What are you waiting for? ~ Elizabeth

What are you waiting for? Finding positivity in adversity 

My name is Elizabeth.  I was diagnosed with breast cancer three years ago aged 43.  After all my surgery and treatment I thought the journey was over and that the worst was behind me.   But having had breast cancer is such a frightening experience and I know from speaking to others and through The BRiC Centre Private Group that I am not alone in the anxieties and fears I carry. Fears about my future, my children’s future, about keeping well. 

It’s all too easy to focus on the negatives in life beyond cancer treatment.  But having cancer also brought good things and I wanted to share something really positive that came from my diagnosis nearly three years ago. Cancer gave me an insight into how precious life is.  It taught me not to take things for granted.  That the time to do it, whatever it might be, is now.  And every time I thought of something I wanted to do, it made me ask myself "what are you waiting for?"

I work in the child protection/legal field and when I returned to work I found it very stressful.  Not just because of the work but because of the worries I face every day and the side effects of the prior and on-going treatment. 

I realised that I wanted life to be about more than cancer, work and being a mum. I wanted something for me, something mindful and relaxing.

So having put it off for my whole adult life, I decided to pursue my dream.  I reduced my work hours and started a course on fused glass on a Thursday night last January. I took a 16 week course called Warm Glass at City of Glasgow College and when that finished I was so ‘hooked’ that I began to attend an open studio night at Stained Glass Supplies in Glasgow even attending during the day in the summer holidays when the open studio night was on holiday too.  The guys in the studio were endlessly patient with my never ending questions and requests! 

I am now, 16 months later, the proud owner of my own kiln and my husband and I worked together over the past few months to create my own home studio in the garage. It's the most rewarding and enjoyable hobby and most importantly, it is relaxing and instantly washes away the stress of any day.  I am just at the beginning of this new journey with glass, learning new things every day, and now with some friendly sales and craft fairs under my belt, who knows where the future will take me?

So my challenge to you is - ask yourself, no matter how fanciful, big or small the idea or dream...what are you waiting for?

https://www.facebook.com/ELKArtGlass/

Imposter Syndrome ~ Andria

Mr Darcy told Bridget Jones that he ‘liked her just the way she was’.  I have often wished that I could like me just the way I was and that wish started way before the cancer diagnosis.

It was only recently after reading an article (in The BRiC Centre's group) about expectations of women dictated by society as well as the individual women and how the continuing striving to be the perfect wife, mother, professional etc. is starting to take its toll on physical and mental health.

In this article it mentioned ‘Imposter Syndrome’, the pressure that we place on ourselves to be perfect and the worry that we will be found out to be flawed in some way. I was able to relate to this feeling in almost all areas of my life. As a mum, not being good enough, not being pretty or witty enough and certainly not being fun enough. As a wife I experienced a similar theme with the first husband (not the amazing second one!), not good enough, pretty enough or sexy enough and all confirmed when he left me for a younger, prettier, sexier lady.

As a social worker this theme has also continued. I feel that I am not good enough, that I will be found out as being a fraud, an imposter. I know from my supervisions, appraisals and feedback from colleagues and service users that I am good at my job, so why don’t I believe it? I guess I would need to look further back to see where these feelings come from but for now I am able to recognise that this is something I do and am able to quietly challenge myself and my thoughts and feelings.

So I was shocked reading that article that I also relate this feeling of being an imposter to my cancer diagnosis! It’s taken me some days reflecting on this, to try to work out why I feel like this and I think it’s because I didn’t have to have Chemotherapy or radiotherapy - thank goodness!!

People have helped to reinforce that feeling of being a fraud, an imposter. ‘You got off lightly’, ‘It’s three years are you still thinking about it?’ and ‘At least you didn’t need chemo’, are some of the platitudes I have experienced. I am lucky, I know that. I did get off lightly because I didn’t need chemo but I have lost both my breasts. I have had a chemical induced and then surgically induced menopause and I am on hormone tablets for another 7 years with all the fun side effects that come with that. I still live with the fear that the cancer may come back.

And after the diagnosis, I haven’t run any marathons, or baked a huge number of cakes to raise money, the imposter inside of me is berating me telling me that I couldn’t even do the fundraising bit properly. My calmer more rational side is telling me that I have got on with doing what I do best…being a mum, a wife and a social worker.

