The one where I break the cardinal rule of marathons...

 "Nothing new on race day"

Most people who have done a marathon share these two rules:

1. Pace yourself, don't go off too quickly at the start
2. Nothing new on race day (no new shoes, clothes or food)

The first rule wasn't too difficult; the group that I started with was large and not particularly fast, so I managed to track my target pace on the Garmin.... all good.

Turning into Woolwich, the emotion set in, crowds of people lined the streets to cheer us all on. Kids giving out high-fives, pubs blaring dance music from their windows, bands playing to the masses and strangers handing out sweets, slices of orange and encouragement.

This is when you forget the nerves and settle into your rhythm, all of your training has been for this, and it's a chance to enjoy the fruits of your labour. 

As you know, I'd written the names of cancer-battling loved ones on my arm, one for each mile, and as the race progressed, I developed a system of checking the name each time I ran under a mile marker. This kept my spirits up and reminded me what this is all for. 

Nathan had the genius idea of circling the miles where he would be waiting with Erica. This REALLY helped, it gave me something to look forward to, and the hugs were precisely what I needed. 

Tower Bridge is roughly halfway, and this is a game-changer. As you turn the corner to cross the bridge, the noise of the crowds hits you like a train, people scream your name, the sun is shining, and London looks incredible. I'm getting choked up just thinking about it; this was the high point of my race. 

After Tower Bridge, you turn right onto the highway, you hit mile 13 and come face to face with runners going the other direction who are hitting mile 22. They look tired, and they're the fast ones; what the bloody hell have I signed up for?

People warned me about mile 14; this is when the roads narrow and you head towards the docklands where there will be fewer crowds, and the legs will start to ache. I'd been regularly taking on energy gels and water but spotted a Lucozade station and thought, "it's a mass-market drink, I'm sure it's fine" that was a stupid thing to do.

I genuinely don't remember anything about miles 15 to 18; I remember reaching mile 19 and thinking. "I don't feel so good". I will spare you the details of what happened next; suffice to say that the portaloos don't have toilet paper, and I lost a considerable amount of time trying to sort myself out.  

Through Poplar, I started to feel better, I was told to look out for Run Dem Crew at Limehouse, and they did not disappoint. 

Next up, the Limehouse link tunnel. Someone said, "we don't talk about what happens in that tunnel". It appears just after mile 21 and sucks the life out of everyone who enters. 

There are no crowds; it's hot sticky, smelly and full of people who, like me, wonder what the f**k they were thinking signing up for this. 

.... and then you hear the band... they're at the exit of the tunnel... drawing you away from the despair and closer towards mile 23 "... hang on... why does the marker say mile 22? 

Shit.... my Garmin says I have done 23 miles..." I had forgotten about this, you run further than 26.2 miles on marathon day as you're weaving around people, finding toilets etc. 

This part was challenging for me, one extra mile doesn't sound like much, but when your legs and lungs are screaming, and you want to throw up but are worried you will poop your pants if you do.... one extra mile feels like another marathon!

Thousands of people lined the embankment and the approach to the Houses of Parliament; I'd love to say I enjoyed this part but am ashamed to admit that I just wanted it all to be over. 

In hindsight, I understand the selfless intention they all had to get us over the final hurdle, and I'm eternally grateful. I thought the Breast Cancer Now team were going to explode with excitement, and they gave me another much-needed reminder of what this was all for. 

The journey home was beautiful, people on the train gave up their seats as I clung onto my hypothermia blanket, and they were kind enough not to complain about the smell. 

One week on, the legs are less sore, although the toes are an attractive shade of purple, and most toenails are in the process of falling off.

It was an incredible experience, and I'm so grateful for your support of £5,000 and climbing. THANK YOU. There is still time to donate and help to fund research to help stop breast cancer from killing 1,000 women each month in the UK.

#fightlikeagirl

Ten things I learned about training for a marathon

 Ten things I learned training for a marathon

887 days ago, I watched the 2019 London marathon on TV and decided to sign up; the coronavirus made every effort to disrupt many best-laid plans to run the 26.2 miles around our iconic capital city.

Last year I walked the distance along the Icknield trail and am now looking forward to joining 45,000 other souls at the start line at Blackheath with a mix of excitement, anticipation and fear.

I've had plenty of time to think about the big day and have been pondering what I've learned over nearly 900 days of planning. 

