Brave Momentum

12/10/2026

Yesterday I was finally able to get nuked!

Radiation went to plan. It is wierd, you feel nothing, see nothing, there is the odd buzz but it's hard to know if it's real.

I take an anti nausea tablet 30 to 60 mins before. I had some low level quease later in the afternoon, but hard to know if I was imagining it or not.

I am to eat the same food - weetbix in this case everyday before my appointment to try and recreate my puku situation. I have been given some cream to rub on my tummy to help mitigate the skin effects.

I felt shattered afterwards. I don't think this was from the one dose of radiation. I think it was from the angst of is this even going to happen. Are the delays putting my trial and life at risk. I finally had a good nights sleep last night and a nap yesterday, so I am feeling ok again. The amazing weather is definitely happening,

So onwards and upwards. I will be at the hospital every day for at least the next month.

Abby Briggs

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06/10/2026

Please stop moving my cheese.

Who Moved My Cheese? An Amazing Way to Deal with Change in Your Work and in Your Life is a 1998 motivational business fable by Spencer Johnson about change in work and life. It is a story about 2 mice and 2 people the size of mice, Hem and Haw who live in a maze and like to eat cheese. The mice just run around everyday and eat cheese when they find it. The two wee people are a bit more discerning about their cheese preferences. They find amazing cheese at Station C. Sadly Station Cheese runs out of cheese. The mice go on their merry way and find new cheese. The two wee men sit and lament about the lack of cheese and just stay there. Eventually Haw goes out and finds new cheese. Haw goes back and tells the other wee man Hem that there is other cheese in new places, but that wee man doesn’t want to move. Haw sits and thinks about change and the decisions you can make when faced with them.

This book was pretty popular at the time. It was widely read in the business world and sold over 30 million copies. Basically it is about change being inevitable, and you need to keep moving forward so see what opportunities come about. However, the book was often given out in companies as an attempt to portray unfavorable or unfair changes in an optimistic or opportunistic way. At the moment I feel like the little man Hee waiting for the cheese to come back and being mad that it hasn’t. But I also know that I will get over myself and actually be the first little man Haw who went out and found new cheese.

This week has been one big long false start. On Friday I was told to come in for a fasting scan on Monday. This scan was then cancelled. The decision was made to push my planning to a Dr further up the food chain. The effect of this is that the clock starts again. Radiation is now scheduled to start on Monday. The Radiation Department seems to think that the deadline is the start of November. The start of November is when my cells go back in. The week before that I have 3 separate days of chemo and a new central line is put in. The Hematologist in charge of the trial has spoken to the Radiation Oncologist and he sounds confident. But so was the last guy. I did get like 6 CTs in 2 days, so that is doing something.

I know that medically lots of things change with anything medical. But, it is still stressful. I am worried that I won’t get enough bridging treatment. That the tumour will grow too much while I am waiting. The purpose for the bridging treatment is to ‘soften’ up the tumour. The radiation isn’t curative, it is to help.

The other option is chemo immunotherapy. Polatuanzab, is a gold standard chemo immunotherapy overseas. It isn’t funded here, and through the oncology department in Christchurch is unavailable. Through the trial I can access the drug. But, it has to be ordered from the manufacturer, and then sent to a different lab in Christchurch to do something. The minimum lead time for this is a week.

I need a minimum one week wash out period between the end of bridging treatment and the start of the main event.

I had planned the last couple of weeks around radiation, and knowing that I would progressively get more tired and less well. The current plan is to give the same or similar dose of radiation over a more condensed timeline.

Rationally I feel like I shouldn’t feel stressed about this, and that it will all get sorted and to enjoy feeling well. Having nothing on Monday felt like a long weekend and a real treat. Now however, it feels like precious time is disappearing, and that it is going to make the end of this month much harder. Or that the Car-T won’t work as well.

I still find myself wondering if I will be alive to see something happen next year or again. I feel angry and frustrated and a bit scared at the delays. I feel like a fraud that people super kindly signed up to the Meal Train, but I haven’t been nuked or poisoned yet. But later this month and in November things will be sh***er than planned. But as Haw told me, there is always more cheese, you just have to keep going forward and looking for it.

