cancer

Just another health scare?

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In June I found a small lump in my groin cos it hurt.

I didn’t want to deal with it, attributed it to walking into a tree or falling on my arse or bumping into something stupid and tried to forget about it.

Couldn’t forget about it in September when it started hurting and had grown – massively – and kept growing.

A fun side effect of cancer is that you’re more prone to getting cancer again, and the lovely Tamoxifen that I’m on has cervical cancer as a probably side effect. Fuck, not cancer again???

Couldn’t get hold of my GP so went to the ER and got an ultrasound (I know the drill by now) and tech/doctor says “You need to be referred to oncology”

Still couldn’t get hold of GP so called another doc and said “I need a referral, that’s all I need from you, send me to onco and I’ll be out of your life”

Had a lovely holiday in Lo Pagán, Spain, apart from the fact that I got some kind of weird sun rash – it wasn’t red, didn’t itch, wasn’t a sun burn, just weird blisters which disappeared after 24 hours but came back if I didn’t use sun block.

Got home to a nice visit at haemotology at Ahus. “We’re gonna do some bloodwork and a biopsy and a CT and see where we send you next”

Biopsy first. Fkn stupid surgeon. “I can only see pus, are you sure it isn’t an ingrown hair and sebacous gland?” YES we did an ultrasound so do your work and stop being a fkn twat “ok I’ll see if I can find something”

Date with a doctor at Infectious diseases was nice. “So, we’re pretty sure this isn’t lymphoma but the CT was kinda weird so we’re referring you to a gynecologist also sending off tests to Sweden for Bartonella cos I never get to do that cos it’s expensive but you’ve got the syptoms and we’re also testing you for tularemia because of your tick bites”

She called me last week. I have tularemia – rabbit fever – hare plague (harepest) in Norwegian – from a stupid fkn tick (who are all over me since chemo cos apparently I’m now irresistable). Mortality rate is pretty high in the US but not that bad here in Norway.

“We’re still awaiting some test results but at least we have a cure for that!” so she puts me on ciproflaxin which is a new antibiotic for me and the nice lady at the chemist told me that it could be pretty hard on the stomach so important I eat and take the pills twelve hours apart – as on the dot as possible – and I should really read the instructions.

Most of the instructions are “If you have this side effect, contact a doctor IMMEDIATELY, do not pass GO, do not wait an hour, get your ass to the ER ASAP”

"Ciprofloxacin is a fluoroquinolone (flor-o-KWIN-o-lone) antibiotic, it is used to treat different types of bacterial infections. It is also used to treat people who have been exposed to anthrax or certain types of plague. Ciprofloxacin extended-release is only approved for use in adults.

Fluoroquinolone antibiotics can cause serious or disabling side effects that may not be reversible.

Ciprofloxacin should be used only for infections that cannot be treated with a safer antibiotic.”










Turns out, this is top notch bad shit fucking horrible side effects. Anorexia is a new one for me but it’s actually kinda nice to not eat and not be hungry and not want to eat apart from the whole “you must eat before you take the pills”. I shouldn’t drink coffee (that’s not happening) and insomnia is kinda wild – again – ffs





The worst side effect though is probably the “your mood might turn a bit negative”. Fuck that. These pills are fucking screwing with my head in the worst ways possible. “A bit negative” doesn’t work when you’re as fkd up as I am. My mind is never in any kind of state where it can tolerate “a bit negative” cos I crash completely. If you think I’m ignoring you, I probably am. Not in a good head state right now. Actually in a pretty shitty one. Wrote this yesterday. It’s not pretty so don’t read if you don’t want to.





It’ll pass. It always does. My 80 hour Marshalls are on most of the day cos  I relly need to drown out my screaming brain but Nick Holmes is with me and keeping me kinda sane. Thank fuck for Paradise Lost. 





Gynecologist was a bit “It doesn’t look right but I’ll take some tests and let you know” so still waiting for results from a few tests. Fuckit.

