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Brave Momentum, Christchurch (2026)

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

31/07/2026

Two Week Wait

We measure our life in units of time. This year every 21 days on a Wednesday, I started a new cycle of chemo, every 7 days on Tuesday, I would have a dressing change, every 21 days on Tuesday I would get blood tests done. The week before each new cycle was to start I would have a Drs appointment. On Friday, Monday and Wednesday post chemo, I would go into the hospital for fluids. By day 14 I usually stopped feeling nauseous. The first two week wait.

I finished chemo 7 weeks ago. It has taken me much longer to recover from this cycle than I expected. I felt awful and shattered for a long, long time. On the plus side,I am now feeling better than I have for a long time, which I greatly appreciate.

I can now eat normally, although there are still a few things that give me the ick. I can’t eat the amount that I used to, but to be fair I had bigger portions than I needed. Richard finishes my dinner most nights. I still need naps every other day, and just crash at times.

Generally disappointment comes from the gap between reality and expectation. I saw a physio for a rehab appointment, which is generously funded by the cancer society. I was expecting to be put through my paces, to get help to ease the bits of me that are super painful and a plan to exercise and rebuild. I was told of the importance of exercise. That 150 mins of vigorous exercise cuts the risk of relapse significantly. And to schedule my days with rest and exercise then rest. To break it into 2 10 mins walks if needed. At the time it felt like being told to suck eggs. In hindsight, I wonder if the physio realised that I wasn’t physically up to doing that and just needed more time to ease into getting my strength and stamina up. I asked about the severe pain I was having in my lower back. She said she couldn’t look at it as it wasn’t caused by an accident, but that a huge amount of chemo patients report this pain and to tell the oncologist. I felt gutted, it felt like I was just going to be in pain forever with no help. But it was all sound advice.

I am trying to walk further and a bit faster each week. It is so nice to be outside and moving. My hip is screaming with pain at night time, I don’t know if that is treatment related or not. Im awake for hours through the night in pretty severe pain. I will bring it up when I see the Drs this week.

Midas is doing super well. He had recovered much better than we expected. He will be on meds for life, and it won’t be as long as some other dogs. But for now he is happy and well, if a little bolshy.

Last week I had my end of treatment scan. It didn’t feel as awful this time as last time. Last time I honestly thought that the scan lasted an hour and a half. I was very shocked to learn it was only 25 ish minutes. The process does take a couple of hours all up. It was easier as I still have my CICC line as they didn’t need to dig for veins to inject the radioactive tracer and contrast. After the radioactive solution is injected you wait in a lead lined room and need to be very still and quiet to make sure that the tracer isn’t taken up by muscles through use instead of just cell turnover. I elected this time to have a sedative. I came close to having a panic attack last time. I had to have my arms above my head, and my old lady shoulder screamed. I am not sure if this time it was because I was in a more comfortable position with my arms down, that I knew it was only 25 mins or most likely the sedative, but it felt easier. The other big difference was this scan was earlier in the day, so I wasn’t fasting all day.

Now I wait. The last time I worried about 2 week waits, was when I was trying to get pregnant with Peter. Throughout treatment I told myself I would get through the s**t time, then I would have no evidence of disease, slowly recover, then get on with my life.

Now the doubt and the what if it hasn’t worked is creeping in. I am ‘lucky’ that my cancer does have second and third curative treatment options. Each option gets physically harder and riskier. Given how sick I was with front line treatment, I feel dread when thinking of future treatment and side effects. So now I will hurry up and wait.

I now find I preface thoughts with ‘if’not ‘when’. If I survive this, if I don’t relapse, if I don’t have too many long term effects, if I ever properly regain my energy. Considering the uncertainty at the moment I am doing ok. But it has forever changed how I frame and look at the world. I knew this somewhat with Lizzie, whether she would grow up, how her education might be affected, how many long term treatment effects she would have… But I also knew if she died, that the boys still needed support and that everyday grind of life would go on. I made a decision to allow myself to feel joy and happiness, and that grief and sadness can sit with laughter and fun.

