‘Mummy, are you enjoying your cancer?’

WINNING Anna Elisa “Chinot” German-Thomson is not losing sleep (only hair) over what she calls the “evil crab.”

(Editor’s Note: The blogger lives in London with her British “LH” [loving husband] and their three children. The eldest child of Reli and Bunny German, she was diagnosed with breast cancer in April and is now undergoing chemotherapy while sharing her humor-tinged reflections on an “evil crab.” No way is it going to pull her down from living and loving to the fullest as usual. Below are some of her postings.)

My absolutely amazing family

Posted: 06 May 2011 02:55 PM PDT

When I first had an inkling that something could be wrong—i.e., I was asked back to hospital for a biopsy—I called my sisters and brothers to tell them the news. But I did not call my parents until I had the proper diagnosis a few days later. I was too scared to tell my mom, as I knew the news would be truly heartbreaking for her. And it was. I actually ended up consoling her as she was absolutely distraught.

I think both she and my father now know that it is a curable disease, and they’ve both calmed down. So now I just have to contend with my father’s belief that lemon grass will cure all, and that I should be taking doses of the stuff every day. The icing on the cake though came when he asked me to send a sample of my wee to the Philippines, and did not for one moment think that this was a silly request.

My father is normally rational, but when I refused his request to send my urine via Fedex, he just could not accept it. I suppose it’s because they want the best for me and are looking at all angles to get me better. (But seriously??? My wee???)

My brother A believes that Taheebo is the answer, and my sister M is storming heaven with her prayers. Sister T arrives in a few weeks’ time to help out during treatments 2 and 3. Brother L has sent messages of love and positive vibes. And in our frequent phone conversations, my mother has been totally supportive and encouraging.

LH’s family has also been fantastic. LH’s mum arrived today to help around the house and, well, spoil me. She’s a breast cancer survivor, so she’s aware of the trials and travails of this pernicious evil. His dad, siblings and sister-in-law have called and sent messages of love.

I’m not British, and thus I don’t suffer from the stiff upper lip. I tell my family and friends I love them every chance I get. But as I have been so inundated with love these past few weeks, it’s only fair that I give a heck of a lot back. And I’m going to have to employ some of A’s energy buzzes from New York to do it properly. So here it goes, to my wonderful family and friends: BZZZZZZZZ… I LOVE YOU… BZZZZZZZZZZ!!!

My absolutely amazing friends

Posted: 06 May 2011 03:24 PM PDT

The nurses said that in the years they’d worked in the chemo ward, it was the first time they had ever encountered a chemo picnic. Friends arrived for my first treatment bearing organic foodstuffs, books, magazines, newspapers and more importantly, lots of laughs and loads of love. Considering the circumstances, it was a truly unforgettable day. And not for the wrong reasons.

We’ve also been very well fed. We arrived back from hospital to find F sneakily dropping off food at our doorstep, and it hasn’t stopped since. We’ve had chicken casserole, lasagna, roast chicken, salads, soup, cheese scones, fresh asparagus: the list goes on.

Flowers and gifts have arrived and earlier today I found a mysterious parcel with organic chocolates, organic bath salts and the latest Hello magazine by the doorstep, with no note attached! (Could that angel please let her presence be known? I’d like to thank you properly.)

Messages of love and support have arrived from far and near, and I have especially enjoyed mad A’s energy buzzes from New York and V’s jokes from China. LH’s best friend M (also known as weird Uncle M by the children) has offered to come and be my nanny. I have been deluged with phone calls, e-mails and texts from people to let them know that they’re thinking of me and sending me their prayers, love and support.

Honestly, with all these going on, how can I not get better! I have not felt more loved than I have this last month or so. Thank you so very much to all you very special people

Here’s a snippet of a conversation I had yesterday with second son E:

Second son E: Mummy, are you enjoying your cancer?

Me (quite shocked): No, not really. Why?

Second son E: Because your friends are spoiling you and you don’t have to cook!

Hmm, it seems second son E is on to something here. Perhaps I should really milk this!

Cancer-1, Me-nil

Posted: 21 May 2011 08:54 AM PDT

In my determination to prove to myself that this cancer thing would not get me down I made a decision to live my life as close to normal as I could. Thus, a lot of offers of help were turned down and I made it a point to be as active as I could. In so doing, I started to feel my normal self again.

However, every now and then little things would happen which would remind me that things were not all good, whether it would be from looks of pity thrown my way or just bashing my port. But I would just brush these events off and pick myself up and start all over again. Yesterday however I fell hard and found it very difficult get up.

It started off with a full day at a self-defense class. I thoroughly enjoyed the class as it made me feel strong and empowered; however, I started to flag by the afternoon session. I soldiered on, but I found myself so tired that I started to lose concentration. I ended leaving the class nearly an hour early and so frustrated at my inability to finish it.

I cycled home (yes, I know, how silly, but I had cycled to the venue) and immediately hit the shower. Where my hair fell in droves. I thought I was prepared for this, but seeing my hair all over the bath was terribly distressing. Poor LH had to deal with the flood of tears and the self-pity that this brought on—how do you deal with a woman who feels weak and ugly?