			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Chemo brain status, 2023


				

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I’ve long since lost count of which year I got cancer and it doesn’t really matter one bit.


This might get long so you really need to listen to Host because I am madly, totally, completely, lovingly hung up on that album. I even did a review of “IX” cos I started writing reviews for puls.no at some point. Host is Nick Holmes and Greg Mackintosh from Paradise Lost and you should really check them out. “Draconian Times” has been stuck in my car for months and months but that’s not what I was going to write about.




Digressions are good.


One of the very last things I did before I decided cancer was a smart move, was participate in a medical study about “Biological predictors in memory” which was SO much fun. We’re talking mere days prior to finding the tumour. Day one was doing easy exercises in an MR machine, basically looking at loads of clip art drawings, part one was answering “Can you eat it?” or “Can you lift it?” and part two was “Have you seen this image before? Do you remember what you were asked if you could do? Were you asked if you could eat or lift it?”




Day two was loads of different tasks. Remembering series of numbers. Repeating them backwards. Remembering loads of items in two different lists, than classifying them and repeating them several times. Weird word pairs to remember. Complex drawing. That kinda stuff. Weight measurements (I think I was a whopping 132 kg then).  


Since then chemo brain has been a massive part of my life but some of the fog has lifted slightly so when I was invited to do a follow up, I jumped at the chance! I figured that my brain is functioning ever so slightly more but this would be a good opportunity to see which parts are still completely non-functioning.


MR was a blast. Full score (except I pushed the wrong button a couple times, but I did that last time, too). Day two: 88 kgs (that’s 44 kgs down). Bp 129/82 which is still really good.


Darn! That’s a third of what I weighed at the time!


Remembering numbers: kindaish, but five digits backwards nope. Long list of different items: first try was a bust, second try slightly better, third try even better, so it seems if I push I can find long lost albeit very fresh memories.


Still not functioning at all: memorising weird word pairs from a screen. I was presented with 36 word pairs (concert fur), was given a piece of paper with one of the words and was supposed to remember the second one. Ladifknhootidah. First round I remembered one pair. Second round, three. Had to draw a complex drawing (I can’t draw for shit) which was fair enough when I had the thingy to look at. Fifteen minutes later, “Please draw it from memory” yup nope, that’s not happening. I got most of the main form and then my mind was blank.




Mimi is really sweet, she’s from Canterbury and she’s going to be massive one day. Remember, you read about it here first!


Anyways. Conclusion from this medical study (and hopefully they’ll let me participate in three years’ time for another follow-up) is that I do well with images. There’s nothing wrong with my eyes or my perception of images. If I saw the image a second time, I always remembered what I’d answered.


Hand-eye coordination when drawing a mirrored image – as expected. Quite normal.


Doing computer games where the object was to remember if the image you were presented with was the same as one you had seen previously, either the last, second last or third last one. That worked, too! Most of the time. I think my “score” was about the same as last time.


Remembering a list of items that I heard – decent. Improved when I heard the list a second time and even better the third time. 




Managing to remember words I read – that’s a big, fat zilch. And I kinda knew that. Reading is still pretty hopeless most days. Good for me is that I don’t need to read and remember to proof read scientific articles and I don’t need to be able to read to write articles!


Conclusion: don’t give me books and expect me to read them. I love looking at the pictures, though!





			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Biological predictors in memory


				

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One of the last things I did before I got cancer was be part of a study that looked at biological predictors in memory.


I loved it! I was in an MR machine doing tests and then had a memory thingy and what I remember best was that the person doing the memory tests – remembering a set of numbers – was all “I have nothing further for you. Your memory is excellent!”


Since then I’ve been struggling with chemo brain and memory and shit what did I eat today? Did I eat at all?


Then I got an email. “Since you were part of this project we’re inviting you to a follow-up…”


So of course I said YES! I WANT TO JOIN! I WANT TO SEE WHAT BIOLOGICAL DIFFERENCES YOU’VE FOUND!