1. You find yourself only capable of talking about running - I remain eternally grateful to my long-suffering coworkers. They have endured hours of conversations about weekend runs, nutrition plans and marathon nerves. Likewise, friends and family have cheered in encouragement as dates grow near and offered consolation when plans move. The long and short of it is this - humans are awesome.                                                                                                                                                                                 
2. 
   Trail running is very different to running on a road - this was an early and unfortunate lesson. It turns out that running on trails requires ankle and core strength that I simply didn't have in the early days of my training, and I quickly ended up with a very painful fractured pelvis which scuppered training (and my ability to wear heels) for a while.                                                     
3. There are far more footpaths near your home than you realise - I'm still finding them! The Ordnance Survey App is probably one of the best apps you can download. It shows you all of your local footpaths, byways and bridlepaths. Perfect for when the same old loop gets boring.                                                                                                                                                  
4. 
   Dogs make brilliant training buddies - as soon as Milo was old enough, we started running together. We built his distance up over time to avoid damaging his joints and haven't looked back. I love running with him; he's such brilliant company.                                                    
   
5. Dogs don't make you go faster - I've lost count of the number of people Milo and I run past who shout, "that's cheating". Milo may be great company, but he's not a proper canicross dog. He gets distracted by squirrels, cats, lampposts, bins and people outside pubs (especially if they have crisps). That said, he is pretty handy with hills.                                                                                                   
6. 
   Rigid training plans are a thing of the past - Training plans powered by AI are here; are they effective? I'll tell you on Monday!                  
7. Toenails are over-rated - the less said about that, the better. Unfortunately, I've lost them all; it's not pretty.                                                     
8. Sleep is over-rated - peeling yourself out of a warm bed at 4.30am to do a 15 mile run before work isn't anyone's idea of fun. Showing your colleagues the incredible sunrise photos as you recount your adventure while they rub a hangover out of their eyes feels pretty damn smug.                                                                        
9. No, you can't eat whatever you like - a 15-mile run = 1,697 calories. Five Guys burger, fries and milkshake = 1.800 calories.                                 
10. Stay away from sugar-free jelly beans - the less I tell you about that, the better.

As Sunday draws near, I just wanted to say a massive thank you to everyone who has supported me through all of this. For your sponsorship, encouragement and for enduring my tales of endurance, I am eternally grateful.

There's still time to sponsor me and help to raise funds to stop breast cancer in its tracks. Click here

#fightlikeagirl

Well, this has been odd.....

As you know, the 40th London marathon was due to take place in April but COVID19 swiftly put a stop to that idea. It was moved to October but the opportunity for 40,000 of us to participate in our nation's capital has since been thwarted.

I have requested a deferred place in Oct 2021 and, if I'm honest, slacked off on the training. Out of the blue, Breast Cancer Now got in touch and offered me a virtual place - WTAF is that?

As a virtual participant, you can complete the 26.2 miles wherever and however you choose as long as it is done on 4th October and tracked via the app. I am keen not to injure myself so have decided to walk 26.2 miles along the Icknield Way which (rather conveniently) passes through our village.

I must admit, I'm feeling a little guilty for not running it but figured that this option means that I have the hound to keep me company and will limit injury to allow me to train through the winter.

If you would like to add your support then please do so here. I will update with photos of countryside and blisters tomorrow. 

Thank you #fightlikeagirl

 

100 days and counting

Happy new year, it’s been a busy couple of months since the big remission news, so much has happened and there is still so much to do. They say that it’s easier to eat an elephant when it is broken into chunks - here are the chunks of everything that’s swilling around my brain:

66 days in remission This is a tough feeling to describe. It’s almost impossible to believe that this time five years ago I was receiving an emergency chest-drain courtesy of an infection that had developed from the mastectomy. Fast-forward five years to today where we took Erica to rugby training, had a lovely coffee in the Ely sunshine and I went for a run around the gorgeous frozen fenland that surrounds our village.   I always try to remember to be thankful for all of the second chances that I’ve been given. It’s great to be in remission but it is also a little scary. No longer will I have the six-monthly CT scans to search for any reoccurring cancer. From now on, scans will only be performed if I present with symptoms which puts the responsibility for spotting new symptoms squarely on my shoulders. Separating muscle aches from anything sinister is a challenge when you’re training for a marathon! Speaking of which…..

100 days till the marathon Before you have the pedantic need to correct me, yes, it's actually 98 days until the marathon but that doesn't have quite the same ring to it. I've never done a marathon (or even a half marathon) before and was massively overwhelmed until a lovely friend suggested that I watched "Brittany Runs a Marathon", a hilarious and motivating true story which is a must for anyone taking on a BHAG (Big Hairy Audacious Goal) My plan is to train well enough to be able to enjoy the atmosphere of the day itself. I am staggered by how many people are planning to make the journey into London and cheer me on, this helps in the dark training days, speaking of which....

350km training complete Who the bloody hell decided to put the London marathon at the end of April? Yes, it will probably be a lovely spring day for many participants and spectators but it requires training through the WINTER! For anyone who hasn't noticed, winter is cold, dark and scary. A colleague at work suggested a brilliant AI app called "Train as One". It creates a bespoke training plan and adjusts it based on your performance. However, over the last couple of weeks it has royally been doing my head in. It keeps on planning looooong and slooooow runs which I have to complete at night in the deserted and scary country lanes surrounding our village where I am constantly convinced that I am about to be murdered. I was about the chuck the whole plan in the bin until.....

A surprise 1st place I won a Park Run....!!! Well, that's not strictly true, I came first place out of 19 other women in my age group. ParkRuns are awesome, a whopping 700 of them take place at 9am every Saturday morning all over the country. It's free to take part and they open to people of all abilities (which is probably why I won) take a look at this link to find your nearest event.