I realised whilst writing this that this feeling of being an imposter is one of the reasons I don’t go to any physical support groups and rely heavily on the online support of the the BRiC Centre's group. I think I feel ashamed that I had cancer and didn’t need to go through some of the horrendous treatments that my online friends have had to experience. Just reading that sentence is astounding and so sad.

So I can continue to challenge myself and I can change the way I view things.  I can start to be proud of who I am, the good mum, the good wife and a competent professional.

I am Andria. I am a good mum, I am a good wife and I am a good social worker. I have had breast cancer.

I need to stop apologising for the areas that I think I am lacking in and embrace me just the way I am.

Lymphoedema Awareness Week ~ Karen

#ResilienceinLymphoedema ~ Karen's story:

My name is Karen and I’m a determined, resilient and downright stubborn woman!! I feel it’s appropriate to start this post by stating my position on life, the universe and everything, which is that I won’t be told what I can/can’t/should/shouldn’t do. Sometimes this serves me well and other times not, but I’ve been like it my whole life and I’m not about to change anytime soon. 

I was diagnosed with grade 3 HER2+ invasive ductal carcinoma in May 2015 – I went 6 rounds with the dreaded FEC-T chemo during the summer of that year, had a right mastectomy and axillary node clearance in November, 15 doses of radiotherapy in January 2016 and finished active treatment in August 2016 after 18 doses of Herceptin.

I noticed that my right arm had swelled up pretty much straight away after surgery, however I assumed that this would ease, along with the swelling across my chest, as I started to heal. Although the swelling did reduce, my right arm remained bigger than my left but this didn’t really bother me until my arm started to ache a lot and feel very uncomfortable about a year after surgery.

I was referred to the local Lymphoedema clinic who, so far, have only offered me a compression sleeve - in a very becoming (not!) shade of beige. I’d like to explore other options, like massage, but they’ve asked me not to until I have a review of the success, or not, of the sleeve.

I’ve been told all the things I “should” and “shouldn’t” do and I have made some adjustments – I now have a handbag with a long strap that I can wear across my body, spreading the weight, and I offer my other arm for blood pressure/blood tests. In the main though, I carry on with the same level of activity as I did before – gardening, carrying shopping, etc – because I’m determined that this is not going to stop me being me.

In the same vein, I didn’t let my cancer treatment stop me either. I continued to work all the way through chemo – I only had 3 days off due to a chest infection after dose 5, I returned to work 3 weeks after my mastectomy and I managed to work around my radiotherapy sessions. I’m fortunate to be doing a part-time (24 hours a week) job that I love (most of the time!) and I needed the focus of work to help me to feel ‘normal’.

I also have a 9-year old son, who brings me so much joy, and for whom I feel a need to maintain a high degree of 'normal'. He is another wonderful example of my resilience and determination, bouncing back after repeated miscarriages to eventually carry (almost) full-term and become a mum at the grand old age of 45. 

The sleeve bothers me because it is a ‘badge’ I don’t want to wear. For the same reason, when my hair fell out during chemo I wore a wig rather than a scarf. I don’t want to be defined by this – I don’t want to have to keep explaining to people I meet who ask me what I’ve done to my arm! So far it’s been easy to conceal as it’s been autumn/winter – how will I feel as the weather gets warmer I wonder? How will I cope on my summer holiday this year? I’ve seen some amazing coloured and patterned sleeves on the internet – am I brave enough to wear something like that?

I was bemoaning the whole sleeve business at the school gates recently and one of my friends said maybe we were missing a business opportunity here and that we should look into customising sleeves for lymphoedema ladies – so watch this space… “Pimp My Sleeve” could be coming soon to a high street near you…..!

11/03/2017

Day 27 #pathways2resilience ~ Jenny

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

If you like stunning jewellery you've come to the right place

The adversity that breast cancer brings with it, is not a gift. But like Jenny, what we can do is to grow gifts from it. Here, Jenny, our wonderful ambassador shows how she turns the pain that she has endured to being creative about making stunning jewellery that she enjoys immensely. These gifts, she gives away generously. In fact, in one of our London meetups over lunch, her earrings, necklace, bracelets and rings, she happily gave everyone. We are proud of Jenny, and the enthusiasm she brings to the group is as stunning as her jewellery. 

