A New Normal

December 17, 2021. I got the diagnosis that changed my life. Cancer. And not just any cancer but an aggressive form of breast cancer called Triple Negative. It was all a whirlwind from there. My son was five months old and exclusively breast fed. How were we supposed to deal with this as a family? How were we supposed to feed our child? How could I be the kind of mother I wanted to be while dealing with cancer? Could I beat this? How long might I live for?

That phone call home to my parents and sister was one of the hardest I've ever had to make. No one knows how to take the news of cancer. And there was little time to dwell on it. We were asking for help. Could my mum uproot her whole life and move to the other side of the world to help us care for our baby? And me. Here I was. A fiercely independent 37-year-old. Asking her mum for help. It was devastating. Yet, the most natural thing to do.

And so, the most gruelling year of my life began. I had to wean my son from breastfeeding within a matter of days and start on a course of intense chemotherapy which saw me have fortnightly overnight hospital stays. IV chemo continued, at first every two weeks, then every week for five months. Then surgery, then six weeks of daily radiation and then another six months of chemo, orally. It has felt never ending and the list of side effects I have had to manage are long. The obvious hair loss was the least of my concern. Although, I never knew I’d value nose hair so much before! I had nose bleeds, nausea, extreme bone pain, relentless bowel issues, headaches, insomnia, neuropathy, brain fog, cognitive dysfunction, intense fatigue, hand & foot syndrome, colitis, liver damage, cording and Mondor’s disease. To top it off, I was put in a medically induced menopause to protect my ovaries from chemo. The sleeplessness, restlessness, hot flushes and brain fog were all an unwelcome addition which have given me a newfound respect for working menopausal women. A topic for another time perhaps. And yet, here I am. Still standing. I stared cancer in the face and won. For now.

All these side effects have created lasting traumatic memories. I’ve had many lows on this journey from missing my child and closeness of breastfeeding, being told that the tumour wasn’t responding to treatment, visits to A&E and being admitted to hospital. A painful memory keeps resurfacing of my mum being asked to leave my hospital room while they worked on me. I can’t imagine the fear she felt in that moment.

I’m still on oral chemo and due to finish at the end of March. The end date is looming and I’m both excited and anxious. I can’t wait to not have to take six tablets a day and deal with the side effects that come around in cycles. But at the same time, this chemo has been my safety blanket, there to mop up any remaining cancer cells that might have been floating around my body, ready to take hold in my liver or lungs or bones. Once I remove the chemo, I’m reliant on my own body to keep me healthy and safe. And well, we’ve seen how that’s gone already! So, the fearful wait for the five-year mark begins as I try and live my life alongside that fear to the fullest that I can.

For all this trauma and pain, there have been beautiful, special moments throughout. The love and care I have felt from my community of family, friends, colleagues and neighbours has been overwhelming. People who I had only recently known providing support in the most precious ways. The connection I built with my mum, my partner and my child. The appreciation I have for the small things in life. Why does it take questioning your own mortality for you to realise and experience these things?

Fast forward 14 months and I am now preparing to return to work. It has been a long and arduous journey, one which is not over yet. However, I’m one of the lucky few who have achieved remission. And so, as I start to put my life back together and return to some kind of normality I felt it important to share this part of my story more broadly. Because it has changed me. Fundamentally, I’m still the same ambitious, positive and driven individual. But now with a different lens on life and my career. I’m writing this because I am being true to my values of honesty, vulnerability and authenticity and it’s much easier to share this story widely, up front, than to have it drip feed out. I am also asking for help as well as patience. I have been left with prolonged side effects including fatigue, brain fog and cognitive dysfunction. I am working hard to manage these and build my stamina, but it will take time. And support. And I have the most incredible support team – an OT, two physios, an exercise physiologist, a podiatrist, a psychologist, a counsellor as well as my Oncologist and Surgeon! Not to mind my manager and our HR team. All I need is time and some understanding from my colleagues and clients over the next few months as I go on this journey.

People talk about LinkedIn as being a purely professional platform. Don’t talk about personal experiences. Don’t overshare. But this is important. Because cancer has changed me. And I am more than my job. I am resilient. I am determined. I will put up a fight. And I will prevail. And I am surer than ever, that what I do with my career is more important than just being a job that pays the bills. That I am contributing to something bigger than me. Making a difference in people's lives. Helping them to be happier at work so that they can be happier as individuals and so get more fulfillment out of life. So, continuing my career with LinkedIn feels like the most natural thing to do. After much reflection, I realised I love my job and I truly believe in what we do as a company. I truly believe that we can help organisations and help individuals realise life altering career choices of their own, to build new skills, to evolve as our world is evolving.

So, as I embark on this next phase of my recovery, wish me luck! And if you see me, please don’t be shy to ask any questions. I might cry but I’m ok with the tears if you’re ok with the tears!