Tuesday, December 6, 2011

Curveballs and other c-words

(Written on Friday, November 25, 2011)

One minute you’re a healthy, 29-year-old girl, with your dreams and aspirations ahead of you, living a semi-normal life of working, partying, travelling, discovering things about yourself and others and exploring this wonderful world in a foreign city, ready to face the full brunt of your 30s. The next minute you’re being told you have a terminal illness growing inside you and your whole existence suddenly is thrown onto a rollercoaster of hospital beds, scans, tests, surgeries, needles, doctors, radiologists and life-changing diagnoses, and suddenly the future isn’t so crystal clear anymore.

It’s been two weeks today since I took myself to a public London hospital because I had some abdominal pain that wouldn’t go away. After two unsuccessful trips to my local GP, I decided that I wasn’t going to sit around and feel crap anymore. I walked out my front door, I took a bus, and another bus, filled out the form at North Middlesex Hospital A&E, and relayed all my symptoms to the nurses. Perhaps one of the smartest decisions I’ve made in my life. Never in a million years could I have foreseen the events that followed: an X-ray, a CT scan, the revelation of an abnormal growth in my chest, a probable diagnosis of cancer, and an admission to a hospital bed. But when I think what might have happened if I hadn’t have made that decision, and if the nurses and doctors hadn’t been so vigilant … well it’s not worth thinking about.

The last two weeks have been a crazy rollercoaster. I have had good days and bad days. I have cried, I have laughed, I’ve been lifted up, I’ve been knocked over like a pile of bricks, I have been amazed, inspired, touched, overwhelmed. Physically, I have been poked, prodded, cut open, jabbed, scanned, tested, pricked, injected and pushed by every medical instrument known to man. I have so many holes in me I feel like I’m going to start leaking like a sieve. But I think the most amazing thing about all this is the overwhelming support I have received – not only from my amazing family and friends in Australia, but all the people close to me here in London, who have helped me get through what has probably been the hardest time of my life. It is truly amazing that under the circumstances I actually feel so lucky more than anything, because knowing that you have such amazing and supportive people around you is everything. With all this love around me, there really isn’t much room to feel despair.

On top of this, I have been so amazed and inspired by the wonders of the medical industry –particularly the people working in it. I can’t for a minute fault the care I have received here in the UK – I feel so overwhelmed with gratitude the way every single doctor and nurse I have seen has bent over backwards to make sure I’m OK and get the best possible treatment, quickly. Yeah, it’s their job, but it’s also more than that. It’s my life. It’s an amazing feeling, like having your own personal army, formed by a group of strangers, who are standing over you saying ‘You’re 29, you’ve got something inside you that could kill you, and we’re not going to let that happen – not under our watch’. From the haematology consultants who first came to me in A&E, to the nurses and amazing surgeon at the National Heart Hospital, to the oncologist and lymphoma nurse and all the staff at UCLH – simply everyone has been so helpful to my mother and I and I just can’t be any more full of gratitude. Thanks to them, the healing process has already begun and I can’t ask for more than that.

The facts are this: I have been diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s diffuse B-cell lymphoma. Yes it is cancer, but it’s the ‘cancer you want if you ever get cancer’. It’s in my chest. It’s huge. It’s spread to other parts of my body (liver, lungs, kidneys and pancreas). But the prognosis is still good – right from the start doctors have told me it is very treatable, and have health and age on my side. I will have to undergo six months chemotherapy and maybe additional therapies if that doesn’t do the job. But I am confident, and so are the doctors. I am going to beat this.

Receiving this news and going through this in London has been difficult, especially being so far away from my immediate family. But remarkably, I have never felt alone. My amazing mother flew over right away to see me and I am so filled with gratitude – she might not realize it but I couldn’t have done this without her. To see her walk into my hospital room just hours after my biopsy, when I felt at my most alone and vulnerable, was perhaps the most overwhelming wave of love and gratitude I have ever felt (it never fails to make me cry). And my friends here have also rallied around me, and I will look at my last days in London with fondness. And while I haven’t really had much time to reply to everyone, I am so grateful for every single message of support that has come my way since this all happened – each one has given me strength.

Perhaps surprisingly to some, I’ve never really had that moment where I asked, “Why me?” I’ve been around long enough to see many people close to me fight (and not always win) their own cancer battles, and friends of friends, family of friends … I truly doubt there is a single person in this world who hasn’t been touched by cancer in some way. How could I be so selfish to think this is only happening to me? No, life just deals its cards this way and you deal with it.

As of today, the chemotherapy drugs are now working their way through my system; I can feel them surging through my veins, launching ninja kicks at the lymphoma cells in my body. If all goes to plan with the chemo, and there are no complications, I should be hopping onto a plane to Australia two weeks from now. It’s going to be a long two weeks but not a day passes without me imagining my arrival at Melbourne Airport, seeing my wonderful family at the terminal, and going outside to feel the Australian sun on my face. Getting home is my first immediate hurdle, and I know there will be many more to come. One step at a time.

I am going to blog my experience here, not because I want sympathy or sadness – but because I want people to look at the positives of this. I never expected cancer to show up in my life, especially not now, but being confronted with it makes me realize that it is a reality that many, many people deal with - and it doesn’t need to be hidden, or swept under the carpet, or avoided like a taboo subject. Yeah it sucks, but it's real, and all I can do right now is tackle it head-on.


  1. Hi Beth. Really shocked and sorry to hear what you are going through. Will be thinking of you. On the up side, amazing piece of writing. Really makes me appreciate that health is really above all. Hope the treatment goes well for you! -Daniel

  2. Beth, you are amazing!! If this is your attitude, then I have no doubt that those ninja-kicks will do the job. We're sending lots of love, positive vibes and sloppy baby kisses your way! x x x

  3. Hi Beth, I'm still in a very unstable state as I'm writing this. I want to send heaps of positivism and appreciation for the kinda heart you have. You are simply brave. I support your amazing attitude in approaching life. Hope the treatment works like magic.

  4. Beth, you are so strong and brave and truly inspiring.. You amaze me. I wish you the best with your chemo. We're all thinking of you. Stay warm and cosy while still in London. We are looking forward to having you home. Love you cuz x

  5. Wow Beth - sorry to hear of your diagnosis. Hoping the next two weeks goes to plan and you can get home to be with your family and fight it with them. (Daniel's passed your blog on). Best,

  6. Hi Beth, I've been thinking of you and sending lots of positive vibes your way. Seems to be working! What a journey you are taking. Not one you would have chosen but one that will make standing on the winner's podium at the other end so much sweeter. I will follow your blogs and cheer you on every step of the way. Love Sophie (Sam's friend)

  7. Nice writing Beth! I never thought of the medical system as an army like that, but you put it so well.
    Here's to fantastic family and facing 30 with your incredible insight and determination, keep it up and see you soon I'm sure. xLucy

  8. Beth my lovely. This is truly inspirational stuff. Also shed quite a few tears but great to hear your strength and positive attitude come through. Just so relieved it wasn't any longer before you were diagnosed. Also sending luck and love for the chemo - I am off next Thursday to Malaysia (to see Fleur!) but would love to try and see you before if you have the time and/or energy? You still on the same number?x