Re: My Other Life

Today I'm veering off the beaten track of databased rants, railing against all things breast cancer and general pink cultural disruptiveness, in favor of a writing assignment set by Marie, author of the excellent Journeying Beyond Breast Cancer blog.

So this one's about My Other Life.  You know,  that life outside of breast cancer.

Let's start at the beginning shall we?  I was born in 1970 in Perth, the capital city of Western Australia.  Australia's a bloody big country and Western Australia is about the size of Texas, with a population of a little over two million people.

Source: http://www.thewaguide.com/en/westernaustraliamap.htm

A recently discovered photo of me and
my naughty little sister,  circa 1976

I'm the eldest of three children, two girls and a boy.  My younger sister  Tarn, epitomized the protagonist, from the "My Naughty Little Sister" series by Dorothy Edwards, and was my beloved nemesis growing up.  We were three years apart in age, and what strikes me looking back at old photos, is that we were always photographed together.  Even though we were constantly fighting  and jostling for attention, it's always me and her together.   Truthfully,  as we got older we drifted apart.  We were very different people and she led quite a troubled life.  Tragically she passed away in June 2007 at the age thirty-four.  I don't think I'll ever really get over losing her.  She was a part of me.

My really cute Granny
with baby brother circa1976

My younger brother now lives in the U.K. We see and talk to each other often.  I adore him and love nothing better than just hanging out and talking about ridiculous things like Australian politics, ghosts, aliens, cryptozoology, annoying people and anything else that takes our fancy.  He likes the odd rant too.  Although he's now 35 years old, I still think of him as four years old. And treat him as such.

My Dad's a character.  He's an old Communist from way back who's living out his retirement in the tropics learning advanced Russian, and harboring dreams of a visit to North Korea at some point before he dies.  He also enjoys a good rant any day of the week.

Ranting?  Does that sound familiar.  Yes, along with the BRCA1+ gene,  the ranting gene is endemic in our family.  My Grandfather also had the gift of the rant.  As children, when we visited we knew to avoid certain trigger words.  Like "hello", "How are you", "It's a nice day". Lest we be subjected to professional ranting, the likes of which I can only aspire to.

My Dad in 1976.  At work. He was a
soil technologist and was averse to T-shirts!

Growing up in Australia was great.  I highly recommend it for any child.  I don't really remember ever being indoors, and a family holiday for us was a three-day drive in the old family Kingswood, sleeping in the car on the side of the road, and then pitching tents in some isolated National Park somewhere.  If it had running water and plumbing of any sort, well that was just not getting away from it as far as my father was concerned.  He liked to 'rough it, translation; "here's the toilet paper, now go behind the bush", or "make sure you zip the tent up so snakes can't get in", or "showers are for wimps, as are sunglasses" or "don't worry about the crocodiles, they're freshwater so they're not interested in eating you, now go for a bloody swim".

Typical Aussie backyard.  Hills Hoist, woodpile and outhouse!
We also had indoor plumbing.  Circa 1976

But all these holidays instilled in me a lifelong love of adventure and travel.  In my late twenties, I packed up my life in a backpack and went to London for what was supposed to be year-long European working vacation.  Well that was 1999 and I never went back.  I lived in the U.K for three years, met my beloved and then moved to the U.S. for graduate school and the bright lights of New York City.  Now I'm happily settled in New Jersey (who knew???), but I still love to just get away from it all when I can.

Travel holds a special place in my heart and is something that I think my soul requires.  I've been very fortunate to have had the means and opportunity for most of my adult life, and I think I might have been a migratory bird in a past life.  Too bad that my wings have been clipped during this last year thanks to that thing I'm not going to mention in this post, but I still amuse myself with thoughts of the next great trip and memories of trips past.

My favorite countries would have to be Egypt and Italy, although I was very taken with Oman as well.  But I'm also quite interested in seeing more of the U.S. since I live here now and am practically a citizen.  I loved Maine, and Colorado holds something special for me, and I have to say I do love the Florida Keys and those conch fritters.  Still want to get to New Mexico and see Montana and Wyoming whilst I'm at it.  The Scottish Highlands and islands are up there too.

