much, but yet it feels exactly perfect and the right time to be doing it. I had my bilateral mastectomy just under 2 weeks ago. The wounds are healing nicely and the breast specialist says that if healing continues as it is that I’m looking good to fly next week. Flights are booked for Saturday so looks like we’re all set.

Kate and I are packing up our place (well, Kate is really – I tend to be plonked on the sofa cheering her on) and getting ready to head off, going on lovely walks down by the river and taking in the magical views of Golden Bay in our last few days. We’re doing research into all the wonderful things that the UK has to offer in terms of complimentary therapies for cancer and generally looking into things the other end for our arrival.

Kate and I are moving into a cute wee cottage in the Sussex countryside that my incredible family are kitting out for when we get home. Wow, what an incredible bunch my family is. What a blessing to be able to focus on what I need to be focusing on – healing, the journey back to the UK, mental preparation for chemotherapy and, when it comes around, settling back in the UK and all the changes that that will bring.

So this blog is here for Kate and I (and whoever else crosses our path) to share our journey through this with you all, so that we can keep you all up-to-date. It’s not something that you should feel obliged to read or anything like that. It’s more if you want to know how we are, what’s going on etc, then you can check in here for the update. Part of the blessing for us of having so many loving, caring people in our lives is that we have a lot of people we’d like to keep in the loop, although given the nature of what’s going on, it’s difficult to speak to everyone individually. So this is our way of opening up our world and sharing a piece of the journey with you.