Two years of love

Dear Melanoma has always been about sharing the rollercoaster that is Stage 4 Melanoma – the highest of highs, the lowest of lows, and everything in-between. 

There is absolutely no denying that the last few months have had more lows than highs, and just when you are feeling that you are reaching the highs again you’re sent plummeting to reality. 

Yesterday I shared my most recent scan results. They were largely positive after starting back on Keytruda and a dose of radiation to my ‘monster’ lesion that is just outside my pancreas. Everything appears stable. But one lesion on my adrenal gland has doubled inside and my LDH levels have increased again in the last 3 weeks. This lesion on my adrenal gland does not, and will not, respond to Keytruda, so our plan of action is to have some radiation in hope that it can be controlled.

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When photos take on a new meaning

Yesterday Serge, Ralph and I went and had photos with the lovely Tanya, from Tanya Love Photography. Tanya was our wedding photographer and has been an important part of our journey the last year and a bit.

 

I have been planning for a few weeks now for us to have some photos taken – I wanted to capture some moments with Ralph when he is still a scrumptious little puppy. However, I only told Serge about the photo shoot a few days before. When I told Serge about the photos, he looked at me with disgust. He didn’t really feel like taking his Saturday afternoon to go and have photos, but I gently reminded Serge about the importance of photos.

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A dedication to my husband. Serge

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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