Speaking up

Despite a great fear of public speaking, I recently agreed to talk to a small group of women. The brief was "A three minute mini-talk on something that you're passionate about." Unsurprisingly I spoke about the thing which has changed my life; cancer. As I practiced my little speech over and over again, the message became clear, and it was that we all have a choice. Whether your choice is chemotherapy, or any one of the alternatives, the simple fact that you have educated yourself, that you are aware that you are making a CHOICE, is so empowering. Being empowered takes us away from being a victim. Being empowered is the first step towards healing.

I observed my body under stress throughout that mini-talk, I used everything I'd learned to breathe deeply and to be calm. I wasn't totally aware of what I was saying, but at the end of that nerve-shattering 3 minutes, I was met with faces registering just a little bit of shock at what I'd said, and in that moment I realised (sadly) that there will always be an audience for cancer.

I can't deny that I got a buzz from telling my story that night, from showing that there are different healing modalities. In that spirit, when I was asked to film a testimonial for Dr Nyjon Eccles about thermography as opposed to mammograms, I jumped at it, feeling nervous, but passionate about sharing some of what I'd learned. I feel so strongly that the current medical paradigm isn't working, that we need to update screening technology to safer, less invasive methods, which already exist but are not mainstream. (I've discussed my feelings about mammograms in my post about monitoring). How amazing would it be if a generation of women sidestepped the dangers of mammograms and benefitted from the earlier detection that a thermo-scan offers.

Here's the link to the video;  
https://www.facebook.com/BreastScreeningUK/posts/712875578726724?notif_t=like

There are lies, damn lies, and statistics

The joy at the recent headline-grabbing news about Angelina Jolie's elective preventative mastectomy is understandable if you believe that her risk went from 85% to 5%. In truth that was her RELATIVE risk. Her ABSOLUTE risk of dying of breast cancer due to the BRCA1 gene was an increase of 1.7%. 

Despite passing my statistics 'O' level, I was never very good at maths. Sitting in the oncologists office, how I wished I'd paid more attention. None of the figures thrown at me made any sense. Of 100 women in my age bracket (40 - 50 years old) with the same sized tumour (2 - 5cms) and the same amount of positive lymph nodes (1 - 10) only 65% would survive 5 years without any allopathic treatment. What did that mean? I had no idea. The second opinion doctor was straighter with me. When I asked him did I have a 65 percent chance of surviving until I was 45, his answer was no. I had a 50 % chance. I would live, or I would die. 

My Dad tried to explain relative risk vs absolute risk. I was none the wiser, but I was told that my chance of surviving 5 years decreased from between 90% - 80% to 75% - 65% if I chose to reject chemotherapy, radiotherapy and tamoxifen. (The figures changed depending on which consultant I saw, and how optimistic they were with my 'data') In total, the 3 biggest guns that the NHS had to offer gave me (at best) an increased survival rate of 15 percent. Chemotherapy alone offered me just 5 percent. FIVE PERCENT? And that was without taking into consideration the potential carcinogenic side-effects.

I asked my oncologist, who are these women who have chosen to do 'nothing'? What is 'nothing'? Are they smokers? Overweight? He didn't have answers. And later I learned that statistics are actually stacked drug against drug, not necessarily against a 'clean' control group. I have certainly never been asked to be a part of any survey, and even if I were, I would argue vehemently that I have done 'nothing' to prevent a recurrence. 

Regardless of any numbers, none of the allopathic options offered to me resonated.

In my opinion, it's vital to understand that we're not a collection of body parts. We cannot chop bits off hoping to evade a systemic disease borne not of inheritance, but of toxicity and deficiency. Epigenetics tells us that it is the environment within the body which switches genes on or off. How empowering to know that we have some control, that by creating an alkaline, oxygen-rich environment, disease is far less likely to happen. Japanese women who carry the BRCA1 gene have a 65% less chance of a cancer diagnosis than their American sisters with the same inherited faulty gene, unless they move to America, then the rates level out very quickly. What does this tell us? That cancer is a disease of malnutrition and lifestyle.

Scars

Before I had my right breast removed, I couldn't imagine my body without it. The days leading up to the operation were difficult. I tried hard to prepare for it's absence, but it was impossible, inconceivable.

I never wanted a reconstruction, hating the idea of unnecessary further surgery. Besides, anaesthetic suppresses the immune system (as do the inevitable subsequent anti-biotics and pain-killers), and I was trying to boost my immune system to deal with any residual cancer. I was working hard to detoxify, so the idea of loading my liver with toxins was counter-intuitive. I disliked the idea of silicon in my body, a foreign object that would permanently remind me of what I had lost. I didn't even consider the more complicated surgeries which would involve taking fat and skin from my belly and back. I imagined a body-map of scars and a possible franken-boob. My final, absolute no-no was allowing a surgeon to 'match' my remaining, (and let's face it, after 28 months of breast-feeding, well worn) breast, to it's new perky, plastic counterpart. Cutting into my healthy breast, and leaving it potentially lacking sensitivity seemed a little crazy.