Abby Briggs

02/10/2026

Strike 2

This afternoon after a hearty lunch at Mona Vale, I went in for attempt 2 at radiation. They did some longer scans and scans that showed me breathing.

After waiting and lying on the table for what felt like a long time, I was told that they can't see the tumour well enough. Below are the photos of what they could and well mostly couldn't see.

The thought today was that a full tummy might make it easier to see the tumour. It didn't.

I am to go back to go back bright and early on Monday morning without eating to try to do a different lot of planning scans. They are going to try the breath holding technique, so this weekend I have to practice holding my breath for as long as possible. I do think that my tumour is taking on a bit of a rude shape.

I have been reading books again which I have really enjoyed and have a pile to work through. For a long time I couldn't concentrate nor have the energy.

Yesterday I finished reading 'The First Daughter', by Stephanie Dray and Laura Kamoie. It was about the 3rd President of the United States of America's daughter. It tells the story from her perspective of the revolution, her father's diplomatic posting in France, and how that time interwove with the French Revolution. It followed her marriage, losing loved ones, the role of females behind the scenes in diplomacy. I found it interesting to learn about how crippled many prominant were by debt, and the effect that that had. Turns out you could bequeth your assets to one family member and your debts to another. They were complex people in complex circumstances. The author of the Declaration of Indepence who promoted liberty and the freedom of men, who kept slaves, and had a secret second family with a woman the family owned.

Abby Briggs

01/10/2026

A False Start

Today I was meant to start radiation. It began with a radiation education session, where I was told to use a card given to me to scan in each morning, shown where the waiting room was and where to go and what to do when called.

When you are called you are to go from the waiting room, through to the changing rooms. Each patient has a wee cubby where a big paper bag with their radiation gown is stored. Each paper bag has a drawing on it, drawn by a local primary school kid. Mine has Batman. The gown is dark blue and it is worn like a dressing gown.

I am to have an anti-nausea pill half an hour before treatment. Easy. Each day before radiation I am to have a CT Scan to check the position of the tumour, this is because the mesentery is a moving place.

The radiation table settings were recorded from my planning setting, adjustments still needed to be made. A UV torch was used to see my new tattoos, they were then marked with vivid as it’s easier to see. There was then a bunch of pushing and pulling to get me lined up exactly.

What followed was three CT scans. Between the second and third my neck padding changed as it was super sore. None of it is comfortable but that sucked. If you have radiation on your head and neck you are strapped onto a table and a mask is screwed onto the table to hold you in place.

I was getting a bit worried when the scans were repeated. After the second one I was told that they were going to get the Dr to look. I was worried that the tumour had grown massively or that lots of other ones had shown on the scan. A third scan was then done with the Dr there, and I lay and waited for what seemed like a long time.

The radiation therapist came in looking very apologetic. They told me that they were unable to properly sight the tumour as it is so small. These CT’s are not diagnostic so they aren’t read and therefore I don’t know what size the tumour is. It was very reassuring that it hadn't exploded.

The decision was made to not proceed with radiation this morning. They seemed hesitant to tell me and I got the impression that people didn’t always react kindly to the news. They are going to get the team to have a look at the scans to see if they can get a better image. I was told that this had the potential to happen.

Initially my appointment on Friday was at 7.10 pm. I was a bit surprised it was so late. Such is the demand of services that the team there are working shifts, and apparently a section site to deliver treatment at Burwood Hospital is in the works.

In the meeting they had the idea that my planning scan was after lunch, so trying again after I have had a big feed might work. If they aren’t able to do radiation at all I will have more chemo -immunotherapy. So time will tell. Batman is keeping my radiation gown safe tonight, until tomorrow’s adventures in Radiation Land.

Abby Briggs

28/09/2026

The demands of being a human guinea pig

There has been a lot happening in the last wee while. Being a human guinea pig has felt like a full time job. I have had to answer questions about a life time of Drs appointments, I have had a heart echo (scan), and EKG - hear rhythms checked, like 14 vials of blood tests, my arm veins checked and found wanting, so I then had appointments about getting a central line put in my neck to suck my cells. I have signed consent after consent. Mum Moira Briggs has had to sign that she will be my competent adult. Lucky her.