It took me about a week to find the old emails and realise that I was last tested when the tumour was tiny. It had just started growing. It was minute. It hadn’t figured out what to do yet. So basically, my last shot at this project was days before I found that tumour.


Am I massively excited to be a part of this project and get a chance to see if chemo brain is physical?


YES!!! TOTALLY!!!


And although they’re not looking at this specifically – this might be really interesting since my brain frazzled just after this.


No. I don’t think the testing gave me cancer.


Am I massively stoked for what they might find? That my brain might actually be working better than I think? Or not?


Or that they might actually find something physiological?


OMG this is going to be so much fun!!!


AND I have a new favourite album. Host: “IX”



			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
The lemons


				

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Know your lemons, ladies, and men too.


I found a dimple in my right breast on my birthday, December 21st, 2016. It was suddenly there when I bent over to rinse my hair in the shower. It wasn’t there when I stood up. Bend over, a dimple, stand up straight, nothing.


So I started checking my breasts to see if I could find anything. I couldn’t.


Day one, nothing.


Day two, nothing.


Day three, nothing.


Day eight – a motherfucking mass, the size of a golf ball.


I called my doc.


Christmas holidays so no appointment until January. He sent me straight to the oncologist at Ahus and they found a solid mass, 5 cm across. A week later it had doubled in size. The guy who did the first biopsy said “this doesn’t look good” and I thought no shit, Sherlock.


So…


Even if you no longer like your tits, and think they’re droopy and not as perky as they used to be – know what they feel and look like cos it might save your life.


My right breast became a really lovely perky tit – a tumour the size of a 10 cm unripe orange will do that to you.


So – know your lemons. It’s a pretty awesome site, too.

			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Three year (end of) chemo long term side effects update.


				

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Whew! What a mouthful!


But it’s October, which means it’s pink ribbon and breast cancer awareness month, and we’re almost at the three year anniversary of my last chemo (please let me know if it isn’t three years; quite honestly, I have absolutely no idea).


Long term side effects update. Cos yes, I have plenty, and no, there isn’t enough information about them.


Chemo brain


No change. Some days are better, some are worse, at least people are so used to me not finding words or saying the wrong thing or stopping mid sentence and having absolutely NO idea what I was talking about, so it’s not really a problem. And I have no shame – I’ll tell new people that I’m not stupid, honest, just have severe cognitive damage.


Lea is still a really helpful secretary cat, so sometimes if what I write ends up pure gibberish, I can still blame her.


F(l)atigue


Still an issue. Not as bad as it was, but I can’t really plan two things in one day – cos sometimes something as simple as going to my physical therapist exhausts me completely and I spend the rest of the day in bed.


Blood work


My blood has never been better. So yay chemo! It worked! It actually fucking worked!!!


Physiology


Body is behaving nicely. Thanks to physical therapist #2, my knees are functioning, my legs and thighs no longer feel like logs and I can run up and down the Potemkin stairs. Or up and down a mountain. Go me!




Which also means I can drive again, without pain in my knees and thighs, and Billy is The Best Car Ever. Or Guglielmo which is his fancy Italian name, since he’s Italian and all.


He needed a check up this August (PKK – periodic roadworthiness test). 16 years old (yes, he had a birthday party) and 212′ km under his belt – and all I needed to fix was replace the brake wires. He’s such a darling!


And the Tamoxifen which I have to take for the next 7 years or so – I love it. It is fucking awesome. Ya know my hormones that have been quirky and insane all my life? Tamoxifen gives me an extra boost of testosterone and progesterone and it’s doing wonders for my muscles and joints and everything else. 


Heart rate is – constant. It’ll probably never be as good as it once was, but by running up and down hills in the forest I keep it under control. It’s stopped racing like mad just cos I’m thinking of doing something.


