Are you ready for the Mother's Day Classic? There's only a couple of weeks left before we'll all be pounding the pavement for a pretty important cause. And of course, working up an appetite for our picnic afterwards!
So here's what is happening: bring your friends, family and food to Ramsgate Beach Park, opposite Ramsgate Coles. There's some shops where you can get supplies if need be. We're aiming to meet up around 1pm. We'll all have our phones. And we'll be decked out in Mother's Day Classic race clothing - so you can't miss us. Then we'll sit around and enjoy the rest of the afternoon in good company. I promise to bring some tasty baked goods to share. If it rains, all bets are off.
See you there!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Getting microwaved
For the last two nights I've been microwaved, or nuked, or zapped. Or if you want to use the technical term, undergoing radiation therapy. Treatment will continue for the next month or so.
It's a pretty weird experience. After the ray nurses set me up on the funny bed with my arm in the air, draw on me with texta, line my tattoos up, they leave and a big, heavy door shuts behind them. It's suddenly very quiet and lonely. And then some warning bells sound and an invisible beam zaps me. I can't feel it or tell if it is doing anything. The only reason I know it's on is because there's a whirring noise. In truth, it seems a little space age - the machine and the whole laser concept. But hey, if it works, I'm all for it.
There is a really nice touch to the treatment room that makes me smile. There's murals painted on the walls and ceiling. So when you're lying there, all alone, at least there's pretty pictures to look at.
Like all cancer stuff, it isn't fun, but the small touches like the paintings and the kindness of the nurses make it bearable. Plus the fact that Nik has rewarded me with a Freddo Frog for being brave after each zapping isn't to bad either!
It's a pretty weird experience. After the ray nurses set me up on the funny bed with my arm in the air, draw on me with texta, line my tattoos up, they leave and a big, heavy door shuts behind them. It's suddenly very quiet and lonely. And then some warning bells sound and an invisible beam zaps me. I can't feel it or tell if it is doing anything. The only reason I know it's on is because there's a whirring noise. In truth, it seems a little space age - the machine and the whole laser concept. But hey, if it works, I'm all for it.
There is a really nice touch to the treatment room that makes me smile. There's murals painted on the walls and ceiling. So when you're lying there, all alone, at least there's pretty pictures to look at.
Like all cancer stuff, it isn't fun, but the small touches like the paintings and the kindness of the nurses make it bearable. Plus the fact that Nik has rewarded me with a Freddo Frog for being brave after each zapping isn't to bad either!
Monday, April 19, 2010
Silver lining
Not many people would believe that there's a silver lining when it comes to things like cancer. But there is. In fact, I think there are many, many layers of nice, shiny lining.
Perhaps the most pertinent silver lining is being able to reassess my life. Nothing like a shock to the system like cancer to put things in perspective and teach me to focus on the important things.
I've mentioned it before, and I'll say it again. One of these layers is the abundance of love and support I've received.
Another is all the amazing and beautiful people I've met, who I wouldn't have if I wasn't diagnosed.
Being asked to blog for the Mother's Day Classic was yet another. I felt really special that the crew at the Classic wanted me to write about my experience during the lead up to the event.
Yesterday, another silver lining was unearthed. While sitting at chemo, my oncologist came to visit. I wasn't expecting her and was surprised when she came to my chair, as there's many of her other patients who have chemo the same day as me. She is holding a symposium on women and cancer later in the year and wanted a patient to be part of her panel. She thought of me. Me! I said yes in a heartbeat. I feel incredibly honoured.
Cancer, like life, does have its ups and downs. And good things do come from bad. There is always a silver lining - you've just got to keep your eyes (and heart) open.
Perhaps the most pertinent silver lining is being able to reassess my life. Nothing like a shock to the system like cancer to put things in perspective and teach me to focus on the important things.
I've mentioned it before, and I'll say it again. One of these layers is the abundance of love and support I've received.
Another is all the amazing and beautiful people I've met, who I wouldn't have if I wasn't diagnosed.
Being asked to blog for the Mother's Day Classic was yet another. I felt really special that the crew at the Classic wanted me to write about my experience during the lead up to the event.
Yesterday, another silver lining was unearthed. While sitting at chemo, my oncologist came to visit. I wasn't expecting her and was surprised when she came to my chair, as there's many of her other patients who have chemo the same day as me. She is holding a symposium on women and cancer later in the year and wanted a patient to be part of her panel. She thought of me. Me! I said yes in a heartbeat. I feel incredibly honoured.
Cancer, like life, does have its ups and downs. And good things do come from bad. There is always a silver lining - you've just got to keep your eyes (and heart) open.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The long reach of cancer
How many people do you know that have or have had cancer? In my immediate family, there are three. My dad and father-in-law both had melanoma. My mum had cancer in her eye. Include me and there are four of us.
Cast that net a little further to my extended family and the number increases by another four. My gramps had it and sadly died from it, Nik’s grandfather had it, and two aunties on Nik’s side had breast cancer it, but only one of them survived it.
Spread that a touch further to friends and family friends and the number jumps again. Suddenly, there’s another 10 people, including five more women with breast cancer.
That’s 18 people in my life. Far too many. And that’s just the people who have had it. Cancer changes the life of people around the patients too.
114,000 new cases of cancer are diagnosed in Australia each year. That’s 312 people a day.
Once again, far too many.
