Writing through cancer: using writing as therapy (and a way to help others)

In this guest blog, Sara explains how writing helped her cope with cancer – and provides some tips on how you can get started writing too!


In three months, my book is being launched. In fact, people can actually pre-order it on Amazon now. I keep having a sneaky peak to check it’s still there. It is. There’s a picture of the cover (a photo of my feet in fluffy white socks) with my name in big capital letters. Which is really weird. Weird in so many ways. Had someone told me three years ago that I’d be a published author I would have laughed (very loudly) in their face. You see, I’m not what I would call a ‘writer’. I’m not one of those people who’s lived with an unwritten novel sitting inside them and I’ve never really had any aspirations to write poetry, short stories or even magazine articles. I’ve never studied creative writing and my day job only involves the legal kind of writing. But then something horrible happened to me. I had cancer. I started to write about it. And I haven’t really stopped.

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Guest writer Sara started writing after she was diagnosed with cancer.

I didn’t sit down one day and just write it all out. I jotted things down over the course of treatment: I described my emotions and how I was feeling; I recorded my side effects at length; I wrote long gratitude lists; I wrote about my anger, resentment and fear; I recorded the way in which treatment was given to me; I made lengthy, detailed to-do lists; I ranted about people who upset me with their thoughtlessness; I made lots of exciting life-after-cancer lists; I wrote about my hopes and dreams; and I recorded my day to day observations and general musings about life, death and everything in between. And all this writing made me feel so much better.

Then, towards the end of my treatment before I went back to work, I took all these notes and I set up a website, wrote a book and starting writing articles for cancer charities and organisations. I realised that whilst the writing was helping me, it might also help other people who were going through similar things.

If you’re going through cancer treatment, or you’ve finished treatment and you’re trying to put your life back together, why not consider writing about your experience?

  1. Remember that you are writing for whatever reason that you choose. So, if you don’t want anyone to read it then they don’t have to – you can keep your writing private. Nobody needs to ever read it; you could even ceremoniously destroy it in a defiant move against cancer.
  2. Everyone can write about their experience. You don’t need to be a writer. You just need a pen and paper, or a laptop, or a phone. You don’t need to be perfect at grammar and spelling. Just remember to write what is important to you, write from the heart and be honest.
  3. Use your writing to stay in control. Going to hospital for consultant appointments, oncologist appointments, scans, blood tests, clinical trial appointments, counsellor sessions, and everything else can be so overwhelming. Sometimes it can be helpful to take notes at these appointments and then rewrite the details into a dedicated notebook/computer folder so that everything flows from one appointment to the next and you can keep on top of what is going on, rather than feeling completely out of control.
  4. Try keeping a gratitude journal. Having cancer can feel so unfair and cause all sorts of negative emotions to build up inside you. Sometimes it might help to remember things for which you are grateful. And on the bad days, re-reading this ongoing list might help to lift you out of your slump.
  5. Don’t be afraid you write down your feelings and emotions, your fears and worries. If you write them out, then they’re out of your head and you can let them go. It might even help lift the weight of anxiety off your chest a little.
  6. What to write? If you like the idea of writing about your experience but you don’t know where to start, here are a few prompts to get you going:
  • How did you feel to be diagnosed with cancer at such a young age?
  • How did it feel to tell your parents, siblings, children that you had cancer?
  • How have friends treated you since you told them about your diagnosis?
  • If you’ve lost your hair, how did you feel about it?

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    Sara, during treatment.

  • What has having cancer made you realise, that perhaps you didn’t before?
  • Have any positive things come out of having cancer?
  • How have the side effects affected you?

7. Use your writing to express your feelings towards others. Anyone going through cancer knows that unfortunately not all your friends step up and rally around. This is incredibly hurtful and can knock your confidence to an even lower level. This is not what you need when you have bigger things to worry about. It can eat away at the back of your mind with thoughts like, “Why hasn’t she got in touch?” “Why am I not invited out with my friends anymore?” “What’s wrong with me?” It might help to write a letter to these friends telling them how you feel and why you’re upset with them. Don’t send the letter, just burn it or rip it to shreds and move on.

8. Don’t forget to write about the good as well as the bad. For example, it’s nice to write about all the lovely things that people do for you (like bringing you food or driving you to appointments) and it’s nice to read these back to remember how important you are to these people.

