Not fine at all

So, here's what's up...

Finally, the moment has come: I can legitimately claim I have something in common with Kate, Princess of Wales. No, I haven’t adopted her luscious brunette locks and neither have I produced a gaggle of gorgeous knee-high socks wearing kids, but we do share this: we’re both on our very own cancer journey, navigating rough and uncertain waters – and basically just trying to stay alive. But even in this she’s got a head start, has already gone through chemotherapy and is now focussed on staying cancer free, while I have just about four weeks under my belt from the very first diagnosis until this very first attempt of writing about it. 

So let’s rewind a bit to see where this shit show started: During the summer, I had ramped up my moderate sports programme slightly, did a bit of yoga every day, went for some light runs, and enjoyed a morning swim here and there. When my hip started hurting, I thought I had overstretched my hip flexor (notorious for holding a lot of tension) and that was that. I did eventually go to see an orthopaedic specialist, the first of which was your typical old white man who couldn’t have cared less if I lived or died, and who diagnosed me with a very tight butt muscle (seriously?) and sent me on my way with a bunch of painkillers. Luckily, the next orthopaedic doctor I went to took her time and eventually, after the pain she suspected was caused by an inflamed tendon didn’t subside, and I insisted on further testing, sent me to get an MRI. Which revealed metastases in my hip bones and pelvis. Wow, that escalated quickly. And was infinitely worse than the bursitis or tendonitis or hip impingement I had expected to be diagnosed with after a thorough Google search. This new thing I should definitely not google, I thought. 

While the doctor started calling hospitals and oncology clinics to find one who would take me on after hearing from me that no, I was not aware of having a primary tumour, I did nothing. I sat and stared out the window, thinking of how this is usually the kind of shitty thing that happens to other people. 

What followed was a frenzy of action, blood works, more scans, figuring out where these metastases had come from, a bone marrow aspiration (10/10 do not recommend), thrombocyte infusions, starting a regiment of painkillers to manage my by now very substantial pain, and setting up a treatment plan. One of the first things my new oncologist told me: we live in the 21st century and this is not a death sentence, which I found strangely comforting. The doctors fairly quickly figured out the source of the metastases: I had had a melanoma seven years before, which had been generously excised and the surrounding lymph nodes tested to make sure it hadn’t spread, but a few evil cells had escaped everyone’s notice, slumbered for a few years and now decided to make their way into my bones, happily spreading and settling wherever they felt like it. So, no, this isn’t my first run-in with cancer. But looking back, the first time did feel a lot less dramatic. Which is easy to say because we already know how that first round ends.

Now there’s very little I do know. I know that I actively have to do a lot of things to stay alive that go far beyond putting food and water into my body and flossing regularly. I know I have to get immunotherapy and transfusions and get prodded and pricked and take pain meds and generally not lose the will to live. I know that I’m incredibly lucky to live in a country where my insurance pays for the inordinate amount of money my therapy is going to cost, and I know I’m incredibly lucky to live in the year 2024 where immunotherapy actually exists. Its premise is that my immune system is basically going to be armed to the teeth to take on the cancer all by itself. I know that ‘thou shalt not google!’ and I’m sticking to a very strict non-googling protocol. I know that my life as it previously was has ceased to exist and that the coming weeks and months will be hard and difficult and incredibly scary. I also know that my very extensive collection of gorgeous pyjamas is finally coming in handy because they’re pretty much all I wear now. Together with the completely overpriced Lululemon loungewear I bought in the first week of my diagnosis because I figured if I’m going to be in comfy clothes all day every day, they might as well be pretty ones.

I don’t know where this whole writing thing is going, and I’m guessing I’m using it to process. I was hoping to infuse some humour into this very first post to get you to come back and enjoy my witty banter, but turns out there’s really nothing funny about a cancer diagnosis. I do want to share must-haves for people spending a lot of time in bed next, though, so you may want to stay tuned for that.

All my best,

Josefine