                                    ~

So Pinktober is upon us again. Personally I prefer to keep my head down because my experience of breast cancer, like just about everyone I know who has also gone through it, is anything but pink. 

I've always had a bit of a 'give it a go' attitude, I suppose that comes from having been a single parent, so when I was diagnosed with primary breast cancer in December 2010 at the age of 48, the only thing I could do, once I'd picked myself up off the floor, was get stuck into the treatment and give it a go.

Lumpectomy, chemotherapy, radiotherapy, Herceptin and hormone therapy was a massive shock to the system, but with the help and support of friends who stepped in and just did stuff, like the parents of my daughters' friends who had my two girls forward sleepovers on chemo day, and my lovely boyfriend who let me stay at his and just brought me drinks in between sleeps, I got through.

But after active treatment has finished, you're still left with the emotional wreckage, and when others just expect you to be back to normal, only people who've been through similar experiences can truly understand. 

Fortunately, my diagnosis is slipping further into my past so the trauma of diagnosis and treatment becomes less “front and centre” in my daily life, but when recently diagnosed I was in contact with other women who had been through, and were going through, the same as me. One of those lovely ladies (Thank you Kim!) wanted to share an activity that she found relaxing and rewarding, so I and three others were taught the basics of making jewellery. It may not be for everybody (the other three enjoyed the morning but didn’t carry on) but after that first taste, I was totally hooked. I admit I was more surprised than anyone as I’d never seen myself as creative and didn’t really wear much jewellery, but I now really enjoy twiddling with beads, wire and semi-precious stones to make something pretty – which I usually give away because I can’t be bothered with the hassle of online selling as my photographic skills aren’t up to much. 

This is a picture of that very first piece that I made (goodness, is it really three years ago?) which I later gave as a present to my son’s girlfriend.

I have found that having an absorbing hobby that I have to concentrate on has provided very welcome stress relief, as it takes my mind off underlying worries and intrusive thoughts. Earrings, anyone?

27/10/2016

Day 26 #pathways2resilience ~ Clover

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

Designing, not Drowning

Meet Clover Lewis.

Do you know how many post-mastectomy brands have appeared in Vogue?

One - Clover Lewis Swimwear.

In its 100-year history the fashionista’s bible has never featured a brand aimed at the post-surgery market until now. Describing the range as “stunning” and saying it “can be worn by all women who desire figure-enhancing swimwear,” Vogue included the “Dive Collection” in the “Making Waves” edit in their celebratory 100 years edition, massively boosting diversity in the fashion industry at the same time.

Post-mastectomy, and conscious of her changed body, Clover was keen to treat herself to practical but flattering high-end swimwear for her diving course. “I wanted a bikini that would make me feel like the beautiful young woman I am” she explains. She searched, but to no avail. So, having previously designed costumes for the Royal Opera House, and not one to be defeated, Ms. Lewis got out her sewing machine and fashioned herself the perfect bikini, before boarding a plane, arriving in Bali, and bagging her Open Water Diving Certificate.

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/.../designing-not...

 #panningforgold #pathways2resilience

#bcresiliencecentre #breastcancerawareness

Day 22 #pathways2resilience ~ Ruth

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

'I graduated from an MA in Victorian studies this year...'

In today's post for our month long feature #pathways2resilience, Ruth shares how her diagnosis of breast cancer in 2004, followed by a recurrence led her to pursue a long-term goal to enrol on an MA in Victorian studies.

I was devastated to be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2004 and again with a recurrence in 2008. I truly did not expect to be around for very long after the 2008 recurrence which was in the lymph nodes in my chest, but after surgery, chemotherapy and a year on herceptin I decided to take it one day at a time and see what happened.

I tried very hard to put the cancer to the back of my mind, which was often hard, because the 'black cloud' often threatened to descend (and sometimes succeeded in doing so. At those times, and during the 'scares' that happened several times I found the support of others (usually online but sometimes face to face) was absolutely invaluable.

I changed my job twice during the last 8 years and eventually went part time. I decided to take the plunge on one of my 'bucket list' wishes and enrolled on a MA in Victorian Studies in 2014. I graduated this year and it was the most amazing and fun time (although pretty gruelling and stressful at times too).I've also taken the opportunity to take holidays when I could including a trip to Moscow where my son was at University just a few months after finishing treatment in 2009.

