So far the worst part has been telling people. I’m not saying the core biopsy was a walk in the park, but it’s the pure anguish in the voices and faces of those you love as the cancer conversation sucks the air from the room. Whether it’s running into a neighbour who’s perplexed that “You’re still here? I thought you were going back to Qatar on Sunday?” or having to ring the Aunt that you sat with giggling only the day before the diagnosis, you can be sure of one thing – you’re about to be a complete Debbie Downer.
The cancer news befittingly took on a life of its own. I lost control of it, while I walked around in a fog I’d somehow told the staff at the local restaurant but was yet to tell my mother. The children went on with their day completely unaware while I received text messages from the two or three people who knew and the many others who didn’t.
“Are we still on for breakfast tomorrow?”
“I imagine you’re in the midst of packing but just wanted to say it was great seeing you, see you at Christmas!”
I walked outside to take calls from G, and stood at the end of the road while the breast surgeon confirmed that the biopsy looked “sinister”. One of my best friends was coming to stay the night, I didn’t want to call her at work and knew that I couldn’t tell her while the children were around – it would have to wait until I’d put them to bed. We ate a meal, cheered through the footy game, and when the house was quiet and it was just her and I, I told her. The woman who’d stood next to me while I’d married G, the woman who’d agreed to be the godmother to one of my children. My gorgeous friend Cath. I watched her face wince, her eyes tear up and her mind resolve to be useful, funny and strong.
“You don’t have to tell people yet if you don’t want to”.
I did though. G was on his way back to Adelaide, we were no longer leaving. It was obvious something was going on. I needed to tell Sarah (my work wife), I needed to tell the school my children wouldn’t be there on day one. We were just going to have to be honest, get on with it and face it as a family. There would be no secrets.
Yesterday I met with the radiographer who’d been with me when the news was broken. The woman who I’d chatted with about kids, schools and partners while she ran the ultrasound over my chest, the woman who’d calmly said “I’ll just get the doctor” before my world changed.
I apologised for my vagueness on the day of the mammogram. She’d asked me to sit and wait for my film to take to the doctor and I’d immediately walked out of the clinic and towards the car. She’d thankfully chased after me.
“You were amazing” she said “some women fall apart with the news but I could see you immediately planning, trying to work out how it was all going to work, what was best. To get on the plane or stay, to bring your husband back or not. I could see it all working away in your brain.”
This was exactly how it was. It was like having someone speak in one language while you translated it into your own language. Expat language. While surgeons and doctors explain how the process works I try and translate it into how it will work for me. While they were saying biopsy on Monday, my brain was translating and calculating the flight times to Doha with the kids, and a solo return back to Australia.
On Saturday morning less than 24 hours after the diagnosis, my children slept as I drove to the local bakery for a litre of milk. I parked in the sunshine and watched people go about their Saturday morning ritual – newspaper, coffee and baked goods. With the silence of an empty car I rang my mother and told her the news. “Mum, they’ve found a lump, it’s all a bit tricky but they’re pretty sure its cancer.”
By far, the worst part has been telling people.
Thinking of you.
I don’t know what to say Kirsty. I cannot imagine having to give that kind of news to my mum. The radiologist is right, you’re handling it all with grace and calm. x
Hang in there. And get ready to run with pink sneakers for the next cancer race as a survivor. In the meantime we’ll all be praying/wishing/good vibing for a quick fight and speedy recovery. XXx
I can so understand those moments of trying to organise and plan in your head. One step at a time.
I understand also why sharing has been the hardest part.
My brothers story is similar to yours. On his annual visit home last year he was diagnosed with prostate cancer. His kids were with him his wife home in Vietnam. He ended up flying the kids home and flying back again in 24 hours as that’s what worked best for them. (he’s fully recovered now). Being an expat always adds another element. Buy you’re in the right place.
