Author: sineadwhyte

Now since I have started my little blog I have often wondered what if I didn’t have the “Cancer tag line”? “Would people still read my blog if it was just about me – Sinead Whyte, Age 48, Married, Two teenagers, two beautiful babies in heaven, and the latest addition, a spoilt rotten cockapoo.

I suppose it depends what you write about, maybe if it is terribly sad or terribly funny you will get people to like it, but if you are a mammy, an Ordinary mammy like me, well then maybe nobody will want to read or interact with you.

But there is no such thing as an ordinary mammy, mum, mother, mam. All mammy’s have a story, as a matter of fact everyone has a story. And everyone has a story that others would read, laugh to, cry to, be jealous of, want to be them, glad they are not them, or maybe just be happy for them.

Stories have been abound since time began, some fact, some fiction. In our times it seems fiction rules the world, and yes so many amazing stories written by amazing Authors who make us gasp in awe of the wonderful worlds of our dreams and imagination.

But for me it is the ordinary stuff. The stories from, and of, my grandparents and parents, the days of innocence, the days when a selfie or video did not determine your popularity, the days when being an ordinary mam with an ordinary story was enough.

So listen to your mammy, nanny, dad, grandad, these are the people with the best stories, the stories that are just as it is and as it was, just ordinary people telling a story. ☺️

Today, once again I sat in the Green Bucket chairs. My routine six month appointment with my surgeon. I am always nervous waiting to go in, hoping that my surgeon won’t find anything strange or unusual when he does his check. Every week I have a little poke and prod at my wound area and of course the lonely boob.. I really only need to check once a month but once a week keeps me sane. No matter how well I know my scars I still from time to time panic, thinking that something has changed, no matter how well I know the Lonely boob I still panic, and if I really really panic I know my Breast care team are there to help me.

And sitting there today I thought of my recovery post surgery. It is so strange, I don’t remember this as being an awful time, I don’t remember terrible pain, I don’t remember crying or complaining.. (Well only one night when I was fed up with the drains stopping me sleeping.) But otherwise I simply remember strangly relaxed days, the food chanel and Love Island. Yes happy clappy days, in my own bedroom, newly decorated, with a new tv and all the channels ready for me to recuperate as organised by my husband. Yay to pain killer’s. 🤗

My bedroom became my haven. I had visitors, plenty visitors, with a big family as blessed as I am, you will never be short company. They came and went. I was fairly high on the happy drug’s and sat in my bed telling funny stories and really entertaining the visitors. But in hindsight I know their hearts were breaking and they were putting on the smiles and laughs.. Without the pain killers.

But the lows came, when the heavy duty drugs were finished with and I was down to the bog standard drugs , reality got a chance to butt in.

Horrible. Sick feeling days. Thinking the worst. What if I didn’t make it, what if this was going to end bad, what if I had to leave my two teenagers. And all that time what was foremost in my mind was 25 packets of ham. If the worst was to happen I would ask my husband to make sure there were always 25 packets of ham in the fridge. At least then I knew if there was always ham and bread my children would always be fed.

I sat in bed.. Walked to the kitchen and sitting room as much as I could, and did my best to help myself along the way.

Another area of worry was to make sure the beds were changed, I lay in bed one day thinking I must tell my sisters to make sure the beds are changed or my children will get scabies. These were my worries, the silly simple things but important no less.🙈

After 10 days I could have a proper wash. My two sisters arrived. We decided we would do a wash and hair wash.. Down to the bathroom. Seat ready for me. One sister holding the drains, the other sister with the face cloth attempting to wash as gently as possible while I slowly went green and it looked like I would hit the decks. Carried back to bed, the whole room spinning, cold sweats and sisters so upset at the fact that they were trying to wash me. I slowly came around, lying on the bed in a towel, weakness gone and saying to my sisters ” well that went well”.!

