The hardest week....

When I was diagnosed with cancer I didn't know what grade and stage. Doctors do not talk about end game until you are very much there, and even then you have to start the conversation and ask the questions because they will not volunteer that information until they know you are ready/need to hear it. But as a society when we hear the word cancer that is inevitably where our minds immediately go.
I had never heard of bladder cancer before I was diagnosed and when I was first told I had it, I thought that was it, this is how I'm going to go, maybe not right now, but somewhere down the line...Imagine how foolish I felt almost a year later when I was finally given the news, this cancer is not usually life threatening now that we have found it and it has been contained.

This good news came with a huge amount of relief and also guilt. Over the past few months since my diagnosis as I had attempted to gather more information on Bladder Cancer, I had heard from lots of people whose diagnosis was not as favourable as mine.

There was one person in particular, a lot closer to home that had not received such a favourable outcome. I have never mentioned my auntie Liz on here before because I was (and am) very conscious that it was not my story to tell. I am not going to start now, but I do feel it is only right to mention the profound impact she had on me and my life, in particular after my diagnosis.

There is one thing that all cancer patients have in common and that comes down to that first time a doctor mentions the words 'you have cancer'. You learn in an instant just how much you value life and it’s a lesson that never leaves you.

This is something that me and my auntie shared. Although our cancers were very different and unfortunately our prognosis too. We still had that little connection and we both knew first hand how relentless this cancer journey can be.

She would message me before every surgery, wishing me luck. She'd count down every treatment with me, reminding me every time another one was out of the way, and I would try to do the same for her. We didn't say a lot but I always knew she 'got it' better than anyone else and there was comfort in that. We were in this together to some extent. Liz sadly died, very suddenly last Wednesday 22nd January. I was devastated and all of a sudden I felt more alone in my cancer journey than I ever have before.

I found it harder than ever to get my head in the game for surgery this Tuesday and thought very seriously about asking if I could delay. For the first time, since my first surgery, I was genuinely scared. Not just of the results, but the whole thing, of cancer and the fact I knew there would be no little message wishing me good luck....

Over the past two years I have been told a lot that I am brave and have such a positive outlook when dealing with my diagnosis. The truth is I owe a lot of this to Liz. Seeing first hand how very real a terminal diagnosis is. Watching her endure round after round of chemo and all the horrendous side effects, never once complaining, still looking out for others. Just getting on with her life and living!

Her bravery reminds me daily that I have no right to complain, reminds me how lucky I am and how grateful I feel. Life is so fragile, so precious. Any one of us could be given a similar diagnosis at any time. There is no rhyme or reason to why it should or shouldn't have been her or anybody else. No one should ever have to go through that and yet they do, every single day. It is the hardest and most horrible fact about life and the one that teaches us how to truly live.

Thank you for reading,

Katie xxx