Mental stuff


Still kinda inhibition free which is amazing. Chicago in December was fantastic and there is no way old Siri had made it there. Making new friends is fun. Compromises? Still not very good at that, but at least I’ve learned how to write formal FU letters.


Insomnia


Can be useful, too. No jet lag. You can drive through the night without needing sleep. 


More importantly, you get used to it. You get used to all sorts of bad stuff, to be fair.


Is there no bad shit?




Of course there is. There is always shit. In my case, the WORST long term side effect is that I have become The Most Attractive Being in the forest for all insects and arachnids. Flies, mosquitoes, ticks, wasps, deer keds, blackflies, they’re all SO attracted to me and love me and can’t stay away. Which is bloody annoying when I’m in the forest. Something happened to my blood and I’ve gone from dull and uninteresting to the number one target.





I have an eating disorder. Chemo threw my olfactory senses out the window and I more often than not struggle to eat properly. It’s difficult to explain. I’ll want something in the store, buy it, get home – and can’t eat it. Just thinking about eating it makes me queasy. All I want is beer, wine and chocolate. 





Bad shit is mostly about how you take it. If you let shit overrun you, then it will. If you decide that you’re going to find the good stuff in bad shit, then you’ll find it. Tomatoes grown in sheep shit are the best, after all.





No tits





Seriously? No one notices… 🙂

			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Running on fumes


				

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I’ve been quiet for a while. Not because I haven’t had any words, but it’s been too hard a struggle.


Going through cancer treatment sucks, but it’s nothing compared to the void after.


You’re not cancer-free. You’ll never be cancer-free. Your body is shit and will never work properly again.


Your mind is fucked-up and if you’re lucky – it may start working again in a few months. Or a decade. Or never. It’s called chemo brain and there’s nothing that can be done to fix it.


So your life sucks. And your friends are gone, cos who wants to hang with a cancer patient. The few good ones stay – cos they’ll always be there – but most of them are gone. And maybe you got some new ones, or revitalised old friendships, cos hey – some people actually are there for you when shit happens.


I see you. I know who’s been there. You know who you are. You’ve kept me alive.


So you walk out the other side of cancer treatment with a couple of new friends and you’ve lost many more. And maybe you realise that family and blood and shit – it’s just a goddamned lie. They can talk about blood all they want but fuck it – I have scars that prove the opposite.


So thank you to those who actually care and keep me alive. The rest can just go to hell. I’m too tired to be polite any more. I have so many battle scars I’m not sure how I stay upright.


Oh yeah, I know.


There are so many people who would dance on my grave, and fuck it if I’ll get them that satisfaction. I’ll be their guilty conscience.


I just wish I had a bit of energy, but fuck it, I’ve been running on fumes for so long that who gives a fuck. I will survive cos FUCK YOU. I have worth. I am a fucking awesome person. I used to be interesting but these days you’ll be lucky if I know which month it is.


And I have music. Thank you Trent Reznor for being the psychotherapist every crazy-ass person needs. Thanks to Al Jourgenson for noize. Thanks to Gary Numan for suddenly being there and being my soundtrack.


So – going to London in June to see NIN at the Royal Albert Hall cos fuck it, I need something good to look forward to. And Gary Numan at Rockefeller in December. Certainly can’t afford NIN but my mind needs it.


And the irony of it all? I don’t think any of my blood relatives actually can be fucked to read this blog.


My name is ruin, my name is vengeance

My name is no one, no one is calling

My name is ruin, my name is heartbreak

My name is loving, but sorrows and darkness

My name is ruin, my name is evil

My name’s a war song, I sing you a new one





			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Norske kreftstudier


				

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Som tidligere nevnt finnes det til enhver tid mange studier/forsøk man som pasient kan være med på. Her finner du oversikten over godkjente kliniske studier i Norge.


