From DDs to Diagnosis

There was a strange sense of anticipation the weekend before I met the specialists who would become the sun and moon that I would rotate around, Professor Friedlander, the grouchy but caring oncologist and Professor Hacker, the gentle, caring surgeon. My all star team there to save my life. Professor Hacker was so sweet that when I meet Friedlander or 'The Prof' as he is known at the womens I cried afterwards saying 'he was ice cold he doesn't care about my case'. This was completely untrue and was just my nerves and anxiety coming to a head. I was to begin chemo straight away. I had that morning bought a deal from my hair salon on cut and colour that would have saved me a lot of money and had to ask 'wait does this mean I lose my hair?' the answer was yes of course and the refund was prompt. I had to cancel my beloved gym membership as I was unsure of whether I could still handle the pace as well as my laser appointments and so began prepping the strange new life post cancer.

I was so scared of the chemo room and had a big cry my first few times in there. It is a room with recliner chairs all around the edges, where the nurses buzz around a big table in the middle, flitting from patient to patient. I met the eccentric nun full of advice on chemo and dog rearing, whose time was coming to an end, Rose, an elderly lad who would die a few months later and a cast of other female characters may of whom I still encounter today. I was comforted by the fact that there was another young girl getting treatment, albeit for a different cancer. I had discovered that I had low grade serous epithelial ovarian cancer. What this meant wasn't a lot at that stage but it was different from her more aggressive high grade cancer that responded better to chemo than mine. Mine was the slow lumbering beast of cancers where hers was the fast spreading bushfire.

After Christmas I started to lose weight, buying all new clothes for my tiny new frame. It was like dressing a barbie doll, all the clothes that used to suit my busty frame didn't work any more and I looked to intagram models to see what skinny people wore, having never been skinny myself. I'd spent my teens being a curvy, fiery little babe (you're allowed to say that about yourself when you lose your body, sorry bout it). I had a rig. Firm, large breasts, a curved butt and just my tummy that bloated a little in the way that I managed with gym to never let get out of control. But did I appreciate it at the time? Hell no. I was obsessed with weight loss my whole youth. Not once did I stop to be thankful for my lush bounty. Now I'd give my left hand for my old body back. Maybe not..maybe..I don't know if the limits of my vanity stretch that far but I'd hate to test it. All my weight loss dreams I'd spent my teens and twenties obsessing over were coming true and all I wanted was old curvy me back.

The rig at its peak, such curves many tone such tan.

My boobs disappeared as did my generous curves as chemo had its way with my appetite and nausea ensued. My hair went after about 3 weeks just as predicted. The night before it went my mum was brushing it in bed and I revelled in what would probably be the last time experiencing someone brushing my hair for a good while. The next morning it came out in handfuls and what remained on my head stung like sheets of metal in my scalp. I called a neighbour who is a hairdresser and together with my loving Dalmatian rested in my lap, knowing I needed her we shaved the lot. I felt great.

I looked in the mirror and a badass stared back. I looked fierce and strong and I was so proud I hadn't let it fall out and had taken charge. Hair had no power over me! I then learnt to embrace the headscarf more so than the itchy hot wig (it was summer) and every day would layer my face with Ella bache tinted zinc to protect my skin and give me come color then would chuck on a turban from louvelle shower and turban wear, a great Australian company making pre tied turbans. I also learnt to tie a scarf prettily and thanked myself for buying some faux Hermes scarves in China the year before on a holiday, not knowing I'd need them. I then signed up for the cancer rite of passage - Look Good Feel Better, a cancer makeup masterclass for free. Little did I know how closely I would come to work with the organisation.

The day I went into the Pitt at David jones for the LGFB class I was in a state of dread. It would be all old ladies and I didn't belong there. I despaired. I wanted to come to the city to work not learn to draw on eyebrows. What followed was an absolute delight and I found myself reluctantly enjoying myself. I signed up to provide answers to Andy questions they had about the experience for their marketing materials which lead to 2 magazine articles online, a press speech, a tv spot and a speech at a fashion event in front of hundreds about LGFB and my experience. It was so invaluable to my confidence and made me feel like the old me doing something I was good at and for a cause I cared passionately about. I wanted to do right by such an inspiring charity. Who knows what the future holds but should they need me, LGFB always has an advocate here.