Nearly six years ago my first grandchild arrived, and I feel so grateful to be able to have her in my life. I'm currently feeling well, still on hormone therapy and tablets for bone-thinning, and also have lymphodema in my arm, but I have had some amazing times in the last 8 years. If anyone had told me in 2004 that I'd have done and achieved so much I'd have told them they were mad! Lots of love and luck to anyone starting out on this journey. I wish you all well.

22/10/2016

Day 12 #pathways2resilience ~ Zara

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

My text book of cancer emotions...

They say that a picture speaks louder than a thousand words. For Zara, an artist and a member of our group, a picture conveys more than a thousand emotions, mixed, moving and intensifying. They speak quietly, yet are penetrative. Zara's art on conveying the many emotional roller coasters that breast cancer brings with it, is breathtaking. Her sketchbook, her companion while undergoing chemotherapy, sings. Take a look at how she's used her medical notes to convey the many mixed emotions of pain, fear, gratitude, love, and despair in one sketch: "I want to make something beautiful out of something ugly". Landscapes post treatment look ambiguous, showing the uncertainty that covers the seeds of our survivorship and our hopes.

For our month long project #pathways2resilience, we are delighted to introduce Zara's first blog for Panning for Gold, 'My sketchbook of breast cancer emotions'.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2014 aged 51. Very quickly I had a mastectomy followed by chemotherapy. For a woman who has always been fairly neurotic and prone to anxiety and depression I took it well. I was "strong", "brave" and even funny- apart from when I wasn't but I kept my meltdowns private. I felt very grateful for having children old enough to have left home and not to have to witness the dark days. My husband was wonderful, I have great friends, countryside, lucky me!

'On being diagnosed with breast cancer' (May 2014) 130 x 150 cm

Actually, I hate the narrative of being strong and brave. Also I struggle with the endless requests for donations, the videos on social media whisking us through the 'journey' - Hospital, baldness, cats on the bed, followed by pink balloons, marathons and tears of joy! I get it, but for some reason it makes me angry. Perhaps because we struggle financially and I want to dedicate my time to other things rather than breast cancer. Then I feel guilty and mean, but that's my "stuff".

Before becoming a full time painter in 2009 I was a Social worker working with the most damaged children and families. In latter years I worked therapeutically with families affected by addiction. Using art to help others express themselves was an aspect of my work that I loved. It wasn't about being "good" at it, but an opportunity to work visually to explore and manage feelings. Art has always been a part of my life. Painting the landscape, being out there with myself, escaping from everything else and doing what I love to do, ticks all my boxes. I like painting portraits as well and drawing and sketching and doodling – doing anything that involves art.

I took my sketchbook to every chemo session. Horrified by the red liquid going into my veins I looked away and drew like a maniac, sometimes I would sketch the patients opposite me.

For some reason I kept all my medical notes. I remember thinking "I want to make something beautiful out of something ugly" My first collage wasn't beautiful at all. But I think I achieved that with 'Hot cheeks' and with some of my recent work. They are not so graphic now. Little pieces of Tamoxifen packets woven here and there, hidden in the landscape for the viewer to spot or not. I follow the Building resilience in breast cancer FB page but rarely comment. My respect and admiration for the women on there goes beyond words, it scares me too. So far I have been lucky. The "gift" for me has been a creative energy and on a good day, an ability to live in the moment.

Later I shall be at the hospital having a lump checked out on my remaining breast. "I'm sure it will be fine" I say to others and myself. But deep down I am terrified.

At the chapel (2) Charcoal & collage - 130 x 150 cm

www.zara-McQueen.co.uk

#panningforgold #pathways2resilience

#bcresiliencecentre #breastcancerawareness

Day 9 #pathways2resilience ~ Jackie

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

Jackie Buxton is a writer, editor and teacher of creative writing.
Jackie used her experience of an aggressive form of breast cancer to inform and dispel some myths about a cancer diagnosis via her popular blog: Agenthood and Submissionville. These posts became the frame-work of self-help memoire, Tea & Chemo (Urbane Publications, November 2015) which has a five star rating from over 75 reviews.

Jackie’s first novel, Glass Houses, has been recently published and is about two women's stupid mistakes, the ramifications and the silver linings. When not writing or reading, over-seeing house and teens, Jackie can be found running, cycling or tripping up though the beautiful Yorkshire countryside.