Om du er bekymret for kvaliteten på behandlingen da, er norsk lov veldig klar: som studiepasient skal du ha minst like god behandling som konvensjonell. Dersom du ikke responderer tilstrekkelig på forsøksregimet skal du tilbake på konvensjonell behandling. Om du på noe tidspunkt føler at du ikke har god nok behandling, kan du avslutte din rolle i studien.


Lurer du på hvordan utprøving av medisiner faktisk skjer? Det er fire hovedstadier, som beskrives enkelt og greit her. Generelle forskningsetiske retningslinjer er også ganske forståelige.


Forskrift om klinisk utprøving av legemidler til mennesker sier:




En klinisk utprøving kan bare igangsettes dersom “det kjente nytte- og risikoforholdet er veiet i forhold til den antatte gevinsten for den enkelte forsøksperson og for andre nåværende og fremtidige pasienter”




Lov om medisinsk og helsefaglig forskning (helseforskningsloven) sier:




Forskning på mennesker kan bare finne sted dersom det ikke finnes alternative metoder som er tilnærmet like effektive.


Før forskning på mennesker gjennomføres skal det gjøres en grundig vurdering av risiko og belastning for deltakerne. Disse må stå i forhold til påregnelige fordeler for forskningsdeltakeren selv eller for andre mennesker.


Forskningen skal stanses dersom det viser seg at risikoen er større enn mulige fordeler, eller dersom det foreligger tilstrekkelige holdepunkter for positive og fordelaktige resultater.




Her er en liste over brystkreftstudier som foregår for tiden og er åpne for rekruttering:







Vi har alle hørt en eller annen skrekkhistorie om pasienter som får langvarige skader og smerter etter å ha deltatt i en studie. Selv med all verdens beste etiske retningslinjer så kan man ikke sikre seg 100% mot at noe går galt. Sånn er det dessverre når man tar tradisjonell/konvensjonell medisin også. Vi som har kreft vet at uansett hvor god behandling vi får, er det en mulighet for at vi får faenskapet på nytt – enten fordi kroppen vår er genetisk feilkoda eller som bivirkning av behandlingen (fjernspredning, underlivskreft av tamoxifen eller hudkreft av stråling er velkjente bivirkninger).








Det som (for meg) er viktig å huske, er at det er kvinner som har gått foran meg og vært med på utprøving av all behandlingen jeg får. Det er kvinner som har sagt “jeg vil være med og bringe brystkreftbehandling videre for at flest mulig skal bli friske”. Kvinner som jeg har den største respekt og er evig takknemlig for.



Deltagelse i en klinisk studie er, for meg, litt som å donere blod. Vi er fryktelig mange som ikke kan donere (for egen del – fordi jeg “tilbragte mer enn 12 måneder i Storbritannia totalt mellom 1980 og 1995”) og det er mange som er livredde nåler og blod og som ikke donerer av den grunn. Det er ingen som har noe med hvorfor man ikke donerer – og om du velger å delta i en studie eller ei er også helt og holdent din avgjørelse.

			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Edie Sedgwig


				

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The one thing that ‘everyone’ knows is that if you get breast cancer, you get chemotherapy that leads to alopecia. If you don’t know anything else about side effects then you do know that. I was never worried about that part of it and thought it would be a fun way to “reboot” my hair!


Shortly after I told my closest friends and family that I had cancer, I got the most amazing purple wig in the post from Kay. I love my darling sister! It was absolutely perfect and really made my day! Purple goddess, that’s me. And I love it! Such an amazing colour and matches my nail varnishes, too.




Lucky are we who live in Norway and have chemotherapy that leads to alopecia. We get a requisition for “headwear and wigs” so that we can cover our bald heads with something nice, without having to pay for it ourselves. I made an appointment to visit Jalvad parykker in Oslo. Great service and we found the perfect wig for me.


Wigsafari with June. First time at Starbucks (OMG I know!!!!!) and fancy new hair. Photo: June Ø.