9. Consider whether you’d like to share your writing with others. Maybe you’d like to set up a blog (which is fairly straightforward using one of the DIY blog platforms like WordPress) or a Facebook page. With both these types of blogs you can share your writing with either just your friends and family, or open it up to anyone. If you don’t want to set up something yourself, get in touch with one of the cancer charities or cancer organisations about sharing your writing as a guest blog on their website (I’m always happy to post guest blogs about breast cancer for my website, tickingoffbreastcancer.com and, of course, you can always get in touch with Shine!).

10. Don’t be shy about sharing your writing with others. It can be a bit daunting to start with, but at the end of the day people going through cancer want to read about the experiences of others who’ve been through the same thing. They’re looking for reassurance, support, honesty and advice so if you can provide these, they’ll want to read what you write. And remember these words of encouragement from me:

You have something to say, so you should say it.

Even if it just helps one person, you are making a difference.

You have a voice, use it.

People will appreciate the advice of someone who has been through it.


Sara is the author of Ticking Off Breast Cancer, a book about juggling a busy life with treatment for primary breast cancer. This book follows the physical and emotional impact of breast cancer on Sara’s life, and provides practical help by way of checklists at the end of each chapter. The book is out 26 September 2019 but you can pre-order the book now from Hashtag Press, Amazon, Waterstones and Foyles. Sara is also the founder of www.tickingoffbreastcancer.com, a website dedicated to supporting those who don’t know which way to turn for help after receiving a breast cancer diagnosis; those who are overwhelmed by the breast cancer resources online and those just looking for a comfortable, safe, calm place to turn for help. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

From PE teacher to ski instructor – how coaching after cancer can help

In this guest blog post, Kaeti writes about how Shine’s coaching after cancer programme helped her to leave her old job and take her life in an exciting new direction.


What do you do when you realise that your ambition is no longer your ambition?

For as long as I could remember, I had wanted to be a PE teacher. When my friends in primary school were talking about being astronauts and vets, I wasn’t interested – all I wanted to do was teach. But being diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 30 wasn’t in my career plan.

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Kaeti was 30 when diagnosed with breast cancer.

I really missed my job when I was on sick leave. However, at some point during my eight months of cancer treatment, I realised that I didn’t miss teaching. The problem wasn’t my workload (you might have been expecting that complaint!) – actually, I had no idea what it was. Still, I knew for a fact that something had shifted, and I needed to figure out what was different in order to move forward.

A couple of months into my treatment, I saw on social media that Shine Cancer Support was offering career coaching. This was just what I needed: someone to help me make sense of the fact that I desperately missed being at work, but also knew that my teaching days were numbered. I felt like a failure: teaching was all I had ever wanted to do. Before my diagnosis I had been certain that I would progress through the ranks to deputy headteacher, and maybe even headteacher one day. Yet now I was lost, and I didn’t know what to do.

I took up Shine’s offer of support and met Emily Lomax, my coach. Emily works over the phone or via Zoom, and for our first session I think I talked at her for 40 minutes. She listened patiently to my ramblings. My first session had coincided with my return to work. I was excited to be back, but I knew deep down that even though I loved the thought of being busy, being needed, and feeling focused again, the idea of being a teacher was distressing. Cancer had made me realise that I wanted change.

After that initial session, Emily sent me some tasks to complete. One was about prioritising my values and the other was about looking at my energy levels. I realised that my values hadn’t really changed since cancer, but that my energy at work had been affected. The majority of the time that I spent in my job, I was in the ‘burnout and surviving’ zone. After everything I had been through with my diagnosis and treatment, I needed to prioritise recharging in order to thrive. We discussed these tasks and Emily lead me to realise that as a teacher, I could do other things. I was focusing on the fact that I had a PE teaching degree and ‘that only qualifies me to teach PE.’ Emily got me to think about all the transferable skills I have that could be beneficial in other sectors.

After this session I decided to jazz up my CV. CVs are not widely used when applying for teaching jobs, so mine looked sad and dated. Comic Sans? What was I thinking?! I’m a keen skier, and I remembered that a friend who works in the industry had offered to pass on my CV to his company’s head office, should I ever want to move out of teaching. I sent him my CV, and also passed it to some other skiing companies. In the meantime, I finished my sessions with Emily and began considering my options. Should I stick with teaching? It paid well, and I was good at it. Should I pack it all in and do a ski season? Should I re-train as a cancer rehab personal trainer? Should I go abroad to teach? These questions were exhausting, but relevant. Whenever I considered an option I revisited Emily’s energy task handout, and that helped me decide the way forward.