The Reticular Activating System is proving difficult. One of the main functions of this is : Attention and Focus. It directs mental energy toward tasks, goals, or information that matches current thoughts or survival needs. Basically, you see what you look for. When you get engaged you notice the jewelry advertisements, if you decide to buy a new TV you start noticing when sales are advertised. For me, it is stories about ‘young’ people, i.e. adults my age with cancer. And a lot of those stories don’t end with cure. The stories with female primary parents hit the hardest. where you have to hope the non-custodial parent or other family will step up and support the kids. Leaving my kids is my biggest fear, they have already lost too much. I know my friends and family will.

On a more hopeful note, I have been starting to think about the ‘what do I want’, to see, to do, to meet up with again, to experience for the first time or again. I haven’t made any decisions on this bucket list of sorts. Except that when I do think of things that I will do them whether my time is limited or not. I am not going to wait for perfection. There is no perfect time, there is only the time that you decide to make it happen.

I will post an update of my results next week. But I will likely take some time to process them first. Thank you to everyone that has kept in touch.

I have uploaded a new hair picture. It has grown in super soft, it feels almost like cat fur at the moment. I can't tell if it is lighter or going grey. I have decided to be brave, and if my head gets hot in my hat if I am out - but indoors - I am taking off my hat and just being bald. I have decided to own and live in the skin I am in.

25/06/2026

Today I made it to my 45th year. A year ago I just assumed that I would. Six months ago, I hoped but knew that it wasn’t guaranteed. I can no longer claim to be early to mid 40s. I am now firmly in my mid 40s, and am grateful to be.

I am grateful for a lot of things this year. Firstly to still be alive. For 2 weeks post chemo I am not feeling too bad. The nausea has mostly eased. I still get some pretty wicked pain at times, and my body is pretty stiff and sore after treatment.

I am very grateful for my friends and family. The support I have received over the last several years has really meant a lot. It is the people in your life that really brings meaning to it.

I am trying to work on a list of what to do next. It feels really hard to plan for an uncertain picture. I am worried that the treatment hasn't worked. I am worried about relapse. I am working hard to remember to not trust the night thoughts. I am going to start working on a list of things I want to learn how to do, things to try and places to go.

I am most grateful for my parents. Their sacrifice, love and devotion has been the stuff of legends. Mum, without planning to, has spent a lifetime of caregiving and looking after others. She fought for me and kept me alive when I was really sick as a teenager. My sister had health issues too. She cared for her parents through prolonged sickness, and for her inlaws. She upped sticks and moved to Christchurch, when she first had cancer, when she lapsed and as she was suffering through her end of life.

Caregiving is exhausting. Physically, mentally, emotionally and financially. When you are doing it away from your own home and support network, it is much harder again. When you are in the role over and over again, it must feel especially relentless. The good news is for mum, unlike Lizzie I don’t insist on sleeping on her knee for hours every month, having her cuddle me to sleep and I would like to think I am less bossy. The bad news, I am much less cute, and my bald head still feels rough and hers was beautiful and smooth and kissable.

I am hoping that tomorrow is less painful and more relaxing than it was 45 years ago for my parents. Dad has rewritten history that he pushed the Dr out of the way and caught me. I tend to favour mum’s version, where they Drs and nurses were worried he was going to faint.

Yesterday on my birthday, I took mum and dad out for dinner, and a friend popped over for coffee. I had a very long nap. Mum made an amazing slow cooked lamb for dinner, and Peter and Richard made and decorated a cake. Richard put on every candle he could find and happily used matches to light them.

I don’t know what this year will look like. At the moment, I can’t imagine having energy and doing stuff. But I will. Thank you for all the birthday messages, I really appreciated them.

17/06/2026

The Finish Line

At the start of treatment, I really didn’t know how I would possibly survive to get to cycle 6. I was in such horrific pain before starting treatment, and the first two cycles, lying in bed in pain not able to eat or drink and wretching because there was nothing left to vomit up, I remember thinking I know why people stop treatment and just want to die.

I also knew that if I stopped treatment I would die, and that the process of dying would just get more painful. I owed it to myself, my kids, my family to try to fight cancer and to take the treatment and pain. And holy moly these 6 months have been trying.

I sometimes think what it must be like for people who otherwise feel ok when they discover that they have a tumour, to go from feeling ok, to feeling awful from treatment to try and prevent feeling terrible and dying in the future.

