Mind the Bump
Photo by Adnan Karimjee
"Life whispers to you all the time... you just have to be willing to listen."
– Oprah Winfrey.
Dear Body,
I have so many questions for you. At what point did we invite cancer in to live with us? How long have we shared this space with it? What did I do to you that weakened your resolve and opened the door? What gave cancer the right to silently creep in like a hostage taker and lay claim to my body, planting a tumour on each ovary and then greedily occupying more space and leaving traces as it weaved along? Was there anything we could have done differently? Is it just part of my genetic makeup? Have I inherited a gene? If I had, why was I not invited to the will reading? Knowing that could have allowed me to make better decisions earlier. Why did you not tell me we were being invaded? Give me a sign so that I could have helped you earlier. Done something....anything.
X Me
Hey You,
I did tell you, and I tried to tell you often, and I showed you. You chose not to listen.
Your Body
Listening to my body has never been my core strength. I was a product of the "never complain, never explain" generation. I have never had the innate desire to feel pain or any other symptom that my body may decide to present to me, and I will easily just pop a pill so that said symptom can leave, and I can get on with my day. I have been a migraine sufferer for most of my adult life, so rather than lie in a dark, quiet room and avoid coffee, cheese, cigarettes, wine, chocolate, and other alleged triggers, it has always been far more straightforward to take a tablet and get on with it. I was also very aware, growing up, that my mother classified being a hypochondriac as an almost deadly sin. On internal reflection, I have no memory of my mother ever being ill or complaining while I was growing up. I asked her recently why she had a hysterectomy at such a young age, knowing now that if this is a genetic gene, it possibly saved her life. Her response was that my dad didn't want any more children. This in itself is a topic worthy of discussion, but for now, I will settle with the gratitude that I am a woman of a different generation.
Bayan and I share an excellent chiropractor, Candice, who always references how very different Bayan and I are. He will come to his appointment armed with a spreadsheet. He will pinpoint with laser accuracy the precise nature of his ailment/injury with his refined ability to process and analyse data that would have the potential to turn his diagnoses into a scorecard. On the other hand, I will walk in and declare that I am completely broken, oblivious to how long or the starting point of the current situation. At this precise moment, I am profusely apologising for not committing to my maintenance appointments and begging for fast and immediate relief.
For me, turning 50 was not something I dreaded or feared. I consciously decided that at 50, I wanted to incite change. I was acutely aware that muscle strength would play a key role in how I aged, and I wanted to give my body the best shot as I got older. I had carried an excess of 15kg around with me for the last 10 years from unsuccessful hormone and fertility treatments, stress and poor decisions, and I decided I no longer wanted it. Bayan and I joined Aphobos CrossFit; I followed Will Cole's eating principles and began embracing a diligent Keto/Fasting regime. I had strength, energy, and muscle tone for the first time in many years. I lost 17kg; I could deadlift, squat, box jump, bench press, skip, and run. Bayan and I worked with Danny and Gemma and smashed our goals. In current reflection, I am so grateful for that journey, as it places my body in a position of being healthy and strong. Had this happened to me three years ago, my body was in such a different state of being that I'm not sure we would have possessed the same strength to fight this together.
Around 18 months ago, I visited the GP for a nasty ear infection. While there, I had a discussion about a leaking bladder. Jumping jacks, skipping and running were identifying an extreme weakness in my bladder control, and the years spent on pelvic floor exercises obviously carried no weight. Had my bladder dropped? Was it menopause? What could I do about it? I left with a script for HRT, tried it, found it made no difference and stopped. On reflection, was this the first gentle nudge that I chose to ignore?
Alcohol started making me feel really ill. The hangover from a mere glass or two of wine was no longer worth it, and the brain fog was so overwhelming that I decided to stop drinking, except for the odd social occasion. An evening, G&T (which gave me enormous pleasure) was no longer on the menu, and my children reminded me that I was not a quitter. I could get through this and would soon enjoy evening soirees with them. I wondered if I would be as much fun. I put it down to my new level of fitness. Another missed nudge?
My portion size halved as I quickly felt full and tended to bloat if I ate more than a reduced portion size. A third gentle nudge? At this point, it is also far nicer to relish these impressive milestones of achievement. It is also important to note that my cup is always half full, so everything that has and is happening to me can only be decidedly positive.
I spent ten days moving my mom to assisted living in Swakopmund, Namibia in February. I flew home via Cape Town and spent the night at my beautiful friend Thania's. It is important to note that Thania probably has more medical degrees than I have handbags. As I lay in bed that night, I felt the smallest type of bump in my abdomen. I considered tiptoeing to Thania's room to let her have a feel, but the inner voice of being a hypochondriac—it's nothing—won the war, and I turned over and went to sleep.
When I got home, I made Bayan feel it. We thought I had pulled a muscle while moving my mom, or it was a hernia. I had no known symptoms of feeling sick. Every now and again, I would remember it, touch it, wonder about it, and think I should go to the doctor. I will get to it.
It must have triggered something in my mind because I asked anybody I knew with any understanding of biology to feel and confirm that it was nothing. That was really what I wanted to hear. The start of our year was busy. We visited eight countries in four months, and I was doing research for a new book. I was planning a week-long celebration in Italy for our vow renewal with our friends and family. Gareth was getting married, Cassidy was engaged—there was so much to look forward to, so I pushed aside any thoughts of this niggling bump that was starting to take up more space and become more apparent.
I was going to South Africa for my niece's wedding and committed to see our trusted GP, Peter, in SA and get him to "have a feel". We could do a pelvic scan, and then I could take the right pathway when I got home for what I now imagined to be a cyst, fibroids, or a hernia. Even as Peter gave me the forms to get the blood tests done before my scan the following day, even when I asked him if I was going to be okay and he couldn't look at me or answer me, even as I looked at these forms and scanned the request for blood tests and checked which boxes were ticked. Even though tumour and cancer markers were ticked and jumped at me off the page, even as my skirt felt tighter—my stomach area was more tender, not once did I consider the possibility that this could be cancer. But then I had chosen not to listen, so why would now be any different?
Dear Body,
I don't have the words to express how deeply sorry I am. You did try on numerous occasions—more than once. I did not take you seriously; I did not listen; I did not ask. Even when intuition nudged me, I ignored all the signs and all your whispers. I cannot go down a path of "what-if," "if only," regrets or self-reprimand, but I promise I will never not listen to the whisper.
X Me