Emily had helped me to understand that I love organising events. It was easily the best bit of my job. I needed to remember this and not let the pull of money, a secure career path, and pressure from colleagues change my mind. A few weeks after my last session with Emily, I got an email from the Head of HR at my friend’s skiing company. She was very complimentary of my CV (I had updated the font!) and invited me to the head office to discuss some job opportunities. I went for the chat during the Easter break, and a week later – while doing some holiday work for a different ski company – I realised that it was time to move on from teaching. It wasn’t failure, it was acceptance of my changing circumstances and the fact that I was allowed to have new ambitions. My ambition of being a PE teacher was over 20 years old. It was time to do something new.

A week later, the ski company contacted me to offer me the position of events coordinator. I was hesitant at first as the job was mainly office-based, and I asked for a couple of weeks to consider. I was away with friends when the company replied to say that they had reviewed the job and that 3-4 months a year could be spent in the Alps working remotely and taking responsibility for trainee ski instructors. It felt like all my Christmases had come at once! I handed in my notice and I finish teaching at the end of this term. The minute I handed the resignation letter to my headteacher, it felt like a weight had been lifted.  I was somehow so much lighter: much lighter than I had been in months, maybe years.

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Kaeti takes on the slopes!

When I was considering the job offer, my mum told me ‘the world is full of teachers who have given up teaching, and teaching is full of teachers who wish they have given up teaching.’ It’s taken cancer and career coaching for me to realise that it’s OK for your ambitions to change. It’s not failing to want to do something new and different. I am VERY excited about my new start and even more excited about spending next ski season in the Alps, thriving and recharging! Thank you so much to Emily and Shine for the gentle shove in the right direction.

Shine’s 2019 coaching after cancer programme is currently in progress – but follow us on social media for details of our 2020 programme!

My post-cancer PTSD time-bomb

In this guest blog post, Shine community member Jen shares her experiences of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) after breast cancer, and how these feelings affect her upcoming brain surgery for an unrelated condition.


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Meet Jen!

It seems that having cancer – and more specifically, months of treatment to be rid of that cancer – leaves you with a ticking PTSD time-bomb for future serious medical issues. No shit Sherlock, I hear you scream! I know – it seems obvious, doesn’t it? PTSD is just another one of the many, many things that nobody prepares you for when you walk through that hospital door after cancer treatment, merrily waving your goodbyes and looking forward to returning to your life. I had cancer at 36 and, touch wood, I am all clear so far. Given this diagnosis, it would seem pretty feasible that I might come up against another serious medical issue at some point. Why would nobody think to address the trauma of cancer? Mental health is yet another thing that sadly falls by the wayside for younger adults with cancer.

I’m sure that my experience of PTSD will resonate with others – and I hadn’t really dealt with, acknowledged, or understood the trauma until very recently. It makes perfect sense that what happens to us after cancer is going to be influenced by our experiences of diagnosis and treatment, just as all our other life experiences shape us and influence how we react and respond to future events.

I’ve learned that the actual ‘trauma’ of post-traumatic stress might be something that was not initially perceived as trauma. Trauma can be something that creeps up on you over time: it grows with you, in you and through you, slowly and steadily like a fungus. When you get diagnosed with cancer, there’s no time to deal with your feelings about it. Instead, you batten down the hatches and get on with getting through whatever you have to get through. There is a lot of information to take on board, but pretty much everything is out of your control. You are swept along on a rollercoaster ride from hell and when it ends, you are just thankful that you are still standing –  regardless of the state you are in, and the trauma that may have occurred along the way. You process your emotions in the months and years afterwards, and the trauma creeps up on you unexpectedly.

I have known for years that eventually I will need surgery on a slow-growing, benign brain tumour. It’s in a very awkward place. I have a condition called Schwannomatosis. It was diagnosed after cancer, so it seems that I am doubly special and unique! I have yearly scans and appointments with a specialist team of neurologists, and then I shelve it away for another twelve months and get on with living my best life. I’m pretty good at that! I genuinely don’t dwell on it. I had thought that this pattern would go on for many years to come so, other than the annual drama of getting a cannula into my chemo-destroyed veins (and a small amount of pain from time to time), I could almost live in happy denial. Unfortunately, in September 2018 this all changed: the little bugger had grown significantly in the past two years and if it continued, my eyesight would quickly become compromised. This means that I now need fairly complex and somewhat risky neurosurgery.