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Glas.../dp/1910692840/ref=sr_1_1... 

#panningforgold #pathways2resilience

#bcresiliencecentre #breastcancerawareness

Day 4 #pathways2resilience ~ Marie

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

Throughout October, we are celebrating the different ways our members express their resilience following a diagnosis of breast cancer. Today's post for#pathways2resilience features the wonderful Marie, who made her dream a reality when she moved to Cyprus earlier this year:

"It has been my dream for many years to retire early and live in beautiful Cyprus. Following my breast cancer diagnosis last year I wasn't sure it would ever happen. I am very happy to say I moved to Cyprus last week and following my dream. Who knows what the future holds but for now life is good. So never give up on your dreams".

#panningforgold #pathways2resilience

#bcresiliencecentre #breastcancerawareness

Day 3 #pathways2resilience ~ Kirsty

Special Feature Edition: Pathways to Resilience: Embracing our Vulnerability, Celebrating our Resilience

Today, as part of #pathways2resilience our month long celebration of women's resilience following a breast cancer diagnosis, we are thrilled to introduce the amazing Kirsty:

"At 33 years old, having to deal with a potentially fatal dose of breast cancer was not part of my ‘plan’. "

Kirsty's blog, highlights her grit, her ability to grow and thrive and offers an inspiring account of how she found, not only that she is a gifted photographer, but also her voice.

Kirsty gives presentations for the charity Coppafeel, a breast cancer awareness charity which aims to educate young people on the signs and symptoms of breast cancer. Kirsty is also campaigning for better choice and range of post-surgery lingerie for women. She's also recently started her own pet photography business.

http://bcresiliencecentre.blogspot.com/2016/04/cancer-gave-me-voice-kirsty.html

#panningforgold #pathways2resilience

#bcresiliencecentre #breastcancerawareness

Quite frankly cancer...... ~ Debbie

Catapulted into the world of Cancer,
Will I survive?
Nobody will answer.
Trusting a plan, like military precision,
When will ‘I’ be able to make a decision?
A Grade, a size, a hospital number,
Doing my time, negotiating the slumber.
Poison the cells, the good and the bad-
Taking me to the brink of mad.
The nausea and vomiting,
There are pills to shake-
My life, this cancer, will not take.
Overloaded with toxins,
My veins cannot cope,
Just see me through-
My lifeline, my hope.
The pain from my head
I cling to my hair,
Falling out in big clumps
Time to lay my soul bare.
I look sick, you prick
I can’t hide anymore,
My whole body is pained
Achy and sore.
Laid up in bed
Missing out on my Son,
Taking all that I have-
I will not say you have won.
You can have my eyelashes
And brows to match,
My sense of taste
Till the next chemo batch.
You can leave my eyes sore
And my nose like a tap,
Give me steroid insomnia
From your toxic zap.
You can push me to the point I can’t take anymore,
But with every ounce in my body-
I won’t close my door.
A mouth cut to shreds
And nails jumping ship,
A sleep deprived mess
So desperate to kip.
My breasts you can keep
They wanted me gone,
My hair I’d like back
But will live with none.
For all that you have taken
My heart has grown stronger,
You must let us live-
Our lives so much longer.
The wounds you can see
In time they will heal,
Was any of this really real?
The wounds you can’t see
Cause all of the strife,
Knock you for six
And hinder life.
Learning to live and love so much more,
One day Cancer, you’ll be out the door.

You can read Debbie’s personal blog at https://breastcancerwalkingtall.wordpress.com/

Clutching at Soap Bubbles ~ Samantha

I’ve been a writer almost as long as I’ve been a reader; probably longer in fact, if you count the toddlerhood imaginings that I didn’t have the technical knowhow to turn into written words.

Throughout my schooldays and teens I read and wrote voraciously; my imagination stuffed to overflowing with ideas. When I started work and life became busier there was less time to write, but big things, important things, special things would still inspire a story or a poem. As time went on though, I wrote less and less, my thoughts cluttered with everyday stuff until, one day in 2003, I found myself sitting on the Tube staring at a soft drink advert. Its six word tag line ‘At lunchtime I feed the unicorn’ hit my imagination like a defibrillator, filling my head with a fully-formed short story which I spent the rest of the journey home scribbling down. It reminded me just how much I loved writing and, a couple of months later, I quit my role in Facilities Management to seek a job that would allow me to reclaim some of my creativity.

