Having cancer gave me so many gifts in 2024 (even though it was a very hard time)

Even though seven months of this year was literal cancer, it wasn’t all bad.

Part of me doesn’t want the year to end. 

My 2024 was filled with amazing moments a particularly 7.5 weeks of life changing travel; and so many people showed such kindness and generosity supporting me.

I met most of my my family in South Africa – amazing. I heard stories of who my parents were before they met, and before they became parents. I learnt about Apartheid and met people who protested against it. I made friends in disabled artists & activists there. I went on safaris. I have a huge writing project ahead of me.

And then I went to France on an influencer trip, spending almost three weeks in a hydrotherapy centre above thermal springs in Avène. I made friends there too. My skin was treated so well – it looked and felt good. And the therapy prepared it for what was to come.

Before I went overseas, and during the trip, I had a lot of tummy troubles. Bloating, diarrhoea, not able to eat a lot, loss of weight, and bleeding.

The day I arrived back in Australia my life changed again. I had enormous pain and distending in my tummy at Singapore airport. I played down the severity to fly home. I went to the GP who sent me to Emergency, thinking I had sepsis. Five hours til I was seen. Had blood tests.

The nurses told me I was having blood tests for cancer markers. That was around 9.00 pm. No sleep since my flight. 12.00 am I had a CT scan. 4.00 am a doctor came to ask me what my family cancer history was. This is never a good time for any convo, esp one about cancer. No sleep.

At 5.00 am I was transferred to a hospital ward – at the Royal Women’s. A private room as I’d been to Africa. They let me sleep til 10 am. I had to tell my parents & Adam it’s likely I have cancer. And then more tests. A stomach drain. Relief from 5 months of symptoms, finally.

An emergency stay in hospital with suspected cancer ensures jet lag disappears quickly. Hospital food marginally better than plane food! 

Another night in hospital then home – cancer tests still inconclusive. 

I geared up to have more tests.

Went back to work.

And then I had a serious appointment where I was told the only final  way they could test for cancer was for me to have a hysterectomy. My friend Danielle was with me. She said I went green, hearing about the surgery options.

It happened very fast, but it was an agonising wait.

I found that the waiting times in everything related to cancer was the hardest part. 

The tumour was 11 cm in mid June. 

I was scheduled for surgery at the end of June, as the pain was increasing when I waked and slept, and I was bleeding. 

Went on leave again – maybe 6 weeks.

The tumour was around 25 cm when I was operated on. 

Surgery was fine. It was at 8.30 am, I was on the ward at 1.30 pm. I was up and showering  that afternoon, as a necessity. The surgeons and I did all we could to ensure my skin condition did not exacerbate in hospital. My skin heals very fast. I have no scars.

I was told I have cancer that night – the likely diagnosis was two types, but the surgeons would need to meet to determine the type and treatment plan. More weeks of anxious wait. 

It was confirmed I have Ovarian and Endometrial cancer. 

I thought I’d be able to work during chemo, but I couldn’t. I went on leave again. The first round of chemo caused the worst skin pain I’ve ever had. My skin fell off in huge pieces. I was raw. The physical pain caused me mental anguish.

Meanwhile, everyone rallied. My parents, Adam, my friends, my work, people online, strangers, makers.

It was incredible. I had time to convalesce. Meals prepared or bought for us. Laundry vouchers given.  Home help. Company. Tea and cake.

The reason I say that the time of cancer wasn’t all bad was because of the quality time I got to spend with people, and the love they showed me.

Danielle continued to come  to my first chemo and a few after. Other friends and colleagues did too – Sandy, Jodee, Natalia, Linda, Mum.

My work wife helped do the dishes, as did a friend from primary school who I’d not seen since the 90s. People saw me at my most vulnerable – I let them in.

People sent money via my PayPal. Our washing machine broke due to my ointment (the  NDIS doesn’t see this as an issue, of course!). A literal angel writer friend sent just enough money in the same hour as I bought a new machine – she didn’t know it until I called her crying with gratitude.

Brooch makers and other creatives sent me beautiful gifts.