I am great at going to appointments and discussing all the details, from options to risks. But as I get closer to the operation, I’m not entirely sure how I am going to be able to let it happen to me! I know I have to, right? I know I do. It has to be done. It’s been planned and discussed, and I’ve been waiting for months. But the thought of having my body cut into again, damaged and broken, and drugs being pumped into my fragile veins? It just makes me feel nauseous, and that feeling triggers vivid memories!

It has been five years this month since my breast cancer surgery. Beforehand I had had four months of chemotherapy, and post-surgery I had five weeks of radiotherapy. My body has healed and my hair has regrown (sadly not my eyebrows, but I do have rather fabulous tattooed ones now!). I still ache though. I have radiotherapy damage in the bones and muscle on my chest wall, and I’m reminded of this when my kids hug me a little too tight. I have permanently painful toenails – first because they fell off during chemo, then from walking around the Isle of Wight (stupid me), and then from walking up Kilimanjaro (double stupid me!). I bruise easily, and my joints ache due to the drugs I take to keep the cancer from returning.

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Jen and her family

My youngest daughter has to hold my left hand rather than my right as she tends to tug and it hurts the back of my hand. My hand has never had a chance to recover from the onslaught of cannulas. I mention these things not as a sob story, but to explain that my instinct is to be very protective of myself.

I hate it when I hurt. I hate getting badly bruised if I clumsily walk into something. It makes me mad: disproportionally mad or disproportionally upset, depending on the situation. The thought of rocking up to a hospital voluntarily to check myself in for a lengthy, complex surgical procedure is obviously horrific – with or without the prior experience of cancer. Alongside these feelings comes an overwhelming, intrinsic, sense of self-preservation. I just don’t want my body to suffer anything more – it’s bounced back from so much, and I’m so thankful. This time it feels like I am choosing to do this to my body, and it will never forgive me!

Along with all these thoughts comes cancer guilt: the guilt that comes with survival when those with the same cancer and prognosis as you have gone. The guilt of remaining cancer free while friends get secondary diagnoses. The guilt of forgetting to be grateful every single day because there are people hoping for just one more day of life. The guilt of being stressed about one single surgery when there are people going through far worse in a desperate attempt to simply survive.

I have to have surgery. It sucks, but at least it isn’t cancer this time.

If you’ve enjoyed this blog, we’d love to connect with you! If you’re in your 20s, 30s or 40s and have had a cancer diagnosis, why not join our private Facebook group

Moving on – with the help of broken crockery

Here at Shine HQ, we frequently see questions about “returning to normal” in our online groups. Young cancer patients rightly want to know when they’ll be able to get back to there they were before but, in most cases, there isn’t an easy answer. For many people we work with, we know that life doesn’t ever really go back to normal. That’s not to say that it can’t be good (or even better) than before – it’s just that something as big as a cancer diagnosis can leave you feeling changed. In our latest blog, Karen shares her thoughts on “moving on” – and explains how it relates to the Japanese art of Kintsugi!


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Blog author, Karen Myers

The end of active cancer treatment is a weird time. It’s all you’ve wanted since diagnosis – an end to hospital appointments, tests, treatments, side effects, surgery, pain, discomfort, feeling a little bit shit. And then, if you’re lucky, it is over. You’re told that your treatment has done it’s job, got rid of the invaders, killed those nasty cancery cells so you’re NED (No Evidence of Disease) or in remission. You’re good to go. Back to normality.

Except there’s not really a ‘normal’ after cancer. At least not the same normal as there was before. It’s a readjustment. Your energy levels, your self-confidence, your relationships, your work and social life, your body and your body image have all been knocked. With the safety net of treatment removed, you are confronted with the things cancer has left you with or taken from you. After my breast cancer surgery, which removed my entire right breast and used skin and tissue from my stomach to rebuild a new ‘foob’ (fake boob), something I’ve definitely been left with is scarring. Physical and emotional.

My physical scars are going to remind me every day, for the rest of my life, what cancer has done to my body. They’re pink and vivid, only three months after my surgery, and although I know they will fade in time, I also know they are a permanent marker of the path cancer traced across my skin and my life.

