Osteosarcoma

You haven’t finished. Not yet.

So, here we are again.

After 12 weeks of isolation, we are back inside for another 14 days.

I struggled mentally towards the end of lockdown, I had nothing but my thoughts. Nothing to motivate me, nothing to take my mind of things and nothing to give my brain the chance to just be.

When Ellis’ oncologist told us we no longer needed to shield, it was like a huge dark cloud had lifted.

We could go out. We could get fresh air and exercise. We could go out with the kids and let them run and hear them laugh. My family can be free.

I love challenging myself, its kind of what I do. I don’t settle. So as soon as we were allowed, I challenged myself to get fitter, to be more active and to soak up every opportunity to enjoy being outside.

I am a logical person and these past 7 years have taught me that you need something to focus on when times get tough.

I was hitting my 10,000 steps a day and feeling incredible for it. Long walks down to the sea, along the cliff side everyday. I felt alive.

Then Covid.

A lovely phone call to wake up to after the first proper nights sleep I had had in months.

“As your son has tested positive to Covid, you will all need to isolate for 14 day. No exercise, no walking dogs. Nothing.”

She may as well have told me to fuck off down the phone.

I am itching to go out. My mind is racing with all kinds of thoughts with no where to escape. My legs feel lazy, I am craving for that feeling when you’ve pushed yourself far enough that they ache.

Again, as with lots of times in my life, it got ripped from underneath me. Every single time I feel like I’m ok, it comes crashing down.

I picture life now like climbing a mountain. A huge, rocky, unsteady mountain.

The training for it hurts, it’s meant to . If it doesn’t hurt, you’re not doing it right.

You take baby steps to test the water, to see how far you can push your body. The first set back is always tough. Finding the motivation to carry on after that first fall is the hardest. But you do it, end goal in sight. New trainers to keep you feeling the part and that mentally you’re bossing it.

Once you get back up and dust yourself off, you feel incredible but it doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard.

You see other people on your training, some finding it easier, some harder. You learnt to not compare yourself with them, because after all, you don’t know how far along they are in theirs. A few encouraging words to the ones struggling to let them know they are not alone.

Once the novelty wears off it becomes a lot harder. Your once new trainers start to fray, your new leggings that once made your bum look nice are now worn and tired. Just like you.

But you haven’t finished. Not yet.

You know you must keep going. You know you must find a way, because you have people counting on you. Little eyes looking up at you in awe. You do it for them. It’s always for them.

I will reach the summit one day, I know I will. And there will be wine for daaaaaaays when I do. And possibly Phillip Schofield because he is life.

I just obviously have some more training to do. But I will never forget to look down to see how far I have come.

So until then, I will get up, get motivated and get my head back in the game.

For them.

Xxx

Cancer · Family · Osteosarcoma · Thyroid

I am not what I’ve been through, I am what I chose to become.

Lots of my blogs lately have been about Ellis and his journey, updating everyone on his progress and what its like to be a cancer mum.

This ones a little different and back to my original blogs.

This is about me. Gemma. Not a mum for a minute, not a wife. Just me.

I’ve met a few new people over the last few months in different circumstances, but ones I consider friends none the less.

Talking about who I am as a person, what my fears are and my goals.

I was asked today if I had any regrets by one of these friends and my answer was no. This isn’t to say I have never done anything wrong, because anyone who knows anything about me knows I have more than my fair share!

But do I regret anything? Absolutely not.

Those hard times are the times that give you motivation to make things better.

No regrets, only lessons.

It got me thinking about resilience and mental health. I’ve read lots of studies on the relation between the two and used it to reflect on my own life.

Maybe the reason I have coped relatively well during the last 6 months is because of the shit thrown at me in the past. The blasé approach to cancer and operations. The confidence in my own ability to overcome and adapt.

I’ve been knocked down more times than I think is fair in my life, but I have always got back up stronger and braver every single time.

I grew up never feeling good enough. I sought praise from the one man in my life who was meant to fill me with confidence and set me up for life. The one man who still, to this day, I am not good enough for.

I fell in ‘love’ with the wrong kinds of men, the ones who made me believe I was special for that little moment, only to use it to shatter me all over again.

Being a mum awakened something inside me that told me I was, after all good enough and I can do anything I want. It gave me the confidence to fight for what me and my children deserve.