I became an admin assistant with the NHS and for the next eight years wrote anywhere I had a few minutes to spare; on the bus, sitting in waiting rooms, through my lunchbreaks etc. and I began to have some small successes in poetry competitions, and occasional pieces published.

I was diagnosed with breast cancer on 20^th June 2011; three days in I wrote my first cancer poem, a firm and decisive ‘notice of eviction’. The ‘eviction’ (mastectomy, sentinel node biopsy and level 2 node clearance) was carried out on 30^th June and, wide awake at three am the following morning, I was utterly frustrated when the neatly orchestrated snoring of the other five ladies on the ward triggered a poem idea and I couldn’t reach my notebook… There was something very empowering about sifting through the cancer-dross and creating poems that were beautiful or humorous, and writing became an integral part of my resilience. It gave me a focus, especially during chemo – for twelve weeks I was wired up to a drip for three hours or so every Thursday and writing was the perfect time filler – I even found inspiration in losing my hair and the drip-stand itself:

 Strictly Drip-stand

Dancing with a drip-stand, it ‘aint easy,

its tubes and wires threaten to impede
attempts at forward motion; Bloody-minded
it has five wheels so thinks that it should lead.

It helps a lot if you pick the right tune

for your vaguely ballroom progress to the loo,
something like a graceful waltz or foxtrot
(a Charleston, jive or quickstep just won’t do).

There’s just one more thing that you should remember,

to avoid an unexpected tango dip,
don’t forget to take the damn thing’s plug out
before you set off upon your trip!

I also took the plunge and submitted some poems to a small publishing company and, in February 2012, they requested a full manuscript. I asked if they could wait three weeks as I was about to start radiotherapy, they said yes. The manuscript went off in March, just after my oncologist had uttered the most perfect line of iambic pentameter ever - ‘As far as we can tell you’re cancer-free’ - and in May I was offered a publishing contract. Finding My Tail came out on 8^th July 2013, by which time I’d taken redundancy from my NHS job and was officially a self-employed writer/artist/craftswoman; I felt incredibly fortunate.

It was about this time, however, that I began to notice the gradual dulling of my imagination which persists to this day. The combined effects of chemo, Tamoxifen and menopause create a numb fogginess, and have drastically lowered my attention span and reduced my short term memory to minutes. Nowadays, the wonderful ideas for stories and poems no longer bubble over the edges, I have to hunt for them in the fog. Sometimes a perfectly formed idea appears, shimmering like a rainbow, only to burst as I reach for it, leaving nothing but a vague dampness of memory. If I do capture an idea, my ‘forgettory’ and limited attention span mean I frequently get distracted and the threads of the piece unravel.

Writing is now a real effort – some days my entire mind is cloudy and I feel almost physically disoriented and dizzy. On those days I can barely string two words together, let alone write a poem worthy of competition entry or publication. I’ve learned not to attempt to write on the really bad days, turning instead to art and needlework that, being visual and physical are still achievable, allowing me to retain at least some of my creativity. The fear that I may never be able to write ‘properly’ again looms terrifyingly large in the shadows, because if I can’t write how can I be a writer and, if writing is an integral part of my resilience, how can I be resilient if I can’t write?

I do try to write on good days and aim for a minimum of two poems a month. I use writing prompts a lot to kick-start the process (thank you Visual Verse website). A picture, word or idea prompt gives me a defined focus and a time limit/deadline around which I can structure thinking and writing time. I have recently realised, however, that I’ve become so scared of not being able to write, that I’ve got cagey about actually doing it. This has to change, because if I don’t write I won’t be a writer and my resilience will start to develop holes.

When I first saw Panning for Gold I was a bit wistful. I’ve never blogged and couldn’t remember the last time I wrote a longer piece of prose. I figured it would be yet another idea that melted into the fog. But this morning there was a sudden bubble of inspiration and, for once, I actually managed to catch it. And I realise now that, if I get an idea, I have to grab it and run with it, no matter where or when it occurs; which means most of this piece has mainly been written, between bites of toast and gulps of rapidly cooling fennel tea, standing in a freezing kitchen in my dressing gown. Because, you know what, I am resilient, I am a writer and the after-effects of cancer won’t be getting any more of my precious soap bubbles without a fight.