And today, after all the nerves my surgeon told me everything was perfect, nothing to be worried about in all those place’s that I poke and prod. I would be referred for reconstruction. After much ado and thinking about the pros and cons I decided I wanted to go ahead and get the new boob.And so a letter will be sent to a plastic surgeon in Dublin. He will put me on his waiting list and one day i will meet him, I can’t wait to meet him and discuss my future, me and the Lonely Boob.

Today I went for a walk, nothing strange or wonderful about that but after feeling a bit rotten for the last few days I was delighted to feel good and get some lovely fresh air.

Now anyone who has been through the whole cancer shitty thing will tell you that when you don’t feel well after recovering you Always wonder, is this the cancer back, or is it just a bug, or is this just the norm even 10 months after treatment finishes. Seemingly it is the norm to feel tired and crappie now and again but this was me really feeling ” rotten”. Zapped of energy, sick tummy and well I won’t even go into the vileness of the burping and let’s just say “gas” 🙈🤑 honestly it was like a Musical at one point 🤣

So my lovely mam gave me some tablets and today I felt soooo much better. My stomach didn’t look like a 40 years of drinking “beer belly” any more and I had a spring in my step getting out of bed.

Watched a bit of morning tv, just love “This Morning”, normally Philip and Holly host but as they are on a summer break ( poor things) its Eamon and Ruth. Love them too by the way. Now I love the fashion segment, they always have normal models, like for example “Ruth 29 teacher from Derby”, ” Sharon 42, beautician from London” and ” Joan 67, granny from Essex” .

So glamorous, all delighted to be on the telly, thrilled with the clothes they are modelling, different shapes and sizes.. Bar one. Now i might be wrong but they always seem Tall. Tall enough that even if they are packing the pounds they still look good in the jumpsuit, in the wrap around dress, in the flares. Now I am a short arse, all 5th4 of me and believe me any jumpsuit I have even held up on the hanger seemed to be long enough to clean the floor, please “This Morning”, throw on a few short arses with a few extra pounds and I’ll be only delighted 😜

So then back to the walk, yes no biggy bar the fact that I had a little trot- (run) for the first time, in public, on a main road… I was walking along, Hugh Jackman – Greatest Showman, accompanying me along the way and all of a sudden I felt I could run, I wanted to run, so run I did, not quite like Forest Gump, but running non the less. Cars passing by, there I was praying to jesus ( again), that no one that I knew would pass. Imagining people in their cars saying ” look at the cut of your one”. But it didn’t stop me, I kept going, sweatin to death, praying the boob would stay put, and remembering at one point a few years ago I could run ten miles, I would run rain, hail or snow and I loved it.

And then determination came along. My legs were wobbly, I was wrecked, I was struggling up a hill but I did it. I made it, my goal now to get back to running 10 miles.

It might take a while but while my achievement today is a small step to most it was a big ( huge) step for me.

So if you are driving along and pass someone and say ” Look at the cut of her”, just remember – this might be a huge step for that girl or guy and they need to be applauded and admired 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️ and encouraged, you never know what story lies behind.

And so there you lie, I lay there, completely reliant on others and in such a vulnerable state, but at this point not feeling as vulnerable, as the happy clappy meds were absolutely doing their job.

I lay in my bed, delighted that I had a window bed, if I was on a plane it would have been the window seat, but on the plane I could have ordered the brandy and box of pringles , sadly not so in that bed with the sun shining through the window and me lying there in the ” glittering” new nighty from Heatons and the new knickers, ( knickers that were the wrong size and so uncomfortable that I was more bothered by them then the absent boob 🙄)

Now thankfully when you have had a very girly op like I did you go back to the gynae ward which is fantastic as its all the ladies, but sweet Mary jesus when you are lying there with drains hanging out of you, trying to be positive, trying desperately to sleep, and your one next to you is on the phone at 11pm having the Lols and screacing, you just want to hop out of the bed and smack her in the face. Not that I would advocate violence but you know what I mean. 🤔

And there I was. Surgery on a Tuesday to be discharged on Friday. I couldn’t get over the fact that after three days I would be on my way.. Isn’t modern medicine great.