But scars don’t have to be thought of as ugly reminders of something terrible, of the price your body has paid for fighting cancer. In an attempt to see my own scars in a different light, I’ve become a bit obsessed with broken crockery and the Japanese art of ‘kintsugi’.

Kintsugi, translated as ‘golden joinery’, is focused on repairing broken items of pottery with a lacquer mixed with gold powder. By using the golden glue, those joins where the broken pieces have been put back together aren’t hidden or disguised but embraced and celebrated. Kintsugi says that the breaks, and the subsequent repair, should not be ignored, but valued as an indicator of the hard history of that item. By adding gold, that history, the cracks, the breaks and the struggle to bring about repair, make the broken item of crockery even more beautiful than before. Kintsugi recognizes the fragility of the broken piece, but also testifies to its strength by making the new bonds glow and shine, to celebrate that which is holding them together.Kintsugi

To me, this is one of the most beautiful concepts that cancer survivors can apply to themselves. Now, I’m not suggesting that everyone tattoo their surgical scars gold (although it is somewhat tempting). Instead, I’m trying to embrace the philosophy behind kintsugi as a way to accept my scars, both those visible on my skin and those hidden in my heart and mind, as evidence of both my fragility and my strength. Bodies do break and break down. The human form is fragile, even when we’re young. There’s no shame in being ill, so why should we be ashamed of the scars that mark us out as having endured? Alongside the suffering these scars, these breaks in the pottery, also show endurance, strength, resilience, determination, sheer bloody-mindedness, and, we hope, recovery. No-one asked for them but, just like a piece of kintsugi-rescued crockery, our scars are part of our cancer, and life history.

Of course, when active cancer treatment has finished, anxieties about the future still abound – we worry about the risk of recurrence, of developing secondary cancers, the impact of depleted energy resources, the possibility of resuming work and the damage done to our mental wellbeing. It’s too simplistic and insulting to assume that because we have finished treatment we can simply ‘move on’ or ‘return to normal’. But for those of us lucky enough to be officially cancer-free, the kintsugi philosophy asks us to see those emotional scars and continuing anxieties as markers of our resilience. We might not feel resilient or brave – I hated anyone telling me I was brave during treatment. I wasn’t brave. I cried and raged a lot. I got on with it because I didn’t have any choice – but the golden lacquer shows that what broke us initially was overcome. We face continuing physical and psychological challenges, but with a history of obstacles overthrown marked into our skin and our psyche. It is glued into our repaired bodies and recovering minds.

I’ve never been much of one for tattoos. But since losing my breast to cancer, I’ve been fascinated by the stunning skin-inked artwork that some women have chosen to cover their mastectomy and/or reconstruction scars. Rather than opt for nipple reconstruction or 3D nipple tattoos, these women have put their own bold, beautiful stamp on their bodies. To honour what has been lost and to shout to the world that there is beauty even in scarred and damaged tissue. For me, it seems strange that the scars I see every day will eventually be forgotten by most of the people I know, even close friends and family, because they are hidden. So I see that tattooed artwork as a contemporary body-art form of kintsugi, and it may be that is the way I reclaim my own body, my own sense of self and remind the world that I have been broken but repaired.

Moving on is always going to be hard when you bear scars. But maybe with a glint of gold in your post-cancer wounds, be it real tattoo ink or metaphorical mind-glue, you can start the process of healing and re-forming into a new, fragile but resilient, kintsugi-d you.

Karen Myers is a blogger, baker, knitter, traveller, theatre-goer and escape room addict. She was diagnosed with invasive breast cancer in July 2018 and has blogged about her experience at atozeeofbc.com.

Meet Rosie – social work student and latest member of the Shine team!

Rosie is a university student studying social work in Bournemouth. We’re extremely lucky to have her on placement with us until January 2019. Below Rosie tells us a bit about herself, how she found out about Shine, and what social work can mean to those living with cancer.


Hi everyone, I’m Rosie! I’m 33, and in June 2016 I was diagnosed with breast cancer for which I now receive ongoing maintenance treatment because they think it has spread to my spine. At the time of writing though, I currently have no evidence of disease!

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Rosie

When I was diagnosed, I had just finished my first year at Bournemouth University studying social work. I took two years out and had pretty much written myself off, let alone the thought of getting back to uni! Fast forward to 29 June of this year and it was the first day of my second year of university, and I was on placement with Shine!

