Written in 2013 after I finished 8 rounds of chemo and got used to a new me and new daily routine.

I really love my woolly hat

I wore it during chemo

to keep my bald head warm at night

(It's not my favourite green, though)

It has the word "POW!" on the front

which was a funny thing

a friend of mine would say a lot

when work was full of WIN.

I had a painting with that phrase

hung on the office wall

And tried to find fun things to do

when work was still my call

But I became a ball of stress

as work and love unravelled

I needed to escape the many

problems that we juggled.

I struggled with unhappiness,

but after a long while,

got renewed hope for future fun

and I began to smile.

So you may understand

my sadness that the time was brief

before my diagnosis,

and how I shook with disbelief

I sat alone in hospital,

being brave and sturdy

as the bottom fell out of my world:

"Breast cancer, in my thirties".

Keeping calm and writing notes

did help me process better

the great stream of information,

from consultants and their letters

"Is there anybody with you"

was my only warning sign;

The news not good? I understood

and greeted them wide-eyed.

"Your cancer's spread to the lymph nodes

 so you're on the chemo list"

"how soon?" I asked, and in a flash,

I was sat with an oncologist

Four each of FEC and Taxotere,

and another op to go

the nurses were all kind, and said

"you are so brave, you know"

I made the most of time before

my course of treatments started

With trips, and friends, and family,

at fun and lively parties.

Informing everyone at work

seemed the best thing to do:

I didn't want it getting weird

when it's obviously not 'flu

As calm as anything, I sat,

explained the situation:

The chemo, hair loss, wig and then

avoiding all infections.

I worked as much as I could stand

and it did help quite a lot,

though it was sometimes difficult

with concentration shot.

The needles took their mental toll

and tears became more frequent,

by August I was glad to have

a third week between treatments.

I took a Nice Young Man with me

to walk along the Seine,

a trip I'd longed for many years

to undertake and plan.

Paris was a stunning trip

and whilst it wasn't easy,

I took pics from the Eiffel Tower

and walked the Champs-Élysées.

Then the chemo-brain kicked in

at work, during September.

Stood at a colleague's desk, red-faced,

struggling to remember

what seconds earlier had been

such an important question,

that I had waited minutes

for her to end her conversation

For several months just eating right

took lots of motivating

my food tasted of rusty socks,

and was only fit for leaving

The "POW! " hat got pulled down at night

to cover up my eyes;

a bald head, and no eyelashes,

were reasons for me to hide

By October there were very few

hairs left on me at all;

the cold wind whipped my face

and made my eyes a waterfall.

I staggered blindly when outside,

needed help to cross the road,

and gradually it seemed I was 

becoming my own ghost.

It became a struggle

just to function normally;

my bathroom breaks a horror,

I tried hard not to scream.

Finally, I reached the end

of chemo's devastation,

and took the BRCA blood test

to uncover a mutation.

It was no great surprise to me

(young relatives had died).

My cancer had genetic cause;

I was glad it was defined.

I went to Cornwall at New Year

to recover from it all;

and asked a friend if she and I

could run away, at all?

"In a little VW camper van?"

And both of us were longing

to drive across a continent,

with very few belongings.

And then... my job, the stumbling block,

no longer was a problem!

So taking time to make some trips

would be my compensation.

I booked my op for February:

Mastectomies / reconstruction.

Had lots of friends to visit me,

to aid recuperation.

I announced it on the book of Face;

my friends all shared my gladness

that I was able to get well clear

of all the cancer madness

I still do grieve for what was lost

and now replaced with saline

It's cold and strange but I am told

the scars will fade in time.

Tamoxifen's a daily chore

to help prevent more cancer:

bones ache and I am hot AND cold,

or sometimes quick to anger.

Last night I tried my trusty hat

to cover up my eyes,

but my brain was having none of it

and wide awake stayed I

So tears fell on my woolly hat

when I wrote this today

I haven't had a wink of sleep

and I've got a busy day

But I really love my POW! hat

'Cos I wore it during chemo

It kept my bald head warm at night

(It's not my favourite green, though)