It just goes to show how important cancer research is, how crucial research funds are, and how vital a support network is. So sign up or support someone in the 2010 Mother's Day Classic and help do your bit.
Cast that net a little further to my extended family and the number increases by another four. My gramps had it and sadly died from it, Nik’s grandfather had it, and two aunties on Nik’s side had breast cancer it, but only one of them survived it.
Spread that a touch further to friends and family friends and the number jumps again. Suddenly, there’s another 10 people, including five more women with breast cancer.
That’s 18 people in my life. Far too many. And that’s just the people who have had it. Cancer changes the life of people around the patients too.
114,000 new cases of cancer are diagnosed in Australia each year. That’s 312 people a day.
Once again, far too many.
It just goes to show how important cancer research is, how crucial research funds are, and how vital a support network is. So sign up or support someone in the 2010 Mother's Day Classic and help do your bit.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Mother's Day Picnic
There's just under a month until Mother's Day and the Mother's Day Classic. I'm excited and a little nervous. And overwhelmed once again by the flood of love coming my way.
My family and I had briefly mentioned having a picnic together after the race. Nothing had been finalised yet. "We'll work it out later," I said, "It's still ages away." Turns out it's almost here and it's about time we got our butts into gear and planned that picnic.
Especially since so many other people - friends and extended family - who are also entering the race, or are supporting me, want to join in on the picnic festivities too.
I couldn't believe it when Joan, my mother-in-law, told me so. "Me? Why do they want to hang out with me? I'm not special," was my reply. Nik managed to convince me otherwise. "You are special to us," he said simply.
So, I guess, even when we don't realise it, we are special. We are important. And we are worthy.
Thank you for being an important part of my life. I'll see you at the picnic (details to be confirmed). And I promise to bring something decadently sweet to share - hey - we would've earnt it after the race!
My family and I had briefly mentioned having a picnic together after the race. Nothing had been finalised yet. "We'll work it out later," I said, "It's still ages away." Turns out it's almost here and it's about time we got our butts into gear and planned that picnic.
Especially since so many other people - friends and extended family - who are also entering the race, or are supporting me, want to join in on the picnic festivities too.
I couldn't believe it when Joan, my mother-in-law, told me so. "Me? Why do they want to hang out with me? I'm not special," was my reply. Nik managed to convince me otherwise. "You are special to us," he said simply.
So, I guess, even when we don't realise it, we are special. We are important. And we are worthy.
Thank you for being an important part of my life. I'll see you at the picnic (details to be confirmed). And I promise to bring something decadently sweet to share - hey - we would've earnt it after the race!
Monday, April 5, 2010
Healing power of chocolate
I don’t know why it actually works, but chocolate is one hell of a healer. There’s just something about it that picks you up and helps mend all wounds and conditions.
I’ve even had a nurse prescribe it to me. No word of a lie. I had a biopsy done on my lump in the first few days after finding it. It was done under local and the biopsy was conducted with a cap gun looking thing. It wasn’t very fun. The wonderful nurse held my hand the whole way through it (because Nik wasn’t allowed in the room) and although I’m sure I shattered the bones in her hand, she was still super nice.
After the procedure, I went into shock. I was shaking like a leaf and my teeth were chattering like I’d just gone for a dip in the waters around Antarctica. She promptly told me to go and eat as much chocolate as I’d like. Fabulous, she was getting better and better by the second.
When I woke up from my mastectomy surgery and was wheeled into my room, Nik already had the chocolate out. It was far more appetising than the hospitable dinner that was waiting for me.
While recovering, some like-minded friends at work sent me a chocolate hamper. It contained a kilo or two block of chocolate and a little hammer for smashing the slab of chocolate apart. Not only did I appreciate this – all my visitors did too!
In the months since then, people are constantly showering me with gifts of chocolate. I can’t count how many blocks I’ve received. But they’ve all made me feel rather good.
So, you see, I think I’m living proof that chocolate is one of the best healers around. I hereby give you permission to devour it for whatever thing is troubling you – a bad day at work, a runny nose, a twisted ankle, or hey, even cancer!
I’ve even had a nurse prescribe it to me. No word of a lie. I had a biopsy done on my lump in the first few days after finding it. It was done under local and the biopsy was conducted with a cap gun looking thing. It wasn’t very fun. The wonderful nurse held my hand the whole way through it (because Nik wasn’t allowed in the room) and although I’m sure I shattered the bones in her hand, she was still super nice.
After the procedure, I went into shock. I was shaking like a leaf and my teeth were chattering like I’d just gone for a dip in the waters around Antarctica. She promptly told me to go and eat as much chocolate as I’d like. Fabulous, she was getting better and better by the second.
When I woke up from my mastectomy surgery and was wheeled into my room, Nik already had the chocolate out. It was far more appetising than the hospitable dinner that was waiting for me.
While recovering, some like-minded friends at work sent me a chocolate hamper. It contained a kilo or two block of chocolate and a little hammer for smashing the slab of chocolate apart. Not only did I appreciate this – all my visitors did too!
In the months since then, people are constantly showering me with gifts of chocolate. I can’t count how many blocks I’ve received. But they’ve all made me feel rather good.
So, you see, I think I’m living proof that chocolate is one of the best healers around. I hereby give you permission to devour it for whatever thing is troubling you – a bad day at work, a runny nose, a twisted ankle, or hey, even cancer!
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