I have also had meetings about bridging radiation treatment. The area that my cancer is in is considered too risky for curative radiation. There is too high a chance it will cook and kill my insides. But, I can have a shorter course to try and hold the remaining area of lymphoma.

After a short meeting with the radiation oncologist, I had a planning meeting in the radiation department. They did a planning scan, and took all the positioning measurements. I also am now the owner of three UV tattoos. They hurt more than I expected, it was like being stabbed by a compass. Prison tats are not part of my future. The radiation table was less comfortable than I expected. It was super hard, there was no padding at all. On the plus side, for keeping my arms above my heads, there was some plastic to lean my arms against, and a handle to hold onto.

Every day I will have a CT before radiation starts to check the position of the tumour. The Mesentery is in a tricky place. The job of the Mesentery is to hold your digestive organs in place so that they don’t twist or collapse. Blood vessels, lymph nodes and nerves travel along the mesentery to supply the gut. The lymph nodes in the mesentery help trap germs and regulate inflammation.

The mesentery is now thought to be a continuous organ, in the past it was thought of as fragmented tissue. It is made of 2 layers of peritoneum, which is the moist tissue that lines the abdominal cavity. It extends from the upper small intestine down to the lower part of the large intestine, keeping everything in place. It is a very moving area.

The radiation will only happen if it can be done safely. If it can’t then I will have chemo-immunotherapy. One of the drugs I have had a reaction to, so will be watched. The effects of radiation is cumulative, so like my chemo, I will feel worse as it goes on. I need to have a wash out period after chemo so that it doesn’t interact with. Radiation starts on Thursday.

Last Tuesday I had my cells sucked. Thanks to my pathetic arm veins I had to have a temporary vein put into my neck. I was meant to get the line in at 8am, due to some emergencies it didn’t get done until 3pm. I was pretty hungry and thirsty by then. Apparently it was put in higher on the neck than normal. It was pretty uncomfortable. It felt like having a bic pen shoved in my neck. It only worked well if my head was on the weird angle.

The apheresis machine was pretty interesting. All of my blood was removed from my body and put through the machine almost 3 times. Inside the machine some anti clotting is needed, this when it goes back into the body can lower your calcium. It is a weird feeling, your lips go tingling. The first line treatment for these was a type of anti acid to chew.

The delay did cause a few issues. The cells were booked to be in Wellington that night, to begin the process first thing the next day. Apparently on the first day, 4 staff have a 12 hour shift preparing the cells. Only one person a week in NZ starts the trial, and at the moment it is alternated for patients between Christchurch, Wellington and Auckland. There are 4 cocoons that process the cells, and they try to leave one free at all times in case of emergency.

Once the cells have sufficiently mutated, they are sent to a couple of labs overseas for quality control. I had about 300ml removed and I will have between 2 and 4mm put back in. By all accounts the cells going back in are very anticlimactic.

Before the cells go back in, I will have 3 days in a row of Leuko (a type of cell), depleting chemo. I suspect I will be a bit pukey and miserable. For the week after the cells go in I have to have someone with me 24/7 as neurotoxicity can come on quickly. Overseas it is standard to be inpatient for 2 to 4 weeks after the cells go in to deal with side effects. I have to go into hospital everyday for blood tests and neuro assessments, mum also has to do the neuro assessments on me at home.

I am starting to feel hopeful about the treatment. Richard won the Team Award for his football prizegiving, and Peter won, Most Improved Forward. I found myself at both prizegivings thinking that I hope that I am alive to be at them next year. I am making foods I haven’t made for ages and trying to make the most of being ok.

My teeth have been problematic. I have on and off had a sore molar that has had a filling since childhood. The filling was replaced when the boys were little. It turn out the filling had a hole in it and there was a crack under it. After that was fixed I thought I was getting a sinus infection. Nope. I was eating a soft muesli bar and a tooth cracked in half. I assumed it would be glued back together. Nope. It was cracked to the root. It took a lot of pulling to get it out. After it was out, there was a pocket of pus. So in hindsight, it is ‘lucky’ it happened when it did. I feel pretty sad about my tooth. My hair will grow back, but my teeth won’t. Speaking of hair, 50/50 I will lose all my hair again. I care more about my teeth than my hair, but I still don’t want to be bald again. I think seeing Lizzie and her friends rocking their beautiful bald heads has made it less hard for me than for other people without that experience. My hair is still less than an inch long, but it is growing in directions I didn’t know were possible. Because my hair was long and heavy I didn’t know that I had such opinionated hair.

