So, as you can see, I have made it (with the other two (rather unwilling) musketeers) to the promised land – Naantali – home of Moominworld. Tomorrow, I will risk severe disappointment by making a trip there and will share with you what I find; hopefully just lots of people bravely dressed as cuddly Moomins. My expectations are managed, don’t worry. It is a little homage to my favourite Swedish-speaking Finnish white trolls and I am sure it will be cute.

I just want to add in a bit of background now I have chance to breathe and have had a pedicure (everything feels right again now). I run the risk of losing you all at this stage but hey ho, I have to live my ‘authentic life’ and I can’t do that without the below…gulp!

As most of you know, prior to this ‘excursion’, I have not been out much lately. I have spent the last 9 months, burrowed deep into my fox den, popping up at regular intervals to be subjected to the latest life-saving treatment protocol.

I was diagnosed on 1 November 2017, at the age of 41 with a stage 3, grade 3 Her2 positive ER/PR negative breast tumour. Since then, I have had four scans, four rounds (that’s 2 months to you and me) of two-weekly AC chemotherapy, an unplanned blood transfusion, many self-administered GCSF injections and about 10 weekly rounds of Abraxane, four sessions of which also included two antibodies: Herceptin and Perjeta. I should have had 12 sessions of Abraxane but twice my neutrophil levels (white blood cells or immune system) were too low to give treatment. I lost my hair and sense of taste for a while and have since largely lost my appetite which I hope will come back next year.

My chemotherapy ended at the end of March and after a short ‘break’ during which I still had my three-weekly Herceptin and Perjeta, I had a double mastectomy with no reconstruction. The histology came back clear, thus far treatment has been successful. I’ve commented on the surgery before but the recovery remains a big deal. It takes AGES. Driving the van is helping accelerate the process but it will be some time before I can move like I used to, tonight I shall partake of my debut swim.

Six weeks after (or just under that), I had 3 weeks of radiotherapy (daily for 5 days a week) and now, for the first time in 9 months, I only have the 3 weekly treatments until January and then, assuming it does not come back (always a very big assumption), I am relatively free of formal treatment but not of fear. This trip has been scheduled to fit in-between treatments which are IV and mainly at home.

I realise this isn’t a chirpy post but the need to get away after all of this, was intense. I know some of you are going through much worse, some have had similar experiences and lived to tell the tale and others of you have watched (or are watching) others go through it.

I don’t think I realised until I set off on this journey (actual journey, not metaphor for cancer) just how tired I am. Not just the fatigue that comes with the treatments but the exhaustion caused by being responsible for how my illness impacts others and importantly for me, of worrying about how long I will be alive. It seems it is not enough to go through such an illness and attempt to cure it. You have to be careful what you say, what you ask for and be certain to bounce back in a way that makes you as relatable as possible as soon as you can so no-one has to feel awkward. What nonsense.

How much richer, how much more connected we would all be if we fully shared our fears and feelings. We’re all ultimately afraid of the same things. Some of us are just closer to the edge than others and if you go out there and hold someone’s hand – even if they are hurling bread rolls, abuse or insisting they are just fine out there on their own – it makes that fear smaller and a hell of a lot less terrifying for everyone.

On a deeper, let’s say, simpler level, I can rationalise everything. However long we have on this earth, we have to live each day to the full – you’ve seen the bumper stickers, shared the Facebook quotation and I have been banging on about that way of life for years, using it to justify all kinds of workaholism and profligacy and hosting a larger than average number of parties – but no matter what anyone says, when something like this has passed through your life in such a violent fashion, changing you physically and mentally forever, your grip intensifies and it wears you out! I feel like I’m hanging on by my (newly painted) fingertips, if I let go, I am not sure what or who is going to catch me.

I am therefore on this silly yet very fun trip to amuse myself (and you hopefully), to stimulate my brain with fresh experiences, faces and lands and to give myself time to grieve, breathe and try to work out where and how I start again from here. As that is what I have to do. I’ve tried to get back into the old habits but I can’t. It will have to be different from here and maybe we’re all in this together to help work out how?

I now have friends who are not in a position to do this journey right now, and I bring them all with me, they are on my mind and in my heart; times are tough at present and I ask you all to add them to your thoughts too; you can’t experience this without wanting to give any ounce of positivity you regain back to anyone who needs it (it quickly doubles when you do that 🙂 ) – they might not like the smell of the van after 1 week of dogs in it but such is how it is. All for one and all that.

So, the struggle with gear changes remains very real and I am pleased I get to battle it out right now but the struggle with how we all deal with how fragile we all are, is one that continues long after I have mastered the art.

I’m not sure where I have left you with that today. Ready for a swim, pizza and some Moomins at a guess and I think that’s a good place to start. Or else just go give someone a hug.

Hasta Luego Amigos x