THE GOOD, THE BAD AND THE UGLY PART 1

Chemo Round 6

The Bad

(lets get this shit out of the way shall we)

Chemo symptoms are absolute MO-FO’s my loves, but they affect everyone differently. You have to remember we are all receiving different dosses according to how bad and what type of cancer we have. My journey may be completely different to someone else’s, even if they have the same kind of cancer and are at the same stage, their body might not react the way mine did.

My first couple of sessions, round 1A and B were a piece of pish, a walk in the park, quite literally, I walked to Waterlow park after my first session, had some lunch and had a nap under a tree, how delightful. After these first sessions I found that I was ok for a couple of days and then would be shattered by the third, it was strange really, like a delayed reaction but I think that was mainly due to the mountain of steroids I was given to help my body cope with the chemotherapy drugs. I was bouncing off the walls the morning after treatment, I found myself talking at the speed of light and couldn’t work out why, until Cass pointed out how much medication I was on. But still, the only real symptoms were extreme tiredness and a weird jittery, wobbly feeling that’s hard to explain, a bit like when you’ve had too much caffeine and you get heart palpitations. I quickly learned that caffeine was no no the week after treatment and in fact your best to avoid it even in your good week, your body is doing so much work to process the drugs you really don’t need to be giving it more work to do and caffeine puts massive stress on your adrenals so trust me when I say you don’t need it, just switch to decaf.

It wasn’t until the second round when I really felt the wrath of chemo aftermath, it was in the epically awful form of heartburn and indigestion. My god I wish someone had warned me about this because I would have given anything not to feel that pain and discomfort. It was excruciating and kept me awake at night, no matter how much Gaviscon I glugged there was no getting rid of it. It wasn’t until I got so bad one night that I googled foods to avoid for heartburn and I realised I’d eaten 7 out of the 15 your supposed to steer clear off all in one day, what a plonker!

However even once I had learned what not to eat I was still running into a burping nightmare, literally the gasses were so strong that I had turned into bloated blimp. My stomach swelled to the size of someone 5 months preggers and the burping was relentless, poor Cass had to put up with the most barbaric of sounds. Just picture Homer and Barney burps rolled into one and that’s not even a tenth of the sounds that were bursting up me windpipe.

Now forgive me if your squeamish and don’t love a bit of pooh chat (I was and still am one of those peeps who will never fully understand those who do, not mentioning any names but they know who they are) however, I told you i'd keep it real and there is no way to bullshit round this one, no pun intended. When you can’t poop for days on end it’s no wonder you get heartburn and reflux because you are quite literally full of shit. Your body needs the fuel of food to help you cope with the epic concoction of drugs in your system but when you haven’t cleared out your pipes so to speak, there’s nowhere for the gasses to go, hence the badass burping, I was literally a walking gas bomb. I just had to be thankful it wasn’t coming out the other end, I couldn’t cope with Cass hearing me toot out trumps at the rate I was burping, I would’ve died!

So after trying all the classic constipation remedies, you know, peppermint and ginger tea, prunes, drinking warm water by the bucket load etc, having no luck I decided to go to the pharmacy and have the dreaded ‘I’m bunged up to me eyeballs chat, please help me’ where I was pointed in the direction of Suppositories. Now if you know you know and if you don’t, let me enlighten you. These are small jelly like pills that you have to manually, yes, I said manually push up your own bum, I know, traumatic! But what comes next is a feeling I can only describe as having your colon feel like it’s actually going to fall out of your arsehole. Within less than 3 mins of popping that badboy in I literally had to clench my butt cheeks together to stop my insides from falling out. I was stood in the kitchen with Cass, squirming around whilst my hands squished my bumcheeks together as he told me to hold on, it was too soon to let rip, there was no way the little thing had done its magic yet and he was right. It took me some time to master those little pooh bombs as I affectionately renamed them, but they became little moments of hope in what was a truly a bad shituation.

Now aside from the heartburn, constipation, jitters and wobbles there is also the matter of the insanely intense hot flushes I got due to the drugs the Docs have given me to put my ovaries to sleep. This drug basically puts you into a medically induced early menopause, great ay! Not only do you have to deal with the battering barrage of chemo drugs and its side effects but to have to navigate your way through the highs and lows of menopause too is just one sucker punch too far. I now have new found RESPECT for all those women who are going through this right now, dealing with what feels like mount Vesuvius burning you up from the inside out is no walk in the park, I salute you epic babes. Its been next level cray when teamed with this epic heatwave we’ve had, I found myself getting abnormally wound up when people were complaining of the heat.