I’m very lucky that my uni let me start placement early, do it part time, (it will take me into the beginning of January) and choose where I went. I’m equally lucky that Shine are so flexible with when and where I complete my 70-day placement so that I can fit it around my treatment, appointments, and fatigue. As I write now, with my feet up on my sofa, cat and chocolate to hand, I really couldn’t ask for more!

Before my diagnosis it would not have occurred to me that, once I had qualified as a social worker, I would like to work with young adults who have had a cancer diagnosis. In fact, the thought of it would probably have terrified me: what if I said the wrong thing? And surely it would all just be really depressing, right? Wrong!

As soon as I was diagnosed, I found Shine through a good friend of mine who was already part of the ‘cancer crew’. The support that I felt was unbelievable. Just knowing

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Social work isn’t about being a child catcher!

that there were other people out there in my age group who get what it’s all about is all that I needed. I was sold! It’s the informal peer support aspect that, for me, is the best part. We meet up where people our age want to meet up, and we do what people our age want to do. We talk about cancer if we want to, but it’s not forced and awkward and, most of all, it’s actually fun and a light relief from the usual drudgery that is living with cancer.

I had gone into my degree thinking that, once qualified, I would work with children and young people because that is where the majority of my work experience had been based. However, now I have a new group of fabulously ‘Shiny’ people to be passionate about. I believe that my personal experiences can have a positive impact on others in similar situations. Just before starting placement I was really excited to become a joint Network Leader for Dorset. I love it and I will continue to do it long after placement has finished!

Social work comes with a lot of preconceived ideas, stigmas, and a veil of mystery that the tabloid press does nothing to dispel. With their constant scare-mongering they would have you believe that we are all some kind of crazed child-catchers!

So what exactly IS social work – and why is it relevant to you?

Social work is a lot of things but this statement sums it up quite nicely.SW

As we all know, life can be turned upside down in an instant, and when that happens we all need someone to reach out to, whether that’s for practical or emotional support. I am really lucky to have a fantastic specialist social worker based in my hospital oncology unit, but sadly these are very few and far between. His role is funded by a charity and he has helped me with things like filling out benefits forms and making sure that I have an up-to-date seatbelt exemption (I need this because of the placement of my portacath).

Shine fills that much-needed gap for young adults with cancer who are looking for support.

While I’m on placement with Shine, I will continue to jointly run the local Dorset Network which includes organising meet-ups and events, welcoming new members, supporting alumni to move on as they approach 50, and developing a local ‘Plus One’ Network. But I will also be working on a number of other projects, including developing a directory of useful services for Shine members, collecting evidence of the current needs of young adults with cancer, and working on a diversity project to ensure that Shine is reaching all communities affected by cancer at a young age. In addition, I will be at the Manchester Great Escape as a peer supporter, and supporting the delivery of a number of workshops. On my first day of placement I headed to London for a training day for Shine’s Network Leaders. I was very pleased to find out that the core skills and values necessary for the role are identical to those required of a social worker: to be passionate about helping others, supportive, empowering, friendly, empathetic, caring, respectful, and to demonstrate integrity and trustworthiness.

I’m really excited about my placement because I feel like it’s important work that will make a genuine difference. Personally, since I’ve started on placement I feel so much more confident in my ability to function as a (relatively!) normal human being again. Being on placement in a cancer support charity has also, perversely, taken the focus off my own cancer and also given me a new-found purpose in life again. One of the only possible challenges that I predict is keeping on the right side of that fine boundary line, but for the next few months I’ll be making sure that I step back and look at all situations with my ‘Student Social Worker’ hat on.

I would love to hear from you! Maybe you’ve got feedback from a personal experience of interacting with a social worker or trying to navigate the benefits system? Maybe Shine has been an invaluable support and you’d be lost without them? Perhaps you can relate to my feelings of returning to study or work after your diagnosis? Whatever it is, please do drop me a line!

You can get in touch with Rosie by emailing her at hi@shinecancersupport.org.

 

 

Shine takes cancer support to Yorkshire!

Linz was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer and the BRCA1 gene just after turning 38, and she’s passionate about bringing people together to help deal with cancer. In this post, she writes about her first Shine event: a weekend away with Shine North East in the Yorkshire Dales.