7 days sober After winning my age category and knocking two whole minutes off my PB, it was no surprise that the likely accelerator was seven days of preceding sobriety. I had to face reality and have given up booze for the marathon. Those of you who know me well are aware that this is a regular flip flop for me, I tend to quit for 3/4 of the year and then fall unceremoniously off the wagon again. Well, in the words of my fantastic dad "it's easy to quit, I've done it hundreds of times".

£675 raised If giving up my beloved Rioja isn't enough of a reason to sponsor me then how about donating a little cash to get me through 26.2 miles (not counting the many hundreds of miles I will do in training). We've raised £675 so far, Ocado have promised another £500. My folks and their lovely friends from our gorgeous Devonion community are working tirelessly to host fundraising dinners, sell greeting cards and generally motivate me to get my fat arse out of my warm bed at 4.30am to get out there and run my socks off. If you are able to help us out then please do so through this link. Every single penny will go towards Breast Cancer Now who are working around the clock to develop all sorts of treatments and early diagnosis breakthroughs with the aim of stopping breast cancer in its tracks.

For the doubters There are people who say that I won't make it to the marathon. Unsurprisingly, they are the same people who disappeared when I was diagnosed. Those who doubt make me more determined. I'd like to thank the doubters for making me stronger but I'm saving my energy for the real friends and family who have supported us all along. We will show you! #fightlikeagirl

The results are in....

First of all, I have been blown-away by the messages of support, not just yesterday but throughout the last five years. Today I was given the news that my cancer is in remission and I can get on with my life. The cocktail of regular medication and injections will stay as long as I can tolerate them and we’re not yet allowed to speak of the condition being cured but I am happy to have made it this far.

 

It will be impossible to thank every single person who helped me to get to this point, you know who you are and you know how much it means - from my amazing friend Pip who dashed over to the cancer centre with her babies so that she could attend the appointment with me, to Michelle, the radiologist who waited for my appointment to be over so that she could give me a hug and say goodbye. 

 

 

Now what?! In typical de Louvois fashion I am marking the occasion with a bang. I wanted to do something positive with this experience and to help other women who may be embarking on this journey themselves. I also want to do everything I can to ensure that our beautiful daughter never has to face this wretched disease. I can do this by raising cash and spreading the word so I am delighted to announce that I have secured a place in the 2020 London Marathon, running for Breast Cancer Now.

 

As many of you know, I fell in love with running during my treatment as I could do it at my own pace and it provided me with a daily challenge. I want to continue running, to push myself to get better and to raise vital funds for breast cancer research. If you would like to sponsor me, you can find my fundraising page here. There is no pressure at all, just continuing to read the blog and sharing it with women who are being ignored by their GP’s is enough for me, if this collection of ramblings saves at least one life then I am a happy girl.

 

 

 

So all in all, thanks for your support and apologies in advance for the sweaty next chapter.

 

#fightlikeagirl

The Remission Scan

Well, here we are! I have been watching the flashing cursor for the last 20 minutes drawing a total blank. I’d forgotten just how much I loved writing this blog and, in turn, have forgotten how to write it. Here’s a recap for those of you who may be new to this hub of narcissism and also for those of you with a short memory. In true transformation-leadership style, I have created a timeline to support the narrative.

In a nutshell, I found a lump in September 2014, fought tooth and nail to be taken seriously, eventually got a diagnosis on new years eve and then jumped on the bandwagon of modern science; six operations, six months of chemo, 40 rounds of radiotherapy, six months of bisphosphonate infusions and hormone therapy, topped-off with a chemically induced menopause.

I am immensely happy with the reconstruction, it’s given me a new lease of life both in terms of confidence and the discovery of dormant cancer cells that the surgery uncovered. Once the shock of the recurrence receded, I was lucky enough to be offered state-of-the-art precision radiotherapy at Addenbrooke's hospital which blasted the little bastards whilst avoiding my heart and lungs.

This journey has been tough. When I look back at the blog I cringe at just how much I was trying to put on a brave face over the fear and the pain. It’s been tough on my marriage, my family, my friendships and on my career. We have all had to work really hard to keep this together but I’m confident that we will come through and we’ll be stronger for it.

 

 

So here we are, I've been having CT scans every six months to check on progress. Today's scan marks five years since diagnosis and, if clear, moves me into the remission category. Every scan is terrifying, they remind you just how complacent you have become with the second chance that you've been offered and just how much you desperately want to live. 

This moment felt like a fitting way to move this blog onto the next chapter and to offer a reminder for all of us to be grateful for the life that we have. Cancer is an expert at providing perspective. I’m sitting in a cafe with the familiar feeling of dread, psyching myself-up to walk over to the shiny-new specialist cancer centre in Newmarket, don the gown and get this done.

Promise to update with the results tomorrow - prayers of all denominations gratefully received.

Thank you x

#fightlikeagirl

The one where cancer tries to ruin Christmas

The last seven days have been the most sobering reminder yet of just how much can change in a week.

