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 Below are a collection of personal stories made available for you to read. If you feel you would like to share your personal story with the community, please click here to add your own personal story to this website. Your willingness to share your personal story will help others within the community. There are 5 personal stories available for you to read.
A son's poems Published on 9 July 2008 by Admin
Listen When I ask you to listen to me and you start giving me advice When I ask you to listen to me Listen, all I ask is that you listen And I can do for myself many things. When you do something for me that I can do and need to do for myself, But when you accept as a simple fact that I do feel what I feel, So please listen and just hear me (Anonymous)
My friend Jo Published on 9 July 2008 by Admin
It was about 1.30pm, Melbourne Cup Day 2002, when I picked up the results of an ultrasound belonging to my girlfriend, Jo. We had decided that I would pick it up and read the outcome and if the results needed medical attention, I would then make an appointment to see the doctor that afternoon. Jo would be staying back at school to watch the race with co-workers and would be home soon after the race. The results were devastating to me - malignant, left ovary tumor - 15cm x 14cm x 9cm, urgent surgery required etc. I had to sit and read it again calmly, in case I had misunderstood something. I then thought, how the hell was I supposed to tell my best friend what was wrong with her after she had been treated for Irritable Bowel Syndrome for 6 months prior? She had been through so much pain it was now unfair to receive this result. When she came home, she asked me if I had the results and I replied yes, and that I had booked her in to see the doctor. Whilst we were talking she asked what the result was and I had to hand her the report as I knew I wasn't going to last much longer without showing signs of being upset. I had had approx. 2 hours of being upset, angry, and totally alone before Jo came home. I had to be brave and strong for Jo I thought. Well, she read and talked at the same time as well as being distraught, uncontrollably upset and totally negative - saying she would die and not make it, not even to Christmas. She was in real denial of having a future beyond the operation - as it turned out, the operation was the following Tuesday. During that week, Jo had to tell her two sons, her brother, redo her Will and the hardest thing through this time was not telling her mum, who was 87, what her true results were. Her mum was told that she had to have an exploratory done and from that we would find out more. Her mum was worried but understood. Jo hated to keep the truth from her but Jo thought this was best till we knew the exact extent of everything. Surgery was about 3 hours. A radical hysterectomy was performed - 9 days in hospital. A very confusing time for us both. So many emotions - ours, her boys, her mum, my 2 children, the future, what treatment and would it work etc. Just the unknowing was so frightening to me…and of course her reaction to it all was, I felt, very negative towards life, so that too, scared me. Since that initial week of diagnosis and having the surgery, things seemed to go along fluently with a slight hic-up here and there. Chemo was the treatment for Jo's ovarian cancer. We expected this. Chemo was the only way that Jo would have a better chance of a longer future for all concerned. Jo did her six sessions of chemo, lost her hair graciously and bravely dealt with her veins not wanting to work, (I know there are a lot of you who also did - well done!) and hung in there with all the other side effects from the chemo. She still has several side effects from the chemo - bad fatigue, loss of short-term memory - (slowly returning), weight gain of 17kg and not able to lose it, her vision is impaired with cataracts (possibly quickened by chemo). Jo is an avid reader but now she can only read the large print books from the library. Also, it seems that chemo may have set off her gall bladder, which also had to be removed. These problems that she has had can make her get very frustrated because she can't do want she wants….I feel so deeply for her, but she tries not to let it get her down too much. She is a real fighter now! With regard to Jo's family unit, her boys handled it pretty well - both in different ways. They didn't break down crying but just listened and then said the operation would cure it. We explained chemo would help, but I think that was their way of dealing with it. They were supportive with her when she lost her hair - not a major problem for Jo, so I suppose not for them either. They would make jokes with her etc. and even now as her hair is about an inch long (4mths after last chemo) they have fun in teasing her… all in all they have been very supportive. They come for tea once a week and have phone contact through the week as well. I think they and Jo have grown through this experience, both with a little more appreciation and understanding. Jo, as well as myself, has had a lot of support from both family and friends (even though the circle is small). We have and still do, talk about her feelings, the future and worries of past and present. We are lucky to be able to discuss everything honestly with each other. It helps her knowing that someone won't minimize her worries and helps me to understand those worrying feelings. Living life after having cancer is not easy for Jo because she said you are never totally free from thinking about it. For me, I can understand her feelings but I am a 'factual' person and try not to worry too much about any aches or pains until they are checked out - mainly because I feel as though I have to keep calm for Jo. She is not able to return to work as a Teacher yet, but she is working toward it.