Take care, been thinking of you lots xx
Oh Kirsty….. I feel sick reading this…..I am trying really hard not to cry. Sending you lots of love and hugs….I’m not really sure what to say… so just know I am thinking of you. xxxx
I’m so sorry to hear this Kirsty. I’ll be thinking of you and wishing for the best possible outcome.
Darling girl, try as much as you can to just think about you. Don’t worry about sparing others {except maybe your kids} Take care of you, and be very kind to your self. Big love lovely one, big love to you <3
I can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to utter those words, but I do know the people who love you need to hear them so they can swing into action and be there for you and your family. Much love to you all. x
So true, thanks gorgeous xxx
Thank you xx
I know you are. Thank you gorgeous xxx
I’m so glad to hear that he’s fully recovered. xxx
Suddenly those pink sneakers make a lot of sense 🙂
It is truly the worst bit as it’s the people you are closest to that feel it the most. There’s a look of pain on their faces that you totally understand as you know you’d feel the same if it was them tell you the same news. xxxx
Thank you xxx
Telling people would be so difficult. I love that you have a Cath in your life and I love that you have so much support here and in person. Take all our strength and postive vibes xx
I can so understand how difficult it must be. And the carrying on as normal … it must be so hard. Sending strength and best wishes for the days to come x
thanks Johanna xx
Thank you gorgeous, lots of lovely people here and having G here makes everything okay. xxx
I am glad G is with you now .It is very hard telling people and watching the news sink in , while minimising your own emotions and fears . I still find it hard . I’ve relied on my husband countless times because I could not do it myself.
Wishing you much strength and love.
I imagine that would be very hard indeed and unlikely to stop for a while. Always new people to break the news to and new things to tell the old people anyway. I’m sorry you are going through this, K. x
I am so impressed by your calmness – constantly thinking of you x
oh kirsty. i have so much to want to share with you – my love, my experience with chemo abroad – but i have no words at the moment that seem to fit the bill. so i’ll go say a prayer. and thank you for sharing.
You really carry the shock, pain, awe and horror and try to protect your loved ones and the people you know, but once in a while let them, the right ones, in, and have them take care of you. It’s hard consoling others when you’re the one with the ailment, but it shows how strong you are. Take care Kristy, of yourself and them, but don’t forget about you.
Thanks so much Sarah, if you ever want to email me contact@shamozal.com xxx
Thanks Sarah-Jane xxx
Thanks gorgeous Bron xxx
I know that feeling well, I’ve looked in G’s direction so often in the past couple of days willing him to tell the story. xx
Thank you xxx
I want to say so much and at the same time just want to give you the biggest hug and have a cry. You are a very strong woman,, and now you’ve got to let others look after you, you’ve been brave enough to tell everyone, now your fight begins and we will all be there with our support and prayers. You’ve made the right decision to stay home for now you’ll need the people around you who care the most xx
It’s impossible to imagine what you’re going through. My best wishes and prayers are with you.
In really sorry Kirsty, it just sucks. Pleased that your husband is with you now. Thinking of you.
Thinking of you and sending very best wishes.
Been staring at the screen trying to think of something to say…. I’m sorry that you have to experience all of this and even though we don’t know each other I admire your outlook of life that I get through your writing. I wish you and those close to you all sorts of good things and I’m going to book my first ever mammogram in the morning!
Hugs x
Sorry to hear the news of your diagnosis Kirsty. Wishing you all the best for what lies ahead with your treatment. Your positivity and all the support you have around you will no doubt help enormously during the difficult times xxx
You know, we have never met personally… I sat in your workshop at HWW, follow your blog, listen to your podcasts, we share similar friends in Doha, know the same people, but we have never met and yet I feel like you are a friend of mine, someone I have known forever. Strange. But also so normal at the same time. 🙂 And when I read this post this morning, I was and am just so sorry to hear this news… I am sad that you have to go through this and for your family and for G. So many people have already shared great advice already and I share so many of their thoughts and feelings as well. But most importantly I share one…be kind to yourself. Care for yourself. Love you. The other’s are big enough and strong enough to look after themselves now! 🙂 … they need you, but more importantly they need you healthy and happy and free of cancer… you are strong. You can and will face this. And you have all of our support. A friend in Doha… xxx
I would love to like this post, for the beauty of the writing, the honesty of he words, the sheer emotion palpable through it. I understand so well all the brain working 100mph trying to see how to fit what needs to be done with what can and who needs to be told with who doesn’t.