Last week I had my 6th lot of chemo infusions. Because of the anaphylactic reactions from last time, I had to take a different type of high dose steroids for the 2 days before the infusion, then the infusion had to be given very slowly. It was like 8 hours in the chemo chair. I was first in and last out. Fortunately the precautions all worked and I was back to just normal chemo sick and no extra reactions.

The Dexamethasone to prevent the reaction, in some ways made the few days after chemo feel more manageable. But there is a cost for everything. I have spent about ⅓ of this year on pretty high dose steroids. Steroids are great for helping kill blood cancers and reducing inflammation. But terrible for your bones and eyes, blood sugar and sanity.

Lots of blood cancer patients really struggle with the side effects of steroids when on treatment. Roid rage is real, savage hunger, anxiety can make you a ball of emotions about to erupt. Overall I have been pretty lucky to have very few steroid issues. This is mostly because I was so ill. This time I did have side effects.

The Dexamethasone then only the Prednisolone kicked my arse. For the first time in 6 months, I was hungry. I was obsessed with thinking about food, talking about food, and eating food. (only for a few days). I was tired and wired, I felt anxious and jittery and just all over the place. I didn’t cry as much as I was expecting, but did a wee bit. Weaning off them then hit me like a brick. I went from super wired to needing both a morning and afternoon nap and still not feeling rested at all. I took the last of my weaning dose yesterday.

The neuropathy, nerve damage from chemo, has gotten worse. The bottoms of both feet have an altered sensation and the tips of most of my fingers. This might be temporary or it might be just how life is now. I am trying to keep moving them, I don’t know if it will fix anything, but it makes me feel like I’m trying. At the hospital, they ask if I can still button things and use zips or if I am tripping because I can’t feel my feet. I so far can manage, so I guess that’s good.

It is a weird feeling being ‘done’. Mostly because I am not done. It isn’t a case of the last treatment going in and life going back to normal. I will be monitored life long for late treatment effects. I am at higher risk of heart failure thanks to chemo, cataracts, osteoporosis, bladder issues, more nerve damage, and cancer caused from treatment.

I find myself being grateful to get a break from treatment. I would feel very anxious leading up to treatment. Knowing that I was going to feel so awful again. Now I am also torn with - was it enough. Did I have enough toxic chemicals to kill the cancer?

My brain feels like it’s made of marshmallows. I find myself unable to find words, losing my train of thought. I was reading that when you are sick it happens as your body's way to get you to stop and rest. The chemo can cross the blood brain barrier, which is one of the causes of chemo brain. Fatigue and feeling crappy don’t help matters at all. Again, it should be temporary, and I don’t need to do much thinking just at the moment.

I now wait for another 5ish weeks for a scan then another 2 weeks for results and next steps.

So my life at the moment involves, hurry up and wait. Given my lack of energy I don’t have a lot of options. It seems surreal to be able to plan ahead. I am looking forward to having eyelashes and nose hairs.

This post probably is a bit garbled, apologies if it is. It’s been a long hard year.

01/06/2026

Keep on swimming

A lot and not much has happened since cycle 4. I am now in cycle 5, of 6. The finish line for this treatment is almost in sight. Round 6 is scheduled for the 10th of June, and scans will be 6 weeks after that. I will then have to wait for team meetings and an appointment date to find out what the next stage of treatment is.

The reason for the 6 week wait, is it will give time for the chemo to finish working, and time for any cancer to heat up and show up again.

In good news my wee Midas is much improved, after a very scary bump. He has heart failure and is on meds. Initially they really helped and he was a bit more himself. But then he went very downhill and his breathing was terrible. Snoring, snorting, super rattling sounding. He was back to being lethargic. I was really worried he only had days or weeks left.

A trip across the road to the vet. His lungs were clear which was a big relief, and the vet thought he had an ear, nose or throat infection and prescribed antibiotics to be eaten with food. His heart meds and to be taken on an empty stomach. Fortunately that was the issue, and he is much more back to himself. He is more playful and alert.

He super loves leaves. Even more than sticks. We kept him away from them until he recovered.