Thursday was the day it all hit.The physio paid a visit and went through what I could and couldn’t do from now on. See if you have had the lymph nodes removed there is a risk of Lymphodema ( swelling and pain in arm). She explained that I would not be able to do certain tasks, no washing floors or windows, no carrying heavy shopping and no playing tennis. I could cope with the tennis as I had no intention of applying for Wimbledon any time soon, and well washing floor’s was not my favourite hobby. The lovely tea lady came around.. No I didn’t want anything.. Well ok so maybe a bit of toast. My sisters were coming and going, my cousin visited from Madrid. I was delighted.My daughter visited – I tried not to cry. My mam came. I was heart broken. She had sat with my dad, I didn’t want her to have to sit with me.

I did not want this. I did not want this.

Now strangely enough a lady was admitted opposite me. She seemed familiar but I thought maybe I was imagining things. A beautiful woman, seemed to be nothing serious but she was in the bed all the same. I didn’t speak to her as she had company all the time but she was a special lady. At one point before discharge she had discretely made her way over to me. She had seen me upset. She gently told me it was normal and ok to be upset. She tried to reassure me that I would not always feel this bad. She made me feel better. It turned out this Lady was a nurse, a recovery nurse and had been working in recovery while I was there. She made a difference and I hope maybe someday she will read this post.

Thursday night my husband was with me. I had missed calls from one of my best friends. I had missed the calls but it didn’t matter. There she appeared like a gust of wind going through the ward. Even though I didn’t want to see anyone I was glad to see her.

And there she sat next to me, she held my hand, I tried to be brave but then it came, I started to cry ‘ I don’t want to have cancer, why have I got cancer, I have cancer “.

My husband started to cry, my friend started to cry, and together we dealt with this bastard disease.

And all that time the Curtains were of huge importance, open, closed, those curtains tell a story. When I was feeling good the curtains were open, but most of the time I had them closed. I could hide behind those curtains and laugh, or cry, or just close my eyes in my own space, in my own world and just hope, hope that I would be ok and hope I would make it.

So anytime you are in the hospital, as a patient or a visitor, entering a ward, look at the curtains, and if they are closed it is for a reason, there is a story behind those curtains and maybe be grateful that it is not yours.

” Sinead, sinead pet, wake up now. You are back in your own bed – everything went fine”

That is exactly as I remember waking up in recovery. One minute you are putting your everything into a surgeons hands, falling into unconsciousness and then you are awake again. It’s all over.

It was a cosy feeling. I was snuggly and warm, and obviously out of my face on drugs. I felt happy.

And then my sister appeared, allowed into me in recovery, I am sure she must have been such an emotional heap, but didn’t show it as I looked up at her and was just so happy to see her despite being out of my face.

In the midst of it all when my sister walked into recovery she got a wicked fright, whatever way I was lying it looked like I had lost an arm. She had a moment of panic as she thought “jesus christ, they have taken her arm as well.”🙈

And there I was kind of incoherent, kind of coherent with so many people waiting for the phone call or text ” she is ok, it’s all over”. Well not really all over but at least this part was.

Now before you start getting wicked upset at the thoughts of me lying in recovery.. out of my face, let me just tell you a little story about before I went for surgery.

I kept it till now to try and cheer you up 😊

When I left the ward to go down to theatre, there was also a very elderly gentleman being escorted with me. Sure they we were, Hospital gowns and hats in place, me Accompanied by my husband and the gentleman on his lonesome.. Had the usual chats on the short walk to theatre, Elderly gentleman “Hello”, me ” Hello how are you”. Elderly gentleman.. ” won’t be long now” , me ” no not at all”.. Sweat drippin off me with the nerves and trying hard just to walk.

