Pathology results (again!)

Today I went to see my breast surgeon, Miss L_____, for my post-op pathology results. They sent all the tissue they removed on 3 December to the lab, and it's great news: there was no evidence of disease in any of it. So I'm once again officially cancer-free and on the road to recovery. It felt quite emotional actually, and a huge relief. How great to get that news just in time for Christmas and the end of the year.

My surgery went really well. Here's a little update on it all.

Marked up with sharpies for surgery

So I went in on 3 December and was put under anaesthetic around midday, and woke up around 3pm. I had far fewer tubes and wires than last time, just a cannula in the inside of my left elbow for the anaesthetic and pain relief, and two drains coming out of either side of my torso just underneath where my breasts had been, held in place with stitches. I was quite woozy from the anaesthetic but felt great, and so relieved to have them removed at last. I have felt as though I had two ticking time bombs on my chest for the last few months! I managed some dinner on the ward and they let Tanai stay with me until quite late. The nurses were all totally wonderful and checked my blood pressure and temperature regularly through the night. I had my own room but still didn't manage to get any sleep! I think the adrenaline was pumping and I actually felt quite nervous so my body kept waking me back up every time I dozed off. Every time I wanted to go to the toilet I had to carry these two drain bottles with me, and it was all quite awkward, but I managed it.

Very woozy post-surgery dinner

One of my drains on the floor by my bed, draining from my body.

The next morning I was visited by various people, including the two surgeons who had removed my breasts. I hadn't realised but there was one surgeon on either side! I am quite intrigued as to which side was done by my amazing surgeon and which by her registrar, but I guess I'll never know. Both sides look great, really neat and tidy, so both of them did a fantastic job. I have no stitches either: they used glue. And I have been feeling remarkably pain-free, I've only taken a few paracetamol in the couple of weeks since my surgery. A nurse removed my drains under the supervision of a more senior nurse, watched by a student nurse. I had some lunch and then I was discharged. Home less than 24 hours after waking up from surgery, how incredible.

Just before my drains were removed. The boobless wonder!

Since then I have been mainly resting on the sofa, trying to do little walks each day and doing my physio exercises a few times a day. My range of motion is not bad, but I can't lift my arms too high, and I'm not supposed to be lifting anything heavier than a small glass of water. Tanai couldn't be away from work too long (this is my third surgery of the year after all!) so I've had a roster of amazing friends coming over to make me lunch each day, which has been lovely. I've started getting back into my studying, in anticipation of all the essays I have to complete next year, and I've been listening to lots of podcasts. I have bought a giant U-shaped pregnancy pillow which is really helping me to sleep well. And we are being very careful about infection risk, washing bedding, towels and PJs every day.

 The amazing pillow

One of the inevitabilities after surgery is a seroma. This is a gathering of fluid near the surgery site, which the drains would have drained away. Over the last couple of weeks I developed two seroma, right where my breasts had been. They looked like cute little a/b-cup boobs! But they were sloshy and uncomfortable, so when I saw my surgeon today she drained the liquid out of them, leaving me flat again. There was 90ml in the right one, and 150ml in the left one! Apparently I will probably need to go in a couple more times before my body learns to reabsorb the liquid itself. I feel much better now and it was quite emotional saying goodbye to Miss L_____. She was the one back in February 2017 who first told me I had breast cancer. What a rollercoaster it's been since then. And today we said goodbye, shook hands, and with a little bit of luck, that's the last of it.

Of course I still have various follow-up appointments, including one in January with my ovarian oncologist, but officially I'm now part of the 'open access follow-up' programme, which means I have to just contact them if anything feels strange and they'll see me. Given that there is very little left in my body for the cancer to grow in, I'm hoping that I don't have to go back in.

It really feels like a huge milestone, the end of a particularly challenging chapter of my life, and the beginning of a new one. I am marking this change in a number of other ways. We have given notice on our flat here in Clerkenwell, and we will move out in March. It's been lovely living here for 3 years and I was so incredibly lucky to live close to St Bartholomew's Hospital, one of the best cancer hospitals in the country, for my treatment. It's also been a gorgeous, sun-filled space to recover and convalesce. But for various reasons we've decided to move in the new year, partly to get somewhere cheaper and with more space, and partly to move out of central London and to somewhere a bit more 'local' and leafy. It's time to move on.