Since my last update I'm pleased to report that I've been recovering really well (aside from the norovirus) and continue to be astounded by the results of my surgery. With this in mind I went along to my follow-up appointment with Prof. Malata so that he could take a look at the scars and tell me off again for doing too much moving around.

The appointment went really well and as he cleaned-up I made the fateful mistake of commenting on the wonderful end this has been to my cancer journey..... as soon as I saw him exchange worried looks with the nurse and sit down my heart went into my mouth. I heard him say "we found some more cancer" and remember nothing else. I went into a wild panic and just wanted to just wake up from this nightmare, how the hell can it be back? I've done everything I can to keep it at bay, it's Christmas, what am I going to tell Nathan, Erica, my family?

He explained that he'd opened-up my ribcage to locate the blood vessels for the reconstruction and noticed a swollen lymph node which he removed and sent for testing - the results of which came back as cancerous. He then explained that I'd need a scan to identify whether or not the cancer is spreading to the rest of my body and to allow the team to agree a treatment plan.

As many of you know, metastatic breast cancer has a poor survival rate and I spent the entire journey home wondering how I was going to start a new job in the midst of cancer treatment with no idea how I was going to contribute to the mortgage. Weirdly enough, the prospect of dying didn't really phase me that much, the prospect of leaving Nathan and Erica in limbo was terrifying.

When I got home I broke the news to Nathan and only then did I give myself the opportunity to cry (wailing banshee is probably a better description), that evening was Erica's nativity performance in Ely Cathedral and we prayed our hearts out throughout. The next morning I talked to my oncologist and we agreed the arrangements for the scan.

By Tuesday the following week, Mum and I made our way to Cromwell hospital in London for the PET CT scan - it's an incredible piece of medical wizardry - they starve you for 12 hours then inject you with glucose and radioactive isotopes, because cancer cells feed on the glucose first, they are the ones that show up on the scan, the whole process takes around 90 minutes and I didn't stop praying throughout!

Anybody who has been through cancer will tell you that the next bit is the absolute worst..... the waiting. The thing I find hardest is the knowledge that someone has seen your result and the longer it goes the more you convince yourself that it's a much bigger treatment plan. To take my mind off it I went for dinner the following day with my awesome Mummy friends and our sprogs after the Cathedral carol service (filled with more praying). They did such a good job of distracting me that I forgot about the results..... until I checked my phone...... six missed calls, five from Nathan and one from my oncologist...... another heart in mouth moment. I found a quiet corner and phoned Nathan, as soon as he started to reprimand me for ignoring the phone I knew that it was good news, he'd stalked Dr Russell all day and had tracked him down late in the evening to receive the news that the scan showed NO EVIDENCE OF DISEASE!!!!!!

The rest is a blur as my friends and I ordered wine and didn't stop drinking! I am sitting at the breakfast table with a very sore head and a refreshed perspective on life. What if Prof. Malata hadn't spotted that rogue lymph? What if I hadn't stopped drinking? None of this can be fate, can it? Is anyone really ever this lucky?

What I know for sure is that I'm going to celebrate Christmas like I never have before and can't wait to spend it with my amazing family and friends who have lived this with me everyday and never left my side.

Please go and give your loved-ones a massive hug, life is precious.

#fightlikeagirl

The fourth (and final) operation

It's been twelve days since I went under the knife and I'm happy to report that all appears to be well. We arrived at the hospital for our 7am intake and, judging by the heaving waiting rooms, expected to spend the next couple of hours making polite conversation but was told "lucky you, you're first in"...... cue pang of dread followed by inevitable exchange of looks with Nathan where we silently agreed "let's get this done".

Within minutes I was lying in theatre being prepped by the team, I was astounded to see just how many people were involved in the procedure (I counted at least twelve) and was told that one team would be working on my stomach while another worked on the breast, I felt a flicker of guilt as I considered how much this must be costing our NHS but remembered that cancer chose me, not the other way around and this is the final step towards normality. Unfortunately, due to my relentless treatment, it took six attempts to find a healthy vein - a process that was mimicked by the quickening blood-pressure monitor but eventually we were ready to rock & roll. I remember some debate about Percy Pigs as the mask was placed over my mouth and then was out.

Eight hours later I was fighting with the recovery team to remove the layers of blankets and bring me a sick bowl... the morphine (as always) had made me wretchedly ill and the recovery process required a constant body temperature so I was burning up and felt awful. Thankfully the brilliant recovery team were able to calm me down and took me up to the ward where a room full of Doctors were waiting.... less to see how I was.... more to see my new body! Their reaction immediately made me feel better, Professor Malata is a legend throughout the British medical establishment and it turns out that people are always keen to see his work!

Although I was lucky enough to be allocated my own room, I quickly came to realise why.... the room had to be maintained at a constant 38.5 degrees (100 to my American friends) so that the blood circulation can be optimised underneath a stifling cotton wool wrap, binder and blankets. I honestly can't remember the last time I've felt that uncomfortable and the addition of four drains and a catheter on top of menopausal hot flashes added to the ordeal.