Try having a hot flush in this heat, then having to pop a wig on your bonce so you can step outside your gaff without looking like a sick person, all whilst the make up its taken you 3 hours to apply because of the sweat that kept pouring down your moosh, causing you to have to apply and reapply, start melting off instantly, then tell me your too hot!! I later worked out this heightened level of anger was just another menopausal symptom and that in fact I hadn’t just turned into a mega bitch overnight, thank god!

The Ugly

Going through Chemotherapy will test your patients and your strength...

Unfortunately, there are some ugly truths I cant hide from you, I said I would tell my story as best I can and this means no holding back, no sugar coating, no dressing this situation up in pretty pink cancer bows. Going through Chemotherapy will test your patients and your strength but if you can channel as many possi vibes as possible then you will get through this a whole heap easier than if you start on a back foot of negginess (I know, that’s not even a word but you get what I mean).

If you are at the start of your Cancer journey, hear this: Cry when you need to cry, speak up when you are sad and don’t be afraid to ask for help when you need it, these are all things that will help you cope with your feelings because trust me, you are about to take the biggest roller coaster of emotions you have ever been on. So stop, take notice and let the blasted boohoos out BUT trust me when I say, you will and you can handle what’s about to happen if you can look for the good things and LIVE, LIVE, LIVE in your good weeks.

Hair today Gone tomorrow

My Doc had been quite specific on this one, “Your hair will fall out Miss Bagarone, so you must prepare yourself for this” Cheers babes don’t mince your words now will you. But it was actually because of this bluntness that I got my head in check (so to speak).

My hair was my security blanket, my SheRa’s Sword, it was my protection, I never felt happy with my hair up, those luscious locks were my fail-safe step to feeling pretty. But I had to prepare myself to lose the lot and my thought process was this, baby steps. Go from Long to Bob to Pixie crop all in the hope that it wouldn’t be too much of a shock when it eventually did fall out. And whilst the bob was bearable, I felt sick every time I ran my fingers through it, it did however still look feminine and people were complimentary, so it made it easier to swallow BUT the pixie crop threw me over the edge. I hadn’t given myself enough time, planned it out properly or given the hairdresser the proper break down of what I actually wanted.

I had taken some pictures of styles I liked and saved them on my phone to show her but they were quite different in length and once she had seen one image she got a vision in her head of what she thought I wanted. I should have been clear that I wasn’t keen on going too short straight away and that I wasn’t actually even sure that the styles I had picked would suit me. I should have taken more time to talk it through and been clear that I was feeling nervous about what we were about to do.

REMEMBER THIS, if you are going through this situation then allow yourself time to make this decision, if like me your hair isn’t falling out drastically then take your time with this step. Get a good idea of what style you actually want, what you think will suit you and be clear when you tell your hairdresser. Ask if you can start a bit longer and go shorter if you need to, no hairdresser wants to give you a haircut you don’t like so just be clear and they will understand.

I was lucky as my hair loss was slow and gradual, I didn’t have one of those shocking moments you hear about where massive clumps of your hair all come out at once. I didn’t really start to lose mine until round 2A. I was finding lots of it on my floor, pillowcase and gathering on my shoulders. It was very noticeable when I washed it, which was quite hard to see. Although it wasn’t large clumps, it was still A LOT of hair, more than your usual washing of the bonce hands full, and because I thought eventually, it was all going to fall out, it was a totes emosh time, pretty fucking shit really, like watching my feminity disappear with every shower.

However I coped with this, I could handle seeing those beautiful strands float down the drain and each time I had to pick them out I kept telling myself ‘It’s just hair Zah, it will come back, stay strong’ BUT then the Pixie crop happened and this is when I fully lost it, my head fell off, shit hit the fan and I struggled to pull it together.

I went to the hairdresser with my beautiful friend Jules who had arranged the last-minute appointment for me as I was due to go to a Hen do that weekend. I couldn’t face seeing people’s faces when they saw the large mounds of hair that kept collecting on my shoulders. One of the main things for me through this whole thing was trying not to look like a sick person, even though I knew there was absolutely nothing wrong with that, I just didn’t want to.

When we arrived at the hairdressers house I was so nervous about the whole thing that I couldn’t get my words out. We had discussed starting long and going shorter if needed but because I had shown the pictures of the shorter hairstyles first, that is what I got and it was nobody’s fault but my own for not speaking up and being clearer. Hindsight’s a bitch ain't it!