As you know, I continued to work all through my treatment, even through both my bouts of chemo, which, looking back on it all, was incredible. It was good for my mental health at first, but this year my mental health took quite a battering, and unfortunately work was contributing to a lot of that stress and negativity. So I took the astonishing decision to quit my job and go freelance! Perhaps a little rash, but cancer definitely makes you realise how important it is to feel happy and fulfilled in your career, especially given how much time we spend at work. I have been giving myself a little rest for the last few weeks, but in January I will start up with my own consultancy. I'm just getting my website ready now. And fingers crossed I will quickly find some paying work and make a go of it. I'm very excited about this development and I'm confident it will work out well. I've always wanted to be my own boss.

And finally, perhaps trivially (although it doesn't feel that trivial), I have realised that I will need a whole new wardrobe, and a whole new look. My body shape is completely different now. I am slender and flat on top, and due to my ovarian cancer surgery, I have permanent swelling in my lower torso, so all the lovely fitted 50s-style frocks I used to rock, just won't look right any more. I'm actually really enjoying wearing old t-shirts that my breasts used to distort, and I've even picked up a pair of Whistles trousers from a charity shop which I love. I've not owned a pair of trousers for years! I'm going to operate a 'one in, one out' policy, and only purchase new clothes when I've raised enough money from selling my old ones. I have so many lovely frocks, so I plan to ebay them all in the new year. I will also donate some of the money to Breast Cancer Now, who have been so amazing during my treatment.

Flattie with fish and chips

So there we go! The enormity of it all hasn't quite sunk in yet. But I'm looking forward to a relaxed Christmas up north and a very low-key new year. Bring on 2020 and all the regeneration it promises!

General update

My last round of chemo, the fourth round, was on Thursday 1 August, and it coincided with my third Zometa infusion, which I have every 6 months to protect my bones. Unfortunately it seems that the side effects compounded each other and I had 5 days of feel wretched and incredibly nauseous. For most of the weekend afterwards I couldn't really make it out of bed, the fatigue was immense. It really knocked me back. For this reason, and because I've had so many delays this time, I was dreading chemo 5 this week. First of all, I could tell that my bloods wouldn't be good enough, so I'd be pushed back another week. And I was dreading how I'd feel, and how long the side effects were going to last. Chemo is cumulative, after all, so it stands to reason that you feel worse each round.

So on Thursday I went to my regular pre-chemo oncology appointment, but this time I was prepared for a tough conversation. When Dr M____ asked me how I was, I explained that, while I'm certainly feeling much better physically than I did when going through chemo in 2017, I've been struggling with the impact it's having on my life, and therefore my mental health is taking a battering. I have tried to avoid putting my life on hold this time, but when my chemo keeps getting delayed, it's incredibly hard to plan things. We had a good conversation about it, and we have decided to stop chemo altogether. I was so relieved I got a bit teary! There is no evidence that suggests that 6 rounds would be more effective than 4, and the cancer I had was so tiny that it's highly unlikely there are any rogue cells remaining. And if there are, 2 more rounds are not going to do anything to them if the 4 I've had already haven't nuked them! Let's face it, this chemo was elective, and my first dose was double that of the subsequent doses. As it turns out, my bloods weren't good enough anyway (platelets were only 75), so I'd have been delayed, as I predicted. But I'm so pleased we've made this decision and I don't have to go through carboplatin again.

I now have to have a CT scan (standard after a course of chemo) and I will see the oncologist again in 6 weeks' time. Then I will have a check-up every 3 months, with a CA-125 blood test (for signs of ovarian cancer) for 2 years, after which it will become every 6 months, and then every year, until I hit the magic 5-year mark.

So now I have to concentrate on getting myself stronger and fitter in preparation for my mastectomy. I have a mammogram and an MRI in October, and then I should be seeing my breast surgeon some time in November to get the results and to plan for surgery. I'm hoping that can be sometime soon in the new year. There's still quite a lot ahead but I feel as though I've passed another milestone in my treatment.