Abby Briggs

31/08/2026

Of Mice and Men

The title is taken from Robert Burns' poem "To a Mouse": "The best laid schemes o' mice an' men / Gang aft agley" ("The best-laid plans of mice and men / Often go awry").

It has been a cancery week. On Monday morning mum and I collected for the Cancer Society in the Northlands Mall. Cancer Society in Christchurch is now based near there, and from what was explained they have a very good relationship with each other. This site operates for the whole week of Daffodil Day, and was their highest grossing site last year. Even though it was a quiet morning, people were so generous. One woman who donated lost her husband two weeks ago to cancer, another gentleman has buried two wives to the awful disease. Cancer has left few people untouched. After 2 hours there, where we fortunately were inside and had seats, I needed a bit nap. The display beside us was fabulous.

Later that afternoon I had my first mammogram. From 45 years of age in New Zealand women are eligible for a funded mammogram. I figured that I should get a healthy baseline one done. I figured I would be a super duper unlucky ducky, to have breast cancer after all the chemo that I have just had. Mum came and got hers done too. Prevention is better than cure. It was quick and easy, they people were amazing. There are lots of cancers in NZ that you can get checked for to detect at an early stage - cervical, skin, prostate, breast…. Lymphoma is not one of them. If you are due for any of these, or a general physical, go book it now. Early detection has much better outcomes and much less awful treatment.

It took a bit to get my head around having a three month wait. I did, and embraced having a window of wellness. I booked a holiday, wrote a to-do list. Next minute, I have a phone call to come into the oncology clinic for an appointment on Thursday and a Petscan on Friday. Where I learnt would seem I am potentially caught in the bureaucracy of the health system.

In all other cancer centres in New Zealand, Lymphoma is treated by a Heamatologist as it is a blood cancer. In Christchurch, half of Lymphoma patients are treated by Haematology and half by oncology which will be a remnant from days gone by. Front line treatment for my type is the same for either department and is no problem. After front line treatment it becomes murkier. Stem Cell Transplants are only done by Haemotology, as is the Car-T cell trail. I thought it would be a case of being transferred to a new department. Nope, not at this stage. Everyone seems to agree Car T Cell is a good idea, the devil now is in the details or who give what and when. The drugs I need for Car-T bridging, so between cell collection and reinfusion, oncology can’t transfuse as they aren’t approved and have never given them. And this is tricky with someone else picking up the bill. I have the consent forms for the trial and have read them. Basically no guarantee it will work, no data on long term side effects, some short term side effects that might happen are bad. But it is still deemed my best option.

I did find out that the date of my proposed cell harvest is smack bang when we are meant to be away in Cairns. So that is a right bu**er. I have a meeting with the trial Dr on Thursday and will find out more. I would love to have my holiday, but better to be alive, or given the best chance to be.

Last weekend I felt exhausted, and in between watching my boys sports and my nieces birthday, I slept. I also felt a bit sore, an achy body and sore tummy. So I was worried that the cancer was ripping through me. Good news is, it looks like I had common germs. I do get more tired than the average person, but I am now back to my base line.

I finished my puzzle book. It felt a bit emotional chucking it out. I started doing it when I was very crook and my brain was mush. It felt like the end of a chapter. I have started reading another couple of books and have found another activity book to do in the meantime.

I am still trying to walk most days. I went to see a different rehab physio, she was much much better, so I have a bunch of exercises. My hips are no longer screaming and sore. But one of the exercises did trigger bad neck pain that I haven’t had since I stopped working. So I am trying to keep getting into better shape before the next onslaught.

Abby Briggs

17/08/2026

Hurry up and wait some more

It's been almost two weeks since my oncology appointment where I was told the difficult news, and then the more difficult to hurry up and wait, news. The 3 month waiting was a right mind bend. We live in an instant society. We want answers and actions now. I knew from Lizzie’s treatment that sometimes the best course of action is nothing. Clinically it is the right thing to do, it just is hard.