The problem is that I was determined to prove to myself that this evil affliction would not change me—and in my determination, I overdid it with exercise and activity. I found myself exhausted. And although I talked and joked about my hair falling out, I secretly hoped that I would be spared.

But I am weaker as a result of the drugs coursing through my body. And why should I be spared the trauma of hair loss? I need to accept that chemotherapy has unfortunate side effects because until I do so, it will always be a fight between myself and the cancer treatment which I will lose. But only for now. Because at the end of it all, I may find myself bald and weak, but I will be the ultimate winner.

Result!

Posted: 31 May 2011 11:41 PM PDT

Went out to dinner last night, and for the first time actually felt bohemian and fashionable, rather than an ill, militant placard-carrying lesbian or an out-of-work fortune teller with a strange hat. Or a YO! Sushi chef.

I am going to rock this look.

She blinded me with science

Posted: 17 May 2011 09:55 AM PDT

I received a letter from my oncologist, telling me that my breast cancer is HER-2/neu negative. This has been added to the ER+PR+ and type 3 that I had been given before. Who would’ve thought that breast cancer could be so complicated?

The important thing is that this is good news apparently. I spoke to M, my breast cancer nurse (I have three nurses: two chemotherapy nurses and the aforementioned M) and she explained that this was all good. In terms of breast cancer types, this is the one to have. Huh.

Just thought I’d let you know.

Let’s get physical

Posted: 18 May 2011 03:06 PM PDT

“Long time no see,” I said to my uh … drawer that houses my workout clothes the other day. But after surgery, two weeks in South Africa, chemotherapy and numerous hospital visits, I had skipped the gym for over a month. But I am feeling back to normal now, and ready to get active again.

So, I’ve been to the gym thrice, and have done a couple of spinning classes, a run and Pilates. I’m going back tomorrow for more spinning and I’ve got a self-defense karate thing going on on Friday.

I know it wasn’t two weeks since I’d had the treatment, but I am feeling back to the way I was before my diagnosis (i.e., healthy). And it’s one of the best things I could’ve done. Apart from feeling that by going to the gym I was giving the ol’ cancer the finger (nyah-nyah, you can’t stop me), I’m also convinced that one of the reasons why the chemotherapy has not affected me as much as it could have is because I was (am) fairly fit.

What’s going on?

Posted: 31 May 2011 05:50 AM PDT

When I was first told that I may have breast cancer, I told my family and a few good friends. H and S counted amongst them—we all live in the village, our children play together and we spend a lot of time together. As is typical in these situations, they immediately booked themselves for mammograms to make sure that they were both okay. Sadly, this was not the case: As it turns out, S also has invasive ductal carcinoma. She is due to start her chemotherapy next week.

The day before I went for Round 2, I received a telephone call from one of my oldest friends, C, who’s currently based in the United States. She sat in her car, at the parking lot of her local hospital. She had just found a lump in her breast and was pretty distraught. Although she had not had a proper diagnosis, the radiographer had told her that she was pretty sure it was breast cancer, something which was clarified last Thursday.

People have come out of the woodwork to let me know that they, or someone close to them, has had breast cancer: our postman’s wife, the lady who does our ironing … As I mentioned in an earlier post, the statistics say that one in eight women in the US and UK will get breast cancer. What is going on? Although deaths caused by breast cancer have gone down considerably, the incidence of breast cancer continues to rise. Breast cancer in the UK has increased by more than 50 percent in the last 25 years, and by 3.5 percent in the last 10 years.

Initially, I tried to pinpoint factors that other victims and I have had in common, but have found nothing. Some may have had a genetic predisposition, but some do not. Fertility treatment? Not all of us. Obesity? No. Smoking? None that I know of. I have since given up on trying to find an answer. It seems that like most cancers, this is as random as the rest.

Sister act

Posted: 26 May 2011 08:28 AM PDT

Last week my sister T arrived from Manila with her husband, her adorable 3-year-old twin girls and a nanny in tow. Admittedly I did have worries about how she would cope whilst she was here (she has a nanny for each daughter, not to mention a live-in cook and a housekeeper) but my fears were unfounded.

T has been extremely helpful to the point that I feel she’s hounding me. Every time I make a move to do anything, she’s at my back asking me what I need and telling me to sit down. And T has bravely taken over the task of injecting me with Neulasta today (ewww). More importantly, she and I have been able to talk only as sisters can, with complete candor and honesty. And she has also made me laugh a lot.

And last week when I was pushing myself to the limit, she imparted words of wisdom that made so much sense. (LH said afterwards that he wishes he’d thought of it himself …) She told me that friends and family know that I’m going through difficulty with the cancer diagnosis and the chemotherapy, so I don’t need to prove anything at all to them. They all accept that I am tired, and possibly weaker, than my normal self so there are a lot of things that I am unable to do. However (this was the clincher), I need to find acceptance in myself. I need to accept that I am ill, and thus weaker, and cannot push myself to the limit as this will just lead to frustration.

Admittedly, I am finding it terribly difficult to just lie down and rest; but I’m learning, and I’m getting there. With sister T watching my back, I have no choice!