MyWorldMyLife

I’ve been trying to find the right words to describe what it feels like to reach this point, but some moments are almost impossible to put into words. Finishing Abemaciclib feels like closing a chapter that has challenged me in ways I never could have imagined. I still remember collecting that very first box. I remember the fear I felt after already facing months of surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy, wondering how my body would cope with another stage of treatment. I worried about the side effects, the uncertainty, and whether I would have the strength to keep going. The beginning was tough.  The exhaustion was unlike anything I had experienced. Nausea, diarrhoea, and a constant stream of medications to manage the side effects became part of my everyday routine. There were days when I honestly wondered how I would continue, especially while trying to navigate everything else life was asking of me at the same time. But slowly, one month at a time, I adapted. I learned to unders...

Before my journey through cancer, I thought I knew what being tired felt like, those endless days at the office, coupled with the family demands at night and the early morning alarms. A strong cup of coffee and sheer willpower were my remedies. But then came cancer treatment, and with it, a type of exhaustion I had never imagined; a fatigue so profound it felt like every ounce of energy was sapped from my bones. Doctors warned of "some fatigue" as a side effect of chemotherapy and radiation. Yet no one could have adequately described the weight of this new tiredness, it was like trudging through wet cement. Every morning, I woke up feeling as if I hadn't slept at all, and daily routines felt like marathons. Even after finishing active treatments, the world’s relentless pace didn’t slow down. I felt out of sync with a life that kept rushing forward while I was left trying to find my rhythm again. Friends would cheerfully say, "You must be so happy to be done!" An...

Before my cancer diagnosis, I prided myself on my sharp mind. I was the queen of multitasking; organized, efficient, always on top of things. My brain was my superpower. But after chemotherapy, something shifted. Suddenly, that sharpness I had always relied on felt dulled, like my mind was wading through thick fog. I had heard other cancer survivors mention “chemo brain,” but I assumed it was just minor forgetfulness like misplacing keys, forgetting a name here or there. Annoying, sure, but nothing I couldn’t handle. I was wrong. At first, it was little things like walking into a room and forgetting why I was there, losing my train of thought mid-conversation. I brushed it off, telling myself I was just distracted or tired. But then, the mistakes got bigger. I left the oven on. Missed important appointments. Mixed up dates for a hotel booking. Bought cinema tickets for the wrong city. It was frustrating, sometimes even embarrassing. I felt like a stranger in my own mind, never knowing ...

After two months of battling through EC (aka the red devil), it was finally time to transition to Paclitaxel. I had braced myself for this change, but nothing could have prepared me for what happened during my first session. I was settled in my chair at the Sussex Cancer Centre, mentally gearing up for the long infusion ahead, when suddenly, the patient next to me had a severe allergic reaction. Within seconds, the crash team rushed in, alarms blaring, nurses moving swiftly… it was terrifying to witness. Time felt like it had stopped, and I couldn’t look away. It was a sobering reminder that chemotherapy is never predictable, no matter how many times you’ve been through it. The nurses, always incredible, reassured us all, reminding us to speak up immediately if we felt anything unusual such as chest pain, flushing, dizziness, anything. But even with their reassurance, my anxiety shot through the roof. Sensing my fear, my chemo nurse stayed by my side for the first 30 minutes of my infu...

The night before my first chemotherapy session, I was terrified. Sleep felt impossible. The word chemo scared me just as much as cancer did. I didn’t know how my body would react, and the uncertainty was overwhelming. Everyone experiences chemo differently, what if I had every side effect possible? My husband could see how anxious I was, so he took me on a late-night walk, hoping it would help me relax and go to sleep. I had packed my hospital bag (with snacks, drinks, comfort items, lip balm & moisturizer, headphones & charger and colouring book), but nothing could really prepare me for what was coming. My treatment plan was four biweekly cycles of Epirubicin Cyclophosphamide (EC) - also known as the red devil - followed by four more biweekly cycles of Paclitaxel. Walking into the chemotherapy suite at the Sussex Cancer Centre, I was met with warm smiles from the nurses, their kindness was a beacon of comfort. First came the routine checks: weight, blood pressure, oxygen lev...