The Cancer Survivors Club (6 page)

Once again, I was told I needed to have a Caesarean section and asked if I'd like to choose a date. I chose 14 March, as this was the only date that I didn't have any other birthdays on. Jack was born first, with a reluctant Harry following a minute later. Harry made such an awful noise as they pulled him out. He was not letting go of the umbilical cord, and it had to be prised out of his hand. They were perfect and both a healthy birth weight.

Tom came to see the boys and me in the evening. As he walked into the room beaming, he stopped, looked first at me holding Harry, then at Keith holding Jack, and then promptly asked who the other baby belonged to. We'd wrongly assumed he knew the meaning of the word twins.

Maybe spending more time listening to the teacher and not looking out of the window watching tractors might have prepared him for the biggest shock of his little life. He looked so disappointed, the realization that his life would never be the same again. Up until that moment, Tom and I had done so much together: swimming, walking and horse riding, all the fun things that I feel children need to experience. It was then that Tom decided it would now be Daddy he'd devote his time
to.

I had been home for less than three hours with the boys when I was rushed back into hospital with a suspected blood clot on the lung, which obviously could prove fatal. We didn't have time to wait for the ambulance. Once I arrived at Accident & Emergency, I was placed in a curtained cubicle next to a man who was explaining to the doctors that he had an unfortunate rash on his testicles. I wondered if this would be the last conversation I would ever hear. God, I hoped
not.

After another five-day stay in hospital and avoiding the chicken dinners, I was given the all clear and allowed home. Keith brought my boys in to see me; however, one of the tests made me radioactive, so I wasn't allowed to go near them for twenty-four hours.

Once home, we all settled into some sort of normality. Tom spent more time out with his dad on the farm, while I looked after Jack and Harry, along with help from our family. The twins, or, as I was calling them, ‘the termites', were into everything; sometimes I got there before they broke things, other times I didn't. They, like Tom, also enjoyed the outdoor life, especially looking after and caring for the animals. I'm sure the attraction had more to do with the thought of getting muddy!

Today I suffer a serious lung condition, which is quite limiting as I get extremely short of breath. This is the result of the radiotherapy being targeted directly at my chest area. I'm on medication to control my symptoms, but I'm also trying to keep myself fit and eat a healthy diet. I'm still in remission from cancer and have regular check-ups.

I dedicate a lot of my time to raising money for cancer charities and creating awareness about the disease. I have been made an ambassador for the cause, telling people about my story and lobbying MPs about the way cancer patients are treated.

We are still busy dairy farming, and I oversee the small campsite run in conjunction with the farm. In the summer months, my boys go feral and they have the freedom and experiences that all children should enjoy.

On 18 May, it was my nineteenth year from diagnosis and boy did I celebrate it. Hand on heart, I'd not change anything that's happened to me. I'm not saying that having cancer was the best thing that has happened to me, but it has made me the person I am today. I'm determined, positive, take nothing for granted and know how to prioritize things in life. Having fun, laughing and seeing the funny side in all situations is a priority.

Before, I was very materialistic, only wanting the best things, designer labels, flash cars, regular holidays and a nice tidy house. After the termites have been playing, our house looks like a bomb has hit it. Those things of course are no longer important. The last nineteen years have been a hell of a rollercoaster ride for us all; it's taken me from one episode or crisis to the other. I suppose I could have given up and bailed out at any time, but I'd not be here now to enjoy the most important things in my life, my boys and my loving husband.

I felt so liberated when I was finally diagnosed with bowel cancer. At last I was going to get the treatment needed to free me from my weak, painful and exhausted
body.

My consultant said how pleased she was that she'd persuaded me to have another colonoscopy, but more worryingly went on to say she'd found a cancerous tumour. She looked up from her notes for a response to see someone who felt like they'd just been punched. Yet, by the end of our meeting, I left the consulting room feeling strangely relieved. I think, looking back now, I was obviously in shock. I remember the feeling subsiding to leave a sense of bewilderment and confusion. While going through my treatment, I once asked a Macmillan nurse if I was going to die, the words spilling out while crying. I now recognize it was just a release of built-up emotion. I never really believed I would die; not from cancer anyway. I credit my strong mental attitude as one of the biggest reasons I survived, enabling me to tell my story.

