Hello readers!

I hope you are all well and getting through this super cold winter we are shivering through in Melbourne. It’s been a really disjointed few months for me, and the trip to Singapore and the States feels like an eternity ago.

As you know, I had an undiagnosed (kept testing negative) case of COVID-19 back in May, and it’s been wrecking havoc on me since. The lingering cough that turning into bronchitis and lasted a month; the third occurrence of pericarditis; the ongoing exhaustion (chronic fatigue levels) and worst of all, the brain fog. The brain fog that messes with your short term memory; that makes you forget things if they are not written down in six different places and when you find the notes you have no idea what they are referring to. Also the brain fog that only enables you to concentrate on one given project for 20 minutes maximum before you can actually feel your brain struggle and figuratively detach. Despite the continued reassurance from my GP that the fog lasts a few months, I feel like it’s getting worse. Every day is a struggle to stay upright and get through what needs to be done. I fear that this is also compounded by the revelation that in addition to all the weird-ass genes that we have in our family (high cholesterol, vertigo, high blood pressure, you name it), we also have the cancer gene. Not just one, but breast, bowel and ovarian cancer. Go us!

Before I went on my little overseas working holiday (ha ha) my mum had been diagnosed with DCIS – Ductal carcinoma in situ. The surgical team were kind enough to wait until I got back before scheduling in her lumpectomy as there was no rush due to it being non-invasive. The surgery was a success… up until we got a call a week later and the surgical team advised us that the tumour they removed was in fact invasive. Whilst I was over in the States, my cousin had filled me in on the cancer gene that runs in the female line – she found this out having had genetic screening, and has been deemed safe as she descends from the male line. I wasn’t overly concerned at the time as mum’s status was ‘in situ’ – that has certainly changed. As a result, mum is waiting on a lymph node biopsy to see whether to not cancer cells have drained from the breast tissue into the lymphatic system, and the terms ‘chemotherapy’ and ‘radiation’ have been bandied about. Because of this family heritage discovery, I am no longer eligible for the 5 year break between pap smears, and will have to start all other cancer screening (mammogram, colonoscopies) when I turn 40 as a precaution.

Am I mad? Yes and no. I’m mad at the older generation for concealing it from us, although they are a generation of which illness was seen as a weakness, and cancer a shameful thing. I’m mad that we weren’t better prepared for this because of their secrecy. I’m mad that my mum is going through yet another health issue, as if she hasn’t had enough on her plate already. Oddly enough, my medical directives (for the pericarditis) is to not get mad as it can aggravate the heart. Ooops. At the same time, I’m also doing what I can to educate myself about the risks, the procedures and what to look out for. I’m placing my trust in the health system, and my faith in Australia’s robust record for cancer detection and treatments. I’m also trying hard to be positive for my mumma bear so that she doesn’t worry or stress out and gets through this as strongly as she can.

This week, when Olivia Newton John passed away, it hit close to home. I loved her in Grease, but it was her battle with breast cancer that is her legacy and inspiration. For 30 years, she never (publicly) bemoaned her condition, but fought like a lioness and celebrated when it was in remission. Even when it came back for the last time, one of her last acts was to sell of property to fund her foundation’s ongoing fight against cancer. I also can’t help but think that even though I never met her, her work, alongside many more less visible faces have raised awareness and funded developments that have made my mum’s doctors optimistic about the next moves and almost to a point blase. It’s routine, its manageable and it’s got a high success rate.

I’m not entirely sure how I want to conclude this entry. I think it’s a combination of entreaty – please get tested if you are eligible, as it could save your life – and reverence. For ONJ, and all the women worldwide who have battled cancer and not only survived, but thrived. For those who fought strong but lost their battle; and for those women like my mum, who is just starting their journey – I wish you all the very best and every success. For every girl who is me – supporting a parent through a cancer journey whilst coming to terms with ones own future health plans – stay strong. It’s hard, its ugly and at times, it can really get you down, but support is there if you seek it. ❤

Bx