A friend came with a cake, with “fucking fabulous” piped on it, her little girl gave it to me. We laughed when I asked if her girl knew what it meant. Fudging, she said. 

Work colleagues sent me videos of them dancing to Savage Garden. I attended as many Fringe shows as I could.

Jebediah and Magic Dirt and a friend organised for me to go to the sound check before the concert, because I couldn’t be in crowds during chemo. It was me, a friend and the bands’  crew in The Corner Hotel, on a late afternoon after chemo. We chatted to Jebs for ages after.

Chemo and radiation appointments were filled with my Mum and friends keeping me company. It was quality time. One time I had an entourage of five – we laughed and ate snacks and they held my hand when I got the cannula.  They gave me their pork crackling because they love me.

I spent months with my Mum – the most time we have ever spent together since I moved out of home in 2003. We holidays together and she was there for me for many medical things.

Adam’s workplace showed us incredible kindness too. The loving words expressed about their fondness for Adam made me cry. His handyman clients often gave him extra money for a meal, and one gave us some HEPA filters.

People stayed home if they were sick, so I wouldn’t get sicker.

Losing my hair was surprisingly easy, and I loved my bald head. And while I’m still nervous with needles, I don’t think I’m as needlephobic as I was at the start of this.

Every single medical professional was amazing. The care and dignity they gave me was exemplary. I loved how my specialists worked with each other.

I felt my most stylish because I had time to play in my wardrobe. Putting together outfits made me feel good.

Of course, cancer has been excruciatingly difficult  – especially the pain that chemo caused my skin, the expected side effects like my nails dying and falling off, neuropathy (still going) and constipation!l).

And the financial strain has been really hard. There’s no safety net for people who get suddenly sick. Cancer interrupts everything – my life was running on an urgent hospital schedule and work took a backseat.

One day I will write a longform piece on how Centrelink is the worst part  of having cancer. 

So many friends who are cancer survivors, and friends going through it at the same time, have been sources of advice, support and hope. Their experiences shared with me were vital. So selfless, especially those who were still going through treatment.

Someone I’d previously worked with, only online, messaged me the day before I started chemo, telling me she’s got cancer too, and would be at the hospital. We’ve caught up in waiting rooms and the cafe, and by text – comparing notes and sending each other love.

Another friend who’d had cancer sent me a care package featuring some of the things that had helped her – bamboo cutlery (great when my skin was too sore to hold metal), silk pillowcase and mouthwash. She gave me tips for what to do when waiting on results.

And while I was going through the hard days during chemo, I was able to help someone else, even tho I was only new to cancer myself. Someone in Europe with Ichthyosis who was diagnosed w cancer found my blog and said my words helped them. There’s so little info about how Ichthyosis interacts with cancer, chemo and radiotherapy out there. They’re doing ok so far. 

I made my cancer experience public so there was more info about ich that’s and cancer out there. I hope it helps other patients and medical professionals.

Some friends and I raised over $6000 for Ovarian Cancer research and support.

But the point of my thread is this.

In enduring such life upheaval showed how many wonderful people I have around me. How they stepped up, showed up and supported me, Adam and my parents.

It allowed me time to rest and heal. Proper time. Not feeling guilty like I do when my skin is sore.

I got the courage to ask for help. 

And I had so many wonderful moments with people I love. There were tears but there was so many laughs and light moments. 

I am lucky.

And I’m grateful.

I don’t know if I’m cancer free yet. The surgeons were confident they removed all of the cancer – chemo and radiotherapy was to catch stray cells. They treated me with curative intent. Hopefully there’s no recurrence. I find out results in a couple of months. 

I don’t want to be twee about this time in my life  – it was a really hard time. This isn’t toxic positivity. But I want to be honest about how it wasn’t all bad, because of the love and support I received – both medically, through work and from friends and family and strangers. 

I’m so grateful. Thank you.

If you’d like to buy me a drink, my PayPal is here. Thank you.

Image: Carly, a bald woman due to turn, standing near a cherry blossom tree. She’s wearing a pink floral dress and sunglasses, smiling.

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