Thankfully I had a care team that figured me out very quickly, they realised that I needed targets and immediately negotiated them with me..... catheter out on day two, drains day three and home on day four as long as I promise not to argue with the physiotherapist. The beauty of this approach was that it gave me something to look forward to every day and although each milestone was full of pain and tears, the achievement of each brought me closer and closer to the end of this ordeal.

By Friday I was on my way home with instructions to wear a victorian-grade binder for the next three months in order to keep everything in place. I've had one visit back to the dressings clinic for the change and had my first view of the results which are impossible to do justice with words (and I'm not posting photos just yet!) all that remains to say is that I've been left with a beautifully flat stomach and a breast that is no longer square or full of pain. Despite being fresh out of surgery, my chest is less painful than it was before I went under the knife (unfortunately the same can't be said for my tummy, it feels like someone has stitched the top and bottom halves together and is pulling the strings constantly). Take it from me, tummy tucks are NOT fun!

None of the recovery would be possible without the incredible support of family and friends, Mum has been here to take Erica to school, nourish us all and relieve my cabin fever, Nathan has put up with my constant moaning and so many of you have brought gifts, cooked meals, sent flowers and cards.... such thoughtfulness that makes the end of this journey even sweeter.

Thank you for all of your support, it's been epic

#fightlikeagirl

The one where I get a new knocker....

Well tomorrow is the big day. I've spent the evening playing the human canvas as Professor Malata sketched out his plans for tomorrow's operation. I'll never cease to be amazed by the skill and dedication of Prof. Malata and his team, it may sound like a cliche but he is an artist as well as a surgeon and firmly believe that I am in the best possible hands.

Nathan and I spent the weekend distracting ourselves from the inevitable by falling off the wagon at a beautiful converted castle just outside Bath. Whilst the rugby formed a necessary part of the itenary, the antique shopping culminated in the purchase of a lovely new knocker for our front door - the irony of which was lost on us at the time but makes so much sense now........ so we thought a picture of my pre-surgery markings next to my other new knocker would provide temporary solace from the nerves!

We've also spent the last couple of weeks converting the cellar of our house (previously a pub/ Post Office) and have had dealings with a multitude of tradespeople, as I sat in the consulting room with Nathan sketching out the plans with the surgical team it felt very much like our cellar renovation... Nathan even managed to convince them to remove my old chest port scar as part of the job.....!

So the plan is to re-open the mastectomy scar, remove my temporary expander and replace it with fat and skin from my stomach. The team will re-attach the blood vessels and create, to all intents and purposes, a breast that will look almost identical to the other but will be made entirely of stomach fat. The beady-eyed amongst you will recognise this as a tummy-tuck and boob job in one, some have even gone so far as to call the surgery "cosmetic" and I can assure you that nothing can be further from the truth.... first off I did not choose to have my breast hacked off- that was deemed necessary to save my life, secondly although it has been fun to grow a new boob over the last couple of months (I had to 'fatten-up' for surgery "Bridget Jones" style), I hate putting on weight and the process has made me pretty damn miserable.

I can't wait for it all to be over and start preparing for my summer bikini body. I'll keep you posted but will likely be unable to type for the next couple of weeks so have downloaded multiple box sets to keep me entertained.

Thank you for all of your support throughout this journey, you have no idea how much it means.

#fightlikeagirl

Make it happen

Two years ago today, a rancid collection of tumorous cells were dividing at a rate of knots and attacking my lymphatic system as Nathan and I tried, in vain, to get the doctors to take us seriously. At this point I'd seen two GP's and a specialist private consultant - although I was persistently patronised and fobbed-off at every appointment, I steadfastly refused to give up. I'd found the lump in September but it would take until 30th December to finally get a diagnosis.

The very thought of that makes me feel physically sick with a mix of rage and relief. My story is one of survival through tenacity and determination but sadly there are so many who don't get that chance. As I count down the days to my reconstructive surgery and what I hope will mark the end of my surgical marathon, I look back on the last 18 months and still genuinely believe that it happened to somebody else. I don't see myself as a cancer survivor, I don't want people to wear ribbons for me or share infuriating Facebook posts about how much they hate cancer, I want people to learn from my experience - Doctors are not infallible and you owe it to your family to make a nuisance of yourself until you get to the right outcome.

Although I would never, ever want to go through this experience again, I can't help thinking that cancer has changed me for the better. I have finished a Masters, won an industry award and bagged myself an awesome new job. Some may say it's coincidence, others may consider it karma, I think it's a louder inner-voice. I am no longer willing to compromise on what's important as life is too damn short. 

So if you're debating whether or not to make that next career move or you're worried about upsetting the doctor who isn't taking you seriously, just remember how fragile life can be and who is counting on you to make it happen.

#fightlikeagirl

The one where everything changes......... and doesn't

Please forgive the "Schrodinger’s cat" title and my inexcusable tardiness for which I will, as always, attempt to make an excuse. Lots has changed in the months following my last update and I’ll begin with the obvious.