I understand the need to tell the school, I also know how word is going to go round there, as people wonder why your kids aren’t in school, and I imagine how I would be wondering whether that is a good thing or not. But I guess right now your brain is oscillating between being in a haze and being extra sharp.
I’m sending you positive thoughts. I wish there were more I could do.
XO
Both of my parents have had a cancer diagnosis, and both have said that the very worst part was telling people. When my dad got sick, I took on the responsibility of telling people for him, and was happy to do it – to do *anything* I could to help (my sister, bless her, was so devastated she couldn’t speak when she heard the news. By the time she saw my father, she’d pulled up her socks and was ready to be supportive and encouraging, which was so much easier for him.) People don’t realize that the person who’s been diagnosed is still reeling from the diagnosis and may not have a whole lot of emotional reserve left to comfort the listener who is (justifiably) also devastated. I know you’ve probably done a lot of the telling already, but this might be a way for friends and family to help right now, sharing the news with those you want to tell but might not have the strength for just at the moment. It is definitely hard for them, too, but at least they’re doing something. Take care of you, and do let people help. They want to so badly! xo
Brilliant advice. Thank you so much, this has really helped. xx
Thanks so much Corinne, it’s always lovely to see and read your comments xxx
You know I’m about to go and stalk you now don’t you Lauren! 🙂 Thank you for your gorgeous note, it means a lot xxx
Thanks Kate, I saw Nikki on Thursday – I think it’s time for a boarders re-union.xx
Thanks Evelyn xx
Good! You’ll feel so much better once you’ve got it done. That’s wonderful news to hear. xx
Thank you xxx
It’s lovely having him here, obviously it can’t last but so nice to get through the really scary early bits xx
Thank you xx
Thanks so much Amanda, I’ll be very happy after the MRI and the X-rays are done at the end of this week. I just want to know that it’s not anywhere else! xxx
Thanks so much Mascha xxx
… and yet you’ve told us. Thank you for your honesty & for having the courage to tell us or anyone. Great, raw writing. Not that it matters at a time like this. Take care of yourself. You don’t have to be brave. Xxxxxxxxx
Dear Kirsty.
I’ve been reading your blog for ages and have admired your poise and writing quietly from afar.
I’m so very, very sorry to read that you’ve had to use your talent as a writer to share this news with us.
Thank you for your honesty and the wealth of inspiration and love from your readers that I’ve found in the comments here.
Thinking of you, praying for you and wishing you strength.
SSG xxx
Please know that you’ve made me laugh in your many posts… and now I’m crying with you. And sending my hugs, support and courage and whatever goodness one can possibly send via email. Thank you for letting all of us into your life.
Hi Kirsty, as with many of your other followers, we haven’t met in person I have been in Doha for 6years and know people who know you etc. I feel privileged through your blog to know so much about your wonderful thoughts on so many subjects surrounding being an ex-pat. You always get it just right.
I am so sorry to hear your news. 2 of my dear friends on this Summers trip home to England have told me of their breast cancer diagnoses! What’s going on!
I am grateful to have been here so that I could sit face to face with them, but as I return to Doha on Friday I know that I will be of little help in their recovery. I will do what I can from afar and send as much love, healing and positive vibes to you and them everyday, as I can muster.
It really has been a ‘tits up’ Summer! With much love to you and your family❤️
One of my lovely friends started radiation yesterday, and when she told me I could see how hard it was for her. Love and light to you x
It’s why I started writing…telling people, watching their faces crumple and sad eyes…too much xx
Hope you and Nikki had a good catch up. I agree about the Boarders reunion. I’m in! xx