I wanted to do better not just for them, but for myself.

I was good enough.

At the peak of this new found strength I started to learn about reflection and self awareness. Something I had never though about. This was a turning point for me. I had to question myself on why I felt a certain way and what would I do different next time. It was powerful shit.

I learnt that the more you get to know yourself, the more you can trust yourself to make the right choices. And there comes the resilience.

I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer in 2013, right in the middle of my self exploration. It helped me to work through my fears and feelings. I knew I could trust myself, therefore I was a little less scared.

Again, this doesn’t mean I wasn’t scared. I was terrified. I think back to my darkest times where I cried for hours, mentally started to make plans for the children’s futures in case I wasn’t there. I felt anger, guilt, denial all the things you feel when faced with something like that. But I allowed myself to. If I was sad, I cried. If I felt angry I went to the gym to take it out on the running machine. I trusted myself enough to know that once I had felt these things and acknowledged them, I would be ok. Whatever the outcome.

I took all of this and used it for positive. I supported others going through similar situations, I started my blogs to make others feel less alone.

I owned it. It didn’t own me.

People use the word brave and I don’t really like it. Brave is a choice. Brave is deciding to get that spider in your room instead of sleeping on the sofa . Brave is choosing to laugh in the face of danger, even though every inch of your body wants to run.

None of my situations have ever been a choice. I have never been brave.

These past 6 months I have seen little snippets of myself in my children. Not my big feet before anyone comments. Especially you Karl. Dick.

I have seen them face fear head on, not having a choice but to fight it. And they have fought so bloody hard.

Ellis is renowned within his medical team for being laid back. The kid who just takes things in his stride. Cancer? Come at me. Weak heart? Bring it on. New lump? Mess with me if you dare. He knows that whatever happens, he will fight and that is what is getting him through.

The girls are the same. They talk through their problems open and honestly. They are learning that in a situation where you have little control, they trust themselves and their choices.

They are feisty little people who know their own mind and enjoy challenging themselves. They can do anything they strive for.

I lost my way a little while back. Isolation was in full swing and shielding had just begun. I wasn’t taking any time for myself. From everything I have trained in and studied, I know the importance of some time to yourself. But its very easy to get caught up in everything that’s going on around you and put that to one side.

When I was ill, the gym was my thing. To get onto that treadmill, into that zone. Headphones in, music up. It was my time for reflection and to clear my head. I went in all angry and came out at peace. Then ate a kebab. I mean, I’m not perfect, right?!

I love cars and driving, a naughty RWD would be my kind of medicine for sure, but a drive in a 1ltr Hyundai isn’t quite the same. So that’s that out of the question!

So lately I have been making a conscious effort to get back to it. I’m eagerly waiting for Boris to open gyms so I hit the spin bike again. I have bought myself a step counter to see how lazy I actually am. 55 steps in whole day was an achievement. Lockdown hasn’t been kind to my waistline or to my liver come to that, so I need to sort it out.

Yesterday was my first day of challenging myself to do 10,000 steps a day. Probably easy for most people for a self confessed cake addict with no thyroid, it’s bloody hard! But I did it and it felt incredible. Not so incredible this morning when my legs are aching every time I move.

I know I can be anything I want to be. Not because I’m good at everything, but because I know I have the fight. If I don’t know something, I will learn. If I can’t achieve something first try, I will keep trying. I look at a situation now and think “What is this trying to teach me” and “What is the solution to that’.

The comeback is always stronger than the setback.

Always.

Xxx

Cancer · Thyroid · Uncategorized

Introducing me

Hi everyone. My name is Gem and my friend suggested to me that I should write a blog so here goes!

I am 33 and a Mum to 4 beautiful children. I am also a fiancé to Glenn, who over the past years has been my absolute rock.

In 2013 I was a studying a degree in Mental Health Nursing which I loved, with an amazing future ahead of me. I had 3 small children  who depended solely on me for everything. In the January after just a few first dates with Glenn, I found a lump on my neck. I booked into my GP straight away only to be told it was an inflamed lymph node and not to worry. Two weeks later it was still there so I went back. This happen 3 more times until I was taken seriously and was referred to a specialist. This was the beginning of 4 years of letters I couldn’t understand with medical jargon consuming the whole page. I would attend where and when told and not have a clue what to expect.