Throughout the week we will be showcasing some of Samantha's poetry, art and needlework on our public page at https://www.facebook.com/resilienceinbreastcancer/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/samanthanewburybagsandpoems/
Website: http://www.smanf.com/

Cancer gave me a voice ~ Kirsty

At 33 years old, having to deal with a potentially fatal dose of breast cancer was not part of my ‘plan’.

I had met a lovely man and we were planning our wedding. The diagnosis was in the April as we were getting married in the August.

I was diagnosed with stage 3 hormone positive breast cancer with a tumour of 12cm.

My surgeon and Oncologist took me through my treatment and the impact the chemotherapy would have on me.  It scared the living daylights out of me.

We did not know where we stood in regards to having a family, but there was no time to harvest my eggs, the treatment had to start NOW.

It made, me angry that my options were being taken away - that a disease was dictating my life and how long potentially I would be allowed to live it.  I was 33 years old, how did this happen?

The treatment was as intense and as severe as it possibly could be. I lost my hair, my bodily functions regularly and the breast that was doing a damn good job of trying to kill me.

I have never been so poorly in my life but I was determined that it was not going to beat me. I can honestly say though, there was a day where I had no energy left in my body and didn’t think I would be here.  My temperature was at 37 and I was exhausted.

I stayed in bed and allowed my body to heal. I made a promise to myself that I would do everything I want to do and more if I survived.

Well, my diagnosis was on the 27th April 2011 and things are going pretty well.

I have always been a very shy person, the one that was wrapped in cotton wool by my parents (who are ridiculously overly cautious about everything.)

If anyone told me that I would be talking in front of groups of people up to 100, I would have laughed and probably told them they were crazy!

Having a near-death experience changes you; it makes you assess your priorities and it totally affects your outlook on life.

I must admit, I have been through the whole spectrum of emotions once the treatment ended - anger, relief, resentment and empowerment.

Empowerment was the strongest out of the lot. I found that any fear I ever had (relating to any aspect of my life) had pretty much gone.  

The way I saw it was that if cancer couldn’t kill me, then what’s the harm in facing any other fears I had?  Really, what is the worst that can happen?

I found an article written by a lady called Kris.  She was diagnosed at 23 and was previously dismissed by the Doctor as being ‘too young to have breast cancer.’ She was at stage 4 when she was finally diagnosed.

Kris founded a charity called Coppafeel, which is a breast cancer awareness charity, educating young people on the signs and symptoms of breast cancer.  Self checking can lead to much earlier diagnosis and with mammograms being so much later in life, self checking is so very important when you are young.

I was totally inspired by Kris’s story and the volunteers called the Boobettes, who are ladies who have had breast cancer at a younger age. 

They visit schools, universities, colleges, festivals and businesses, educating people on the signs and symptoms of breast cancer via a presentation which includes their own story.

I knew I had to be part of this and I am proud to say, I have been a Boobette for 2 years. I didn’t know I should be checking myself and I certainly didn’t know the signs to look for.  

The first time I did a talk I was so scared I hardly slept. I had practised the talk a hundred times at least.  

The talks were at a local school, and once I got into it, I loved it. The more I did them, the better I became.  

The last talk I did was for the Big Lottery Fund and our Health Education Manager accompanied me from our HQ. She said how much confidence I had compared to my first talk and the feedback (one from a professional speaker) was amazing. This talk was also in front of three of my friends, so to hear such positive responses, made me proud and a little emotional.

I have always been fairly artistic and have a very artistic family, from painters to musicians and singers. My Dad has always been a keen photographer, taking photos of us growing up at any given opportunity along with other unwilling members of our family throughout the years.

I had a camera from a young age, but nothing professional and I didn't really take it seriously.

I wanted to take up a hobby after I was ill and something I could be proud of and actually stick with (I get bored of things very easily.) 

I decided on photography as I was always taking photos with my iPhone, so it was an easy choice.

The friends I have made and the images I have taken have enriched my life more than I could have ever imagined.

I have the confidence to direct a model and take images I never thought would be possible.  

It has taken a while to find my place in the ‘dog’ world but pets are my thing.  I have rescue cats and support a few rescue charities.

