Fuck off to Disneyland.

My mum and I would wonder when I would get my...fuck off to Disneyland moment.

Your cancer needed to be terminal.

But we never really know. And it will come back, without doubt. So we realised, we don't get to cash in and fuck off to the life long dream.
Mine is not and never has been Disneyland. But it seemed the most popular choice.

Today, as I watched the clouds over lake Malawi and let the wind cover me in a smooth coolness on the boat that took us from island to island, and as I looked at my new friends and beautiful little family, I realised, I've done it!
I've had my 'life is too short' escape.
Malawi is my Disneyland.

2019 will have some surgery in it but I'm determined not to let it spoil this escape.

Being a parent from a bed

We're on a beautiful half term break and I got food poisoning. A day of being in bed, in-between the inevitable trips to the toilet! 

As I lay there my now 10 year old trotted in and out, not remotely phased by my smell, lack of energy etc. She even managed a very sort outburst of defiance at having a shower. I use my firm voice in return, got up to fix the problem and fell back into bed exhausted by the effort.

I suppose the two of us are used to me being a mum that's , in a hospital, ill or recovering in a bed or on a sofa. There have been patches of her young life where I've been like that for weeks. So we did it again.

This time it was just a day.

Climbing a mountain in skis

We're away, it's better than I thought it was going to be.
It's given me some much needed brain space. A chance to switch off from everything, for hours at a time. Not completely but enough.
I climbed at home too, I saw a psychotherapist. It took most of the session just to fill him on the basics of VHL. He said it was striking how much of my life it has been in. He didn't get the chance to ask much else.
I'm not sure how I feel about it all.
I'll climb a bit higher a see how I get on.

counting your blessings

I'm alive, a good place to start. I'm able to take and pick up my daughter from school. My work are being really supportive and I don't feel pressure to return too soon.
I am getting better, slowly...
My friends have proved to be wonderful, caring and positive and just amazing, I feel loved and valued by them,the real friends are there when you need them, the people in my life are good people.
I know myself in a way I didn't before which is actually a mixed blessing because I know some things I want but can't have. That's hurting.

I should remember that recovery takes longer than you think it should
I still feel quite sick.
My body isn't mine.

I can't process it all yet, I don't know who to talk to. I don't know who'll listen well,  I am self indulgent at the best of times but I do need to talk this one through and I don't know who'll listen, well. Who the hell would want to? I feel changed and I don't know what the consequences of that are.

Who can I be honest with? Who can listen?

You shouldn't look up side effects

In a bid to be prepared for my consultation I referred to the trusty internet and as always went to Cancer research and NHS as I feel I can rely on them. Not great stuff, but there are very few good side effects. (the tan is one!) But now I'm thinking maybe I should have buried my head in the sand.
A shunt, swelling, severe headaches and more besides. Traditional surgery anyway... Side effects that could happen straight away, months or years later. All seem bloody horrible.
Loss of function, not being as focused as you were, concentration etc etc
Will I be allowed to drive... with that list I know I bloody wouldn't say I could.
This disease is such a pain in the arse.
Today I cried quite a lot. I  called my mum and despite her calm and sensible advice and warmth I know I worried her senseless.
'It's so hard mummy.' and 'I give up.' fell out of my tired mouth. I really did feel that way this morning. If I hadn't been invited to a party I might have had yet another sofa day.

I read a post on depression, so much of what the blogger talked of applied to so much of how I feel. I felt hopeless and lost this morning. This evening I'm looking up side effects so I know what to ask.

I understand why people talk about fighting cancer, it isn't like you can will your white blood cells to attack, it's much more about getting up and getting on with your life even when that is the last thing you want to do. The days are very hard. If I could switch my brain off for just a little while I might get some rest but even sleep doesn't offer me that comfort. My dreams are vivid and frighten me, I wake up crying, angry and afraid.

Perhaps that why when I feel there is a glimmer of happiness I run towards it, when there is a chance to feel numb I take it and when I need to I call my mum, sister or a friend. In spite of all of this I have them, I have that love.

My mother

My mother has started a blog, she was going to write a book but I encouraged her to do a blog, faster and more accessible.

So if you want a different perspective on my life then take a look.
gotchapd.blogspot.co.uk

She'd love you to have a look, I get my attention seeking tendencies from her. I don't really share my one with my family because it isn't for them and I don't mind the idea that no one reads it. I keep a diary for my really private thoughts, just goes to show you how much I trust my husband, he would never look.
He really is the most trust worthy person I have ever met. That's a different post I think.

My mother. I don't know how she does it and I've told her that often enough. How can you loose a child and carry on, for us I suppose, for the two of us left behind. Her life just hasn't been what she ever wanted. She wanted to see the world, be a free spirit and she got this life. I wonder how happy she has been, so must misery and worry and pain.
When I think of her I worry about her. I worry that she is trapped by VHL and will never escape, she may even be more trapped than me.

Telling your child you have a brain tumour

I'm posting a lot today as I've been saving these up.

We discussed telling our daughter of the latest news and I decided it best to make it a matter of fact kind of deal. So a week ago as we were in her bedroom I decided to tell her. We lay on her bed and I said something like "you know when you were at Grandma's last week and I went to the hospital well they told me I have another tumour they need to do something about."

As part of the conversation she asked if I was going to die. Now then, I've always been clear with her that we all die and I don't want her to ever think I lied about it, I said that wasn't the plan, that the Doctors had found this one and were going to do something about it.  I told her about when I had one removed before and reminded her that I had had the kidney tumour removed and I'm fine now.