Now, I’ve had long hair for nearly 30 years, so seeing those scissors hack at my hair was stomach churning and knowing full well that once its off its off, I struggled to hold back the tears. It was my fault, I hadn’t been clear enough and the cut I got wasn’t the one I wanted but still a good cut non the less. Let's face it, I was never going to like it however it was done, I’ve never been short and there’s a reason for that, I LOVED my long hair with all my heart. I stared at the person sat in front of me in the mirror, she was unrecognisable, I was absolutely heartbroken, well and truly devastated!

It was only until Jules and I were driving home and she asked me if I was ok that I broke down. I sobbed, I wasn’t ok, it wasn’t just about the haircut, it was everything.

Why was I in this fucking awful situation, why did I have to go through this, what had I done to deserve this. Having to cut my hair, the thing I loved most, broke me and I know that makes me sound shallow AF but it’s the truth, having to look at myself without my hair was too much to handle at that point.

When I arrived home, my Dad and bothers were in the front room. I couldn’t even look them in the eye, I was so upset and broke down hard, even though they were all so lovely about it, their kind words fell on deaf ears, there was nothing they could say to make me feel better, chopping my hair was just the final straw. I couldn’t be around anyone, so I took myself to my room.

Trying to put a brave face on the Pixie

My younger brother had done a Barbering course a couple of years ago and even though its not quite the same as Hairdressing he still went upstairs to get his scissors, knocked on my door and asked me if there was anything he could do to help. We spent ages trying to get it to look less blunt and I don’t think he’ll ever know just how much that meant to me. Even though he was nervous about cutting it, him just trying to make me feel better was so unbelievable kind and that after he left my room I cried some more about how lucky I was to be living with my brothers. Even though I was still sad, it was moments like that, that made me realise I was lucky. Having my family around for those moments I did lose my shit, made it feel ok, it was ok to be sad, it was understandable, and they made it feel less scary.

But what goes down must come up. Out of this shocker of a situation came a U-turn, a hallelujah moment, my back up wig! Cass and I had been down to the PAKS on Stroud green road to check out the awesome array of epic wigs they have, you know, just for a bit of fun really but also to give me a chance to try some things on before my hair did actually start to fall out. Thank god we did because despite me having a mini breakdown in the shop (yes I cried whilst trying on a wig and yes the man in the shop did not know where to look) I still managed to find a nice wig and Cass the ultimate babe that he is convinced me to get it as a backup until my real one arrived #godblessthatman

So instead of bailing on my best friends Hen, I got wiggy with it and donned the new doo as an imposter barnet, except it looked so real that the new girlies I met there told me they totally hadn’t realised, that it was only when I came down the next morning, headscarf adorned head that they started asking questions. Funny really because when you’re wearing a wig all you can think about is ‘I'm wearing a wig, i'm wearing a wig, do you think they know i'm wearing a wig, of course they do, it’s a wig!’ But apaz not, go figure!

In a further bid to avoid the awkward eyes, I put a post up on my insta stories, addressing the elephant in the room. I had gone from bob to full length brunette with bangs in less then a day, people would have had the right to be baffled. So I got there first, I put it out there into the big bad world that I was going to be rocking wigs as and when I needed to and that it was all just part and parcel of the crapbag situ I had found myself in. I was going to try and do this in style and if that meant playing dress up with my locks then so be it. I now own 5 wigs and counting, cant get enough of em. If they’re good enough for Cher, Bey and Gaga then they’re good enough for @Zibz83.

Getting Wiggy with it

Chubby Mc Moonface

Now don’t judge me and forgive my utter stupidity but the following thoughts actually went through my head ‘Maybe through all this, I’ll at least get skinny’ I KNOW, what a BELL! How ridiculously mental is that. I was just about to start the biggest fight of my life and even in this scary time I was thinking about my wobbly bits. Needless to say my outlook on this has changed somewhat dramatically. When your faced with the C*^t that is Cancer your mind set seems to change, well mine did.

I wasn’t losing weight, quite the opposite, I was putting on a steady 2 pounds with each round of chemo and to start off I was panicking, worrying that I was going to be an elephant by the end of the 6 months but something clicked after round 3. I had a little word with myself and started cutting myself some slack, allowing myself not to sweat the small stuff and focus on the good instead. I had beaten the Cancer by this point and gaining weight was just a temporary side effect. I knew I needed to be at full strength to handle all the drugs in my system and being a skinny mini wasn’t going to help me right now. I told myself to relax and eat what I needed to eat when I needed to eat it because let me tell you, chemo isn’t great for your digestive system and as I had an appetite I needed to be grateful, others aren’t so lucky and can’t eat at all so I had to stop with the nonsense and focus on being well.