I feel at home behind the camera and my four-legged models make it even more enjoyable. At the moment it is just a hobby, but I am pushing myself to make it into a full time career.

To have a job that doesn’t feel like a job because it’s so much fun would be incredible.

I have a few Photographers who are my inspiration, but mainly Jill Greenberg, whose pet images I recreated with my cat Chuck!  

My family are so proud of me and love seeing my work (even though some of the female models I refrain from showing my Dad!) They encourage me and give me the support I need to make this dream a reality.

I take a lot of lingerie shots and I know a few people could not understand how a woman (and a woman with one breast!) would feel happy taking photos of other women in their underwear or less after what I had been through. I am sure people thought that I would have some kind of resentment to the models as they had two breasts and I only had one.

The female form is beautiful regardless of shape and size and I love taking the images to portray that.  

The only downside is that the models always have the most gorgeous underwear! Post Op Bras on the whole are either not pretty or a ridiculous amount of money.

This leads me on nicely to my latest mission.  

I went to M&S recently to buy a couple of bras, only to find the smallest stand of post op bras tucked away in the corner of one of the biggest stores in the West Midlands.

None of them were my size and after a brief visit to Debenhams who no longer stock any in store (‘sorry Madam, they are only online now’) this was the final straw.

The choice was frumpy and basic.  

I was in tears in the middle of Marks and Spencer surrounded by beautiful ‘normal’ bras saying loudly ‘why do I feel like I am being backed into a corner to have reconstruction?!”

I quickly tweeted M&S and vented by anger, questioning as to why they couldn’t just make a few of their standard range into the post op bra range?  Surely it is not that difficult?

I am now in talks with the lingerie team as to what they could do to improve their range and I have been asked to put forward my suggestions, which I have.  They are also making me a bespoke bra which is fab.

Sometimes you have to make your voice heard when you aren’t happy with something.

In a very odd way, cancer has given me the voice I never had.

https://www.facebook.com/KWardPhotographer

I am now an Artist with Cancer ~ Amanda Hayler

Art has become a particularly important part of my life since my diagnosis of metastatic breast cancer in January 2012. Indeed, I really believe it has kept me sane during the worst days of my illness so far. I love this quote by Thomas Merton "Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time". It really sums up what art does for me.

When I was diagnosed the first time with breast cancer in 2003, I was 38 years old, working in the education sector and was able to fit work around my treatment, as well as work at home. Work kept me focused and helped distract me from the misery of my situation. However, even after treatment had ended, I never really felt safe again. I kept myself busy and the fear diminished as time went on, but it still lurked in the background. 

Roll on nine years, and the cancer had not only come back, but it had spread to my lungs. I was devastated but not surprised. I knew what it meant. I was on borrowed time and I had to make some large adjustments to my life. One of these was to abandon the plan to become a professional photographer (at one point I almost threw all my camera gear in the bin!). The first year of living of incurable cancer was difficult. Not only was I on treatment which affected me physically, but I also struggled with my feelings of inadequacy, frustration, anger and guilt. I tried doing photography "just for me" by doing regular trips out and giving myself projects to do, but it increasingly got too much physically.

I had a huge hole in my life I needed to fill. I needed something

that would give me some self-worth and allow me to express myself, and not cause too much exertion on my health. It was then I turned to art. I'd always loved doing art, but it was always secondary to other things in my life. Now I had the chance to immerse myself in it and I did. I have no formal training in art (apart from art at school, and then I never completed the A level course). I had been keeping a diary of my side effects from the drugs I was on, but was wanting something that could visually address my emotions. 

I started doing art journaling, which enabled me to create pages of words, colours, and shapes from layers and layers of collage, paint and pen; the focus very much being on the personal and the process and not the end result. I watched YouTube videos, I bought books, I took online courses, and crucially, I was doing art every day. I began to doodle in the hospital waiting room. I started making little collages on canvases and cards that I gave to family and friends. I started to experiment with watercolour and pen. I started doing art abandonments (creating bits of art that are left in public places for people to find and keep). I even started to sell pieces. My dining room became my art room. And I had started to fill that gaping hole that cancer had ripped into my life. Doing art makes absolutely no difference to my prognosis...I will certainly die from my cancer...but doing art certainly makes my remaining life much more fulfilling.

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