The worst part of the operation was the tubes which were sewn into the surgery site to drain off lymph fluid, and their removal a few days later. I can't honestly say that I remember pain, more bruising and tightness, which continued for some months.

Mastectomy and Lymphadenectomy scars

Naturally, it took time to get used to my new body. It was uncomfortable, and I got a shock every time I saw myself in the mirror. I guarded my surgery site with my arm, scared that my children would hurt me as they came in to land for cuddles. Looking back, I resembled a bird with a broken wing. It took a while to get full mobility back in my arm, and the area under my armpit is still a little numb. That first summer I hated my prosthesis; a hot, sweaty burden, heavy and unnatural. But I'm a sucker for symmetrical, so I persevered.

Now I wear my scars with pride, they're thin and the wounds are well healed. And what are scars if not a visual reminder of survival?

My husband, amazingly supportive throughout, has no issues with his one-breasted wife, and I still walk around naked in front of my children. They're all totally un-phased by my missing body part, if a little unimpressed by my immodesty!!!

These are intensely personal decisions, and I make no judgement of what others choose. I understand the weight of attachment to a breast and the potential loss of identity post-mastectomy. For me, I simply accept my new body, and that makes me happy.

Armpits

Like many women who have had breast cancer, I have had a Lymphadenectomy - the removal of all of the lymph nodes in my armpit. This operation, performed only a fortnight after mastectomy, posed one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make. During the mastectomy one lymph node of the 12 removed showed positive for cancer and I was advised to undergo a full lymph dissection. This would involve going back in through my very recently (and beautifully) healed mastectomy scar to remove every last node in my armpit. I felt reticent about compromising such an important part of my detoxification system, but also anxious about potentially leaving cancer within my body. I made a decision rooted in fear and it's one that I regret, particularly because I've since learned that the primary reason for removing lymph nodes is for diagnostic purposes, and I had already decided that I would not be having chemotherapy. 

The surgeon did not in fact use my mastectomy scar, but went in through my armpit, creating a 5 inch horizontal scar which has caused much pain and discomfort. (You can elect to have a 'frozen node biopsy' which obviates the need for a second operation, but this was not available at my hospital). Removal of the lymph nodes often creates 'cording', a painful tightening of vessels in the armpit which leads to restricted movement of the arm. There is also a risk of lymphoedema, a dangerous and sometimes irreversible build up of lymphatic fluid in the arm, which thankfully I never experienced. (I regularly visited a lymphatic drainage specialist after surgery to 'create' pathways for my damaged lymph system to drain into). There was no sign of cancer in any of those further 22 removed lymph nodes. Great news for my prognosis, not such great news for my lymph.

Every cell in our body is bathed in lymphatic fluid. Toxins, cell debris, viruses and bacteria are drawn into the fluid, and transported via the lymphatic system (a network of thin-walled vessels) into lymph glands. These outposts for the immune system exist throughout the body, and contain high levels of white blood cells, macrophages and lymphocytes, which destroy or remove toxins. Other organs like the thymus, appendix, tonsils and spleen are also part of the lymphatic system. Unlike blood, the lymphatic system has no pump, instead it relies on movement of the body. A sluggish lymph makes for a sluggish immune system, which in turn leads to toxic build up within the cells and the intra-cellular fluid.

The purpose of sweat glands in our armpits? To expel toxins from the lymph. The purpose of anti-perspirant deodorants? To stop that sweat from coming out through the skin. The result? Toxins are forced back into the lymphatic system. This is particularly bad news for breasts, which, due to their fatty nature and proximity to the armpit, often end up as a dumping ground for toxic by-products, which the body would rather have eliminated through the natural process of sweating. As tissues become more and more toxic, acidity levels rise, oxygen levels reduce and the potential for cells to mutate into cancer cells increases. 

Even deodorants (as opposed to anti-perspirants) are dangerous, as many contain aluminium, which blocks pores, again, impeding the natural movement of toxins out through the skin. As well as being chemically laden, spray-on deodorants cause harm to the lungs as micro-particles are breathed in (particularly in the often humid environment of the bathroom).

But we don't have to give up deodorant entirely (although from personal experience I can vouch that the cleaner the diet, the less smelly the armpit!!) There are great aluminium free options out there, from crystals to roll-ons. I like Urtekram's organic rose roll-on, which works even on the hottest days (sweat is actually odourless, and only smells when microbes oxidise on the skin).

And there's more bad news for the lymph. Bras, particularly underwired ones, can also impede the lymphatic system, building pressure, creating blockages and increasing toxic build up within breast tissue. 'Dressed to Kill' by Sydney Ross Singer and Soma Grismaijer makes for interesting reading. They did a study which showed that the rate of breast cancer amongst bra-wearing Maori women is the same as in Western countries, while Aboriginal women, who predominately go bra-free have practically no breast cancer. The same is true for 'westernised' Japanese, Fijians and other 'bra-converted' cultures. Take time to go bra-free. Avoid under-wiring, and never wear a bra to bed. 

There are ways to improve lymph flow - exercise, dry brushing, rebounding (trampolining), hydrotherapy (switching the water from hot to cold and back again in the shower) and using a FAR infrared sauna all work beautifully. On rising in the morning swing and stretch your arms out behind and to the side four or five times to kick-start lymph circulation. 

