Lessons from unattractive blubbery tears...

As many of you know last weekend I surprised Serge with a night away. Yes, I know what you are all thinking I am the one with cancer, I should be treated to surprise weekend’s away… I joke!! You all know what an amazing man Serge is and that he is very deserving of a weekend away. If money grew on trees Serge would be treated to lots of surprises – we can only dream!

Serge and I have had a pretty hectic last few months with my sinuses playing up and Serge has been busy with work. We have both been a little bit low and getting a bit narky at each other. We haven't had much time to be madly in love. We always try and spend our free days together and do something special, but this just hasn’t happened. And since the purchase of our little humble abode, planning our next big adventure seems a bit irresponsible. However, having an adventure on our horizon in many ways keeps us going, in particular me – it gives me something tangible to focus on. Once again, if only money grew on trees…

Life after cancer...

A few weeks ago a story was published by The New York Times called ‘Lost in Transition After Cancer’, the author Suleika Jaouad who at age 22 was diagnosed with Leukaemia. The story was published during Young Adult Cancer Awareness Week. Suleika wrote about her life since cancer, as well as highlighting the need for ongoing support for those, especially young adults, who are transitioning from life with cancer to life after cancer.

Take the time to read the story here.

Suleika and my story are different in many ways. Suleika had leukaemia, which meant different treatment to what I am on (treatment much more physically demanding and taxing on her body) and a different prognosis – Suleika’s treatment was always meant to get her to remission. Whereas, with Stage 4 Melanoma, remission has never been the destination at the end of my treatment journey – my doctor and I hope for time.

Hope in death...

In January, I was sitting down with a palliative care team discussing how I wanted to die. I did not ask about what I could expect. I didn’t ask about the pain I would feel. I did not ask about how I will lose my independence. I already knew what to expect from my last months or weeks of my life.

Instead, I told the palliative care team what I wanted. I told them how I wanted to die. I wanted to die in my family home. I did not want to spend my last days in a hospital. I wanted to die in the bed I share with my husband. I did not want to be forced into a single hospital bed away from my husband.

I know that my last weeks aren’t going to be nice and I am either going to be in pain or out to it on painkillers, but all I can wish for is an ounce of control. Control that cancer would slowly take away from me.