The fun thing about having had every single hair colour and do possible is that no matter what kind of wig, people are always going to think that this is your real hair because it probably has looked that way at some time or other. This one was nice and short, had a good snug fit and looked good. And I’ve had that hair colour and style on at least one occasion!


Not that I used it much. I rarely used any wigs at home. Far too hot! But at least I learned that wigs are basically all the same size so I could safely order some from overseas.


I went a bit nuts at Rosegal and have a number of wigs from them. I’ve since read several complaints about their web store, but I’ve always received the items I ordered within an “acceptable time period”. I do live in Norway, after all. And I absolutely love my fake hair! It doesn’t even look fake! I know that some women are worried that ‘everyone’s going to see it’s fake’ if they get a synthetic wig, but it’s not like that at all. Just don’t sit too close to an open fire – and don’t open the oven door – and stay well clear of candles.


Cos it’ll, you know, melt.




I used my “proper wig” a few times and then I got Edie. I’ve been a fan of Warhol since forever – after all, without him there would have been no Velvet Underground. I found this silver one and I just had to have it. So this is Edie Sedgwig. If you don’t know who Edie Sedgwick was, you’ve missed out on important cultural history! She was one of Andy’s superstars in the Factory.


Edie was fun. Edie made me feel colourful. Edie gave me OAP ticket prices on the bus. I even got an extra Edie so I can make an even more fluffy version!


The problem with wigs is that you have to wash them, just like ordinary hair. It’s fairly easy – at least for normal people it’s fairly easy. One bowl with shampoo & water – gently wash – leave for 15 minutes. Rinse. Bowl with balsam water. Hang to dry.


The only problem is that when you’re crippled with neuropathy and fatigue, there is no way you are able to stand let alone actually do anything.


I did the only smart thing: changed wigs. Which was great fun!




I got this really nice steering wheel cover from Sverre for my birthday. It’s lovely, nice and warm in this freezing cold winter, in a lovely black and pink floral pattern. And it matches Melanie perfectly! Melanie Martinez appeared on some talent show and sings, and is famous for her two-toned hair.


Personally I prefer Venus the chimera cat. But you already knew that, didn’t you?



			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Chemo brain


				

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Chemo brain is the complete lack of cognitive function that sets in to just about every person who has chemotherapy.


It’s actually a medical diagnosis. Unlike most other diagnoses it’s name is simple and understandable, so that we who suffer from it actually stand a chance of remembering the word itself. Loganamnosis is, ironically enough, the term for forgetting words.


Doctors and researchers call chemo brain many things, such as cancer treatment-related cognitive impairment, cancer-therapy associated cognitive change, or post-chemotherapy cognitive impairment. Most define it as a decrease in mental “sharpness” – being unable to remember certain things and having trouble finishing tasks or learning new skills. (ACS)


Docs don’t really know why, but it can appear as early as 3-4 months before the patient has chemo and can last for a decade. Mine went crazy bad after the surgery.


You know how sometimes you’ll walk in to a room and forget why? Then you have to retrace your steps and you figure it out?


Chemo brain is getting up halfway and forgetting why you got up. Nothing around you gives any hint as to what you were doing. You might make it into the room that was your intended destination, but you’ll most certainly not have the faintest clue why.


Or starting on one sentence and forgetting what you just said. Not just the words, mind you, but the whole shebang. Your mind has absolutely no memory of whether you were talking about love, war, the weather or the Olympics. Worst case you start on one sentence and finish it about something completely different.


“Did you watch the news, in Syria it’s really bad, it’s -20C with three meters of snow and a nice Beaujolais would be nice with that for dinner”


Chemo brain means your entire life turns into a gazillion conundrums for the people around you.


But you’re not crazy – welcome to your life.


TBH I have no idea which day it is. I live through my cell phone. It has a calendar. Programming all appointments into it is second nature to me, I don’t have to think, I just have to double-check once or twice. Then I set the alarm – if it’s within the next fortnight, I set the alarm the day before just in case. If it’s weeks away – I’ll settle for an alarm on the first of that month, just to remind myself.


