It's okay to cry

If your abit like me, you don't like crying. Crying shows vulnerability. And who wants to show people that they are vulnerable? Its like an antelope saying "hey you lions come and eat me".

When I was first diagnosed, Niagara falls fell down my cheeks. But to be honest, I cant remember when I stopped crying. Probably when I had nothing left in me. And this was just the beginning.

Battling loneliness

Do I feel lonely? Not anymore. But did I feel lonely? Of course. I could be sat in a room full of people and still feel so alone.

When I was first diagnosed, I isolated myself. I barely left my hospital room for 2 and a half weeks. I didn't want to risk bumping into any other patients or interact with them. I think I just denied what was happening to me. I didnt want to accept what was going on and I just wanted it all to stop. My positive mentality (which I now have) wasn't there. I remember being taken to the Macmillan Centre for the first time in a wheelchair and I refused to go into the area where everyone has their treatment on the chairs. Why did I do that? Maybe because I felt like I didn't belong there, I'm not entirely sure. I didn't want to mingle with 'sick' people, even though I was sick myself. By isolating myself away from the only people that could make me feel a part of something just made it worst for me, but I was oblivious to that.

What it feels like to be on steroids

If you know, you know. Steroids can be a right pain in the bum. They can be used in treatment schedules for all different types of illnesses, not just cancer. My treatment included 5 long weeks worth of steroids which started to make me turn a little looney. It can mess with your emotions and can make the treatment process difficult to deal with. But it gets better.. eventually. Everyone has different steroid experiences and mine was pretty emotional. Every emotion I felt was extremely heightened, so a not so angry and easily upset girl turned into a crying machine that went from a 1 to a 10 in a matter of seconds on the anger scale. It also distrupted my sleep, and who isnt a little cranky when they havent had enough sleep?

Battling Hair Loss

Hair loss is a big deal. For both girls and boys. And I dont just mean the hair on your head, your eyelashes, your eyebrows, your leg hair (which girls may jump for joy about), any hair on your body may begin to thin and fall out due to chemotherapy.

My mum had blessed me with long, thick brown hair which I loved. Sometimes I would moan about it; my hair fell out on a daily basis anyway, I would get headaches if my hair was tied up for too long, it would get stuck in my jacket zipper and bags, curls would drop out after seconds. Sometimes it was just a nightmare. But I still loved my hair. I won the ‘Best Hair’ award at school. I hated going to the hairdressers just to get a little trim. I never thought in a million years I would be left with no hair on my head. I was born with more hair than I have now. But I have finally been able to accept my situation and all the side effects that comes with it which includes hair loss.

Ending & Starting the Year at UCLH

I spent 2 and a half long, daunting weeks at the University College London Hospital where I would start my chemotherapy. If im honest my hospital experience is quite a blur, its as if my brain doesn't want me to remember that part of my life.

What I do remember is that I was in a private room and I just kept to myself. Honestly, I was selfish. I didnt want to get involved with any sick people, which now makes me feel like a total bitch. I hardly left my room and slept the days away. I cant even remember my Christmas day that well, my favourite time of year. I was lucky enough to have a good solid unit around me full of friends, family and my boyfriend that came to visit me to keep me half sane. My mum didnt leave my side the whole time and slept in the bed next to me. I bet she was missing her bed at home just as much as me.

Not only did I spend the Christmas period in hospital, but I went into 2015, in hospital. But to me, that didnt even matter anymore, I was with the most important people in my life. 

Teenage love & teenage cancer

Since 2012 it is safe to say we have been through our fair share of ups and downs. Not exactly with each other, but in our own lives. The up's allowed us to appreciate one another and the downs made us stronger as a couple and supportive of one another. So, being diagnosed with cancer as a teenager was a huge downer and it will test & strain our relationship in ways we couldn't imagine or even prepare for.

Not only was my world crumbling down due to my diagnosis but everyone I loved was being brought down with me, including Lukas.

I can honestly say that this guy has seen me at my happiest and saddest points in my short life. I hope this continues and he see's me at the point of my last ever chemotherapy session (expected to be in 2017). I wouldn't want to cry on anyone else's shoulder, I wouldn't want anyone else to tell me its going to be okay, I wouldn't want anyone else by my hospital bedside, I wouldn't want to share my steroid induced rages with anyone else (sorry) and I certainly couldn't imagine going through this without him.. So, thank you & I love you.

