Music is healing. Although not everyone would agree, there is a lot of evidence that this is true. Soothing lullabies help babies sleep and music in nursing homes brings Alzheimer's patients out of their own little world. We've all had sad songs bring a tear to our eyes and upbeat, fun songs make us want to dance.
I've always loved music, particularly as a stress reliever. I love being in the car by myself, turning up the radio and singing at the top of my lungs. It wakes me up in the morning and gets me ready for a day at work, at helps wipe away a bad day on the drive home. Certain lyrics make me laugh or cry, and many force me to examine myself, my life and my relationships.
One of my favourite songs is a medley of Somewhere Over the Rainbow and What a Wonderful World by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole, a Hawaiian musician. Throughout my treatment I would listen to this song and think of the end of my journey, and the place over the rainbow I'd be when I had beaten this thing. Now that it's all over, I can listen to this song and know that I am in this place and it's an amazing feeling!
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Footloose and Cancer Free!!!
Calling my oncologist yesterday to find out the results of my scan was the most tense moment of my life. My hands were shaking and I could barely speak. He immediately said, "the scan was perfect, you're fine". I have no idea what else was said by either of for the rest of the conversation. I hung up, immediately called Daniel and burst into tears.
I have to admit that since finishing my treatment, the waiting to find out wether I was ok has been torturous. I haven't wanted to consider that the cancer could still be there, but I also didn't dare trust the fact that I would be ok. Part of me was happy to not get the results and just go on not knowing either way. But, now that I have the news that I wanted I can feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.
I think I spent much of yesterday afternoon in a fog. I couldn't quite process the news properly and I actually thought for a while that I was going to be sick. 24 hours later and I still feel quite strange about it. I feel like I should be shouting and screaming and laughing and jumping for joy, but I still don't think it's really sunk in enough.
Despite whether or not I've processed it properly yet, the fact is I no longer have cancer. I can now call myself a cancer survivor. I kicked cancer's arse and I'm very proud to say that!
I have to admit that since finishing my treatment, the waiting to find out wether I was ok has been torturous. I haven't wanted to consider that the cancer could still be there, but I also didn't dare trust the fact that I would be ok. Part of me was happy to not get the results and just go on not knowing either way. But, now that I have the news that I wanted I can feel the weight lifting from my shoulders.
I think I spent much of yesterday afternoon in a fog. I couldn't quite process the news properly and I actually thought for a while that I was going to be sick. 24 hours later and I still feel quite strange about it. I feel like I should be shouting and screaming and laughing and jumping for joy, but I still don't think it's really sunk in enough.
Despite whether or not I've processed it properly yet, the fact is I no longer have cancer. I can now call myself a cancer survivor. I kicked cancer's arse and I'm very proud to say that!
Friday, August 6, 2010
Scanxiety
This is just a quick post before I go to work. I had my final scan yesterday and will hopefully get the results today, if not, on Monday. Part of me is desperately wanting to know the results, while the rest of me is happy going along thinking that I'm fine. I'm trying to be positive and think that the scans will show that there's no more cancer, but I think it's illogical not to recognise that this may not be the case.
The scan itself was not great! They injected me with radioactive dye (another needle) and gave me three cups of contrast to drink. Then I had to lay still on my back in a quiet, dark room for an hour. During this time the dye will go to any places that are active (eg. cancer cells). I then went into the room with the scanner and had to lie still in the scanner for another 45 minutes. Apparently any radioactive parts in my body will light up on the scan -well for me I'm hoping nothing lights up.
There is nothing I can do to influence the result of the scan. The cancer is either still there or it isn’t. I can’t change it either way.
Hopefully sometime today I will find out my future. Scary.
The scan itself was not great! They injected me with radioactive dye (another needle) and gave me three cups of contrast to drink. Then I had to lay still on my back in a quiet, dark room for an hour. During this time the dye will go to any places that are active (eg. cancer cells). I then went into the room with the scanner and had to lie still in the scanner for another 45 minutes. Apparently any radioactive parts in my body will light up on the scan -well for me I'm hoping nothing lights up.
There is nothing I can do to influence the result of the scan. The cancer is either still there or it isn’t. I can’t change it either way.
Hopefully sometime today I will find out my future. Scary.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
A great philosphy
Life can be a shipwreck but we must not forget to sing in the lifeboats.
-Voltaire
-Voltaire
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Quote
We have no right to ask when sorrow comes, "Why did this happen to me?" unless we ask the same question for every moment of happiness that comes our way.
-Author unknown
-Author unknown
Light the Night
On September 15th I'm taking part in a fundraiser called Light the Night, to raise money for the Leukemia Foundation, an organisation dedicated the care and cure of leukaemias, lymphomas, myeloma and related blood disorders.
It's a stroll through the city carrying coloured balloons with lights inside; gold to remember a loved one, white to celebrate being a blood cancer survivor or blue to give hope and show your support.
I'm hoping that everyone I know will show their support by coming along or if they can't make it on the night sponsoring our team. I think it will be an amazing night and I'm going to be very proud to carry a white balloon!
