PART I: Normal Routines
After writing about my adrenaline rush at the gym, I decided that the following text – a happy-ending story – should be my final blog post.
Not because I’m bored with writing but because my life looks normal again. I wake up at around 6:00, feed the cats and the chickens, make porridge and coffee, read at least four (local and international) newspapers over breakfast, and around 9:00, I’m seated at my desk. I currently work 2½ days (50% on sick leave) per week for a business agency.
Around lunchtime, I set off for a one-hour hike around the lake. Thereupon, I eat lunch before I return to my computer for some more organisational tasks. I cook meals, do the laundry, iron, and twice a week I go to the gym. I visit my group at Pönkkä on Fridays. On the weekends hubby and I do our shopping, continue our renovation work in Ii, watch German crime series, or visit friends. If the house is a mess, we clean for an hour or so. Life is good as it is. I don’t see why my daily life would excite the reader.
Blog Writing
Initially, I started blogging for my three sons and their girlfriends, all in their late twenties/ early thirties, living abroad, and fluent in English. Being aware that one day they might have children of their own who may want to know what a charming person their grandma was, I decided to share my cancer journey with all its highs and lows, just to help them refresh their memory if I’m no longer around to answer questions.
My friend Heather made me think broader. Just as you need to write it, it needs to be read, she wrote to me in March last year. I had started writing immediately after my first chemo experience in January and shared the content only with family and friends. After Heather’s message, I decided to share the piece with a wider audience. I announced my first post in March 2023, but I put the publication date on January 26th to make it look as if the news was actual. Google date settings make it easy to fool the reader.
I do this to keep the events as they occur in sequence and because I’m a slow writer. I need time to process and re-evaluate my thoughts. Another word, a better flow, present or past tense, does the conclusion make sense? I often put the text away and continue with the same persistence a day later.
I immensely like writing. Writing helps me to process my insecurities and fears and searching for the right words helps me to go in-depth and better understand myself and the world around me.
Luckily, topics come easily to me, and I almost instinctively know how to draw in a reader, but I must admit I’m lazy with punctuation. For instance, I can’t be bothered to go online to find out whether I should use a semicolon or a parenthesis in a sentence. And if I do find the answer, I immediately forget. I’m obviously not good at following rules.
Emma, an Oxford literature graduate and a high school buddy of my oldest son, came to the rescue. She has eagle eyes, and more importantly, I know that my narrative is in good hands with this 32-year-old, trustworthy, and capable linguist.
For me writing has been cathartic, but Heather was right. It’s cool to see Google Analytics revealing that even complete strangers can appreciate Tumour Troubles, too. People in countries such as South Korea, Australia, Canada, South Africa, Belgium, Spain, Germany and of course, Finland and the Netherlands, have read my blog. Nearly 6000 readers in one year. The number surprises me; I only make an announcement on Facebook every time I publish a new piece. I just can’t be bothered to put in an effort and share my blog on other social media channels. I write foremost for myself, my children, and my close friends. Nevertheless, it’s rewarding to see that others appreciate my writing as well.
PART II: Cancer Recurrence
Two days before my 61st birthday it became clear that I’m far from done with my writing.
My husband and I, both seated in the doctor’s office in the hospital at 10:30, heard that the CT scan showed metastasis in my abdomen again as well as around my heart this time. “You can start chemo treatment immediately,” the doctor said. “Six treatments will be followed by a CT scan sometime in August,” she added. Later, the nurses called in an anaesthetist to check the chemo port. No flow. He suggested another appointment next week to flush or replace (small surgery) my dysfunctional port.
What followed were several trials by two nurses to find a vein for the intravenous infusion. Red spots fell on the bed sheets. Ice-cold hands. Blood pressure went up and then finally, drip, drip, drip, the chemo substance found its way into my body. A dry mouth, metallic taste and tingling feet, followed immediately by tingling in hands as well. “Yes, your hair may fall out again, Ata,” the nurse said.
Sometime later: pre-medication, new descriptions to the pharmacy, sick leave papers for the employer, schedules for regular blood tests and visits to the stoma nurse as the cancer also sits next to my stoma. “Remember to administer the Ziextenzo 6 mg injection 24 hours after the chemo,” the nurse said when, eight hours later, we left the ward.
Back to square one
We came home around 18:00 overwhelmed, tired, sad, and confused. Nothing felt right anymore. According to the blood test results, the tumour markers were within their normal range. Also, I felt good physically and mentally. Friends told me I looked radiant. So misleading.
My brain worked overtime last night.
But I woke up with the positives. The metastases were little dots, tiny snowflakes against a dark sky, no big tumours were visible. My lungs and breasts were clean. No visible ascites. Chemotherapy seems to work slightly better for patients who carry the BRCA gene mutation. The doctors reacted quickly, and we hope the chemo will do its job.
Yet, my sense of normalcy is gone. I'll be stuck to the couch with fatigue for a long time again.
I made up my mind. I will continue with writing. Too many things that I need to get off my chest in the coming months. We ain’t done yet.
🫶 keep fighting.
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