10 years on – a new decade, a new diagnosis

I had hoped, perhaps naively, that once the 10-year anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis came around, I could end this blog for good. Of course, life is never that simple, is it?

I didn’t post anything on my 10-year anniversary on June 22nd because I was fairly certain I was heading for a secondary diagnosis. Sure enough, almost exactly a decade to the day, I found out earlier this month that the original cancer has spread to my bones. It is now stage four, also known as incurable, metastatic or secondary breast cancer, which means it will never be cured, but it can be treated.

I am clutching onto the fact that I got a whole 10 years to live my life to the full without the knowledge that my cancer was still lurking somewhere inside me. In those 10 years I’ve accomplished the most extraordinary things and had the most incredible life.

In particular, 2022 has been the year I’ve fulfilled some lifelong dreams, from launching a podcast to the publication of my first novel, Single Bald Female. Who knows if I would have done those things if I’d known that my cancer had never truly gone away? I know you might feel sorry for me, but I count myself lucky.

Recovering from a bone biopsy at the Royal Marsden hospital

Chapter Two

From today, I’m starting a new chapter, moving my musings to my newsletter, which you can subscribe to here. I’ve written a post about what it all means, what to say and what not to say, and how you can help. I’ve learned so much in the last couple of weeks about how little we know about secondary breast cancer and I know I have a role in helping people to learn and understand. I also speak from the perspective of someone 10 years older than I was when I was diagnosed back in the summer of 2012 at the age of 29.

I might still post on this blog from time to time, particularly as The Big Scary ‘C’ Word still gets a huge amount of love from people searching for guidance on hair loss, infertility, chemotherapy and beyond. But for now, head on over to Chapter Two and stay in touch.

Nine years after cancer – and why the time is now to follow your dreams

Today marks an incredible nine years since the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer and, naturally, I’m feeling reflective. I hate to give cancer the credit for anything positive, but it’s crazy to think about where I was then and where I am now.

On 22nd June 2012, I was 29 years old and at a bit of a crossroads in my career. For decades, I had wanted to be a “proper writer”. For years, I had been contemplating quitting my job in financial journalism, but I put it off because I loved the job, it was well-paid and it took me all over the world. Plus I had my whole life to pursue my dream career. Shortly after I found the lump and right before my diagnosis, I finally quit that job, moving across the world from Argentina to Dublin. I’d love to say I did it to follow my dreams, but the move was mostly motivated by a relationship.

Seven years on – why it’s okay to quit

One of the phrases most commonly associated with cancer is ‘life’s too short’. Then there’s ‘live every day as if it’s your last,’ ‘appreciate the little things’ and ‘what would you do if you weren’t afraid?’ While I absolutely agree with all of the above, I think that anyone who is living with, or has had, cancer will tell you that in practice they aren’t always possible.

Six years on: tamoxifen, guilt and life after cancer

Today marks six years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer and I’m not quite sure how to sum up everything that’s happened in the last 24 hours, let alone the last year or six years. So here’s a list, in no particular order, of random thoughts and people who have inspired me.

Three good things

Three good things happened to me last month. Here they are (in order of occurrence, not importance):

1. I had laser eye surgery

2. I got discharged from my oncologist (forever, I hope)

3. My three-year MRI scan came back clear

Three years later, operation No. 2 is done

And so it was that almost three years to the day of my original surgery, I found myself going under the knife again. This time it was to remove a cyst that emerged after my original operation in June 2012 and recently got infected. So, no biggie. However, as with anything in the world of boobs, hospitals and health, it was not without its fair share of drama.

Two years on and still nothing sinister

So this photo popped up on my Facebook feed the other day.

There’s nothing like Facebook to give you that big surprise surge of emotions with a visual image – whether it’s a photo of your ex on his wedding day or a school photo of you with pudding-bowl hair circa 1990 that someone has recovered from their parents’ house. Or, in my case, a pic of you larking about in a photo booth mid-chemo with a completely bald head and some ill-informed eyebrow pencillage.

‘Happy Cancerversary’

Happy Cancerversary
to Me…
Happy Cancerversary
to Me…
Happy Cancerversary
Dear Lau-raaa…
Happy Cancerversary
to Me!

Hip-hip…

Ok, you may detect a hint of irony. I have long hated the word ‘Cancerversary.’ First of all, it doesn’t go particularly well with the word ‘happy,’ which should be reserved for things like holidays and families and birthdays and cake. ‘Cancerversary’ is up there with ‘Your cancer journey’ and ‘Your battle with cancer’ in my Most Disliked Cancer Terminology book, even though I’m guilty of using some of these myself. It’s also perhaps because I’m a grammar and spelling Nazi that I hate the adding of ‘-versary’ onto anything that isn’t ‘anni,’ but don’t get me started on that.

Hating aside, today is the anniversary of the day I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I would like to say it was the worst day of my life, but the truth is there were far worse days to come. A year ago today, I was the naive Laura who said things like “Ah, it’s just like breaking a leg” and “I’ll be running marathons again by the end of the year.” Pah! Little did I know what was ahead of me.

BUT…

I survived. And the fact is, I’m doing wonderfully. I haven’t quite got the ‘One-year all-clear’ yet because I’m still waiting for my mammogram and MRI scan, but the important thing is I feel healthier and happier than I did a year ago.

As proof, here is a photo of me looking suitably content on a beach in Ireland last week (yes, I did just say “content,” “beach” and “Ireland” in the same sentence – we were truly blessed with the weather.)

And, while I may not have fulfilled my slightly farfetched hopes of running marathons by the end of 2012, I did manage to climb to the very top of this rather sizeable mountain in Ireland last week and am making significant progress training for the half marathon I’m going to attempt in October.

Considering there were times during chemo when I couldn’t stand on my feet long enough to even brush my teeth, I’d say I’ve come a pretty long way. So there!

Rejoicing aside though, I am very aware the ‘cancer journey’ (for want of a better phrase) doesn’t end here. Life goes on for me, but I’m well aware not everyone is so ‘lucky,’ which is why we’ve got to continue spreading the message and encouraging early detection. I’m very proud to have joined forces with Coppafeel!’s Boobettes and will be giving my first breast-cancer awareness talk to the boys and girls of Britain next month. (More on this later).

So… while I may not exactly love the phrase ‘Happy Cancerversary,’ I’m going to celebrate anyway, because I’m alive and well and that’s good enough for me!

Coping With Cancer’s Ugly Sister: Guilt

I’m one of those people who feels guilty about everything.

Guilty for buying a new dress instead of giving money to the homeless guy; guilty for reading girlie glossy magazines instead of the newspaper; guilty about spending £2.40 on a coffee when I could make one at home for free. Guilty about having cancer.

To read the rest of this Huffington Post blog, please click the link below:

http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/laura-price/coping-with-cancers-ugly-sister-guilt_b_2060752.html

The One Where I’m Told I Look Like Chicharito

Shit my Dad says

Dad: “Your hair’s getting blacker and thicker every day. You know who you look like?”

Me: “Who?”

Dad: “That little Mexican bloke who plays for Manchester Utd. You know, Chick-a-rito [sic].”

Huh. So I do!