Now as I had worked in a hospital environment in the past I had figured out the Gentleman was getting his cataracts done.

So we sat opposite each other waiting on our turn. Sure he was dying for the chat.

Elderly gentleman ” Which one are you getting done”

Me “Awe the right one”

Elderly gentleman “Awe the same as meself, won’t be long and we will be able to see everything”

Me “Absolutely, we won’t know ourselves”

See the poor man thought I was getting the cataracts done aswell. My husband kept telling me that the man thought I was getting the cataracts done, I kept telling my husband I knew that. I wasn’t telling lies. I was getting the right one done.. Just not the right eye.

Imagaine if I had said to the poor man, ” O hang on now, where would you like me to start”. The poor pet.

Eventually I was brought back to the ward, half awake, half asleep, pain relief in place, drains at my side. I had the tea and toast (why is hospital tea and toast always so georgous – one of the great wonder’s of the world), and even gave a thumbs up for a picture to send to my friends. Curtains pulled around my bed, I didn’t want to interact with anyone. I just wanted to sleep. And sleep I did until I woke up the next morning, the morning of my 48 birthday, 28th of March 2018, me and The Lonely Boob.

Here I am sitting in the sun looking back over 20 years of marriage.When I was in primary school I once wrote a story in religion class, we had to say what we wanted to do when we grew up. I still don’t think I’ve grown up but my god I have learnt a lot along the way. Now in my story I had written ” I won’t get married until I am 28 because by then I will have traveled the world and did lots of things”. Perfect English !

And here I am 20 years married today and yes I got married when I was 28.

You make your vows. Now in my days the vows were straight forward – for rich or poor – in sickness and in health…I feel so old saying in my day but hey I ain’t a spring chicken and now vows are so much more fancy…” I will love you until the sea’s run dry and the end of the world is nigh”, well you better hurry up hon, with climate change we might not have much time.

So in sickness and in health. We made that vow I suppose not really thinking sickness and bad health would ever knock on our door. Sure we were young, fit and fab..we were invincible.

And here I am 20 years later, not quite the package that young chap signed up for , but together looking back at a photo album and saying ” In all fairness we have been dealt some load of shite”

But we are still together, loosing twins born too early did not break us,me being in hospital for three months on my son did not break us, all the silly stuff did not break us , and me getting cancer and Losing the boob, the hair and really my identity ..well it didn’t break us.

And as the years of marriage flew by I found myself looking in the mirror and wishing I could wind back the clock and look like I was 28 again. I had decided that if I had the Euro’s I would bet a boob job. Get the girls put back in place and maybe a little bit off. My mother said after that if I had wanted a boob job I had sure gone about it the wrong way.

And then one day I was signing a form to allow a surgeon to take a boob away.

Now reconstruction would eventually be an option and my sisters always trying to be positive and encourage me talked about how fab I would be with two new ” diddies” . Be jaysus I’d be bouncing around like one of your ones on Love Island – new diddies and a bit of fake tan. I would be soooo fab.

And down we walked , down to theatre..surreal really!

The anaesthetist came out, went through every detail of what lay ahead. She was the modern day version of Patch Adams. Full of kindness, empathy and made me feel just so important.

Michael started to cry. The enormity of what lay ahead hit base, I started to cry , jesus christ this was it..please let me wake up, please look after me.

And then I had to go, go in and put myself in the hands of a surgeon and his team. There was nothing I could do now only go asleep.I was going for a boob job, not the one I wanted but a boob job none the less.

And all the while, even when I lay on the bed to get the anaesthetic one thing kept going through my mind.

“Be careful what you wish for , it might just come through”.