As many of you know, I’ve been persevering with an Exec. MBA at the University of Exeter for around the last three years. It was a fantastic experience and the qualification offers real-world grounding to people who care about the legacy that they leave behind more than the personal gain that they accumulate. I was forced to take a six month break to battle the cancer jabberwocky but soon got back up to full steam and handed in my final consulting project on Friday (I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a distinction but am cutting that characteristically fine).

I'm not afraid to admit that the celebrations to mark this achievement saw me fall off the wagon in spectacular style (thanks sis!) but I'm now well and truly back-on and ready to roll.

The rather frustrating question I endure now is…… "So what happens now?". Truth is, I have no idea. I think I’m suffering from post-MBA blues (I Googled it, it’s a thing) as I guess I expected everything to change in an instant, it’s a bit like finishing cancer treatment - you expect to feel ecstatic but instead you feel defeated and drained. 

I keep on reminding myself that eighteen months ago I would gladly have swapped a mustard-gas chemo infusion for the post MBA blues and that’s exactly what I need…. some perspective.

Last week I was offered a date for my reconstructive surgery so, all being well, I’ll go under the knife on 21st November for DIEP flap reconstruction. It’s a pretty brutal procedure for which I will be at the pleasure of the NHS for the best part of two weeks but in a rather twisted way, I’m actually looking forward to it. I’ve stalked and snared one of the most respected breast surgeons in the world and get a tummy-tuck for good measure so can spend the next couple of weeks stuffing my face as I'm "growing a new boob" as a lovely fellow survivor so beautifully puts it. 

This will be the first procedure that I’ll undergo which is not directly attacking the cancer, it’s going to give me a much-needed slice of normality and I can’t wait to see the results. 

I promise to get back to blogging now that my commute has been reclaimed by Candy Crush and free newspapers - many of you know, those are two things that won’t hold my attention for long. 

Thanks for being so understanding & please keep donating to Breast Cancer Now - it really does make a difference

#fightlikeagirl

#ThisGirlCan

#ComingBackSwinging

The one where I go back for more chemo......

I'm not exactly sure how to start this post, it's been a whirlwind month to say the least made up of some exhilarating and debilitating moments.

Those of you who are on Facebook would have been inundated by my celebrity-filled showcasing and I was hoping to use this update to share with you some of the official photos and videos from the M&S Summer Ball but alas they have not yet had the PR seal of approval (which makes them even more intriguing). I promise to share them with you in an update as soon as I have them, but in the meantime, I can very proudly say that I never expected cancer to enable me to tick dinner with David Gandy off my bucket list!

As you will remember from my last update, since our house move I now have a new medical team at the Nuffield in Cambridge so I've spent the last couple of weeks endlessly reviewing my histology and pathology reports with teams of boffins. Even though the tedious experience may have surfaced some zesty memories, the invaluable second opinions have resulted in my inclusion onto a brand new treatment plan. I now understand that my sobriety makes me a good candidate for clinical trials (good advice for anyone in a similar predicament), add to that an uncompromising Oncologist and you have a winning formula (we hope)!

For the next two years I will be having Zometa which is effectively a mild chemotherapy and is administered in the same way. Fortunately this time I won't lose my hair, but, as I experienced shortly after the first round, Zometa has some pretty unpleasant side effects and I retreated to my chemo-cave cared for by my long-suffering family as I willed the pain and sickness to pass. Why would I put myself through it? It's ok to think that, I thought it too as I curled-up in agony refusing painkillers as they would just make the vomiting worse. As you will remember from previous posts, for many women diagnosed with stage III breast cancer, there is a good chance it will return and spread to your lungs, liver, brain and bones. If it spreads to your bones there is a zero survival rate. However, some new and very compelling research has found that the use of bisphosphonates to protect the bones from reoccurring cancer increases survival rates significantly and in the words of Dr Russell "My job is to keep you alive until a cure is found".

As is always the case with cancer, all is not rosy. The treatment is most successful in post-menopausal women. Sparing you the gory details I was most pleased to discover that my reproductive system had survived the chemothery and had started working again, however, in order for the Zometa to work it all needs to be shut down so that means 6 months of Zoladex pellets injected directly into my stomach and if that doesn't work then the whole lot will be surgically removed....classy!

I'm starting to come to terms with the new regime and although it may sound odd, cancer treatment is easier after the first round as most of the stress is the unknown, now I know what I've signed up for, the pragmatic Helen will make a plan to deal with the symptoms each time around because spending time with my family is worth the pain and sickness.

I'll finish with a brilliant video that was shown on the night of the M&S Summer Ball, it features all of the other gorgeous women from our "Magnificent Seven" campaign. I warn you that it's not an easy watch but compel you to do something positive after watching it.

Please donate money to fund the research that will STOP this from happening..... TODAY.



