People often ask me, “How are you coping with your treatment — or life after it?” And the truth is, it’s different for everyone. Some days you feel strong, ready to fight. Other days, you’re so drained you wonder how you’ll get through the next hour, let alone the next round. But somehow, we do. Because the alternative? Well, that’s not really an option.
I’ve learned a lot over the course of my cancer journey — some things I expected, but a lot caught me off guard. So, I want to share a bit about what it was really like, and the things no one warned me about.
Chemo: Not What I Imagined
When I had my first chemo, I was terrified. I pictured myself bedbound and vomiting nonstop. Instead, I felt oddly drunk after each session. Then I’d get really hungry, only to crash a few hours later into sheer exhaustion. Sometimes nausea would kick in the next day, but the anti-sickness meds helped a lot. A couple of days later, I’d feel flu-ish — aching body, low-grade fever, wiped out.
The hardest part? The bone-deep tiredness. My chemo cycle was every three weeks, and it wasn’t until midway through week two that I’d start feeling like a human being again.
Then came the weird side effects — like a red, sunburn-like rash that peeled along my fingers and hands. I also had to inject myself with filgrastim for five nights after each chemo (thanks, Docetaxel!). The injections weren’t bad — tiny needle, quick jab in the stomach — but the bone pain afterward? Awful. I was sent home with liquid morphine for that, which helped take the edge off.
The Menopause No One Talks About
Chemo threw me straight into menopause. On top of treatment side effects and my fibromyalgia, I also had to deal with hot flushes that made me nauseous and clammy. The combination was brutal. I developed peripheral neuropathy, too — numbness and tingling in my hands and feet, and occasional spasms and cramps that still haven’t fully gone away.
Losing My Hair (And My Mind, Briefly)
Hair loss typically starts around day 14 after the first chemo, unless you’re cold-capping. I tried, but it triggered migraines. Soon after, my scalp got sore — even the weight of my hair hurt. Then the clumps started falling out.
Buzzing my head actually helped ease the pain. With the weight gone, the inflammation in my hair follicles settled. And once I was bald? I had a bit of fun with it. I slapped on temporary butterfly tattoos and wore them like a crown. Humour helped — a lot.
PICC Lines and Chest Ports
During my first round of treatment, I had a PICC line. It made getting chemo easier, but came with challenges: I couldn’t get it wet, the dressing irritated my skin, and it always felt like it was in the way. My son learned to flush and care for it at home, which was a blessing.
For my second go-round, I got a chest port instead. It’s tucked under the skin, so I can shower and even swim with no hassle. It was sore at first, but now I barely notice it.
Mastectomy and Aftercare
My single mastectomy was a tough one — more mentally than physically. I chose not to have reconstruction. For me, the additional surgeries, scars, and uncertainty just weren’t worth it. After surgery, I had fluid buildup (I sounded like a hot water bottle), which had to be drained.
Four years on, I still have numbness under my arm and limited range of motion, despite daily stretching. Scars? Not the neat, tidy kind. But they’re part of me now.
I now use a silicone prosthetic, which fits into mastectomy bras. I also have a Boost prosthetic — lighter and better for summer. The soft foam one they give you after surgery didn’t work for me — it floated around like a runaway marshmallow.
Radiotherapy Surprises
Radiotherapy was daily, Monday to Friday, for three weeks. Each session was quick, about 20 minutes, but I wasn’t expecting the tiny tattoo dots they gave me to align the machine. Because my treatment area was near my heart, they used a gel pad over the site.
I had some redness, like sunburn, but the fatigue was next level. It built up slowly and lasted weeks after treatment ended. I’ve also got a permanent patch of broken blood vessels across my chest now — a little square reminder of everything I’ve been through.
Round Two: Chemo & Immunotherapy
The second time, surgery wasn’t an option. The cancer was in lymph nodes too risky to remove, and I couldn’t have more radiation on that side. So I had weekly chemo (three weeks on, one off) for a year, and immunotherapy every three weeks.
Immunotherapy revved up my immune system, sometimes too much — I had nasty diarrhea, rashes, and joint pain. Steroids helped, but my neuropathy worsened, and it hasn’t gone away, even a year after stopping treatment. I’m tired all the time, though some of that may be fibromyalgia and menopause. It’s a cocktail of chaos, really.
The Scanxiety Is Real
Now, I get CT scans every three months. It’s nerve-wracking. So far, I’ve been stable for a year — and I’m holding onto that. If things change, there are still options. But let’s hope I don’t need them for a long while yet.
Surviving vs. Living
One of the hardest realizations? I wasn’t living — I was just surviving. I had to stop putting my life on hold. I got counselling, joined online groups, and started opening up more. I remind myself of my limitations and try not to beat myself up when I can’t do something.
Cancer changes you. These days, I’m more relaxed, less reactive. And I lean into humour whenever I can. Like when my prosthetic breast fell out of my top while I bent to grab a package — right in front of the delivery guy. Or when I drop my meds because my hands spasm. You’ve got to laugh. Otherwise, you’d cry every time the pills go bouncing across the floor.
What Helps?
Everyone copes differently, but having a good support system makes a huge difference. Knowing what to expect helps you prepare — mentally and physically. But above all, don’t stop living. Take the trip, eat the cake, get the tattoo, laugh at the awkward moments. Keep going, even if it’s just one day at a time.
Because you’re not just a patient — you’re a person. And you still deserve a life.