The weekend was full of promise: I was coming to this event as a newbie, all the way from Edinburgh to gate-crash a weekend of ‘folk like me’. The setting was a lovely holiday home called Springwood Cottage near Huddersfield, and the background music was the soundtrack from ‘The Greatest Showman’. The idea was simply for a group of young adults with cancer to share a cottage for the weekend: no plans, no itinerary, no rules, and no barriers.  All just pitch up, pitch in, and enjoy ourselves.

I had come across Shine Cancer Support only a few months previously, just by doing a search on Facebook.  I am a member of various cancer support groups on Facebook and Twitter, but aside from a lovely lunch ‘tweet up’ in Manchester a few months back, I had not actually engaged much with other people going through cancer treatment. There certainly isn’t much for us ‘in-betweeners’ aged 20-50. Talking to people online is great but meeting up in person is so much better! In total there were going to be 17 of us on this weekend – all walks of life, all different types of cancer and associated treatments.  All in all, a lovely bunch of people who are much more than the ‘cancer tag’!

After getting there, two of us went for coffee and cake as we waited to pick up some of the group from the train station five minutes away.  Finding the train station was easy but finding my way back to the cottage each time meant a little detour… oops!

Friday evening was a relaxed affair, introducing ourselves and getting ourselves set up in the rooms.  The location itself was amazing as we had our own hot tub, as well as a rooftop patio!  For some, the thought of sharing rooms with strangers was possibly a little odd at first, but actually it all turned out grand. Dinner was spectacular, and after a few drinks of own choosing we all attempted the icebreaker of making ourselves a cardboard crown with various craft materials.  Some people are exceptionally talented in this area. I am clearly not!

It was really interesting to talk to people about what cancer they have/had, and the treatment plans and side effects/consequences of treatment they experienced.  It was also good to hear about their personal lives, both pre- and post-diagnosis.  To be quite frank, I am at that stage where I question everything about my life, who I am, and what I want to do now. For a little while I had become quite insular and cancer was all I could focus on.  But even more important for me over this weekend was actually to see and hear how other people live their lives post-diagnosis and treatment, in terms of families, holidays, adventures, and work.  dsc_0584.jpg

Given that this was very much a weekend where everyone pitched in and helped, it was almost like an episode of ‘Big Brother’ without the cameras…! In a non-threatening, non-competitive way, of course!

Saturday was relaxing, too. First off, two of the women produced a spectacular cooked breakfast. I honestly don’t think I have eaten so well anywhere!

Afterwards, a beauty therapist visited to offer sessions ranging from facials and massages, through to reflexology, for those who were interested.  Some of us decided to take a few cars over to the nearby town of Holmfirth, West Yorkshire, which is where ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ was filmed.  There was actually a folk festival on that day, and it was great to soak up the atmosphere and find a wee secluded beer garden, then search for ice cream. Other people in the group opted to walk around and soak up the wonderful weather that we had that weekend too.

Later that night, after another amazing dinner, most of us sat down to watch Eurovision and play some games.  Many of us also took the opportunity to jump into the hot tub and let any lingering strains and tensions melt away…

Sunday morning saw another spectacular cooked breakfast before some of us took a gentle meandering walk up the road.  A Sunday roast completed the weekend for me, before I headed home into the sunset…

Overall, it was a great weekend, and I feel that I have made some new friends that actually get everything I have experienced and inspire me to get through the post-treatment slump. It was also not all about the cancer! We laughed and joked, and I even managed to use some of my professional skills to help others, too.

If you’re ever thinking about coming to an event like this one, then I would definitely recommend it!

I’d like to say a HUGE thank you to Shine North East network leader Rachel, who organised the whole weekend.  She’s a special and wonderful person who is spectacular and lovely and kind. Thank you for letting me come!  I know how much effort it takes to organise an event like this, and that makes both Rachel and Shine very special indeed.

How running and cycling taught me to cope with chemotherapy

Having chemo? Fancy a run?

For many of us, the answer is a firm “no!”, but in our latest blog, Alison fills us in on how her approach to running and cycling has helped her to cope with her treatment for breast cancer, and we think there’s a lot of wisdom in her approach to breaking things down into manageable chunks. Take a read, let us know what you think – and please do share!


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Blog contributor, Alison Carter

Keeping fit and being a healthy weight have been important to me most of my adult life. As a child and in my teens I was hopeless at all sports (always one of the last to be picked for any team), but I spent hours doing ballet and tap, which kept me fit, flexible and gave me an appreciation of what my body could do. I wasn’t an especially good dancer, but I loved it.

