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THINGS CANCER MADE ME SAY

Staring down the barrel of a cancer gun, I’m forever grateful to my online community of cancer warriors helping me through

The Sun Online's columnist wants to hear from you... the things cancer made you say, the good, the bad and the ugly

MOST mornings I find myself awake at 3am.

It's my witching hour, and  after a cheeky digestive biscuit I tend to wander downstairs to check for burglars.

 Lying awake at night worrying about the night sweats my cancer is responsible for, there's one group of people I can turn to for help
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Lying awake at night worrying about the night sweats my cancer is responsible for, there's one group of people I can turn to for helpCredit: Sophie Mayanne

Back in bed, reassured the house isn't about to be raided, I end up on my phone.

As my overactive brain starts to worry about my hormonal night sweats, my husband is in a dream world next to the dog who snores like a lion.

'Welcome to the sweaty girl's club'

I send a message to my online group of cancer warriors, "ladies, who else get these sweats, are they normal, did you take anything to stop them?".

 When your starring down the barrel of a cancer gun, it's only those other cancer warriors with you that know what it's really like
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When your starring down the barrel of a cancer gun, it's only those other cancer warriors with you that know what it's really like

Despite the clock ticking into the wee hours, I get replies... from those gripped by steroid highs, some helpful, others less so.

But they all make me smile, "mate, welcome to the sweaty girls club", "sleep naked", "sleep in the bath".

When you're knee deep in the cancer trenches, it's invaluable to know there are others, right there with you.

It's much easier to have a laugh about your exploding arse, teenage spotty skin and night sweats, when you know others are in the sh*t with you.

 My family and friends are incredible, but they can't (and I hope never will) know what it's like to have cancer
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My family and friends are incredible, but they can't (and I hope never will) know what it's like to have cancer

'There are people who DO understand, my online community of cancer warriors'

As a stage 4 cancer patient, people often tell me "oh, I appreciate I don't understand what it must be like", as they suggest I drink ten turmeric smoothes a day.

And they don't. They really don't, and I'm grateful they don't.

But, I have found a community that exists online, who really DO understand.

 I've found an incredible group of cancer warriors online who really DO understand
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I've found an incredible group of cancer warriors online who really DO understand

Tessa Jowell, the former Labour politician, talked about this community in her moving speech in the House of Lords this week.

She talked about how cancer patients "collaborate and support each other every day", creating a "community of love and determination wherever they find each other", to a standing ovation.

You need reassurance that you’re not to the only one hiding from the world. That it’s normal to feel sad, and ecstatic all at the same time

I found myself shouting "YES", at the TV, tears rolling down my face (it was one of those days, and this just added to it).

She asked, "what do cancer patients want"?

And she's absolutely right when she said we need to know there is a community around us, "supporting and caring, being practical and kind".

Like one in four cancer patients, I turn to this incredible online community for support.

 It is this online community who are there when you need reassurance that you’re not to the only one hiding from the world
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It is this online community who are there when you need reassurance that you’re not to the only one hiding from the world

'You need someone to tell you it's OK to lose your sh*t'

I am so grateful to have the most amazing family and friends.

But thank God none of them have had to endure what I have.

So while they are incredibly sympathetic and do everything they can to help me, they can't (and I hope never will) know what it actually feels like to stare down the barrel of a cancer diagnosis gun, like mine.

 You need someone to tell you it’s OK, not to be OK, that it’s OK to lose your sh*t
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You need someone to tell you it’s OK, not to be OK, that it’s OK to lose your sh*t

They can't really understand the emotional strength it takes to drag your sorry arse to chemo every few weeks.

Or the relentless frustration when you feel sick for the tenth day in a row, when all you want to do is hide under your duvet and watch Netflix.

My family and friends do everything they can to help me, but they can’t (and I hope never will) know what it actually feels like to stare down the barrel of a cancer diagnosis gun

It's those days that you need reassurance that you're not to the only one hiding from the world.

That it's normal to feel sad, and ecstatic all at the same time.

That other people have days where they sleep for hours and hours, hoping the chemo side effects will be easier when they wake up.

You need someone to tell you it's OK, not to be OK, that it's OK to lose your sh*t.

Sun columnist Deborah James reveals how cancer has given her a newfound appreciation for life
 Get your Unity Band to mark World Cancer Day this Sunday
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Get your Unity Band to mark World Cancer Day this Sunday

YOU CAN HELP BEAT CANCER TOO

This Sunday is World Cancer Day, what better time to highlight again just how important collaboration and research is in ensuring more people live well with cancer, rather than die from it.

And it's a great opportunity to celebrate, and give huge thanks for the communities of support that are there for patients like me.

Not just my online group of cancer warriors, the charities who do great things with very little money, and the selfless volunteers who just want to make the cancer trenches a bit easier to navigate for all.

 We can all do our bit to help beat cancer this World Cancer Day
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We can all do our bit to help beat cancer this World Cancer Day

'Wear your band in honour of a loved one, show you're helping beat cancer'

And you can do your bit too, by wearing a Unity Band with pride.

The money raised will help fund more treatment, and bring more good news to cancer patients.

The unisex band features a classic reef knot, to symbolise strength through working together and is a fitting way for us all to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with more than 4,000 scientists, doctors and nurses supported by Cancer Research UK.

Wear it in honour of loved ones affected by the disease, to show solidarity with those going through treatment, or simply show you're helping to beat cancer.

 After record levels of 'scanxiety' this week, I got another STABLE result, it might not sound much but to a stage 4 cancer patient the word stable is magic
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After record levels of 'scanxiety' this week, I got another STABLE result, it might not sound much but to a stage 4 cancer patient the word stable is magic

Today, two in four people survive their cancer for at least ten years.

Cancer Research UK's ambition is that by 2034, three in four people will survive their cancer that long.

And your Unity Band will help them achieve that... .

#C*CKOFFCANCER

Last Friday, I went a little mad.

I waited nervously by the phone, pouncing every time it rang.

I tried to get on with my day-to-day, attempting to distract myself with shopping, taking part in a radio show and drinking wine.

Deborah James reveals how to cope with the post-chemo steroid high in the early hours

 

But nothing helped.

I was waiting for scan results, and my "scanxiety" levels were off the scale.

The phone call finally came, but my results weren't ready.

So four days later, I turned up for my appointment, having battled a dodgy stomach that seemed to reject every food, including a McDonald's, convinced it was game over.

But, low and behold... STABLE! F*cking stable!

 

Stable is good for a stage 4 cancer patient, it's magic in fact.

In a dream world I'd get a miracle result... all my pesky lung tumours had shrunk, but this has never happened to me.

But hell, I'm grateful they haven't grown and nothing new has reared its ugly head.

Still more chemo ahead, albeit a bit delayed to allow my exploding stomach to well, stop exploding.

Onwards we go, armed with nuclear chemo, cancer I'm coming for ya!


Come join the I’d love to hear from you about #thethingscancermademesay.

Tell me your journey, show off your scars, share what keeps you smiling, or how you are giving two fat fingers to cancer (or anything else for that matter!)

To contact me email [email protected] and you can also follow me on and 


 

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