Celebrating another milestone with St John's donuts

In other news, I've been accepted as a volunteer counsellor for Breast Cancer Care, as part of their Someone Like Me programme. This is where women who are newly diagnosed can be paired with someone who has been in a similar situation, and have a series of phone calls. Before I can do this, I have to go through a training programme, and then I am mentored for my first few calls, before I'm a fully fledged counsellor. It's a voluntary position for a minimum of 3 years. I'm really looking forward to doing this. It's so important for me to 'give back' in a meaningful way, and help others going through what I've gone through.

I've also recently been seeing a new counsellor myself, through my GP, and I'm having a much better experience this time than I did with the psychotherapy team at Bart's. I see her every Thursday morning for an hour, and we've talked about so much. She has really helped me to think about things in a different way, and pursue lines of enquiry that I'm finding really helpful. I have 4 more sessions left, so hopefully that will feel like enough.

For those of you who don't follow me on instagram, I've also finished my post-treatment craft project: a baby blanket for a good friend who gave birth to a little girl a month ago. I crocheted when I was confined to my couch after both my surgeries, during chemo, and as I've been recovering each round at home. I'm so proud of the result!

The finished blanket!

Cancer survivorship course and lymphedema clinic

It's been a week since my second round of chemo and I'm doing well, despite not taking my steroids this time. As with last time, the first couple of days were fine, I felt well and had loads of energy. Then days 3-5 (Saturday to Monday) I felt pretty rubbish, the nausea kicked in and the fatigue hit me. Unfortunately, as I hadn't planned on this week being a chemo week (but my treatment was delayed) I had made quite a few plans. Lunches, coffees and dinners with friends and visitors from overseas. I soldiered on through them all, and then crashed on Sunday, exhausted. I tried to make it into work on Monday but the nausea was overwhelming, so as soon as I arrived I had to turn around again and come home. But by Tuesday morning I felt fine again and I have been doing okay since then, cycling into work, or walking home, trying to ensure my resting heart rate doesn't creep back up too much.

My hair is doing really well too. I'm loving my new hair style. A few strands of hair come out each time I wash my hair, but nowhere near as bad as the clumps that were falling out when I had chemo in 2017. I'm restricting myself to only washing my hair twice a week to minimise hair loss, so hopefully I'll get to the end of chemo with just a bit of thinning. I did keep all of my headscarves from last time I had chemo, but it's nice not to have to use them again. Although I have been wearing some of them as regular scarves, as they're so beautiful!

New earrings!

On Monday evening I started an online course on 'Cancer Survivorship' which I think is going to be interesting. It's from 7-9pm on Monday evenings and we all join each other from all over the country via Zoom, an online meeting software. It's for people of any gender, age and cancer type, and includes participants with primary and secondary cancer. It has four main components, focussing on our psychological, physiological, immunological and emotional health. It's run by a passionate, knowledgeable and enthusiastic guy called Sam and he has run this within the NHS before, and many times online. It's evidence-based, but also rooted in positive psychology and influenced by ayurvedic medicine. He cites some incredible case studies to back up his advice, and over the next few weeks we will gain lots of knowledge and techniques, which I'm looking forward to. The intro session laid the foundations, focussing a lot on positive psychology, and how we can use our minds to determine some incredible physical outcomes. I think it will be really useful, I'll keep you posted.

Joining the class

This week I also had my appointment at the lymphedema clinic, where I saw a nurse who gave me some advice about the swelling I now have around my pelvis and abdomen following the removal of my pelvic lymph nodes. She has taught me some 'MLD', or manual lymphatic drainage, which is basically where you perform massage on various parts of your body to encourage the lymph to drain and reduce swelling. She also gave me some kinesiology tape, and showed me how to stick it from my back around to my stomach, so that it massages my lymph around my body while I'm walking along. She has also ordered me some compression tights which should help, and she told me to buy some cheap spanx-type shorts to create more compression around that area. LOL. I also have to get a gel cover for my bike saddle to protect my lady parts from problems caused by my surgery. She said that you can pay to have manual lymphatic drainage done privately by experts, but that it's better to try to get someone to teach me techniques so that I can ensure I'm doing this frequently and getting maximum benefit. 

Tanai heads off to Colombia for 3 weeks on Wednesday, so I'll be home solo for a while. I've got a few little bits and bobs planned but I'm hoping to have a relaxed summer and continue to recover from my surgery and build my strength.