#fightlikeagirl

The pink edition

This time last year, I was wallowing in a pit of Docetaxel and struggling to see any way out. My hair was gone, my nails were starting to fall off and the throbbing pain in my skull and joints was almost unbearable. Although I felt sick all of the time, the steroids made me ravenous between the bouts of nausea so I managed to pile on an additional 2 stone thanks to Quavers and Lucozade (the only things  I could stomach).

Fast forward to today and life could not be more different. I found myself complaining this morning about the price of haircuts and waxing before a much-needed reality check. Although I may consider the fight to be over, there is plenty that reminds me of cancer every day and I'm starting to realise that I am in some sort of weird denial.

This was compounded further by a recent visit to Inverness where Sheonagh and her team made such a fuss of me and the campaign that I had absolutely no idea how to react. While the drugs may have flushed out of my system and the radiation burns have all but disappeared, I sometimes forget that by putting my story into the public domain I can't switch off what has happened. While I admit that it makes me uncomfortable to be reminded of the events of the past year, I need to remember that a story of survival gives people hope and that goes beyond my own selfish story. 

I continue to be astonished by the kindness that people show and the efforts that they go to in order to support the campaign. There have been some incredible breakthroughs in the areas of research and this is, to a large extent. down to the amazing work done by the fantastic team at Breast Cancer Now who manage to give hope to so many more families thanks to the money raised by so many M&S stores and other tireless fundraisers who live in hope of a cure.

I also want to give a special shout-out to the Las Vegas Institute of Sport. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect to have my name plastered over the bottoms of so many men or to be able to design my own cancer-kicking cycling kit (which is now in its second production run!) The encouragement that you all continue to shout to me as you post your international exploits all over the interweb is the most awesome thing of all. 

GoVegas

#fightlikeagirl

I am NOT a statistic...

So it turns out that when you're diagnosed with breast cancer everybody talks about the the first five years.

They do this because if you're going to die, you're most likely to do so in the first five years. What they don't tell you is that once you pass this hurdle you are, by no means, out of the woods. This week we were forced to face the cold, hard truth that if something isn't done to find a cure, there is a pretty good chance that this is what is going to kill me.

I make no apologies for the brutality of that statement. It's taken me a few days to figure out how to write it but, as usual, my pragmatism has set in and I carry on living my life. I'm a big believer that if you sit around feeling sorry for yourself and waiting for the worst to happen then you'll shorten your chances considerably. 

The reason for my newfound realism? My newfound Oncologist! As many of you know, I have been stalking one of the most well-respected reconstructive breast surgeons in the country and couldn't believe my luck when he agreed to do my TRAM FLAP surgery at the end of the year (it took a little perseverance but in the words of my long-suffering husband "nobody says no to Helen!") Professor Malata requested that we register with his preferred Oncologist and riding on the high of becoming part of his surgical plan we were probably a little unprepared for the conversation.

Don't get me wrong, Dr Russell was probably one of the best Doctors I've met so far. He has an ingenious way of delivering a serious message in an unthreatening way. He quickly realised that I love a p-value as much as the next nerd and we spent a good 30 minutes having a good-old geek-off reviewing cancer statistics, survival rates etc. What I quickly came to realise was that his message wasn't coated in sugar. He very bluntly but honestly told me that his job is to keep me alive until they find a cure.

Luckily for me, the lifestyle changes that I've made have upped my chances considerably and he's working hard to get me accepted onto a clinical trial which has shown some very encouraging prognosis improvements for post-menopausal survivors - yes, you read it right, I am now post-menopausal......bastard cancer.

So, in summary. You're going to see a massive increase in my fundraising efforts because I have more motivation than most, I want to watch my beautiful daughter grow up and would really appreciate your help x

#fightlikeagirl

The one where I give up the booze.....

I've been sober for nearly 3 months and as someone who has spent several years developing a very strong relationship with Rioja I can safely say that life without it is surprisingly fulfilling. As you can see, the barnet is making a brave comeback and I am gradually shifting the steroid pounds with the help of Strava and an unforgiving alarm clock.

What most cancer survivors will tell you, particularly ones that have 'survived' breast cancer is that you are never really in the clear. You live your life with the constant reminder that your cancer could return at any point and you are only considered clear of the disease when it hasn't made a reappearance within five years. When you've had a mastectomy it's difficult to check for reoccurring lumps so the likelihood is that any reoccurrence would take place in the lungs, liver, brain or bones - needless to say, pretty damn difficult to find. 

I'm quite a pragmatic person so decided to shift my attention from worry to action and started to research the things that I could do in order to maximise my chances of survival. My tumour was classed as ER+/PR+/HER2- (oestrogen receptive, progesterone receptive and human epidermal growth factor receptor 2 negative) which, luckily for me, has the highest survival rate. The ER+ can be treated with Tamoxifen but I have recently discovered that lifestyle choices can undo or reverse the benefits of the drugs. It turns out that by consuming alcohol when these tumour cells are touring your body is bad news as it stops your liver from breaking down the excess oestrogen and that helps to feed the tumour cells to the point where they divide, become uncontrollable and ultimatley end my life. Frankly that's a risk I'm not willing to take hence my uncharactericsic sobriety. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not here to preach, this is my personal lifestyle choice but let's face it, if you were in my position and had to choose between having a drink or watching your children grow up, which would you choose?