Now sense of humour is just so important even at the worst of times. What can we do if we can’t crack a joke, make fun of ourselves, or just have a good old laugh ( or a sneaky giggle) ? But don’t get me wrong now , its damn hard to laugh when Cancer decides to creep up on you – cancer happily trots along with its little bag of tricks and just throws them in your face without even the courtesy of introducing itself. It throws fear, pain, heartache, disbelieve, lonliness,anger ..there are a million different feelings but let me tell you in all those I have met along the way who have been dealt the crappie stick cancer also brings courage , determination , resiliance and an absolute want and wish to be able to stay around for even a short while, not for yourself but for those you love.

So after sitting in the Green Bucket Chairs for what felt like forever my name was called, ” Sinead Whyte”, called up by a breast care nurse who would become such an important person in my life.

There we sat , me , my husband and my sister, no messing about , confirmation that I had breast cancer – it had also snuck its way into theLymph nodes. I sat there quite calmly – the surgeon said I looked prepared. Belive me I was ! I would need further tests, the body and bones – scans he said to determine if the cancer had spread …I asked one question ” Do I have a chance?” I had two teenagers at home and if I didn’t I needed to know. He said he felt I had but we had to wait for further results.

I lay in the scanning machines , after being injected with blue dye for one of them. I lay there while people spoke to me through a speaker and asked if I was doing ok. I was saying Hail Mary’s by the dozen. Now I would not be a holy Joe but my god was I looking for help from anywhere. This was one of my lowest points, Lying there wondering, wondering if the people behind the wall could see if I had a chance or no chance. I thought of the people I Loved who would have gone through this and I thought of my family. Why was I putting them through this again? It just was not fair. You see two years previous my dad left this world after cancer had visited with its bag of tricks and how could my family go through this again?

Now if I have not lost you by now fast forward a week. Back for the scan results. Sweet mary mother of jesus , the brandy bottle was out every night ( for medicinal purposes ) of course and there I was again sitting in the Green Bucket Chairs waiting for my name. ” Sinead Whyte”, there was the lovely nurse again and this was it.

Did the Formalities – shook hands with the surgeon, sweat drippin off me again ( seems to be a trend in my life now), after putting on the bit of make up, cause you would have to look presentable to the surgeon ( dispite the fact that it was my boobs he was interested in, not my face) he was happy to tell me all was good . There was a little mark on my liver but it was nothing to do with cancer – I asked him if it was the Brandy- no not brandy just a something or other ( big word) . It was fine and did not need intervention.

So I sat there excited. Yes excited! We could march straight ahead to surgery , how wonderful (not) and before I knew it chemo and radiotherapy would be on my doorstep and I would just have to deal with them.

” Sinead let’s go through your medical history again before your surgery”

“O yes absolutely” I say – verbal diarreah at this point .

” So take me through your previous surgeries again and how you recovered after”.

So with the verbal Diarreah and the excitment of the surgery and the whole “I have cancer and need a boob removed “, my brain stopped working.

Now before we move on just so that you can visualize the situation , I had asked (well told) my husband to say nothing in the office. I would do all the talking. As the song goes ” I should a known better”. He agreed to say nothing as I told him I wanted get the information myself and to ask specific questions.

There I was now, all ready to share my medical history and so proud that I always recoved so well.

“Yes, well I had my Gall Bladder removed in 2004 after having my daughter and I had a hysterectomy”. ” But I made great recovery after both”.

Silence in the room. My surgeon started to flick through my notes , looking a tad puzzled.

“O em when did you have the hysterectomy sinead” – sweat drippin off the poor man.

” O after my son was born”

Bear in mind my daughter was born a year after my son

” O em really”..”yes” I say with great confidence very proud that I had recovered so well from the hysterectomy.

So I am sitting there , smiling away, the surgeon is looking at the nurse, the nurse is stunned ( i am sure they were thinking .O jesus wrong chart, wrong patient ), they both look at my husband..and then everyone looks at me… and there I am looking back at everyone big smile on my face thinking god they must be impressed with my recovery rate.

And then with the rash coming up my surgeons neck and an office full of confusion and panic, My Brain started working again.