Anyway, to start, I need to go back to before I was even diagnosed. I was first aware I was ill because I ached so much. My limbs continually hurt and I felt breathless from any kind of exertion. I'd been experiencing these various problems for around eighteen months. My family had a history of ‘funny guts', as my grandfather called it. He is in his seventies and had bowel cancer, not that there was anything to suggest I did too. I wondered if I had Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS). The aches and breathlessness were eventually attributed to severe anaemia.

After a blood test, I was admitted to hospital and received four pints of blood. For a while, my life was almost on hold but the transfusion made me feel fantastic; within just a few hours, I felt recharged and able to enjoy my life again.

A few months later, I met a lovely man who is now my husband and, after a whirlwind romance, fell pregnant. There was then a sudden and distressing death in my family when I was just twelve weeks pregnant, which shocked all of us. During this stage of my pregnancy, I started feeling unwell again. I simply put my pain and tiredness down to the stress of the bereavement and being pregnant.

As time passed, I focused on just how happy my life was going to be, dismissing all the physical problems; I was pregnant after all. My brother and his girlfriend soon learnt they were also going to have a baby, which added to my excitement. I assumed all the unhappy sad times were behind me and hoped my pregnancy was the start of a new and exciting chapter in my
life.

After a routine blood test, it was discovered I was anaemic, so I was given iron injections, which is nothing unusual during pregnancy. Yet what was peculiar was I wasn't gaining much weight. However, despite all my worrying and various problems, my beautiful baby boy was born, and we named him Freddie. He had been born prematurely and was therefore very small. He arrived like he always does
–
quickly and the wrong way round. Even though he was tiny, at 4lb 6oz, he was perfect and required no special care. His mummy did need extra attention though. While I was learning to breast feed, I was also receiving yet more units of blood.

Eventually, we all left hospital and I guess we looked like all new parents in those first mad but amazing sleep-deprived weeks. I couldn't believe that I'd created such a beautiful perfect baby. Freddie was here, he was ours and he was terrific. However, I continued feeling really quite poorly.

Every two weeks or so, I'd have a blood test and would then be admitted to hospital for another blood transfusion. Mum would keep me company and occupy Freddie. This also allowed Wayne to work and earn a much-needed income to allow us to lead a relatively normal life. I'd lie in a hospital bed while a slow trickle of life-renewing blood went into my poorly and rapidly disappearing veins. I was breast feeding Freddie and changing his wet nappies; I was exhausted. I'd never felt so tired in my
life!

Soon, other symptoms surfaced in addition to the constant aching and tiredness. Every time I went to the toilet, I got intense pains; they were so severe I'd have to stop. This was obviously very worrying and I tried to push it to the back of my mind. I just wanted to spend time with Freddie at home being the perfect mummy.

Freddie was doing all the things he should for his age, but I felt like I was letting him down. The doctors were still looking into my continued blood loss. I had to endure endless tests, including an endoscopy, scan and a colonoscopy, but they found nothing. I kept being told different things. First it was Coeliac disease, then Crohn's and then it was something
else.

We still managed to go away on holiday. We hired a campervan enabling us to take Freddie with us everywhere we went. We'd even decided to run off to Gretna Green and get married. This was going to be our secret until I was admitted to hospital two days before for yet another blood transfusion. I had to tell the doctors I needed to be discharged by Friday as we'd arranged to get married on the Saturday. This kind of killed the romance a
bit.

In October, I had another colonoscopy with lots of sedation this time, as the first attempt had been so painful I didn't let them have much of a look. On a big screen next to me, I watched as the consultant discovered a strange-looking lump. I was really nervous and kept laughing a lot. I was enjoying the haze of sedation as I pointed and asked, ‘Ha ha, what's that?' Then I continued looking as she struggled with pincers to snip off a small piece of what I later found out was a tumour.

It transpired poor Freddie didn't have much room to develop inside me because he'd been forming next to a tumour. I had both life and death growing inside me
–
an awful thought. Because of this, Freddie took some nutrients but the tumour took most. When I think about it even now, I struggle to understand why this evil disease decided to grow next to my beautiful baby and am amazed how my body coped.

