This week has been bittersweet… definitely more sweet, than bitter.
For those of you that follow Dear Melanoma on social media, you would know that I FINALLY started the clinical trial that I have been speaking about for months! After such a rollercoaster of feelings and having the trial almost taken away from me because of issues collecting viable tissue, on Tuesday I was able to breathe easy. I was in the treatment chair ready and raring to go. It was not difficult to see my excitement, but was super special seeing the relief and complete joy felt by my oncologist, the clinical trial’s team, the nurses, the receptionists and all of YOU!
I definitely had a whole lot of people praying to the Pavlova Gods for this trial.
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As many of my friends head back to university this week, I reflect on life before cancer. A life where I was just Emma, not Emma with cancer.
The other night I had a little cry to Serge. I was upset because I felt that there are people in our life that know only one side of me – the side that has dominated the last 18 months of life.
I forget what it is like to have people ask what I studied, where I worked, what my career aspirations were. Yes, all these I speak of in the past tense because the reality is that, unless a miracle occurs, these are indeed memories and dreams that were pre-cancer.
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In January, I was sitting down with a palliative care team discussing how I wanted to die. I did not ask about what I could expect. I didn’t ask about the pain I would feel. I did not ask about how I will lose my independence. I already knew what to expect from my last months or weeks of my life.
Instead, I told the palliative care team what I wanted. I told them how I wanted to die. I wanted to die in my family home. I did not want to spend my last days in a hospital. I wanted to die in the bed I share with my husband. I did not want to be forced into a single hospital bed away from my husband.
I know that my last weeks aren’t going to be nice and I am either going to be in pain or out to it on painkillers, but all I can wish for is an ounce of control. Control that cancer would slowly take away from me.
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As many people would know I have a slight (raging) obsession for the show Offspring (Yes, I had to make sure that you didn’t think I was talking about the band)!
One of the hardest part of living in East Timor was missing out on watching Offspring. East Timor failed me on two levels. Firstly, I couldn’t rely on the local, not so legal, DVD shop to be up-to-date with the most recent episodes. And, secondly, my internet connection couldn’t refresh Facebook, let alone watch TV online. So, what does a girl do…I would rely on my trusty mother to record all the episodes and I would have an Offspring marathon when I came home for a holiday (skin checks) every three months. She is a good woman!
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