New tattoos

This week I got three new tattoos! Sadly nothing as exciting as my first tattoo. These are three small black dots, given to me by the radiographer at St Bart's so they can align the laser beams while they're giving me radiotherapy. One is right in the middle of my chest and the others are on either side of my body, about where your elbow is when your arms are by your side. Radiotherapy has to be incredibly precise and it takes place every weekday for a month, so they can't afford to give me dots that might rub off over the course of that time. I was measured up on Wednesday morning, had my CT scan, and now they are fully planning what dosage and angles and everything, and I'm scheduled to start on 23 November (this coming Thursday) so if all goes to plan I'll be finished with radiotherapy just in time for Christmas.

The last couple of weeks have been pretty tough. I developed an infection in my armpit wound and while they drained some liquid out and sent it off to the lab to be tested, they prescribed me with a general course of antibiotics to get rid of it. Unfortunately a week later I found out that the infection was resistant to penicillin, so they had to switch me onto a different kind of antibiotics. So I still have an infection and I feel as though I lost a whole week trying to get rid of it. There is a lot of pain around my wound, it's red and inflamed, and I've lost a lot of the range of motion I was gaining by doing my daily physio exercises. I'm still doing them but recovery is much slower now. I'm also feeling generally really unwell. I'm tired, off my food, and a little impatient to be back on the road to recovery. I've been back at work but I've struggled with the long days and I'm not feeling very resilient at the moment. Plus the antibiotics are giving me diarrhoea which isn't great! I have struggled a bit with my commute, and the other day I had to say aloud on the tube, 'please could someone give me their seat', as I really couldn't remain standing. These kinds of situations can be pretty challenging for someone who is usually so independent and capable like me.

Commuting

And, to be honest, I'm feeling pretty emotionally vulnerable. It's difficult because I had such positive pathology results and so people are jubilant, but they're saying things like 'So you're almost done!', or 'You did it!', or they think I'm finished with treatment now. But there's still so much treatment to come, and I'm running on the fumes of an empty tank every day in terms of energy, I just don't feel like celebrating. Radiotherapy is apparently also very draining, so I'm genuinely wondering how I'm going to have the strength to get through the next couple of months. And after that, I still have a whole heap of other treatment still to come. I'll still be a regular at St Bart's for the forseeable future, and I'll still be dealing with side effects every day, managing the changes in my body and trying to get on with my life. People talk about a 'new normal' after cancer treatment and now I understand what they mean. I need to spend the next few months working out what my 'new normal' is because Past Carmel is never coming back.

So this weekend Tanai and I did some talking, thinking and planning, to come up with some practical measures to help me get through the next few months, and also some emotional parameters, to make sure that I don't bottle up my emotions but allow myself to feel the way I feel, to acknowledge the emotions, and then allow them to pass, without consuming me. I'm feeling a little more emotionally robust, much more prepared for the next few stages of treatment, and more able to get on with things. I've reduced my hours at work slightly, to 10am-4pm, so that I can avoid travelling at rush hour, and preserve some strength and energy during radiotherapy, while also ensuring that I'm there for my team. This should take me to the end of the year, and then I can start 2018 afresh, and put 2017 behind me. So next stop: radiotherapy.

Venturing out: art class

Now that I have finished chemotherapy, each day I can feel my body grow stronger and it's so wonderful to know that I won't have to take on any more poison just when I'm starting to feel human again. I feel as though I'm finally able to start healing, even though there is still more treatment to come. My surgery will be on 24 October, so I'm concentrating on trying to get as strong and well as I can before then, to give myself the best possible chance to recover from surgery quickly. But today's post is less about what's going on with my body, which is very well documented here, but more about what's been going on with my mind. While my body is healing well now, I've been emotionally quite vulnerable this last week, and it manifested itself in many ways when I went to my first art class last Wednesday. I'd like to share it with you here, as my mental health is also an important part of this journey, and as so much of this is new to me, I want to document my experience with honesty and openness.