Its not all down to eating, the steroids have a lot to answer for. The bloating was visibly noticeable in the shape of my ever growing moonface. I had a right chubtastic moment whilst enjoying my guilty pleasure Love Island one evening. I think most of us babes can be forgiven for feeling a little insecure when watching those embryonic eejits bounce around in their bikinis, cellulite free with bottoms made of the kind of greatness you’d love from your dream mattress, firm yet bouncy. So when I discovered my newly formed extra chin whilst kicking back on the sofa, munching on a mid show snack I nearly cried into my green and blacks.

I wasn’t even lying down, I was just sat back, not even 45 degrees and could literally feel my chin on what felt like my chest (might as well have been), this was a completely new experience for me. I had never been able to feel my own actual chin on my own actual neck before. I felt like I was Eddie Murphy morphing in to Professor Clump, a bloating blimp exploding from every possible orifice. It was 'orrible!!

Moonface in full force

By the 4th round, I had expanded a dress size and most of my jeans were now too tight but luckily for me, I love an elasticated waist band and have a penchant for Zara’s high waisted troosers, so I had things to wear. I was spending most of my time in tracky Bs and leggings anyway so it didn’t really matter too much and when I got dressed up in my good weeks I just wore baggy tops and less fitted bottoms.

There’s plenty ways to disguise a wobbly tum and my mum had also taken me shopping for some new bits which always puts a smile on my face. I knew I could lose the weight once treatment was over so I rolled with it (literally). I enjoyed the cravings for chicken wings and allowed myself to eat all the ice cream because let’s face it, when else can you treat yourself to two scoops in one day if not when you are having treatment for Cancer ;) #gottaplaythatcard

The Mental ME

This last ugly truth isn’t really an ugly one, its totally understandable given the situation but unfortunately, there is still a massive taboo when it comes to talking about our mental health. However, it is so crucial to speak up about it, just as much as our physical. I had been very vocal with how I was feeling at every point of chemo via my Instagram, it was my way of getting my feelings out of my head and on to paper so to speak but also just to let people know how I was getting on. It helped me connect with other people going through the same journey I was and for that I am so thankful. Being able to put my emotions out there and see other people’s thoughts, experiences, tips and positivity to my words was very therapeutic, it allowed me to feel less isolated.

When you’re going through treatment, you end up spending a lot of time on your jack jones, it’s just the nature of the beast, you are at home stuck in a pit of your own emotions whilst everyone else is plodding along, living their normal lives, going to work and generally doing what they do. This isolation can give you way too much time to think and overthink, about what is happening and yet to happen to you. It would be very easy to slip into a dark place, especially on your bad week, when you are suffering, and your body is weak from fighting, yet, your mind is racing from the steroids given to you to help your body cope. It’s the perfect breeding ground for scary thoughts and anxiety, I can totally see why people slip into depression, I mean why the hell wouldn’t they, it’s the most testing time in someone’s life. But I only had me to worry about, only my bills to pay, my mouth to feed and my body to fix. Plus I cope by putting things in little boxes and coming back to them later, so I managed to tackle my emotions in little chunks, this might come back to bite me in the bum but only time will tell.

What if you were single parent with only one income and a family to feed, or a family where your partner has to work additional hours to cover the loss of earnings, leaving the sick person to look after the little uns. How!? Having to look after myself on dark days has sometimes been a struggle let alone taking care of kids. I take my hat off to all those Mums and Dads out there, getting through this nightmare, all whilst having to put a brave face on it for the munchkins. I absolutely wouldn’t blame them for falling into depressions claws, it's an evil ugly git that gets you at your weakest hour and that’s why its so important that people

TALK, speak up and reach out when they aren’t coping.