My twenties saw me working hard and travelling a lot for my job, with not much time for exercise. Then as I turned 30, I discovered running and a female-only gym. Both these things made being fit accessible to me, and I had a light bulb moment when I realised I didn’t have to be good at something to enjoy it. I am not fast (my best half marathon was 2 hours 6 minutes), but what I don’t have in speed I make up for in determination. And probably most importantly, I discovered the massive endorphin rush, the so called “runner’s high”, that exercise gave me. What a great stress buster!

A few years later, as my right knee started to fail me, a friend suggested we cycle from London to Paris for charity to mark turning 40. Really???140727_North_Downs_Sportive_0114

Before I knew it, I’d bought a bike and was clocking up miles and enjoying the same benefits that running had given me. The charity ride was tough, but awesome and I’m now an avid cyclist. Through all of this, I developed a real appreciation of how amazing my body is. I may never have a flat stomach, but I love what my body can do for me.

The cancer bomb

So, it was a massive curveball when this January I was diagnosed with breast cancer. How could this be? How could this amazing body have cancer in it? Ok, I’ve had stress in my life and enjoyed plenty of wine, but cancer? Me?

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Having breast cancer treatment – with the cold cap!

I know some people feel their body has let them down when they get cancer, but I think it’s just really bad luck. I had no choice about getting cancer, but I can choose how I deal with it. My feeling is that how I treat my body is my best defence against the cancer coming back (my cancer is stage 2, grade 3). And I’m sure that being fit going in to breast cancer treatment has made a difference.

What cycling has taught me 

I’m just about to have my last round of chemotherapy (number six of FEC-T), to be followed by radiotherapy and Tamoxifen. Treatment is tough, but I have been able to bring to it what I have learned from running and cycling, and this has really helped me.

Treatment plans are subject to change, but it’ll be about eight months in total, so, I broke it in to chunks, as I would any long run or bike ride, with five clear stages:

  1. Surgery
  2. Chemo
  3. Radiotherapy
  4. Tamoxifen
  5. Recovery, the new me, after eight months.

When I cycle a long bike ride, such as Ride London, I train for it for months to prepare. Strangely, this is now how I view the last 15-odd years of my adult life: building a physical and emotional resilience that I never knew I’d need until the cancer bomb was dropped.

When I’m on a ride, I’ve learned that breaking it down to goals gets me through. I didn’t invent this, it’s standard practice; your brain usually gives up before your body does in such events, so finding the psychological plan is key. My first goal may be getting to the feed station at mile 19 where I know there’ll be flapjacks and so on. Experience has also shown me that I get a dip midway on all long rides and runs. I start to tire or pain or injuries start to niggle, and the end is not in sight yet.  In my head I desperately want to give up.

My treatment has been so very similar to this: one phase at a time, then one chemotherapy at a time, setting goals and rewards, and remembering that there will be a midway dip, but I’ll get through it.

After chemo round three I fell in to a huge dip, and I could happily have given up at that point. My hair was falling out, everything tasted of cardboard, my veins hurt and I had constant acid reflux and nausea. I was exhausted. Mentally and emotionally I was spent. But I took it one day at a time, just as I would have done on a tough run or ride.

On my good days, as I emerge from the side effects, I go for walks, do a spin class when I feel strong enough (I have to lie down for two hours afterwards!) and make sure I have goals that will give me a sense of purpose and achievement. As a result, during chemo I have done a Race For Life and cycled the Pink Ribbon Tour in London. I also ensure I have plans to see family and friends on my good days. These things exhaust me, but they fill my soul. I’ve learned to pace myself through cancer treatment just as I do through a run or bike ride.

My last chemo is next week. I know I’ll have a tough week where I lose myself to side effects, but one day at a time and it’ll be done. Then I can focus my energies on rebuilding myself ready for the next phase. That first finish line is almost in sight.

For many years, Alison was a fashion buyer. She now leads the creative photo studio for a large UK retailer. Working to to squeeze as much out of life as possible, she can often be found either on her bike, in a theatre, talking to her cat, at an art gallery, or having crazy fun with her niece and nephew. You can follow her blog here.  

For tips on how to support a friend with cancer, take a look at this blog entry. And for a list of things NOT to say to someone with cancer, read our blog here.