tumour

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.

Why cry when you can laugh?

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I know some people think I’m odd and weird and crazy, for being all smiley for such a sh*tty diagnosis.

Truth is – how I really feel doesn’t really matter, does it? I have cancer. There’s no easy way to say it. I had a gigantic tumour in my tit. It was 8.5 * 7.5 cm – in comparison, the International Tennis Federation (ITF) defines the official diameter (of a tennis ball) as 6.54–6.86 cm (2.57–2.70 inches). It’s not something I can throw away or get rid of. I don’t have a choice in the matter.

I was lucky. My tumour is new. It hasn’t spread and is responding extremely well to treatment. But it’s a sh*tty kind of cancer, I have surgery and years of medication ahead of me, and I have no guarantees that I won’t get metastatic cancer in a year or ten.

I also have muscular dystrophy and osteoarthritis in my lower back. This means that I will never have a functioning body.

It would be a lot easier for me to just give up.

I’m not a quitter. I’m a survivor. My way of surviving this is to laugh and smile and be happy – cos if I start crying, I wouldn’t have the strength to stop. Besides, that’s not going to help anyone, least of all me. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. I refuse to be a sulking, complaining b*tch (apart from when I haven’t slept properly cos of hot flashes during the night).

My choice – to be still smiling.