the Scar Project - battle scars

I just got home from a long evening of waiting tables…my feet are killing me [or trying to] and I am shattered. But I need to have a space between work and sleep, so I thought I'd pick up my email. LOTS of email as I tend to neglect it these days, as I'm not at the computer so much.

Then I thought I'd just check the blog feeds. And I read a post by Daria.  The video is moving - and this link is also very interesting.

Breast cancer is not about 'cute pink' things. Sort of like Ovarian cancer is not about cute teal things. It's about real women fighting for their lives - and their lives are forever changed by the aftershocks of whatever cancer they have had. The physical scarring, the mental scarring - the constant deliberations about what 'could' or 'might be' after such a life changing event.

To quote from the article: "Breast cancer charities have been very successful with their society balls, pink ribbon days, fun runs, and mass bikini walks. They glamorise breast cancer to the point where the charity is almost dissociated from the disease. The ribbons are a desirable fashion statement, their events peppered with celebrities; they are the place to be if you want to be photographed with the glitterati."

I liked that the writer went back and photographed the billboard - he was that disturbed by the reality of the image.

Interesting that something so horrible can become 'glamorous' in the eyes of the world. But I am sure [I know] that it's NOT in the eyes of the women struck with breast cancer. NO cancer is glamorous. Cancer is repulsive.

This post from Daria. I have copied it straight from her blog:

"According to the website, The SCAR Project is a series of large-scale portraits of young breast cancer survivors shot by fashion photographer David Jay.

The pictures are all of women between the ages 18 and 35. All the ladies are topless and bear the physical scars of breast cancer."

This video is not for the faint hearted. And I am suddenly grateful for my sore feet. At least  am here to HAVE sore feet…

I think a video of the scarring resultant from Ovarian cancer would be a good thing too - the scars will not be as emotive to many, as a scarred belly is not the same as a scarred breast. A scarred breast is a direct hit at a woman's psyche. But they are nonetheless battle scars we wear. Cut open from breast bone to pubic bone - it's a Battle Scar.

the last 2 weeks

I've been trying to be sensible and not do anything too strenuous [no circuit training – boo!], and I've been voting for cakes every day [yes, we are WINNING!! woo hoo! thanks all my friends who've been voting!] and NOT being Ninja Cancer Girl, so this has been a fabulous 2 weeks! I am totally in the zone of NOT having cancer. Just go and vote please…

Click the box to sign up and vote:

thanks…

Anyway - what? Oh yes – the last two weeks. First, the wounds in my tummy went all viciously red and sore. I mean REALLY sore – so I got a tad peeved with THAT scenario. I remembered from my last lot of so called 'dissolvable' stitches…they don't. Dissolve that is.

The body is supposed to recognise a foreign object and destroy it. My body is idiotic and doesn't seem to get the idea. We know that from the hellish tumour – wouldn't it destroy THAT if it knew what it was supposed to do? Confused dot com.

So I decided to remove them myself. Ugh! That was a rather shaky and sweaty experience to say the least! The skin had grown over  the stitches, so getting the scissors in 'just' the right place [in order not to cause bloodshed] was a bit tricky. But suffice to say, I removed all four stitches with no mishaps. Phew. Instant relief and now everything is healing up a charm. I am already using the Rosehip seed oil, so hopefully I won't have additional scars.

In the meantime, I managed to stub four toes before breakfast, rip one [long] fingernail off at the quick [aaargh – blood!], cut the back of my hand [ no I don't know what happened there at all] and smash my shin on the mum's tuck trunk we have as a side table in the lounge. BIG scab there. Yippee – a normal few things!

