18 Years of Cancer

What a month not long ago. My magical baby girl turned 3. I had my 18th cancerversary. And well, eighteen years; not long to go until I will have lived with cancer for the same amount of time I didn’t. Well, to my knowledge; it had been building for a while, as chronic leukemia does. But still: eighteen years.

In my country my cancer is now old enough to buy booze, drive, vote, and the list goes on. Pretty mental really.

Shifting focus

Because my daughter’s birthday is two days before, I don’t really think about my cancerversary now. Not in the way I used to. My focus is on her. I have her. So much of the upset around my cancerversary was about not being a mother and not being allowed to have children. And now that I do, well, the pill is not so bitter.

I will definitely do something big for 20 years. Or maybe save it for 22. Not sure. But this year, I had a curry on the sofa, happy that she was asleep, and watched rubbish TV.

Dealing with stress and worry

I was also worried that it would be my last cancerversary off treatment for a while. My blood test was the day before her birthday, which is still hard for me because of birth trauma, plus three days before my cancerversary, and four days before an anniversary with my now-ex. Work had also been so dead, so my earnings had been minimal. So my stress levels were not low.

So I was convinced my leukaemic rate would have shot up. I’d started talking to my daughter about mummy not being very well and having to take medicine. And the medicine means that there can’t be any more booby cuddles. And I was also working out how I would parent and work on my own with fatigue. And the dog. And it was just too much. Which also stressed me out.

The results

So I very bravely emailed my consultant to find out the result. I even put in the email title - "being very brave…what’s my PCR?"

And I immediately received a response.

"All good. Still 0.02. Carry on off treatment."

I couldn’t believe it. I phoned home and started to cry. I couldn’t get the words out. My mother thought I had to go back on treatment until I managed to speak.

"It’s the same as last time."

Calming down

And actually, since calming down, I looked at the results and they were better this time than before. Yes, still 0.02, but 0.020 instead of 0.024. Also a deeper immune response than last time, which is astounding.

But with all the negative stuff going on, it also shows how happy I am back in London. In my own space. Seeing the buildings I love. The deep, hot bubble bath I have every evening. Not having to answer to anyone. It doesn't matter if we watch three hours of Peppa Pig in the morning, because it’s a tricky day for her and that’s what has to happen. All of this is doing me good.

I can breathe.

It’s better.

And all my worries can be forgotten.

I of course mentioned to my mother that it’s because of my magical little girl who saved me. And she said, "No. You saved each other."