Just remember: there is no such thing as a ‘smart place’ to put anything, cos ‘smart places’ tend to be vortexes into some other dimension.


If you need to order a ticket or hotel, double check that you’re booking the right year, month, and correct departure station. Then get someone to control it for you.


And because reading and stuff is really difficult, here are some links in Norwegian:


Cellegift kan ramme hukommelsen

Tåkeleggingen er reell

Mia er alt annet enn A4

			

	
		
	


				
					


	
	

		
Cancer isn’t just a physical disease.


				

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Cancer may be a physical disease, but psychological problems follow in its wake. Anxiety, depression, fear of the future, insomnia, these are all considered “normal side effects” of the diagnosis.


There are a plethora of meds that can relieve these symptoms. We have good meds for almost all the potential side effects of cancer drugs. Yet for some insane reason, taking antiepileptica for neuropathy (even with the warning red triangle ) is fine whilst taking benzodiazepines for your anxiety isn’t.


One of the ironic things about flatigue is that you’re so exhausted you can’t fall asleep. A resting heart rate of 120 didn’t exactly make things better. So to get at least a few hours’ decent sleep, I took a Stilnoct. Every single night. Weaning myself off them hasn’t been easy, but now my insomnia is back to normal and I last took one two weeks ago.


In cancer support groups, if someone asks for advice in regards to neuropathy the answer is always “Neurontin or Lyrica”. No-one would dream of suggesting anything else cos these are the only two meds that may work and there are no other known effective treatments. If you suffer from insomnia a couple might suggest warm milk with honey but most responses are for Imovane or Stilnoct or some other hypnotic. But if someone asks for advice on meds for anxiety issues, you can be certain that 90% will respond “try yoga or counselling cos drugs are addictive”.


You know what else is addictive? Life.


Life without cancer, without pain, life that feels good because you’re alive and well.


A life where you aren’t stuck in your tiny bedroom because you’re so afraid of the world outside the duvet that you’re terrified to stick your nose outside the door.


A life where you can have normal conversations with normal people because your brain can actually formulate sentences that don’t start with “I AM TERRIFIED” and end with “OF DYING/CANCER/PEOPLE/GOING OUTSIDE/BUYING GROCERIES”.


A life where you can go watch a movie with friends, a comedy even, and laugh so hard that the sugary soda you’re drinking squirts out your nose because you aren’t afraid of drinking sugar, or having a laugh amidst the terror of cancer, or hanging out with friends and enjoying yourself.


A life where you get treated for cancer and end up in remission, because you’re not so terrified of your own shadow that you don’t go to your GP when you find a lump and if you do, you don’t take the offered treatment cos needles and meds and stuff are a fate worse than dying in pain.


If you need a pill (or ten) to do all those things, does it really make a difference if that pill is to soothe the neuropathy in your feet so you can walk or soothe your nerves so that you can face the outside world?


Most people who suffer from mental health issues (regardless of the cause) have gone a long and cruel path before they ask a doctor for help. Sometimes the path leads them over the cliff before they see a doc. I doubt if anyone woke up one morning, cowered under the duvet for a few minutes, and decided that they were going to get a prescription that afternoon.


So if someone you know has cancer asks for advice about anxiolytics or hypnotics or psycholeptics – have the decency and respect to either make a suggestion or stfu. If all you have to contribute is yoga, wheat grass and incense then you need to rethink your priorities and pray that you never ever need any kind of psychiatric drugs.


Oh, and if you know someone who has other mental health issues, don’t be condescending, don’t pretend you know how they’re feeling, don’t suggest your stupid zumba class because chances are, they’ve already tried every single shitty idea you bring, and the reason you know that they’re having mental health issues is because they’ve finally found something that works so that they are strong enough and brave enough to tell you.


Be respectful, because their telling you is cos they respect you and think you’ll treat them decently. Do the same in return.