I told her it wasn't a secret and she could talk to me, dad or anyone else about it but reminded her most people wouldn't really get it but if she wanted to talk about it she could.

We both cried a bit, I tried not to but it happened anyway.

She hasn't seemed bothered about it since, I think I handled it well.

Do you remember the Hatfield-McCoy Feud caused by Von Hippel-Lindau

I saw something on this the other day, funny how it seems to still be a myth.

Anyway I wanted to do a different post because I wanted to talk about me!

I've been using Facebook forum on VHL a bit too much and I wondered if I should, my family are connected to that and then I remembered I could express myself here and not worry but hope - I don't know why - that some people will read it.

I was having a drink with a friends last night and we were talking about lots of things but VHL came up and she said she never thinks of it when she thinks of me. I was really pleased. I hate the idea that all I am is my genetic disorder.

I am not.

I bloody hate it all the same. I feel like a time bomb.

When will I next need surgery and when will it happen?

GRRRRRRRRRRRRR

Von Hippel Lindau is horrible.

Who needs a spleen?

The next stage in the saga of the family's health.

Dad is having surgery in July; that is of course if that makes sense and as yet we don't know if it does. Those of you who know about the pancreas will also know that once it is gone for there is very little that can be done. The tumour that started in the tail of his pancreas is now very big, last scan it was 5cm. So who have surgery or not... not my choice and it would appear not really my father's either.

They will have to take out his spleen too. I'm fascinated by the fact that in these modern times you don't need a spleen. 1 extra little tablet will be added to his massive load anyway.

I'm in a spiral again. I'm trying not to dwell and not to let myself feel too caught up in it but I wonder most hours if he is going to make it through. The worst thing is I know that part of all of us, dad, my sister, my mum and me are aware that if he does die, as horrible as this sounds that may not be the worst outcome.

I don't want my dad to die but I also know how miserable his life is at times and I don't know how much more he could cope with. His body isn't his own, his life isn't his in so many ways and if he gets to be free again, well. I don't know how else to express it but I don't know how much more any of us can do.

This disease has made us all strong and weak at the same time.

My mum has to go through so much.

The Real VHL

For my partner this is the first real journey into the reality of VHL. We have been together 6 years and he has heard the word tumour so may times and he knows I have them, he knows my dad has them but so far no need for treatment. And so here we are slap back bang in the bit that makes it as bad as it is. It’s been a long time. Long in my sense of it. And I found myself thinking, ‘thank god I got pregnant before he found out the truth.’ So yesterday I felt guilty and today grateful. He would have probably run off and got a vasectomy if he knew. It’s a rough time ahead. I’m wondering if having been through it a few times now if it will be any easier. I may be being a bit premature, as we don’t know if they are going to operate yet. I don’t feel quite so sad today but I do feel anxious. I’ve started tidying, my coping mechanism. When I can’t control the health of my family I start controlling the environment around me.

I have a haunting memory of saying goodbye to my dad the last time he has a brain operation. He walked down to the exit of the hospital with us and I held him tight. The ‘I love yous’ flowed but the tears didn’t; we had hope in our hearts and minds and at the same time I felt deeply fearful. I felt full of sadness and I was a very scared little girl. I was about 13. I didn’t know if I would see this version of my father ever again. I did, as you know. My family have said goodbye to me; three times. My partner doesn’t know that feeling; but he will.

In a bizarre way I suspect this will help his understanding of my family and my ways. It could be a very important development and make him a better father to our little girl. He doesn’t need it to be an amazing father but maybe, just maybe this needs to happen. My eldest niece will find this very hard; she is nine. She is a drama queen and she’ll find it very hard to reconcile her real emotions and her nature to blow them out of proportion. I know this because that’s me too. I’ve had to learn to not be hard on myself when I indulged the fear and grief that comes with it but more importantly I’ve learnt how to lift myself up and get on. She is learning these lessons at a very young age. She already understands grief because of her parents splitting up but this is a different flavour of it.

So my partner and my niece will be doing this for the first time together.

20th May 2006

An odd week coming up, my dad is in hospital all week and I’m going to visit him everyday.

Tonight I walked onto the ward. 

You know the expression ‘face lit up’ well that happened, it was so strange. I know my dad loves me but I think I know him well enough now to see when he is scared. 

He is scared, he won’t admit it, anxious or nervous or apprehensive but he doesn’t say scared. I am. More afraid of the inevitable and as selfish as it sounds I always expect what ever happens to him to happen to me but earlier. When I’m feeling positive I think that it won’t ever be me that I’ve had my last tumour.

When I was at university I have a strong memory of sitting in the auditorium, listening to a lecture and feeling my arm go heavy. I could lift it, use it but some how it felt heavy and I knew that feeling, my other hand and arm had been doing it for months before I told anyone and then I had a scan and then I had a brain tumour. Of course I had the tumour while my arm was going heavy but it felt like it didn’t appear until I told anyone. I sat wriggling my fingers, pinching away at my arm and then I started to cry. My lecturer notice and she looked really pissed off. At the end of the lecture she asked me what was wrong in a cross way. She knew about the previous surgery and I told her about my arm, her face changed. We talked and she asked what would make me feel better. Imagine.

'A scan everyday.' That was it, I wanted to know every second what was going on inside me. Impossible.

I didn’t get there on Thursday by the way.