” O jesus no, not a hysterectomy – a ceasarian”

Sure in the panic of it all I was just thinking of lady bits and got a little bit mixed up…hysterectomy / caesarian..all in the same place.

I am sure my consultant went home and drank a bottle of brandy, I would say my nurse had to go for a little break and as for my husband..well when this was all going on the thoughts in his head were,

“Jesus christ , when did she have a hysterectomy – I must have been on nights”.

Hi all and such huge thanks to everyone for all the fab comments and encouragement. I am just thrilled with myself. So quick question or questions.. I would love your feedback as to how often you would like to see my blog. I don’t want to smother you with my love 😀 and I certainly don’t want to bore you to death.

Now I just can’t use this WordPress feckin app. It seems my page on Facebook is the way to go.. My WordPress page looks grey and depressing.. But I have no clue how to make it bright and sunny

So if any of my fab friends are any way techy and can help me make my blog just a tad more fab I would be delighted.

I hope to give you more laughs or tears in a few days…please feel free to let me know what you think is good or maybe awful about my blog. I am only starting off here so all comments are good comments. Thanks again.

Sinead 😊

So yesterday I returned to the Gym. Well when I say returned I mean returned for the second time. Really I returned two months ago, was thrilled to bits with myself after my stint on the treadmill , walking mind you, and a few little exercises all helped along by my sister who I needed with me for dutch courage . Then low and behold I had a little fall and fractured my ankle. Hence a halt was put to my gym days. Another interruption was my long awaited holiday ( we will talk about that another day ) so yesterday I had to just brave it all alone get the obligatory bottle of water , towel, phone and earphones and face the music.

Sweat only drippin off me before I even went in the door (a car with no air con is just not good in july) and the fear of god that there might be someone I know in there all fit and fab and me more like a big bum and loads of flab.!

So up to the desk , had to explain the whole joined two months ago but haven’t been back and then had to produce the photo I.D for membership card.

Now the photo I.D was a few years old , pre -cancer , so then I felt obliged to explain to the girl that I was recovering from cancer and that was why my hair was like a crows nest on my head and I did not look the same as my I.D.

Sure the young girl just said “awe your grand”. I was nearly going to tell the poor girl that I had the fake boob in if I looked lopsided but thankfully I stopped talking in time.

A few minutes later I was back on the treadmill, listening to Fleetwood Mac , trying hard not to get a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I kept an eye on the weights area with the easy enough to use weights waiting for it to clear before I went over to try and remember how to use them. After 30 mins on the treadmill ( yay me) the coast was clear so over I went , bulb in the head after my walk but delighted I had the area to myself.

I literally had put my bum on a not very flattering machine and 10 seconds later it seemed every 21 year old in the place had decided to join me, and had to use the machines next to me, facing me, and I swear one kept loitering around my machine waiting for me to finish. I wanted to shout WTF please all go away but tired to play it cool and look like I knew what I was doing.

In fairness I lasted about 10 minutes surrounded by the fit and fab and eventually got my belongings and made my way to the dressing room.

So why Green Bucket Chairs. All the time on the treadmill in my view was a wall painted a luminous green color. The same color as the bucket chairs in the Oncology Out Patient Department where I had sat over a year ago. I sat there full of fear , looking around at everyone else but trying not to look. I sat there wondering who would be the Lucky ones and the not so lucky ones . I sat there trying to make conversation with my husband and sister all the while feeling sick , going through all the scenarios and praying to jesus I would have a chance. And I always wondered why the Bucket chairs were luminous green. Who decided on Luminous Green bucket chairs – were the supposed to be cheerful? Probably more cheep than cheerful I suppose.

So that Green wall in the gym brought me back. I got my bag, swung my towel over my shoulder and left the Gym with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. Big bum and flab was back , I was proud I had faced it alone this time and while I might not be fit and fab, I was here , I was alive, I had a chance , me and the Lonely Boob.