Skin protection

I've always burned in the sun, but avoidance is not the answer. Safe exposure is so important in maintaining optimum levels of vitamin D3, implicated in a healthy immune system. As well as containing toxic xeno-oestrogens and carcinogens, commercially produced suncreams filter out almost all of the ultra-violet light which the skin needs to synthesise vitamin D3.  Our skin is not only a barrier, but a carrier, so whatever you put on it will be absorbed into your blood stream, making more work for the liver. Last summer I made a decision. I ditched the suncream and instead used pure, organic coconut oil. I didn't burn, not even in the hot Ibizan sunshine.

Coconut oil is high in medium chain fatty acids like capric acid, caprylic acid, lauric acid and vitamin E, all of which nourish the skin and cut down on ultra-violet ray damage. But it's not just about coconut oil's amazing properties. Equally important is my changed diet, which has improved my skin's ability to produce melanin, protecting it against sun damage. I drink at least 6 cups of green tea a day. Green tea contains massive amounts of anti-oxidants, which fight off free radicals, can prevent sun damage and even stave off skin cancer thanks to it's anti-inflammatory properties. I take krill oil which is full of astaxanthin, another super anti-oxidant which offers UVA protection. I supplement with 10,000 iu's a day of vitamin D3, which increases sun tolerance and protects against sun damage, which is a beautiful irony considering we should get 90% of our daily dose FROM the sun. I also drink vegetable juices daily. My morning carrot juice is a valuable source of vitamin A, and is full of antioxidants, phytochemicals, vitamins and minerals, all of which protect, nourish and moisturise the skin. Nutrition from carrots helps to reduce photosensitivity, promotes skin renewal and protects from sun damage.

I'm not advocating the total replacement of suncream with coconut oil. My young children spend hours in the sea when on holiday, and their diets are not sufficiently full of anti-oxidants or phytochemicals to go cream-free. What's important is to maximize safe sun exposure to improve natural levels of D3, whilst avoiding burning. This would mean exposing 80% of your body to the sun for up to 20 minutes, avoiding the hottest part of the day between 11am and 2pm. When I feel that my kids need protection I use a 'clean' sunscreen like Badger, which is unscented and free from chemicals. In previous summers my children never went out in the sun without first being covered in suncream. They NEVER got any natural vitamin D; they were always covered by t-shirts, hats, sunglasses and cream. These days they develop gentle tans, indicating that their skin is reacting positively to the sun. 

We live in a society which warns of the dangers of sunbathing, and suggests that the answer lies in a tube of chemically engineered suncream. Instead the answer lies in proper nutrition and common sense in the sun.

Who Am I?

I'm a woman who has had breast cancer, but I'm more than that. I'm a Wife, a Mother, a Daughter, a Sister and a Friend. Sometimes I'm Scared. Mostly I'm not. I read, I research, and I'm Positive. I believe that I'll remain cancer-free, that I'll see my children grow, that I'll live long enough for them not to need me so much. That's where Fear lives, not in the idea of actually dying, but of leaving my family.

Sometimes I cry tears of disappointment, but never of self-pity. I put energy into my wellbeing, and as a result I feel healthy. But not safe. Never again will I take my health for granted, I know that this area of my life needs consistent, continued input.

I carry the weight of my prognosis constantly. That doesn't always mean worrying about cancer, sometimes it means learning from it, sometimes being driven by it, always accepting what is, and what has been.

I try to listen to my body, but pain still freaks me out. Could it be a recurrence? Have I missed something?

I watch in disbelief as cancer claims the lives of people I know, and I try to find a place of reason and understanding.


I cherish my life, I'm Alive.


I embrace my scars, they're part of me. I rarely feel the loss of my breast, but when I do it's an indescribable grief that I can't comprehend - a raw absence.

Mostly I feel Blessed. Blessed to explore a world of health and spirituality that previously eluded me, to be connected to kindred spirits, in a place of constant learning and healing. Perhaps the gift of cancer is to share all that I've learned with those I love, without them having to endure the uncertainty and pain of a diagnosis. For this I'm Grateful.

A hard lesson, but a good one

I've met some amazing people since being diagnosed with cancer. The inevitable downside to this new world, is that death becomes such a big part of life.

This post is in honour of my friend Renee, who has taught me something beautiful about death. She died yesterday, surrounded by love, celebrated by those whom she has touched, and free from the fear that many of us experience when faced with death. She was so passionate about life; she never stopped living in order to die. Her beloveds wished and prayed only for a gentle journey for her, a sweet transition into the next realm. How extraordinary that rather than being held onto, she is released with love. To be surrounded by so many loving and grateful souls is a direct reflection of Renee's spirituality and compassion. 

It's wonderful to believe that we're part of something bigger, that we have a purpose, even if that purpose is only to explore, communicate, love and play on Earth. How liberating to feel our importance and lack of it, to shift our focus to joy and trust. This, to me, is Renee's legacy. She shows us all by example how to live fully in the moment, surrounded by love.