I have cancer. Again. And this is why it sucks…

I’ve just started treatment for breast cancer. Here are five reasons why it sucks:

  1. I’ve been there, done that and got the chemo T-shirt. 2005 was another vintage year, involving a diagnosis of osteosarcoma, an above-knee amputation of my right leg, and nine months spent puking into a cardboard bowler hat as an in-patient on the grey and airless cancer ward at St James’. But apparently (and of course, I knew this really), being critically ill once doesn’t insure you against getting cancer again. But it does seem cruelly ironic, that having spent the past ten years worrying every day about the sarcoma returning, it’s a different variety of the disease that’s come knocking.
    2 Breast cancer is common, where osteosarcoma is not. But I had hoped that having some of the smallest breasts ever seen on a fully-grown woman (less boobs, more moobs) might offer me some protection. But no – my miniscule lady lumps have still managed to produce a malignancy of impressive size – a 2.7cm tumour plus a ‘suspicious’ (which is the word the docs always use to mean ‘probably cancerous’) area of calcification taking the total to 9cm. Meaning a mastectomy is likely. Something to look forward to in 2017.
    3 I have spent most of my life studiously following a ‘healthy lifestyle’ – I eat vegetables and fish, restrict sweet treats to the weekends. I drink in moderation, have never smoked, and exercise like a demon – it’s my stress-reliever. Hell, I even meditate using an app on my phone. And yet, I still have cancer. Again.
    4 Having two young children gorgeously unaware of the horrors of illness also offers no protection against going back into the pit of despair. I’m lucky to have a wonderful kids and supportive family but I really wish I didn’t have to drag them down into the quagmire with me.
    5 I threw my chemo wig and head scarves away during a clearout a couple of months ago. Because I wouldn’t need them again. Dickhead. 

I’m not ready for anything ‘motivational’/sentimental – I’ve cried enough already. But if anyone wants to message me with anything funny/rude/inappropriate to make me smile over the next few months, it would be appreciated. My warped sense of humour is still there somewhere. It just needs bringing out again xxxx


14 thoughts on “I have cancer. Again. And this is why it sucks…

  1. I am currently recovering from breast cancer.Having had one breast removed and a reconstruction.I tried to be positive all the way through. My sense of humour had people in stitches,even the days when I felt like screaming at the world why me. I managed to keep my small business going.
    But you are so brave , I love your sense of humour.Keep fighting ,keep laughing and keep strong. X


      1. I will always be here to help if I can. My surgeon did a fantastic job with my reconstruction.I am going to see him on Monday about being evened up. Page 3 here I come.that would be a miracle at my age.


  2. Hi Sally. So sorry to hear your news but you have beaten cancer once and you can do it again! Life is a bitch at times (for some more than others) but we are all here for you, whether you want us or not! Go for it and kick the cancer into space! Gill (BCRT)


  3. Here’s a thing. When I was smitten with sarcoma in 2000 it was an absolutely minging monster: huge lump in my right side, positively humming with malignancy. Pretty well destined to find its way into my lungs: it only had to lurch an inch and – bingo – into the lungs. So prognosis was pretty piss poor, as you can imagine. My darling surgeon put it thus – ‘Post early for Christmas if I were you dear boy, and just don’t be thinking of buying any new shoes’. How we laughed!

    ‘Swanyway, ten years later and still surviving, I finally thought ‘To heck with this, I want some new Doc Martens’. Next thing – you can guess – down I went with melanoma. Bastard. So the next time I saw my oncologist she said – ‘That’s a bum deal. I generally though find that most patients only totally fall to pieces when they get their third cancer’. Which was kind of nice. Sort of.

    I do know some of how you must be feeling. ‘Not a-fucking-agan’ about sums it up yes? Groundhog Days with the horrors. It is spooky, it is scary, it is rotten and it is a bastard. Good luck and God speed. (You have my email should you want to keep in touch with a fellow two-timer.)



  4. Hi Sally, a friend of the lovely Hannah Millington here. Sticking to your know soppy stuff rule just sending super hugs and positivity your way. Read your blogs last time very clever and witty. Keep kicking cancer where it hurts babe, go girl… x x x


  5. Love your attitude.
    We have a mutual friend
    ( Anna Crossley)
    We have something in common. ( Boob Cancer)
    I can’t match you on the one leg..
    But cancer got both my boobs..
    does that make it evens?


      1. Yes.
        And they can’t grab other bits of your body to create you another bit of leg either. Crap that.
        Very willing to chat about what it’s like to lose boobs to cancer. ( I’ve found it’s the unspoken stuff that makes it long term harder to process)
        Just keep on doing what you’re doing. x


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