MY FRIEND ALTHEA Published on 9 July 2008 by Admin
Although I frequently think of my childhood friend and remember many happy times together followed by the sadness at the end of her life, there is a reluctance to see it all in print. However I realise that by writing a story of my own personal experience there is the opportunity to help other people that are also supporting a loved one that has been diagnosed with gynaecological cancer. Althea sat next to me at Donnybrook primary school in the southwest of Western Australia. Even in those days she was large and boisterous and a very good hockey player, in the position of goalie. We later met up at high school and later when we lived in Perth, London and Sydney, in fact our paths were always crossing. Althea's family were a large jovial extended family with whom I spent many happy times, they also provided Althea with a launching pad to explore and work all over the world. More importantly Althea had a secure home to return to when support was needed. In 1995 while working in Slovenia Althea was diagnosed with Ovarian cancer, this was a great blow as by this stage she had developed an international career designing computer software programs for stock exchanges. Also she had a charming fellow and was having the time of her life. Althea returned to Perth for a total hysterectomy and chemotherapy. Originally I had trained as a nurse so had a basic understanding of the situation and realised how much emotional support Althea needed. During the next five years Althea continued consulting all over the world, but returning to Perth every six months for check-ups. These times were anxious for us all, as Althea had poor veins and had become phobic about blood tests. Althea's belief was that she would beat the disease despite the fact that on diagnosis the cancer had spread to her peritoneum. After three years the cancer re-occurred and there was more chemotherapy, always after a long treatment session Althea would come to Sydney saying that she was back to: "being perfectly normal." People loved Althea because she was warm hearted and very generous. Also Althea liked to be the life and soul of the party with her many friends and relations. In some ways I think that it was a strain on Althea being positive as this stopped her from expressing her real fears. Sometimes she would telephone me when she was alone and I would encourage her to talk about things, but Althea usually resorted to being positive as a defense. By Christmas 2001 Althea's health was declining and she seemed to either be having chemotherapy or in hospital. This was a terrible time for her; she was hostile to those around her and would give me a dose of, "the no talkies" on the phone. One day when we were talking I said: "you know this disease has taken your life from you." Althea agreed, I felt that it was one of the few things that I said that hit the mark. Every month I sent her a bouquet of flowers, usually pink, as this was her favourite colour. This always resulted in a phone call, on how beautiful the flowers were. I guess that it is true, say it with flowers. My work commitments in Sydney prevented me from going to Perth until July, this seemed to be a date that Althea would quite often confirm with me. It felt as if there was an understanding that I would be with her at the end, without this ever being verbalised. In April Althea phoned me to say that she had been to a funeral and really liked the priest, as he had a good sense of humour and she thought that she would become a catholic like the rest of her family. Althea said that she wanted this priest to conduct her funeral. Althea subsequently took her first communion, which appeared to give her some comfort. It was obvious that Althea's condition was deteriorating, with good friends and family flying from all over the world to see her. At times Althea would express her concerns about the demands her illness placed on her sister who was the prime carer. I was always promoting the option of the hospice, which seemed to fall on deaf ears. By July Althea was in hospital. It never ceases to amaze me how unprepared one is when faced with the reality of how sick the person is, somehow on the phone your image of the person is as you last saw them. I flew to Perth and went to the hospital in a state of fear. I had taken Althea a bunch of pale pink tulips; it came as a shock to realise that she couldn't see them. She was blown up and uncomfortable, I tried to move her around in the bed and make her feel better. Althea noticed that I was wearing a Hermes scarf that she had given to me, she told me how much this pleased her, apparently there were things that she could see. My extroverted, once glamorous school friend had lost all her hair and was in renal failure. However there were still glimpses of her big personality. With a roar of laughter Althea announced that I was going to the hospice with her, this was scheduled for the next day. I knew then that we