I've been facing a choice recently - about whether to carry on caring about cancer or not.
I'm four years into an ovarian cancer diagnosis, my chances of it returning are roughly 1.5%. That's not very much is it, it's a small enough chance for me to leave it alone, to stop being scared of it. There is no shadow of cancer in my daily life, it's shrunk small enough that I feel no cold from it, no dimming of the light.
I've done my piece of charity work, floating in the ripples of my sudden diagnosis, grasping at facts like the pitiful survival rate, the camouflaged nature of the symptoms, using them to give me forward motion, the DOING OF SOMETHING being a thing I could aim for, taking me out of the confusion of illness.
Walking was my response to cancer, in refusing to allow it to change me, trying to stay the same wild and adventurous person. It was also my way to talk about cancer, to make it my mission for a while, my small attempt to improve Welsh survival rates, trying to spread the word about the symptoms.
But now, as you all know, the walk is over and you know what? I'm more than ready to put cancer behind me. I don't want it in my life any more, to talk about it, think about it or worry about it. I have cancer fatigue, it's been a huge focus for me for a few years now and I'm ready to put it down.
There's a problem though, I can't. I did for a while, after I crossed the finishline. I wanted to stop everything for a bit, let go of all the effort of walking, fundraising, caring about stuff.
But then.....two things. I learnt that the Welsh Goverment have annointed 2016 as their year of ovarian cancer effort - there are letters to GPs, there are public events, there is the possibility to make something national and effective, maybe even with some help from the Health Minister and the NHS.
I also went to visit Annie Mulholland, a woman I've talked about on here who, since her own diagnosis has been a major force in awareness raising. She raises money for Target Ovarian Cancer, volunteers for them, acts as a spokeswoman, organises conferences to talk about NHS cancer treatment in Wales, highlights the disparity between Welsh and English drugs funding. She is, in short, a hugely effective campaigner. She's also dying. Following five years of treatment for an illness she always knew was terminal, Annie has been given less than a year to live.
I'll be blunt, Annie and other women I've met don't have the luxury of choosing whether or not to care. This illness is an inescapable part of their lives, they cannot leave it behind because it is living in their bodies and slowly killing them.
So I look at their situation and I feel selfish, doing nothing with my excess of health and energy while they campaign between operations and chemo sessions, hosting garden parties, awareness events, writing to MPs, fundraising.
I know it's not selfish, not really. Charity work is a choice, not an obligation. I just can't leave it solely to the women who can't help but care.
So. I'm in. I've been talking to Annie about what we can do to help publicise and support the Welsh Goverments initiative this year.
We've come up with different themes for alternate months throughout the year, culminating in Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month next March.
In May we'll be contacting wool and fabric shops to ask them to change their window displays, in June I'll be asking for open gardens and garden parties and in September I'll be going for walks (something I am definitely good at organising). That's as far as we've got and even those are just ideas, it can all change, depending on who wants to get involved. This isn't just me and her, it's a whole group of women who want to do something and anyone else who wants to be involved.
I can give this time, that's what I'm thinking, spend one more year trying some awareness raising. If all goes to plan I'll be finishing my five years of follow-up treatment in March 2017, I'll also be heading out on my little motorboat towards the Black Sea, aiming for the Ukraine where I can begin a walk back towards Britain, finishing the project that ovarian cancer interrupted.
Five years after diagnosis, with no reoccurrence, my chances of a cancer then becomes the same as anyone elses. It seems like a good end to this whole life changing affair, maybe that will be when I can finally leave it behind.
I'm four years into an ovarian cancer diagnosis, my chances of it returning are roughly 1.5%. That's not very much is it, it's a small enough chance for me to leave it alone, to stop being scared of it. There is no shadow of cancer in my daily life, it's shrunk small enough that I feel no cold from it, no dimming of the light.
I've done my piece of charity work, floating in the ripples of my sudden diagnosis, grasping at facts like the pitiful survival rate, the camouflaged nature of the symptoms, using them to give me forward motion, the DOING OF SOMETHING being a thing I could aim for, taking me out of the confusion of illness.
Walking was my response to cancer, in refusing to allow it to change me, trying to stay the same wild and adventurous person. It was also my way to talk about cancer, to make it my mission for a while, my small attempt to improve Welsh survival rates, trying to spread the word about the symptoms.
But now, as you all know, the walk is over and you know what? I'm more than ready to put cancer behind me. I don't want it in my life any more, to talk about it, think about it or worry about it. I have cancer fatigue, it's been a huge focus for me for a few years now and I'm ready to put it down.
There's a problem though, I can't. I did for a while, after I crossed the finishline. I wanted to stop everything for a bit, let go of all the effort of walking, fundraising, caring about stuff.
But then.....two things. I learnt that the Welsh Goverment have annointed 2016 as their year of ovarian cancer effort - there are letters to GPs, there are public events, there is the possibility to make something national and effective, maybe even with some help from the Health Minister and the NHS.
I also went to visit Annie Mulholland, a woman I've talked about on here who, since her own diagnosis has been a major force in awareness raising. She raises money for Target Ovarian Cancer, volunteers for them, acts as a spokeswoman, organises conferences to talk about NHS cancer treatment in Wales, highlights the disparity between Welsh and English drugs funding. She is, in short, a hugely effective campaigner. She's also dying. Following five years of treatment for an illness she always knew was terminal, Annie has been given less than a year to live.
I'll be blunt, Annie and other women I've met don't have the luxury of choosing whether or not to care. This illness is an inescapable part of their lives, they cannot leave it behind because it is living in their bodies and slowly killing them.
So I look at their situation and I feel selfish, doing nothing with my excess of health and energy while they campaign between operations and chemo sessions, hosting garden parties, awareness events, writing to MPs, fundraising.
I know it's not selfish, not really. Charity work is a choice, not an obligation. I just can't leave it solely to the women who can't help but care.
So. I'm in. I've been talking to Annie about what we can do to help publicise and support the Welsh Goverments initiative this year.
We've come up with different themes for alternate months throughout the year, culminating in Ovarian Cancer Awareness Month next March.
In May we'll be contacting wool and fabric shops to ask them to change their window displays, in June I'll be asking for open gardens and garden parties and in September I'll be going for walks (something I am definitely good at organising). That's as far as we've got and even those are just ideas, it can all change, depending on who wants to get involved. This isn't just me and her, it's a whole group of women who want to do something and anyone else who wants to be involved.
I can give this time, that's what I'm thinking, spend one more year trying some awareness raising. If all goes to plan I'll be finishing my five years of follow-up treatment in March 2017, I'll also be heading out on my little motorboat towards the Black Sea, aiming for the Ukraine where I can begin a walk back towards Britain, finishing the project that ovarian cancer interrupted.
Five years after diagnosis, with no reoccurrence, my chances of a cancer then becomes the same as anyone elses. It seems like a good end to this whole life changing affair, maybe that will be when I can finally leave it behind.
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