I have been having my own health adventures. Being that the world is a very small place, I sat next to a former carpet customer in the infusion centre, who is now on life-extending care. It was lovely to see her, even in such circumstances. Adult cancer is tough, the survival rates for a lot of cancers are still poor, and there are a lot of very elderly unwell people on treatment. I haven’t seen many people my age or younger.

An hour before my chemo infusions, I take steroids, paracetamol and a strong anti histamine. These meds are all to try and prevent having an allergic reaction, mostly from the chemo immunotherapy drug, Rituximab. This drug is known to have life threatening reactions, but the drug has been a game changer for increasing survival.. Most people, if they react, react the first time they have the drug. The first time you are watched like a hawk and the drug is given very slowly, over 4 or more hours.

Last cycle, I had a minor reaction at the time. The infusions were paused, I was given more antihistamine, then told to watch out for reactions when I went home. I started spewing at dinner time which is unusual for the first day given the new meds I was on. I just didn’t feel right at all. After I went to bed I got itchy - which is a reaction. I rang the hospital and they said to come in. About this time I realised I couldn’t swallow. Mum quickly took me into the hospital. I was put through and seen very quickly. By then my blood pressure was very high and my throat was getting very swollen. I was very quickly given IV meds into my central line. I spent a few days in hospital, getting fluids and extra meds.

I am now on much better antinausea drugs, and they are now tapering my steroids so I don’t go from very high doses to nothing, which has also helped with nausea. I am halfway through cycle 5 now. I am hoping and praying that the chemo has been enough, that it has killed enough cancer. I go in for fluids on the Friday and Monday after chemo, and if needed also the Wednesday.

I am at the point where I can’t remember what it is like to feel well. I found out I had cancer in January. I had been going to the GP for months before that not feeling well. Shortness of breath, drenched night sweats, really tired and just not feeling right.

Rationally I know that I will feel better again, it just seems very far away.

I have been thinking about my baldness lately. I really haven’t cared that much while I have been on treatment. I don’t really go anywhere apart from hospitals and appointments and most of the people there are bald anyways. Unlike Elsa in Frozen, the cold does very much bother me. I have different hats for different temperatures, day hats and night hats. We are getting closer to the year’s shortest day. But it is chilly.

When I finish treatment and go back into the world, I will still be bald. I had alopecia as a child, but I was so young that I don’t remember it. I had a hat on in any photos that were taken. I have almost no eyebrows or eyelashes now either. I do courtesy of my sister, have eyebrow stamps and eyebrow pencils. Part of me wants to be brave and own the baldness - in a sunsmart way of course. Apart from a brief childhood stint at baldness, I have only had short hair once when i was 18 and I cut it to be a hair model (my hairdresser won her category). I have pretty much always had long super thick hair, that has lived in pony tail prison.

I have always admired a friend of mine from school Jan. She has for as long as I can remember had shortish hair. She has always had amazing cuts and colours. I would like to think that I would have the courage to try funky cuts and colours.

For a while I felt like something kept falling in my eyes. But dismissed it that it can feel like that but rarely is. Turns out I did. My eyelashes. You don’t appreciate how useful they are until you don’t have them. They stop grit getting into your eyes, they feel weird too when you touch your face. It feels a bit exposed.

A lot of facial expression comes from eyebrows. I can artificially put them on, but don’t at home. I still get a surprise when I see myself in a mirror with no hair, and looking so tired.

I am more tired than I thought possible now. I get pretty short of breath and need one or two naps a day and lots of rest. I am looking forward to being ‘done’ with this lot of chemo, but it doesn’t seem real either. I am planning to do some counselling and trauma work after this phase of my life.

I have been spending my time napping, colouring, doing adult activity books ie Sudoku, word finds, binge watching shows (I'd love some ideas), trying to do short walks with Midas. When my brain is working a bit read. I made pizza for dinner on Friday night for the first time this year.

I just need to stay alive until I can start living again.

Thank you so much for the people that have signed up to the meal train. It makes such a huge difference. Mum and dad are amazing and are absolute troopers. But they aren’t as young as they were and this is bloody exhausting for them too. The meals really help to take the edge off. So thank you again.

Brave Momentum

31/08/2026

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