My first appointment was with a lady who said that it feels fine and will “probably” be nothing. I will never forget the uncaring nature of her voice, like I was holding her up and making her late for lunch. I explained to her that it was getting significantly bigger with time and was now pushing on my windpipe, making breathing hard at night. She reluctantly referred me again to another consultant and booked me in for a biopsy.

Biopsy day came quite quick as looking after 3 children and attending 35 hours of placement a week was consuming every waking hour and was just what i needed to take my mind of things.

At my next appointment I was told that my biopsy results came back negative and that they weren’t going to do anything more. I pleaded with the consultant saying the same as before, that it was getting bigger and getting in the way of breathing at night time. After a while he agreed for me to have a hemithyroidectomy, which is just removing half of the thyroid gland, the side where the lump was, but only for cosmetic reasons. If i hadn’t have pushed they were quite happy to let it be.

It took a few months to get an operation date through which by this time was scheduled for 29th July. Six whole months since I originally went to see my GP.

I was terrified on the morning of the operation. Glenn drove me to the hospital which was 45 minutes away. The longest 45 minutes of my whole life. I was checked in, given the sexy green stockings and told to wait for my name to be called. My operation lasted 10 hours and was a success. They managed to get it all and it hadn’t spread out side of the thyroid gland. I later found out the Glenn had sat in the same chair in the waiting room the whole time I was gone, just waiting for me. I will never begin to understand how scared he must have felt that day. But he stayed, for me.

At some point after the operation and after 3 lots of anti sickness drugs had kicked in I was told it didn’t look like cancer. I remember even writing a status on Facebook letting everyone know I was ok and that it was benign. Oh how wrong they were.

By now it was the summer holidays and I had missed so many days of placement with appointments etc, that I had to work 3 out of the 4 weeks of august to complete it. It meant  not spending the summer with my children, but this was a sacrifice I was willing to take to better my future, our future.

Early September I received a letter in the post which was addressed to my GP from my consultant to confirm what they had found. The letter was filled with medical terms which I didn’t have a clue what they meant so I just briefly scanned over it, with the intention on filing it with the others. However, the second paragraph through up some familiar words. ‘Carcinoma’ and ‘tumour’ stuck out like a saw thumb, but even then I couldn’t work out if it meant I had it or didn’t have it!

My appintment seemed to take forever to arrive. Friday 13th September. Unlucky for some but for me, I never believed in superstition. I got called in, Glenn by my side keeping my mind busy with his silly jokes! We sat down and the consultant didn’t even look up. He proceeded to read my notes  as if we weren’t even there. He finally looked up and it was like a horrible joke. He muttered the phrase ‘It was cancer…..’ as soon as I heard him say those words my eyes filled with tears. I instantly felt like I was going to be sick and my ears started ringing. I’ve read before out when people are diagnosed and hear the word Cancer they don’t hear anything beyond this point, but I didn’t realise it was such an intense physical pain. I thought I was going to pass out. Glenn was amazing, he stayed calm, listening to what was being said while at the same time reassuring me. I honestly would not have got through that day if he wasn’t there.  When I finally composed myself the consultant looked at me and said “But it’s ok, it’s the good Cancer” I’m sorry, what?! Please tell me what part of what I have just heard and felt was good?? I couldn’t believe he thought that was a nice thing to say.

The next few weeks were a blur. I was numb. I completed my hours on placement which meant I passed my first year at uni. I didn’t feel proud, I couldn’t feel anything. I pretended I was ok to people around me because i could see they were worried for me. I had to be ok for my children. Three little beautiful innocent babies. I wouldn’t dare let myself think about the C word, I felt weak if I did and felt I was letting them down. Everyone kept telling me how strong I was being and how brave I was. I didn’t feel worthy of being called brave. I had Cancer. Was it something I did? Was it something I ate? Am I being punished for something?

Two weeks went by and I had a phone call on a Friday evening saying I needed to go in for another operation, this time to take the other side out, leaving me with no Thyroid at all. The first thing I thought was ‘here we go again’. More childcare needed, more disruption, more time off uni. I just wanted to feel normal again. I was so sick of hospitals and doctors and bloody medical jargon filled letters.