And I am really into helping this chap who is doing a 6,000 mile solo cycle ride intended to raise research funds and awareness about ovarian cancer. WHAT a cool dude! See his site here. More about that in the next post. And I am getting involved with a brilliant fellow who makes eco furniture – so cool. Everything Rick makes is sustainable and original. Beds, tables, boxes…superbly creative stuff, lovely to be considered as a part of his concern.  And also getting a bit involved with Killer Paint – really talented airbrushing. This man can paint anything at all. He is a true artist – and needs a good marketing person ;o)

And of course I am still looking for paying work [pay would be good!]. But, all told, a great start to MY new year – which really began once we got the biopsy result. At last it's sunk in!!

Ow! This is getting old fast – the bruising on my tummy is coming OUT with a vengeance.

Yesterday I removed the itchy dressings; that made me feel a bit ill. Ugh. The dressings caused some kind of allergic reaction which is normal for me. My skin doesn't like hospital sticky things, no matter where they put them.

The stitches are poking out of the wounds! The one in my navel is the worst one – looks as if it has one vertical cut, then two horizontal ones. Or maybe the horizontal ones are the stitches? Who knows - all I know is it hurts like a bugger! I've stopped taking painkillers, as it's not that bad, but a bruise is a bruise, and I feel like I was kicked by a buffalo. Plus I am a wimp. I keep wondering what it must look like inside? Ugh.

The middle one is where they stabbed in the air thing – it's rather unnerving to read that they can't see ANYTHING until they have actually put these great big metal things IN. Hence the risk of perforated organs. Hmm…what fun.

As you can no doubt see, my tummy looks worse now than it did when I came home. And actually it feels worse too. But no doubt this time next week it'll be back to normal. Hooray. Can't wait, as I can't do circuit training or anything else much for that matter. And I've already cleaned, dusted and washed just about everything. Such excitement…I say! And actually, I am really looking forward to having no pain – hard to imagine, after having the adhesions for two years.

Today's colourful belly

scar oil

I am not sure if I have posted this before, but [at the risk of being boring] this is the oil I use on my scar. Rosehip Seed oil [now sold as Rosehip oil for some obscure reason].

Originally I had a different one from a friend in Portugal, but I couldn't source it here once it ran out, so I had to change to this one, and it's brilliant; it doesn't stay on the surface of skin but sinks straight in. And it does seem to work, although as far as I can work out, the actual 'massaging' of the oil into the [healed] scar and the surrounding area helps the skin to flatten and whiten. It's not just the oil that gives the result.

"The massaging is an important part of the process and assists in breaking down scar tissue while increasing circulation to the scar site."

I think it originated in Brazil – and you know what the Brazilians are like for beauty stuff…

day 3 gets scabby

Today I am a bit less sleepy headed. I've cut the painkillers by half [not completely, as last time I did that I got ill plus a resounding ear bashing from all concerned]. So it's all still hurting but it's a 3 on a scale of 1 – 10. Negligible. Like really stiff muscles with the occasional sharp stab for reminding me not to be stupid. The bit that hurts the most is the entry wound in my navel – where they blew me up like a balloon. I shudder to think about what one looks like on the operating table – a beached puffer fish?

Anyway, I am still wondering when I can take these bandages off. I don't really like wounds to be covered up, as they can get up to mischief if you can't see them. Although I am a bit squeamish about my own wounds – don't really like looking at them too much. Whereas if it's someone else's, no problem at all. Odd.

I have actually worked out that they do seem to be waterproof dressings, but one of them has no dressing so what about that one? I wish they'd write instructions on your tummy. Arrow: wash this one. Arrow: leave this one alone. Arrow: no, that's not a wound it's a bit of fluff, put your glasses on fool.

Another thing I have been wondering is if the adhesions will come back. So I sallied forth into cyber space and found an interesting article here, that says "In order to reduce the risk of further adhesion formation, we prefer to operate with a laparoscope and very fine instruments". Good. That's what he's done, so crossed fingers they will remain banished [I rather like 'vaporised' actually].

I was going to put some pictures of Diathermy here, but they made me feel sick, so you're spared that. Gross. BUT I thought I'd share the new scabby bits. As averse to the old scabby bits – actually, for those of you about to be operated on [I think we all worry about the scarring afterward] you can see the original scar here, it's pretty amazing the improvement; and here are the three new perforations…the old scar looks pretty neat right?