I decided to enrol on the art class partly because I wanted something gentle and creative to do while recovering from treatment. I've spent 6 months doing very little other than work and having treatment, but I know that my energy levels won't suddenly bounce back to how they were before. I loved painting when I was at school, and I've always wanted to try it again. Plus my friend Jana has been attending this class for a couple of years, and she has been producing some wonderful work, so in a way it was a 'tried and tested' class. So I went along last Wednesday, excited to be doing something new and wondering what I would learn. The class is made up of about 8 people (although I think more will join us in week 2), many of whom have been attending this particular class for many years. Some of them have even sold paintings! The teacher is an artist herself and for week 1 she led us in a collage exercise so that we could create compositions that we will eventually paint. I had never done anything like this before, and I found it quite interesting, as ideas generation has always been the area where I fall down. I think this is why I have so often copied paintings in the past, but of course original work is what we should be striving for. 

I think I had failed to appreciate the significance of this class in so many ways relating to my cancer. This was the first time I had done something new, and met new people, since my diagnosis back in February. Before diagnosis I would not have thought twice about putting myself in a situation where I was meeting new people. I am generally quite confident in social situations and love meeting new people, but on Wednesday I felt vulnerable and unsure of myself, and I leaned on my friend Jana who was also in the class, almost clinging closely to her. I'm sure they are a lovely bunch of people, but I felt awkward and self-conscious about how I came across. The cognitive impairment brought about by diagnosis (sometimes called 'chemo brain') is very real, and I still struggle to be as fast and articulate as I used to be. So when the teacher asked me conversationally what artists I liked, my mind went blank and I could not think of any! I madly searched the recesses of my mind but struggled to know how to answer. I then felt so self-conscious about sounding stupid and disinterested (I'm in an art class for goodness' sake! And I can't name any artists I like!) which made the whole thing even worse. 

The other challenge I faced was whether or not to actually tell them I have cancer. While I've been open and candid with the people in my life over the last few months, these were people I was meeting for the first time, with whom I was going to develop a relationship over the next 11 weeks. I was reluctant to be 'the cancer girl' -- I'm very conscious of not wanting to be defined by this. Therefore I decided not to tell them, and simply present myself on face value. But then of course my challenge was that 'face value' is a very depleted, fatigued girl. By 9.30pm I was exhausted, and running out of steam. I almost started to shut down! But I'm much younger than most of the people in the class, so how do I explain that it's way past my usual bedtime and I have very limited energy these days due to treatment? To compound this, that day was the first day I ventured out of the house without a headscarf on. In retrospect I feel that it was way too early (I've worn the scarves ever since). Although I'm excited about finally growing some new hair, it really is still very short, and I garnered many more stares than I ever have with the scarves. So I suppose they also had no explanation for my appearance either.

Perhaps I'm making too much of it, but all I know is that the evening had a significant impact on me emotionally. I got home and cried and cried. So many thoughts were swimming around in my head. I will have to re-learn how to socialise. I have to learn how to navigate meeting new people and whether (or how) I reveal my diagnosis. I physically can't do what I used to be able to do. I have to learn how to 'be me' when I have changed significantly. I'm sure that over time it will get easier but it was quite an unexpected shock to be feeling these feelings from something as unassuming as an art class. I also then grappled with whether or not to return to the class, as I am worried that if I don't, I may never re-learn how to navigate the world, and that, a bit like falling off a horse, I really ought to see it through. 

I suppose the main lesson is that which I've been conscious of all along. My mental health is just as important as my physical health, and I need to practice just as much self-care in nurturing my emotional resilience as I do resting and looking after my body. I will grow stronger both physically and mentally over the coming weeks and months, and I will need to also make adjustments in my life, both physically and mentally. Once again, I need to ensure I'm not too hard on myself, and I give myself time to find my 'new normal'. So I shall go back to class this week, and try to be as strong as possible, and it will get easier each week. And who knows, I may even paint something awesome!

My new baby fluffy hair

A biomorphic collage

Stitching your parachute

My wonderful friend Dom accompanied me to my fourth round of chemo last month and while we were having a 5-hour natter about various things (we're both very good at talking!) he reminded me of the concept of 'stitching your parachute before you need it'. He couldn't remember if it was my advice in the first place or our mutual friend Caitlin's, but either way, it rang a bell for me and it's something I've been very aware of as I've researched the concept of resilience in light of my diagnosis. I suppose in very simple terms it refers to taking time to do the work of building your own personal and emotional resilience before you hit a crisis point. If you stitch up any holes in your parachute when you're happy and resting on the ground, it's ready for whenever you need it. If you leave it until you're in the tumbling aeroplane, it's too late, and it won't be adequate to save you.