So today I'm remembering my love of travel, and the spirit of adventure and impulsiveness that I think are some of my character trademarks.  Here's a slideshow of snapshots from some of my memorable trips starting from 1999 through to 2010.

It seems the only appropriate way to finish this post is to ask a question.


Where to next? So long as it doesn't involve doctors, waiting rooms, hospitals or chemotherapy, I'm game!

How Did I Get Here ?

So here I sit the day after the important Doctor's appointment.  I was right.  The cancer has returned.  The extent to which it has returned will be determined by a plethora of bodily scans, tests and examinations which I will  undertake early next week.  Ah the joys of having one's body pumped full of a substance so radioactive that it arrives with your nurse in a locked thick metal box about the size of a workman's lunchbox and you are advised not to be around small children following the scans for at least 24-hours.  Sorry kids, you can't go to Aunty's tonight because she is radioactive. Seriously !

But I digress.  I should at this point clarify how I got here.   

In 2004, after finding something weird in my breast (not a lump but a certain undefined hardness in the breast tissue), I dutifully went off to see my Nurse Practitioner who promptly said she couldn't feel anything, implying that what I was feeling was imaginary.  Despite my protestations that I wasn't imagining it I was authoritatively told that with no family history of breast cancer, no apparent risk factors and my relatively young age there was no way I could possibly have breast cancer.  

To make me feel better she deigned to indulge me by prescribing a sonogram which once again showed nothing.  To be honest I don't even remember mammogram being discussed.  I was sent away with the advice that perhaps I could come back in 6-months for a checkup and in the meantime would I like to try breast massage ?  Oh My God:  here I was hoping for scientific explanations from someone still living in the Age of Aquarius.  

Now I can't tell you exactly what drove me except that I knew I needed some definitive answers and I wasn't getting them from Nurse Flower Child.  I took it upon myself to go and get a second opinion.  I found a lovely husband and wife general medical practice who immediately sensed my concern (despite their not being able to feel anything either) and sent me for a mammogram.  This is despite mammogram not being recommended for women under-40, with no risk factors and especially those with small dense breasts (yes that would be me).  

As a result of the mammogram and later biopsy in April 2004, at the ripe old age of 34-years old, I was diagnosed with Stage IIIA invasive ductal carcinoma with lobular features, hormone receptor +, HER 2 Neu and BRCA1 positive status.  This is a very long-winded way of saying you have a type of Breast Cancer which is caused by bad genetics, is fed by your body's oestrogen,  and has spread to your lymph nodes.  Not good news. 

It was a rough diagnosis to hear and the treatment that followed was even rougher.  Won't bore you with the details but think highly toxic chemotherapy, radiation, umpteen surgeries and continuing anti-hormonal treatments.  Anyway the moral of this part of my story is that you really have to be your own advocate and push for explanations.  Listen to what your body and mind is telling you and exhaust all avenues of medical practice.  Don't ignore your sixth sense and certainly don't listen to Nurse Flower Child.  Just push and push and push until you get the facts from which you can make your health care decisions in consultation.  

In June 2007, the cancer found it's way back into the lymph nodes around my collarbone. Once again,  I found it and brought it to my Doctor's attention.  Don't know why I was drawn to this particular area of my body but I had developed a fidgety habit of brushing this area with my hand whenever I sat at a desk and of course one day I felt something. Weird I know and although I'm most certainly a religious skeptic I can't help but wonder if there is a higher power at work or whether I am blessed with an exaggerated sense of  intuition.  In any case, I can't overestimate the value of being constantly aware and vigilant when it comes to your body. A bit of surgery and radiation followed along with a new anti-hormonal treatment which bought relative peace for the last two years.

And so here I am in June 2009 about to enter the ring for the third time.  I feel like I should be more upset than I am.  But at this point I feel like an old hand at this stuff.  I seem unable to be surprised by anything these days and to be honest I have lived with this cancer crap for so long now that this new round is not really a stretch for me emotionally.  Of course it will be for everyone around me, but not for me.  I will just keep doing what I do and continue to seek out the best treatment options but most importantly I will just keep living my life the best way I know how.  Cancer or no cancer.  It doesn't matter.  Life is there to be participated in, not viewed from the sidelines.  The cancer will have to fit into my life.  I hope to talk more about how that happens in later postings.