Here's the link if anyone would like to sponsor me (you'll have to copy and paste the address as the hyperlink won't work) http://my.leukaemiafoundation.org.au:80/personalPage.aspx?LangPref=en-CA®istrationID=349897
or follow this link to join our team (The Lymphomaniacs) http://my.leukaemiafoundation.org.au/TeamPage.aspx?teamID=47690&langPref=en-CA
Thank you to Daniel, Leah, Mel, Damien, Andrea, Dani, Ben, Rhona, Tim, Abby, Dave, Eloise and Lisa for joining the team, and to everyone that has sponsored us! xx
It's a stroll through the city carrying coloured balloons with lights inside; gold to remember a loved one, white to celebrate being a blood cancer survivor or blue to give hope and show your support.
I'm hoping that everyone I know will show their support by coming along or if they can't make it on the night sponsoring our team. I think it will be an amazing night and I'm going to be very proud to carry a white balloon!
Here's the link if anyone would like to sponsor me (you'll have to copy and paste the address as the hyperlink won't work) http://my.leukaemiafoundation.org.au:80/personalPage.aspx?LangPref=en-CA®istrationID=349897
or follow this link to join our team (The Lymphomaniacs) http://my.leukaemiafoundation.org.au/TeamPage.aspx?teamID=47690&langPref=en-CA
Thank you to Daniel, Leah, Mel, Damien, Andrea, Dani, Ben, Rhona, Tim, Abby, Dave, Eloise and Lisa for joining the team, and to everyone that has sponsored us! xx
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Chemo brain is preventing me from thinking of a title for this post!
I'm now about five weeks out from my last radiation treatment. It feels so good to be done with this crap. I had an appointment with my oncologist on Wednesday and I had a great realisation in that appointments are a rarity now. I don't have to go all the time anymore. It's no longer a regular part of my life. Even more importantly these appointments don't result in treatment anymore. I can walk in, have a quick chat and check up and then walk out.
Many cancer patients talk of 'chemo brain'. It's been three months since I finished chemo and I still can’t remember things very well. Apparently it's a common, long-term side-effect. Unfortunately even prior to my treatment, I wasn't great at remembering things I was supposed to do, so it's like a double edged sword for me. When I did my psychology degree I remember learning about retrospective and prospective memory. That is, whether the information to be remembered is something from the past or is to be remembered in the future. I have always had a great retrospective memory. I can remember names, places and events from my past in great detail. However my prospective memory has always been very poor! I never remember to do the things I'm supposed to. I've even tried making 'to do lists' or leaving myself notes, but I forget to look at them!
The problem I'm facing at the moment is that the chemo seems to have messed with my retrospective memory, the one that had always worked well. I can't remember where I parked my car, whether I've already told things to people, and I'm becoming terrible with names. I just can't remember the things I used to have no trouble with. The most frustrating thing though, is that I constantly find myself standing in a room, wondering what I'm doing there or what I was going to say to someone. I'm even forgetting mid-conversation what I'm talking about. Sometimes I just want to sit down in the middle of the room and cry about how frustrating it is.
On Wednesday my oncologist ordered a PET scan for me in a few weeks. I now feel incredibly anxious. I so desperately want them to look at the scans and tell me officially that I'm fine. I want to be cancer free for obvious reasons (to survive!), but really, I've just had enough of the whole thing. I’ve had enough of living with it, and I've had enough of talking about it. I’m ready to just put the whole thing behind me and look ahead. When people ask me how things are going, I'm ready to talk about my life, not cancer. I’m ready to just become me again.
Many cancer patients talk of 'chemo brain'. It's been three months since I finished chemo and I still can’t remember things very well. Apparently it's a common, long-term side-effect. Unfortunately even prior to my treatment, I wasn't great at remembering things I was supposed to do, so it's like a double edged sword for me. When I did my psychology degree I remember learning about retrospective and prospective memory. That is, whether the information to be remembered is something from the past or is to be remembered in the future. I have always had a great retrospective memory. I can remember names, places and events from my past in great detail. However my prospective memory has always been very poor! I never remember to do the things I'm supposed to. I've even tried making 'to do lists' or leaving myself notes, but I forget to look at them!
The problem I'm facing at the moment is that the chemo seems to have messed with my retrospective memory, the one that had always worked well. I can't remember where I parked my car, whether I've already told things to people, and I'm becoming terrible with names. I just can't remember the things I used to have no trouble with. The most frustrating thing though, is that I constantly find myself standing in a room, wondering what I'm doing there or what I was going to say to someone. I'm even forgetting mid-conversation what I'm talking about. Sometimes I just want to sit down in the middle of the room and cry about how frustrating it is.
On Wednesday my oncologist ordered a PET scan for me in a few weeks. I now feel incredibly anxious. I so desperately want them to look at the scans and tell me officially that I'm fine. I want to be cancer free for obvious reasons (to survive!), but really, I've just had enough of the whole thing. I’ve had enough of living with it, and I've had enough of talking about it. I’m ready to just put the whole thing behind me and look ahead. When people ask me how things are going, I'm ready to talk about my life, not cancer. I’m ready to just become me again.
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