As part of my own work looking after my mental health over the last few months, I've been pleased to discover that I'm already quite good at regularly stitching my parachute, and although I may not have had the vocabulary to describe it, self-care has always been something I've practiced. Whether it's something as simple as taking a Sunday evening bath, dropping some essential oils into the water and popping the Wittertainment podcast playing on my phone while I soak, or something as concerted as signing up to the Headspace app and resolving to practice 20 minutes of mindfulness each day, I've always taken time out for myself. I find walking incredibly restorative for my mental health, and would often walk the hour to and from work, pacing briskly and listening to a podcast or audio book, enjoying the changing seasons over the weeks. Cooking is another way I wind down and I usually cook my meals from scratch, enjoying the time it takes to prepare food, the creativity involved and the delicious rewards at the end. I often take myself round museums and galleries on my own, and enjoy 'me time' amongst the art or stories from other times and peoples. All these things are little ways over the years I've practiced self-care, taken some time for myself and shored up my mental health reserves.

Being resilient is not about being hard and impervious to the knocks and stresses life places upon you. It's about being flexible and able to cope in the face of adversity, to draw on internal strengths and those of the networks you've built around you. It means that when you suffer stress or trauma, you have the ability to adapt, to bend and stretch in the face of it, and to somewhat 'bounce back'. Importantly, however, it's not about being hard or unfeeling, or trying not to be affected by life's events; it's more about allowing the stress or trauma to take you in an unexpected new direction and allowing yourself to go with it, and not try to force your life, or yourself, to be a certain way.

With wonderful serendipity, just after my diagnosis my employer teamed up with the mental health charity, Mind, and decided to roll out some Emotional Resilience training for all staff in the organisation. We had an interesting presentation and were given time to think about what was in our 'resilience toolbox'. We discussed the pillars of resilience, and how we can cultivate emotional resilience in our lives and more effectively manage stress. There were some really useful tips in the presentation and it definitely made me think about this whole thing in a different way. Interestingly, it advocated writing as a way to step back from negative thoughts and get some distance. The presentation summarised the five ways to wellbeing thus:

Give: your time, your words, your presence
Keep learning: embrace new experiences, see opportunities, surprise yourself
Be active: do what you can, enjoy what you do, move your mood
Connect: talk and listen, be there, feel connected
Take notice: remember the simple things that give you joy

I think these are all small things that can contribute to positive mental health, and a stock of resilience for when life gets touch. They are great ways of stitching up one's parachute in preparation.

Another thing I've started to read about is post-traumatic growth, and positive psychology. These are theories about things you can put in place to ensure you grow from adversity, rather than being beaten down by it and suffering post-traumatic stress disorder. The theories acknowledge that post-traumatic stress is inevitable, following something as traumatic as a cancer diagnosis, but that there are measures we can put in place to deal with this stress, to go with it, and to emerge at the end with increased strength, wellbeing, and a practical pathway to positive change. It all sounds rather pop-psych but I do think there's some truth in it all, and I'm interested in reading more. One book I read summarised five dimensions of post-traumatic growth:

Recognise and use personal strengths
Nurture closer relationships
Enjoy a greater appreciation of life
Search out and embrace new possibilities
Deepen spiritual development

Again, all great advice, which according to Aristotle, can lead to a form of happiness called Eudaimonic wellbeing, which is particularly flourishing and fulfilled. Well, we'll see about that, at this stage I'm just grateful to be engaging in these thoughts, to continue to function at work and at home, and to cultivate hope and optimism while I'm going through this. With chemo side-effects robbing me of many of my usual forms of self-care (no energy to walk, changed tastebuds affecting my enjoyment of food, lack of sleep etc) it's taking most of my strength just to get through each day. I'll save the real rebuilding work until I'm done with active treatment.

A running theme through a lot of the things I've been reading around this topic is the importance of building strong networks around you. I've always had a huge capacity for friendship and have cultivated relationships with people all over the world throughout the years. This is undoubtedly a huge source of strength for me at the moment, as I receive messages, gifts, thoughtful cards and offers of assistance from many of you, my global team of cheerleaders as I navigate this particularly tricky time. Even when I have a wobble, you've got my back, so thanks everyone. You're the best tool in my resilience toolkit. (Naw!)