This time the operation was closer to home where I had a private room. The operation itself was quicker only a couple of hours I think and again Glenn sat and waited outside. In all of this i never took the time to ask how he was. How was he coping with it all. The same month we got together was the same month it stated. Our whole relationship didnt know any different. Will he always think of me as a patient? Did he only stay because he feels sorry for me? All i know is if it wasn’t for him, my best friend, my rock, i couldnt have done it. This time I took a while to come round. My blood pressure plummeted to 85/60 and it took 5 anti sickness medicines to stop me from being sick. I felt like I had been run over by a bus. But the Cancer had gone.

A few weeks later I met another consultant who told me about a clinical trial run by Cancer Research which I was eligible to enter if I wanted. It was to see if RAI iodine treatment made a difference to patients with Papillary Thyroid Cancer which is what I had. Without having to think I signed up and was put into groups. It turned out that my group was chosen to have the RAI treatment. This involves taking a pill which made me radioactive for a few weeks! The downside was I had to be in complete isolation. By this time it was late November. I was still at uni achieving great grades on my assignments and tests and Christmas was just round the corner. I was introduced to Karen, my trial nurse. Little did I know how much I would look forward to seeing her in the months/years to come. She was so understanding of the fact I had children and that I needed to be at home at Christmas time that she scheduled my in for the RAI in the January. A whole year after my journey had begun. Two weeks before i was due to go back in,  I had to go on a special diet which contained low iodine which turned out to be in everything! (I did cheat on my Christmas dinner because I decided that that didn’t count 😂)

Christmas 2013 was the hardest time of my life. Way harder than the operations and being diagnosed. Uni has finished for the year, treatment was all on hold so there was nothing to occupy my mind. So I started to feel again. I have a fantastic relationship with my ex husband, the children’s father. I remember sitting one night, when the children were all in bed to wrap up their presents and I cried. I couldn’t stop. I text my ex husband and gave him instructions as to what to do next Christmas for the children if I wasn’t here. We use a different colour wrapping paper for each child so they know who’s is whose. We put the tree lights on before they wake up, so they go downstairs and see the presents lit up underneath. It was the most painful conversation I have ever had. The thought of my children growing up without me, forgetting about me. It was unbarable. I sobbed and sobbed the whole night. I felt guilt, anger, sadness and I suppose grief. I grieved for the person I was exactly a year before. I missed her.

Christmas came and went.

The date arrived for my radiation. I told the children that they were having a long sleepover at grandma’s so they were happy. I arrived at the hopsital only for them to tell me they had forgot to order the pill. I cried. Again. I was so angry. Today was one of the most important days of my life, a day that I had been dreading for 2 months and they forgot?! I was re booked in for the following weekend which meant more uprooting for the children, having to explain why I was back and trying to make them feel safe and settled.

A week later I was back. I was shown into a tiny room which was like a prison cell. Glenn was told he had to leave me at this point. I wouldn’t see him again for 4 days. They gave me the pill to take. It was the size of a small child! Weirdly my biggest worry at that moment was I hope I don’t dribble the water down my tshirt! (I’m a bit of a dribbler.I choke on nothing around twice a week 😂)

The pill was swallowed successfully, Tshirt was dry (result 👍🏻) and the door was closed. In my room I had a en suite bathroom. In reality it was a cupboard with a toilet and a shower in. Everything was covered in cling film to stop contamination while i was radioactive. In the main part of the room there was a bed, a tiny tv and a table. Again, everything covered in cling film. I have never been so scared and felt so alone in my whole life. The hours blurred into one long Jeremy Kyle binge, the only thing to make my life seem normal. Meals were thrown through a tiny opening in the door. It was like prison.

The day came when I was finally allowed out. I was allowed home and in the same room as Glenn and the children, but we had to be at opposite ends. My youngest was 3 at the time and I had to explain to her that mummy can’t cuddle her right now. It was horrible.

I thought that was the end of my journey. Little did i know it was just the beginning. Life without a thyroid is tough. Life after cancer is tough. But nothing is as tough as that first year. 2013 is the year I lost everything but gained so much more in return.

If you have got the the end of this insanely long blog then thank you!

I would love to share my journey with others to raise awareness, to meet people on a similar journey and even if I make one person feel like they are not alone in this I will be happy.

Until next time 😘