The Hidden Logistics of Living with Cancer

I saw a post on Instagram the other day about the "hidden bits" of cancer. You know the ones, the parts that don’t make it into the glossy brochures or the curated "warrior" selfies. It stayed with me, mostly because I was reading it while lugging around my own "hidden bits" in the form of a large, stylish, and incredibly heavy tote bag.

They say you can tell a lot about a woman by what’s in her purse. If that’s true, my bag isn’t telling a story of simple endurance. It’s telling a story of negotiation.

I look at this bag with a mix of deep affection and pure exhaustion. It is a beautiful monster. And today, I’m tipping it out.

First, we have the cancer kit.

• The Heavy Hitters: My daily chemo tablets and Letrozole (my hormone blocker).
• Followed by the backup dancers: My anti-sickness pills, anti-diarrhea meds, and prescribed calcium. It’s a lot of science for one person to carry, isn't it?
• The Drama Queen: My lymphoedema compression glove. My hand likes to swell up whenever it feels like it, usually just to be dramatic. And the hand sanitizer, obviously. When you’re immunocompromised, the whole world feels... well, a bit sticky, doesn't it?

Then come the snacks. These aren't for cravings, but because fatigue has a way of sneaking up on you and knocking the floor out from under your knees if you are not careful. I carry salted nuts, dates, and dark chocolate... small, dense things to keep me upright when the energy starts draining out of the day. There’s always a Nakd bar at the bottom, too: a quiet insurance policy for when the exhaustion hits harder than expected.

But then, we hit a different territory.... the Menopause Layer. Because apparently, cancer wasn't enough of a party, my hormones decided to leave the gala early and set the house on fire on their way out.

I call this the just-in-case layer. I am constantly adding or shedding clothes like a lizard trying to find the right rock. It includes:

• The "just-in-case" cardigan.
• Cooling mist: Because a hot flush can feel like someone has flipped a switch on an internal furnace right in the middle of your chest.
• The "Brain Fog" Notebook: If I don’t write it down the second it strikes, it’s gone. It’s just vapor.

I also carry a "contingency stash" for when I don't trust the world to behave. It’s the usual suspects, plasters, sunglasses, an umbrella, plus the holy grail of prevention: sunscreen and bug spray. One minor cut or bite on my lymphoedema hand, and suddenly, we’re dealing with a full-blown catastrophe.

What else?

Hmmmm.... finally, tucked in the corners, my perfume, a favorite lipstick, my book. The tech essentials for my train journey: the power bank, the "octopus" charger, and my headphones. These are the pieces of my identity that I refuse to leave behind; they’re the small, tangible reminders that I am still me, not just a patient.

I’ve never been someone who packed light. But lately, packing feels... heavier. It’s not just the physical weight of the water bottle or my travelling coffee cup. It’s the weight of anticipation. It's the weight of living in a body you can’t quite predict anymore.

If you’re carrying a "Big Bag of Stuff" right now, whether it’s for cancer, for menopause, or just to get through a difficult season.... Embrace it. Buy a bag you absolutely, head-over-heels adore. Make it a beautiful vessel for all your messy bits. And for everyone else, next time you see a woman hauling a massive tote, just remember she’s likely carrying far more than what’s on her shoulders.

We’re all just trying to hold it together. And being honest about what’s inside, that’s how we make sure nobody has to carry it alone.