Younger Women Together

This Friday and Saturday I went on a two-day retreat run by Breast Cancer Care called 'Younger Women Together', an annual event they run for women under the age of 45 with a breast cancer diagnosis. They run these events in 5 different parts of the country so of course I signed up for the 'London' edition, only to discover that it was held only 20 minutes' walk from our flat. It felt a bit silly staying in a hotel so close to where we live but I really wanted to take this time out to meet other young women going through the same thing, and to get the most out of the event.

The schedule was packed, with guest speakers including a brilliant medical oncologist who gave us a whistle-stop tour of cancer, prognoses and treatments, as well as new studies and the future of cancer treatment; a presentation by a nutritionist about diet, nutrition and cancer; and a fab session on exercise and its importance in fighting cancer and preventing it from returning, as well as keeping my energy levels up while going through treatment and fatigue. There were also smaller break-out sessions on menopause symptoms (yes, I will have the joys of hot flushes etc so needed some tips and tricks); intimacy and sexuality (that discussion definitely stays within those four walls); and a 'laughter yoga' session (quite bizarre but strangely energising). Did you know that laughter is proven to release hormones in the body which actually help to boost your immune system and fight depression? I think I'll be booking more tickets to comedy events in the future. The chap leading the session also talked about how life isn't black and white, in that tears don't always = sadness and laughter doesn't always = happiness. There is awkward laughter, you can laugh with relief, confusion, or with empathy. And there are tears of joy, you can be moved to tears by something beautiful, you can cry with empathy and relief, and sometimes tears are a release. It sounds obvious, but it was good to be reminded of this simple fact.

Without doubt, the best thing about the event was meeting 39 other phenomenal women, from all different walks of life across the South of England, at various stages of their treatment, and feeling like I could speak freely about what I'm going through and take strength and advice from their experiences. There was plenty of over-sharing, a fat dollop of black humour, tears, hugs and a lot of laughter. There were bald women, women with one boob, flat-chested women, women with fluffy post-chemo hair growth, other women in headscarves, women a couple of years post-treatment who had run marathons and swum Lake Windermere to raise money for cancer charities. Every single one of these women is phenomenal, strong, a warrior woman. I took something from every encounter, I was inspired by their stories, I got plenty of tips for dealing with what the future holds, and I made new friends. I'm relatively early on my cancer journey, and there's a long way to go, but I feel less scared and alone knowing these women are by my side.

My favourite talk of the event was the closing one, by an amazing woman called Kelly who was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2006, just as she'd quit her job and was about to embark on a round-the-world trip with her fiance. She took us through her journey with all its good times and dark days, which included a mastectomy, chemo, appearing with Gok Wan on 'How to Look Good Naked', her wedding, cancer recurrence four years later, more chemo, a new calling as an underwear model and training department store ladies how to help post-surgery women find lingerie, etc. She found new reserves of inner strength, and confronted her biggest fears. I found myself crying throughout her talk, but not simple tears of sadness. I felt recognition, I saw into my future a little, I was inspired by her attitude, by her honesty, by her fragility and her strength all at once. I really hope that when I am no longer receiving treatment and with luck when I am well, that I will be able to help and inspire other women earlier than I on their journeys.

So now I'm back home, and I have a few days off as the wonderful Rosser family are visiting from Australia so I'm enjoying spending a few days with them. It's so lovely having my Australian family finally meet Tanai! And then I head off for my fourth chemo on Wednesday, after which I will finally be half way through chemo. I met a woman at the BCC event who had a similar diagnosis to me, except that her tumour was twice the size. She had what's called a 'complete pathalogical response', which means that by the end of her chemo, when they carried out scans and biopsies before her surgery, they could no longer find any cancer in her breast. They still did some small surgery, to excise the margins around where her tumour was, but it prevented her from needing a mastectomy. Fingers crossed the same thing happens for me!

Here are some recent headscarf photos for those of you not on instagram. I've had some wonderful gifts of fabric and scarves, and I'm really enjoying trying even more new styles. Although in this recent heat, I may have to rock the bald look!