There is absolutely no shame in asking for help and anyone worth their weight in friendship gold will always be there for you! Anyone who has to face a Cancer journey has every right to feel frightened, sad, lost, scared, anxious, it forces you to think about your mortality, will you be one of the lucky ones who gets to beat it and not only that, will it stay away. Looking in the mirror and seeing an altered version of yourself is hard, no matter how much makeup you wear or pretty headscarves you use to cover your thinning hair, nothing can make you feel whole again and that's a hard pill to swallow. No matter how much positivity and strength you want to have, these thoughts are perfectly human and its hard to keep them in check. I didn’t have too many dark days, not as many as I thought I would have anyway, but that’s not to say the ones I did have weren’t hard and I didn’t break down because I did. But I’m fortunate to have some very wonderful people around me and on those days, I made a point of vocalising how I was feeling and if I had been stuck in bed all day I would try my best to get up, even for an hour, sit with my flatmates just so that I could talk and ask them about their days. I would call my friend Mel regularly on my walks with Luna, so that I could hear what she’d been up to with her day but also so that I could chat the breeze about mine, it helped keep some normality.

Cass (my boyfriend) was so wonderful at pulling me out of my dark moments, he was always planning things for me to look forward to, even if it was just dinner one night or thinking further ahead to a holiday once the chemo was finished, we always had something fun to think about, we even hit a festival midway through treatment. And it was those things that helped stop me from being sad for too long. I lived for my good weeks and cherished every day that I felt ‘almost normal’. That was the trick to keeping me sane.

I was vocal about some of my darker thoughts with with Doc R one morning before chemo and this is when he asked me if I would like to have some therapy. Its available for anyone who thinks they might benefit from speaking to someone impartial and I certainly did, so I happily accepted and looked forward to my first session. I can hands down say it’s the best thing I’ve done as I have had two sessions so far and am right looking forward to my third, I love a good chin wag me. It’s the best way of getting my angst out without feeling guilty or having to worry about my feelings upsetting the person I’m talking to.

I found myself worrying a lot about the people around me and how they were coping too. I wanted to talk about my sadness and worries but equally I didn’t want anyone to have to worry about me anymore than they already were. It was a catch 22, I needed to talk things out but also didn’t want to stress people out or make them feel like they had to fix it. There really wasn’t anything anyone could say to make the things in my head better, I just had to go through the motions, let time pass and get through Chemo before I could process my real thoughts. And this is why having therapy was so important. It was a totally safe zone, where I could talk about absolutely everything and not feel bad about it.

My therapist quickly discovered that i'm a compartmentaliser and I was happy with that. I was happy to put certain thoughts to the back of my mind and come back to them when I was ready. In my head I was just doing what I needed to be done, in order to get by, moving on my merry way and using my last Chemo session as a finish line. This is where I figured I could start to build myself back up again. Undoubtedly it will be a slow process and that’s ok, I wont be putting pressure on myself to jump straight back to the old me, the old me doesn’t really exist anymore. I have to adjust to being a new me.

The New Normal

This isn't really an ugly truth, its just a new truth, a new way of being you that you have to adjust too and change can be difficult for some but what comes next is your ‘New Normal’.

As much as you desire to be your old self, to live like you used to, you have to accept that things have changed, your mindset has to adjust as well as your physical. Chemo combat means you can’t physically cope with things the way you did before you started treatment. Your body is working like the clappers to get rid of the cretin, so understandably you need to take it easy. Go at a new pace and allow yourself plenty time to rest. Not to be scared to say no to things and generally put yourself first. Only you know how your body is coping so you must be the one to dictate what you are capable of and not feel bad if you have to cancel plans you thought you were ok to keep. Your body isn’t at full strength, you might feel fine one day and shattered the next but that’s ok and people will understand.

Whilst your body is going through these ups and downs so to are your emotions, just like you get physically tired, you mentally get drained and sometimes things just seem too much. Its ok to spin out, its ok to feel overwhelmed and its ok to feel frustrated, you’ve been dealt a total shit sandwich and there are no rule books on how you should cope.

Everyone is different, we all handle things in our own way, now that doesn’t mean my way is the bees knees babes and someone else isn’t. I was lucky to be able to plan things and enjoy my good weeks, that might not be possible for others and I don’t want to paint a peachy, perfect picture here, not all my good weeks were spent gallivanting around, most of them consisted of one dinner out with Cass or trip to my Grandmas for lunch and that was enough to look forward to as it was all I was capable off. Others were spent on nights out with my Dreamteam Huns or a nice Sunday roast with the family, however towards the end of my treatment cycle, each of these things would take up more and more of my strength so I knew not to plan things for the next day and listen to my body when I was getting tired.

Old me would have stayed out, drank more and partied till the very end, new me knew when to leave and not to have that second glass of vino with my roast #timeshadchanged but I was ok with that and I learned to adjust.

#chemosideffects #hairloss #wigs #paks #weightgain #steroids #moonface #therapy #treatment #newnormal