Standing there, having just put the girls’ lunch boxes in their school bags, I broke down. It was just me and the girls at home at that time. We’d gone from the mundanity of getting ready for school like every other morning to news that changed my life. My girls’ comfort in the routine start of the day shattered by my reaction to that phone call. Not yet knowing the cause of their mum’s upset, but aware something seismic had happened.
They’re my whole world, those two little girls. We’d just lost my grandmother to bowel cancer a few months before my diagnosis, so all they knew about the disease was that people die from it. They were really scared.
Being diagnosed in December meant I had to wait longer than usual for treatment to begin. In fact, it didn’t start until the end of January. The thought of waiting six weeks before I could start fighting the cancer felt like forever. When you have this thing you think is growing inside you, you just want to get it out. So here I was, sitting with the grief of my grandmother passing, running through various possible outcomes in my head, all while trying to put on a brave face on for my family.
I’d never had anxiety in my life, but I was having intrusive thoughts that were horrendous and truly debilitating. I lost 10kg, I couldn’t do anything. My head was consumed with endless questions – what are my kids going to do without their mum? How is my partner going to cope with two little girls? Even stupid stuff like: my eldest is a preteen, who’s going to teach her about periods? Her dad can’t do that for her.
I couldn’t get any peace from my own brain. It was just awful.
I realised I was at a breaking point; my mental load was not something I could carry on my own. Unsure of my next steps, I called the Cancer Society’s 0800 helpline (0800 226 237). I spoke to this beautiful lady on the phone who made me feel at ease. From there I was contacted by one of their nurses, who organised free counselling with a local psychologist.
Before I started my chemotherapy, we managed to squeeze in three counselling sessions. It was so good to have someone to talk to about the irrational things my brain was telling me. I quickly recognised I needed a plan, something practical and tangible, and that I had a level of control around. I realised I’d almost been holding my breath since the diagnosis. Identifying the need for a plan and starting to think what that could look like, I felt I could breathe again.
I remember leaving that counselling session and getting into the car. Not only was I breathing, but I also laughed and ate something after four weeks of barely eating.
I knew I still had my treatment to navigate, that chemotherapy and radiation were going to be gruelling. But for this part of my cancer journey, I’d reclaimed some autonomy. While the cancer was still attacking my body, I was no longer battling against my mind.
Looking back, it wasn’t just one phone call that changed my life, it was two. I truly believe my head would probably have destroyed me before the cancer if I hadn’t called that helpline.
This Christmas, I’m living my best cancer-free life.
If you or someone you know has cancer and would like to talk, contact Cancer Society’s 0800 CANCER (226 237). If you’d like to support the Cancer Society, visit www.cancer.org.nz/donate-now/.