I have decided to embrace having three months of feeling comparatively better. I still fatigue pretty quickly, which from what I can gather is pretty common post chemo. I get to the point where I can barely keep my eyes open or string a sentence together.

But unlike pre chemo, I am not super short of breath. Before chemo my mum thought my breathing was ‘like a goat coming out of a cabbage patch’. I don’t have any ‘cancer’ symptoms at the moment. No night sweats, which I had a lot of, not short of breath, and no pain. So far so good. I am off all the pain meds during the day, and only have a small amount at night. The specialist thinks my night time hip pain is from nerve damage. My fingers and feet are doing better, but it would seem nerve damage is the gift that keeps on giving.

I have booked a family holiday to Cairns. Jetstar flies direct there from Christchurch, until the end of October. My boys, my parents and my sister’s family are all coming. A friend recommended some great apartments, and a car has been hired. We will do as much or as little together or apart as we want to. Just sitting and looking at the sea in the warmth will be lovely.

I have made progress on my ‘want to’ lists. Some of the travel, particularly overseas, is dependent on recovering. I have added a ‘what do I want to cook/bake/eat’ list.

Each Monday from 1-2pm I have been signing into the Blood Cancer New Zealand Post - Treatment workshops. I felt a bit like a fraud once I found out that I am likely not post treatment. The first one after the difficult news was about Psychological Well-being Post Treatment.

It is very common for both adult and child cancer patients to effectively feel kicked out of the nest post treatment. You have quite intensive supervision and medical appointments during treatment then usually very little. In some overseas countries, rehabilitation post treatment is provided as a wrap-around service as it helps patients physically and mentally heal. I am not sure what happens in child cancer now, but it was very common to be sent home with a tube fed kid, with no weaning guidence. We mostly all muddled through and figured it out, but it was hard.

Patients and families report issues around their identity, and integration back into their lives. There are a wide range of psychological, physical and social issues.

Psychological include but are not limited to:
Anxiety, depression, fear of recurrence, fear of mortality, uncertainty, overthinking, and hopefully post traumatic growth. PTSD and CTSD Chronic Traumatic Stress Disorder (as the stress isn’t from a one off event but from events over a long time) has been reported in the parents of Child Cancers patients.

Physical,
Fatigue, pain, sleep disturbances, treatment side effects, pain from surgeries and scarring. Treatment side effects can come up years later.

Social
The experience alters relationships.
Loneliness is a very common feeling. It is socially very isolating. I wasn’t well enough to do anything or go anywhere, but my world felt very small.
I am used to being a competent care-giver. As a full time solo parent, I am used to the buck stopping with me. I felt huge guilt about needing so much help, and how much this has affected my family, mostly my parents.

My key things that I found useful were:
How can I cope with the fear of relapse(or anything else)?
Allow it to be there
Give it permission to be where it already is
Stop fighting it
To ask yourself, what story am I creating, and how do I want to reframe it.

So how can someone cope with uncertainty?

Uncertainty is part of life. Humans as a species thrive with certainty and consistency.
Accept it. It isn’t going anywhere.
Decide.
Where do I want to put my energy? How am I going to fill my bucket?
Physical health - walking, rest, sleep, strength training
Mental - journaling, gratitude diary, self-compassion
Social - seeing people, finding my new place.

I also found learning about ‘Cognitive Defusion’ helpful. This is when you change how you interact with thoughts to reduce their power. You shift FUSION, which is believing thoughts as facts, to observing them as passing events - DEFUSION. If you can create distance from thoughts it reduces their power.

My two key learnings of late:

THOUGHTS ARE NOT FACTS

NEVER TRUST THE NIGHT THOUGHTS

I am working on learning to just be with where I am at now. To try and stay in the present moment. I don’t manage it all the time. I still have what’s the point I’ll be dead by then moments, etc…

When I did a paper on Politics in the Media at University, one topic was Agenda Setting. It doesn’t tell you what to think, rather, what to think about. I am trying to teach myself what to think about.

I am trying to use this time to build up my strength and stamina. I am trying to walk everyday, even when I really don’t want to, and walking further and faster when I do want to. I am trying to read for 20 mins a day, and do 30 mins of written brain activities. I am at 108 of 168 puzzles. I started during chemo. I am writing what I am grateful for and 3 drops of joy every day. I find this really helpful as you see what you look for. I am going to start journaling what I am grateful for achieving. Somedays I will be getting dressed, others I might try something for the first time. I am trying to keep my body calm, so my nervous system feels safe. Breathing in, holding and breathing out for x seconds is surprisingly effective at this.