were going on her final journey together. It was evening and I had her sitting up in bed when she said: "This is IT," I replied that: "I guessed so," we both nodded. My thoughts were that now was the time that I should ask her how she felt about dying, but I didn't. For some time I held her hand while she slept, even though I felt extremely sad I was pleased that Althea and I could be honest with one another. I returned to the hotel, spoke with her sister about the arrangements, spent the whole night crying, and then arrived early at the hospital the next morning. Althea was waiting for me and rested as I set about packing up her things. I was flooded with memories of the many trips to the country that we had made together. The format was that she arrived with the car, often forgetting money, the address, phone numbers, clothes, almost everything. My job was the organisation of supplies and packing the car. We always had a great time and somehow reached our destination. Time was running out, so I asked her if there were things that she wanted me to do, but she thought that everything was in order. I had taken a box of chocolates for the staff, on asking what she wanted written, she insisted on, Thanks for putting up with me when I have been so trying. We were packed and ready when the palliative care nurse came in to say goodbye. Althea proudly introduced me and told her that I had trained at Royal Perth Hospital. We started to tell the nurse of how we had sat next to one another at school, and from then on I sort of did a This is your life for Althea. The nurse did a great job of prompting and keeping the story alive as we covered Althea's many achievements and hilarious episodes all over the world. As we laughed and staff came in to thank her and tell her that she had not been trying, the mood almost became euphoric. I realised that even though Althea wanted me there to quell her anxiety, it was even more important to be seen as a person of style and achievement. How different people look without the advantage of fine clothes, jewelry and make-up, in the end you are with this person who you have placed your trust in. The staff gave Althea morphine, the Ambulance drivers came and we left the hospital to fond farewells, with me still clutching the tulips. Althea never spoke on the journey and when I enthused about the beautiful rose gardens and how lovely the hospice looked there was no response. I think that from then on she was concentrating on dying. Time was spent settling her in and briefing the staff on her situation. Eventually when I was to go I bent down to kiss her and tell her that I was leaving. Althea opened her eyes and said, "Thanks Mercia, thanks a lot for everything." From that time Althea went into a deep sleep and coma, subsequently dying the following day. Why have I told you of my friend Althea? Really to say that there is no right and no wrong way of supporting a friend or relative with cancer, one instinctively does what seems best at the time. Althea was a beautiful person and at the end it is the love that one feels in one's heart for that person that matters. Personally I found those last hours that I spent with Althea to be among the most rewarding in my life. Mercia - 30 January 2004
Nola - Taking control Published on 9 July 2008 by Admin
While there is no such thing as a certain cure of my disease as it can also spread through the bloodstream, my immune system has, so far, carried on the excellent work started by my doctor. Although it hasn't all been plain sailing since (I've had scans give a false positive for secondary cancer, which is incredibly frightening and stressful), I have passed the 4th anniversary since diagnosis and have remained cancer-free. Now every birthday is a celebration, as when I was diagnosed just before my 37th birthday, turning 39 and 40 seemed like an impossibly wonderful dream. I turn 40 this year!! And unlike many of my friends, I am blissfully happy to be turning 40! We have had to come to terms with many major losses including not having any more children. However, I also have made many gains as a result of having cancer. As a family, we have made many lifestyle changes to ensure that stress and conflict are minimised and that we have the happiest life possible, both as individuals and as a family. We focus much more on the really important things in life and are much less weighed down by the unimportant. Cancer has forced me to get decisive control over my long-term depressive illness in order to stop it depressing my immune system. We've found that laughter, enjoyment and contentment are VERY good for the immune system and invaluable tools for cancer survival. I don't watch violent or suspense TV shows or movies - I love romantic comedies!! I don't stop myself from doing things I enjoy by worrying unnecessarily about the money involved. I'm learning to embrace every day and live the fullest, richest life possible and now I wouldn't have it any other way!