It's not long until our Tough Mudder challenge and there is still time to sponsor the "M&S Magnificent Seven" as we take on the toughest assault course in the UK.... all in aid of Breast Cancer Now.

Thank you xx

#fightlikeagirl

The one where I find another lump....

 Firstly, I make no apology for the shameless attempt to increase my blog views with the most dramatic title possible, secondly, everything is fine.

It’s been a few weeks since my last bout of narcissism, as you can imagine they have been rather traumatic and although I did think about keeping you all in the loop on the unfolding drama Nathan and I thought it best to write about the experience as a whole once we’d had the nod either way.

All of my Doctors had reassured me that my type of tumour is………correction…….was a random mutation of cells which is unlikely to have been caused by genetic or environmental factors. What that means is that any tumours that appear in the other breast are effectively a new case of breast cancer rather than being related to the original episode. I’m told to be vigilant about reoccurrence in the original site (apparently even though I’ve had the breast removed and a temporary implant inserted, there is still a chance of residual cancer cells developing into new tumours) I also need to be vigilant about secondary metastasis where the cancer cells manage to evade the onslaught of chemotherapy and radiotherapy and find a new home in my liver, lungs, brain or bones (bones isn’t good, bones is game-over).

While every ache and pain does evoke pangs of dread, I have remained positive yet vigilant in my self-examinations and around 3 weeks ago I found a lump.

If I’m really honest, I ignored it for the longest 3 days before plucking up the courage to tell Nathan when it became obvious it wasn’t going away. That was probably one of the hardest conversations of my life (aside from telling my parents and sister about the original diagnosis), we have so many positive things going on in our lives - we’re about to exchange on the house of our dreams, Erica and Nathan are about to start new academic adventures in Ely and my career prospects seem ever more promising - we have absolutely everything to lose.

As much as I have slagged off BUPA in this blog, they were fantastic, I had an appointment with Mr Rashed within three days and he referred me to Mr Hajajj two days after that. Mr Hajajj is my Radiologist and an all-round genius, he spotted my cancer when everyone else said it “was nothing” so I knew that if there was anything there he’d likely be the person to find it. As he progressed from the examination to the ultrasound I listened intently for the clicks - I have learned that clicks mean that he’s taking images and that is not good - that was probably the tensest silence of my life, there is no suitable small talk in that situation and I think we all held our breath.

“My darling, there is nothing there”……. I could have kissed him and I think he was just as relieved as I was that I didn’t! 

I’m resisting inserting a “learning” cliche but there is no more sobering experience than coming face to face with your mortality. I wasn’t scared about going through the treatment again and that made me realise that the fear the first time around was fear of the unknown. 

This time I wasn’t scared of the sickness, the pain, the surgery, the hairloss, the strain on my relationships or the dent in our finances as I knew my enemy well and was damned as hell prepared to keep on giving it the fight it’s never had until it decides to leave me alone. 

I’m terrified that cancer will take away the very things it had taught me to cherish. I thank God for them every day and will never stop doing so.

#fightlikeagirl

Normality is more of a distraction than I expected...

Hello lovely people

I could try to apologise for my tardiness but I've been so remiss in my updates that I wouldn't have any idea how to start! I have been getting back to glorious normality and reminding myself every time that I have a stressful day at work that in comparison, to chemo it's a walk in the park - I'd take a stressful day over a chemo day every time! It's probably similar to my running metaphor, cancer treatment makes you realise just how much suffering you are built to cope with and it provides you with a whole new baseline to compare your rather inconsequential daily gripes with!

The writing that I was enjoying in keeping this blog up to date has now sadly been taken up by my return to the MBA and I can confirm that the output is far less interesting. Although I have missed writing about such riveting subjects like "the reality of efficient market hypotheses" - I would much rather be writing about the my experiences of trying to make sense of this disease. It's amazing how something like cancer can hit the pause button in your life and force you to take stock of just how much you could lose - those things that you don't invest time in as you go about your day to day life.

I have found it incredible just how quickly things do start to go back to normal but those of you who know me well will likely have noticed some post-cancer personality shifts:

1. On a sporadic and entirely random basis, I remind myself that I came very close to saying goodbye to the most important people in my life. That emulates itself in random displays of affection but thankfully Erica is young enough to still allow me to squeeze her and smother her with kisses as I silently thank my lucky stars that I still have the chance to do it.
2. I smile to myself every time someone barges me out of the way to get that seat - an experience like this really does give you new perspective on what you should not waste your time getting flustered about. 
3. No matter what happens in my week - I now know that things could always be a whole lot worse.
4. My patience was pretty awful before this happened, it's even worse now! Time is precious and I am determined not to miss out on opportunities.

I would never wish cancer on anyone but it really is incredible just how much something like that can make your life utterly shit for one year but has the surprisingly ability to make you a better person as a result.

#fightlikeagirl