Our 2 year anniversary.. Just 6 weeks later our world was turned upside down.

The battle begins

Cancer. One word, that nobody wants to hear. Whether its yourself, a family member, a friend, your pet even, that one word changes everything. It’s everywhere, in films, books, media, reality. But for me, reality was one place I never expected to experience cancer. But I was mistaken.

I would say that my problems started in November of 2014. But infact, I had a pretty rough year. Don't get me wrong, it was full of fantastic memories - my first festival experience, going away with my boyfriend , receiving good grades, getting a job and more. But I also experienced alot of knock backs. And literally, on the 23^rd of May I was knocked over by a car whilst crossing the road. I completely blacked out, which isn't surprising since I was thrown 30 feet down the road and ended up underneath a parked car. I only have vivid memories of that night; the sound of sirens, being knocked about in the back of a speeding ambulance and thinking what the hell just happened. I was taken to the royal London hospital where I received excellent care and attention. I ended up spending the night there, my first stay in hospital in all my 17 years. What a surprise I had coming ahead of me towards the end of the year.

I started to experience intense pain one Friday night. I literally felt as if my chest was crushing my insides. I had never been in so much pain and at one stage I thought I was having a heart attack. The pain seemed to intensify as I struggled and stressed, which lead to me having a panic attack. And the worst thing was, no-one was home to help me or calm me down. Both my mum and my boyfriend was in town and couldn't get to me until the early hours of the morning. I think when you experience such pain, your mind trys to block it from your memory as all I remember was trying to browse soothing music on spotify to help calm me down. And that, was the start of a grueling 3 weeks until my diagnosis.

We put our faith and trust in doctors and the NHS system. So when you are told you have a virus, or the pain is psychological, you believe them. I’m one of those people that tries to accept pain and power through, but honestly I didnt have any power left in me. I had been trying to get through to the doctors surgery for half an hour to be told there were no appointments left, I just broke down in tears and hung up on the receptionist and called my mum at work straight away. She then called and begged for a doctor to speak to me on the phone. Once I finally spoke to a doctor, I think he could hear the distress in my voice and said he will give me an emergency appointment and to come to the doctors straight away. So, that is exactly what I did at 10 o’clock, to be told that my ‘appointment’ was at 12. Again, in my emotional state, I broke down infront of a crowd of people and was seen straight away. But to my disappointment the doctor only said the same as the doctors beforehand had said, that I had a common virus, the rashes on my legs were from shaving and that I was drained from my emotional state and that I should come back to seek psychological help. Isnt that a mentally stimulating booster, making me think that I was depressed. But thankfully, this doctor sent for me to have a blood test done to put my ‘mind at rest’. That blood test, was the answer to my problems.

All in all, I I took 3 trips to A&E and numerous visits to my local doctors. All I needed was a simple blood test which took 3 weeks of agony for me to get. I had been in A&E 2 times previously almost screaming in pain and no-one thought to give me a routine blood test. I remember being stared at in the A&E waiting room. People looked at me as if I was a crazy person as they sat their with their sniffly noses, as if seeing someone in genuine pain was an uncommon sight for an A&E waiting room.  But my 3^rd visit to A&E, was my last.

Nothing is ever simple. I had my blood test done around lunch time, but I waited a long 5 hours or so to finally be seen by a doctor. As time went on, my pain subsided and it just became a waiting game. Me and my mum just sat in the waiting room, minding our own business and just hoping to go home soon. She quickly went outside to pay the parking meter when I was taken to a side room to be spoken to, the doctor said there was something not quite right with my blood and that he would be back. I just shrugged my shoulder when my mum returned and repeated what the doctor had told me, we didnt even bat an eye lid about it. So once again, I was told to go back to the waiting room. By this time, it was about 5 o’clock and a swarm of doctors gathered round behind me. Me and my mum actually joked about it saying how it was obviously clocking out time and the doctors were getting ready to go home. But to my surprise, they were all for me.

She sat me down. And she was very upfront about it. No hesitation. No trying to put it nicely. She simply said ‘We think you have Leukeamia’. Tears began rolling down my face. I was shaking. My hand covered my mouth. I said nothing. I didnt look at anyone, not even my mum who was crouched infront of me. I finally was able to make out some words. And im not going to glorify the situation, Im going to be honest. My words were, ‘Am I going to die?’.

So, on Friday the 19^th of December, I was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia. And my journey to recovery began at University College London Hospital.