JO's story of diagnosis and beyond Published on 9 July 2008 by Admin My life (in true cliché fashion) changed dramatically and forever on Melbourne Cup Day, 2002 - cannot remember the date, just the occasion. It was the day I received the news that I had a malignant tumor and urgent surgery was necessary. To say that it was 'a shock to the system' is an understatement. I had been in extreme pain and discomfort for the last month or so and been treated for Irritable Bowel Syndrome since approx. May 2002. However, to become one of the national statistics of women with gynaecological cancer - had never crossed my mind. "Why me"! I was too young, had too much to do with my life and it always happened to others. I had never heard of ovarian cancer - only the public awareness campaigns for breast cancer in women and prostate cancer in men. I opened the envelope and with extreme fear, denial, anger, horror etc etc, I had a true dramatic experience that would have been an example to any actor. "Why me"? - I cried, screamed, ranted and raved, stamped my feet and then went to the doctors to see what the next step would be. This was my practice - I always tried to be a 'good patient' - follow directions, take medicines etc - the doctor knew what he was doing. I must admit that during the next week (waiting surgery) I was very negative in my outlook. I was either not surviving the surgery or would not survive until Christmas. I set about very methodically putting my affairs in order - organising Power of Attorney (for medical & legal details to be handled by my best friend), re-did my will, cleaned out drawers and paperwork. I also had to consider what/how/when to tell my frail 87 year old mother (so I was in constant contact with her doctor), my 2 sons and other family members. A TIP: Always write down any questions or queries - no matter how minor and present to doctors (they have all said it makes it easier for them too as then they know what is worrying you) I have nothing but the highest praise for the Chemo Unit - the nurses were marvelous. Nothing was too hard for them - they made a very difficult time easier for me. Questions were answered, advice given, laughter, jokes and music (as well as meals) were provided during each of my 6 x 6 hourly treatments. At the suggestion of the social worker, I attended the "Look Good, Feel Better" program, where I met other girls / women who had been through similar traumas. We learnt about make-up, wigs etc. A great morale boost. TIPS:
I have also found the Support Group to be very helpful - no obligation to attend, but it does help to meet with other women who have had a similar experience and who can share feelings etc. that 'non-sufferers' (no matter how close) cannot truly understand. I am in remission, but am suffering certain side effects of the chemo - weakness and fatigue, weight gain of 17kg, concentration and memory loss as well as cataracts. Gallstones (which have been treated with surgery) were also accelerated by the chemo. I also have bad dreams and disturbed sleep patterns. These sound rather forbidding but at least I am alive to experience them! A TIP: If you have vision impairment - Large Print Books are available at your local Library. We take for granted that we will be there to share the future- our children's marriages, grandchildren, holidays, retirement etc - but now, as cancer survivors, we are faced with our mortality. Uncertainty and depressive thoughts about my future do occur and I still have periods of negativity. However, I am trying to be positive and get the most of each day and enjoy it to the best of my ability. A bad day -- cancer clichés Maybe it's gone, maybe it's not. Maybe they got it, maybe they didn't. Maybe… I feel so down today …. Nobody would know … don't upset anyone, don't let them know. Don't let them worry … I really don't have ANYTHING TO WORRY ABOUT…. THERE IS ALWAYS SOMEONE ELSE WORSE OFF THAN ME… I know all this, but sometimes it doesn't help. Sometimes it helps just to wallow in your own misery for a while and then pick yourself up and move on to the next stage…..why do I have to be so positive all of the time? I get so frustrated sometimes …..put out like a poodle on show …. "Doesn't she look good" ….."your hair is growing back" …. "is it your real hair? It's sooooo curly…so soft - someone else I know - her hair grew back curly too, but then it changed." What else can they say? We are only human and we get very nervous around things like death and sickness. I have probably been guilty of this myself in the past. However, sometimes if only they would ignore the disease and talk to me about things they used to. I still have difficulty in planning for the future at this stage…. I wonder, particularly if it is going to cost money (as I have been out of work for 12 months), whether it is worth it… e.g. painting the house, etc. My feelings are still very fragile. I tend to have mood swings very easily and 'jump' at people I am very close to … Make mountains out of molehills…. I find I have difficulty expressing myself, or finding the correct word. It's as though I have Alzheimer's…. I know I am very lucky - and in remission so early but I feel like a fraud. (I had a 'little' cancer (caught early - before it spread) while others have a larger, or more virulent type or it has reoccurred.) But I still have had CANCER, something they have not. It is still a deadly word and disease. It colors your world and all that you do and think, no matter how hard you try.
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