See what I mean about the one at the bottom though? No dressing. And it looks like some boy scout took his Handy Craft Knife and carved 'x' marks the spot! Quite hilarious taking pictures of your own stomach I might add…plus you can see everything a lot better on the computer screen. Is this a good thing I wonder??

wanting to be normal again

Monday 14th September

It's really weird. This time last year, I was like 'GI Jane' – hair 2mm SHORT and feeling completely and utterly crap / ugly / lucky / miserable / exhilarated / deranged / happy / sad / tearful / depressed / frightened – bring it on, I felt it. All at once. Barely able to make it up the hills of Porto. Planning my next step, seeing it in my mind and wondering if I'd make it. Just the next street sign…just the next hill. Counting my footsteps, and breathing each one. Hurting and silently screaming that I did NOT want to do this…but forcing myself anyway.

This is me, in Porto, last September. We had a fabulous holiday for a week. It was incredible – Aj arranged an amazing apartment, and my friends were there for me – we had a brilliant week. The sun shone every day. It seems a lifetime away now. I can't BELIEVE I looked like that! I can't really understand what happened…it seems like a dream now. Or maybe a nightmare? I can't believe I made it up all those steps we had to get to the apart. No lift there! I can't believe that this was actually me; this weak and frail person. This tottering 'thing'. I am amazed at how much I complained!! and I am amazed at how much I achieved. But hindsight is always crystal clear isn't it?

Bloated face from the steroids, loads of extra weight due to the same. A great big scar up the middle of my hitherto fore pristine belly. Oh I bitched and whined about those things…but to be fair, those things saved my life.

This is me now – I feel so lucky!!! Look! Hair! Lots of it…

It's easy to forget that this time we have is an 'extra'. If you will. We are all struggling to stay alive. People [like I used to be] without cancer or the threat of it. People with their horrible diseases [yeah, lets not forget – there are many horrid things you can get, just as bad as cancer!] and people who just have a cold, or feel tired, and think it's the End Of The World. To them, perhaps it is. I would be happy for anyone that this should be the worst that could happen to them. I wish it were the worst that had happened to me.

But we are in 'extra time' – a few years back, we would have been dead. But we aren't. Thanks to modern technology, new insight and incredible scientific breakthroughs, we are alive. I wonder what is in the heads of those scientists? Is it that they want to save us? Or is it that they want to be famous for saving us? Do I care? No. I don't. Bring on the boffins – they have extended my life so far. I hope they will carry on doing just that. I don't want to die. No, not yet, not until I am about 95!

I want to be able to complain about 'The Youth Of Today'...I want to be able to bitch about my pension…I want to see Aj with hardly any hair ;o)

in short – I want the chance to get old. I want the chance to feel normal again. For a long time?

some poetry…

Khalil Gibran, age 15

Khalil Gibran was a Lebanese artist, poet and writer. He was born in the Christian Maronite town of Bsharri in modern-day Lebanon in 1883; at the time, Lebanon was a Syrian Province of the Ottoman Empire. As a young man he emigrated with his family to the United States where he studied art and began his literary career.

Khalil Gibran is the third bestselling poet in history after Shakespeare and Lao Tse. His poetry is beautiful and his words can be searing. While most people know Gibran only as the author of "The Prophet", he wrote seventeen books, nine in Arabic and eight in English.

Khalil Gibran died of liver cancer on April 10, 1931. He was forty-eight years old. The people who attended his burial service said it wasn't a time of mourning, but of celebration.

I came across these two quotes today, and I thought I'd share them with you. I am sure they will have meaning for a lot of us.

"Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars."

and

"a word I want to see written on my grave: I am alive like you, and I am standing beside you. Close your eyes and look around, you will see me in front of you ...."

≈ Kahlil Gibran