The week after being told I had cancer was one of the hardest of my life, waiting to hear if it had spread or not. Because of this, frustratingly, I'd not been able to start any treatment and I still felt so ill and constantly tired. It was equally disturbing having to see my family doing their best to hide their emotions. I knew what some people might have thought; I was only twenty-seven and had a six-month-old baby
boy.

I was finally diagnosed with secondary bowel cancer, which would need surgery and chemotherapy.

I was so pleased and happy they had finally found the cause of my problems and could begin treating
me.

I felt at my worst when I went into hospital for the operation to have the lump removed. The ‘Nil by Mouth' sign posted above my bed reminding staff I wasn't to eat anything didn't help. I'd also had to take some laxatives the night before to make sure my bowels were empty. I was at the lowest weight I'd been since I was a child. My red blood count was now just six, half of what it should have been. This meant I needed more blood before they would operate on me. I was feeling so worried and depressed and wondered if I'd even survive the operation. The excitement of them finding the cancer had rapidly eroded.

When I eventually woke from the surgery, I was violently sick. It was a horrible feeling but thankfully a Macmillan nurse had organized a private side room enabling me to be with Freddie. When I touched my side where the pain had always been, I felt nothing; it was such a big relief. Instantly, I realized the lump had been cut out. I knew whatever came next didn't matter; I was going to do my best to survive.

As soon as I started to recover from the operation, I began a course of chemotherapy. Mum again kept me company every day and looked after my gorgeous boy while I received my treatment. It sounds a cliché I know, but she really was my rock. As a mum myself now, I fully appreciate how she must have
felt.

I don't want to write too much about the chemotherapy, but looking back Mum always managed to make me laugh, which was so important. She regularly made the three of us a picnic and helped Freddie to learn to walk while on the hospital ward. I tried to pretend we were like any normal young family, even if my chemotherapy pump went off every few minutes.

It's very likely that the surgery and treatment I received for cancer was the cause of my intolerance to some foods. The surgery involved removing my ascending colon and rejoining my intestines. I also believe my digestive system is more sensitive now due to the chemotherapy; but this is a small price to pay. Most people at some time in their life suffer from similar complaints to these anyway. The biggest and most unique side effect is I now have less time to get to the toilet, less warning that I need to go. I'm trying a gluten-free diet, which appears to help a little, but I'm still learning about what my body prefers even
now.

It's these things that remind me I've fought cancer, but I am alive and enjoying life, which is the most important thing. I have some impressive-looking scars too; my favourite is my Caesarean scar but the one across my belly button is the one that saved my life. Strange as it may sound, I love
it.

My family and friends provided such amazing support while I was unwell. One friend gave me a wonderful gift of a twice-weekly shiatsu massage. This gave me strength and showed her love, which helped beyond words. I don't regret the experience of having cancer, however strange that sounds. It's funny to think having cancer was actually good for me. I'm pleased to say that no true friend shied away; they shared all my dark times and celebrated the great times with me as
well.

Wayne and I don't talk about my experience with cancer much; it's hard for him to comprehend.

I'm not sure he really even understands it all now; I know I don't.

What else is there to write about having cancer at twenty-seven? Don't give up; it sounds so corny but it's
true.

If I had given up, I wouldn't have my other beautiful son, Rowan, who is three years old now. My oncologist told me that it was highly unlikely I would remain fertile after all the chemotherapy, but another miracle occurred when my fantastic crazy Rowan arrived. It was incredible to experience a healthy pregnancy, without all the fatigue, blood transfusions and worry. I can now be the sort of mum I always wanted to be. My children are everything and I'm just a woman who is foremost a mother and also now a member of the cancer survivors
club.

Having cancer has changed me for the better. I never put up with rubbish from people or waste time doing jobs I hate doing. We still have the stresses and strains of everyday life, but I never forget I'm lucky to have been given another chance. When you've been to the darkest place, there is nowhere else to go but up. Up, up, up and away with the rest of my wonderful life for however long it lasts.