In good news, Midas is doing really well. He just had a haircut, so is now ready to get a real job.

Thoughts, especially night thoughts, can be sneaky little bu**ers. I think this will be my big challenge.

Abby Briggs

07/08/2026

Now for some difficult news…

Wednesday was results day. 8 weeks after my last chemo, 2 weeks after my scan. It has felt like a very long time. When the nurse weighed me, she asked if I had someone coming with me and who they were. Dana and Moira, my mum.

The Dr asked if I knew why I was here. ‘Yes’, I said, to discuss the results of my scan. He agreed that was correct.

He started by saying something along the lines, that the news I am about to share is going to be difficult to hear. The scan didn’t show the result that you would hope for and now we need to have a difficult conversation about what comes next. He wasn’t wrong. I had been able to see my scans but not the results, and knew that there was a small spot that looked active for disease, but I also knew that PET scans are super hard to read.

The 3cm para-aortic tumour has gone, and both of the 4cm tumours are also gone. It is the beast that has been the issue, the one that started at 10cm, at the half way point was 6.4cm x 3.8mm. It is now 2.1 x 1.6cm.

So the chemo has done a good job, it killed most of the tumours. About 60% of people reach remission from B Cell Lymphoma using RCHOP treatment protocol. I am part of the 40%, which sucks. My scans were reviewed by a multi-disciplinary team to decide the best way forward.

But then came the WTF sucky news. At the moment the plan is to do nothing. In 3 months time I am to have another petscan, and then it will go back to the multi-disciplinary team to review again. I asked what the next steps would likely be. The reason for this, is there is a very small chance that the ‘hot spot’ might be a tumour that is still dying. I have been referred to the car t cell trial that has recently started in New Zealand. Very fortunately, it is now also open in Christchurch. To be eligible for the trial there are a number of eligibility criteria that I need to meet.

I asked if they would do radiation. Apparently where the tumour is, is a very terrible spot to radiate, and would cook my guts and stop it working. If I am not eligible for car t, I will have an even nastier, higher dose chemo, if this kills what is left and looks curative I will have an auto-logous stem cell transplant. This is where they give me GCSF injections to stimulate my own stem cells. They will then be harvested in a process that smells a bit like creamed corn. It is then frozen until it is needed. They then infuse with super mega chemo to almost kill you, then they give you the stem cells back and hope that they kick start your body and that you survive and feel ok.

Mum did ask about the timing of holidays. We were going to go away to celebrate the end of treatment. The Dr suggested that these three months are the time to go when I am still well and before the hard treatments start. If the other treatments aren’t curative, I think I am unlikely to be well enough to go later.

So that really sucks, and I have cried a lot. But I also know that I need to make the most of these three months. I need to get healthy and strong and do as much living as I can. I spent Sunday night very doomy. Anticipating a bad ending, and planning my funeral. My thoughts, when far down the rabbit hole, was that the royal family plans theirs and reviews the plan annually, so I can too. I listened to a bunch of sad ‘funeral’ songs and sobbed and sobbed. I did feel a lot better the next day, and I hadn’t had a good cry in a long time since Midas had his health issues. When Lizzie was nearing the end of her life, we would watch music videos together in bed while she went to sleep. Cover me in Sunshine by Pink and Try Everything by Shakira in the Zootopia movie were two of her favourites. It did remind me of that time with her.

Thank you for everyone that helped with the meal train. It really helped more than you could know. I am tired but well now, so we have closed it. If and when I need the next lot of poisoning we might look at it again.

So for now, I am going to live in the face of uncertainty. Humans aren’t designed to live with uncertainty, it creates a feeling of anxiety. Bravery is feeling fear and doing it anyway. And that is what I am going to try to do. Lizzie loved and lived fully, so I hope that I can do the same.

The red area at the bottom is my bladder and is normal for it to be red, as is the brain, as they uptake a lot of the tracer.

Abby Briggs
Moira Briggs
-hodgkin lymphoma