Top left: a gorgeous scarf from my Auntie Siobhan who bought it while on holiday in Morocco. Top right: two scarves tied with a 'double halo' style as demonstrated by Yassmin Abdel-Magied. Bottom left: some gorgeous Marimekko fabric from the Rossers which I finally got hemmed. Bottom right: my scarf from Knots UK, tied in a unicorn style.

Health update

Today I had my regular visit to the oncologist before next Wednesday's chemo, which is round #3. This is primarily to check in about how it all went last time and make sure I'm okay to keep going. My oncologist, Dr S___, was not there today so I saw someone else from her team, Dr H___, a male oncologist. He was very friendly and helpful. First of all I had to describe how things went last time and how I was feeling. I explained that I'm doing really well, very few major side effects, and I've got good energy levels at the moment and have been cycling into work this week. I did mention that I'd found it quite hard in the week following treatment but I'm feeling more prepared for the next round.

He then gave me a physical examination to see how the lump in my breast was faring. After the first chemo I noticed that it had become particularly hard and was very prominent, but after the second one it had softened again. Over the last few days I mentioned to Tanai that I was having problems locating it, and that I suspected it had been getting smaller. However, I hadn't wanted to get too excited about it. Well Dr H___ agreed with me, it was definitely smaller. His professional estimation is that it has shrunk to half the size, and is now only 1.5cm! This is great news. Of course we won't know for sure until the scan after 2 more rounds of chemo, but this has definitely made me feel better about going in for round #3 next week. I feel as though I'm not on a treadmill, but I'm actually making some progress, and that even though the chemo makes me feel absolutely shit, at least I can see now that it's actually working.

Also, he had my CT scan results. I had the scan almost a month ago, but because of the recent virus infecting the NHS' computers, they could not access the results before today. Happily, the scans are all clear, so the cancer has not spread to my lungs, ovaries or other organs. This is definitely reason to celebrate.

Yesterday my friend Jana drove us both to IKEA to pick up some things for our homes. She needed some new shelves and I wanted to buy loads of plants and plantpots, and create a lovely indoor garden in our flat. We are still living in a relatively bare apartment as my furniture is on its way from Australia on a ship, but I wanted to have some greenery around me as I'm spending so much more time at home than I usually do, and I thought it would make me feel healthier and happier. I have missed being out in the countryside (I usually do a lot of weekend hiking but my energy levels are not allowing that at the moment), so I thought I'd bring some greenery inside. I'm very pleased with my first steps at building an indoor garden, and I'm inviting people to bring us clippings of their own plants to add to it! It all started with some lovely plants from Caroline, Elizabeth and Kim, and now I'm expanding my collection. Let's hope I have at least some of my grandma's green fingers.

My plant haul

Celebrating today's results with some champers!

Once again, while the NHS is taking very good care of my physical health, I'm having to look after my mental health myself. I truly believe that this is such an important part of my treatment and recovery, and both the physical and the psychological go hand in hand. I have been trying to do a small amount of yoga practice each day (when I have enough energy) and 20 minutes of mindfulness meditation. This is so important in helping me to focus, to sleep, and to ensure I retain some clarity with all these new thoughts running through my head. Last weekend I read a book called 'Post-Traumatic Growth', which is about ensuring that trauma brings about positivity in one's life. It examined the key elements of post-traumatic stress and then outlined some frameworks and mechanisms for dealing with going through a traumatic time, and remaining resilient and strong, and coming out of it with more wisdom, grace and learnings, and ultimately with positivity rather than PTSD. I have also been ensuring that I go for long walks when I have the energy (long walks are so good for my mental health!) and practicing gratitude: really considering the good things in my life and the things for which I'm grateful.

Tanai and I laugh a lot, there is so much to find funny in this world, and last weekend we had a long chat about the holidays we'd like to have after my treatment is finished, and our dreams for the future. It really feels good to have some things to look forward to and focus on during treatment. It reminds me of one of my favourite Walt Whitman poems:

No turning back! O youth, a weary road
Spreads out before you! Hidden grief lurks there,
And burning fires of vice lie smouldering there,
And disappointment's clutching fangs wait there;
But far ahead, up in the height of heaven,
Glitters a star. O, let thy constant gaze
Be fixed upon that star; step not away,
But gazing on the brightness of the guide,
Press forward to the end and falter not!

Cx