The most precious gift of all is the gift of time. I have
heard this multiple times before but I’ve only recently come to understand the
profound magnitude of this statement. I have been given some time. How much?
Maybe 6 months, maybe a few years, I don’t know. This changes everything for
me. My future, my plans, my zest for life and living. Up until six weeks ago 2016
to me was a black hole. A hole where I would have to somehow climb out of, reinvent
myself, my goals, my life, my body image and my ability to enjoy things that
are currently foreign to me. But now there is a flicker of light.
After the drama of May, June and July that turned my entire
world and future upside down, I managed to push the impending doom aside and
devote my focus to a race. I trained fairly solidly towards the first Yeppoon
Triathlon at the beginning of August. My preparation was only mildly
interrupted by an unplanned blow out at my friend Natalie’s hen’s party. The
following Friday Mum and I flew north to spend the weekend with our long time
family friend’s Ron and Sharon.
It was a fantastic weekend in Yeppoon. Glenn
Skinner (The Yeppoon Triathlon race director) was extremely generous in
offering me an entry and asked me to participate in the 5km fun run on the Saturday
afternoon. I ran with fellow triathlete Ben Cook and even though we chatted the
whole way I finished up running a lot faster than I had planned but was quietly
confident that I was feeling pretty good for the race.
Glenn had asked me a few weeks prior to give a motivational
‘road to recovery’ speech at the athlete’s dinner. It’s still difficult for me
to tell people what is happening to me when on the outside I still train 20
hours/ week, work 35 hours/ week, socialise and plan a 5 week overseas adventure.
That my road is not so much towards recovery but towards a life that is full of
uncertainty. Glenn was exceptional in empathising with my situation having traveled a rocky road himself and offering a pardon from the speech. I decided
that I was more than happy to share my story with the other athletes. In all
honesty, I was far more nervous about giving my speech at the dinner than
competing in the race itself. I was fairly composed until my closing where
there emotion of the situation hit me pretty hard and the voice wobbles came
with the tears.
The next morning was race day. A nice civilized start time
allowed me plenty of time to set up my transition, go for a warm up jog and
stroll down the beach to the start line. Even after all these years of racing I
still make last minute calls about my race gear. At briefing I decided that
since my body wasn’t as lean as usual (meaning I had a chest) that I would wear
a sports bra under my race suit only to take it off again half way down the
beach. Before I knew it we were running into the ocean. I still need to work on
my beach starts as I’m very slow off the mark. I managed to make that up
quickly and settled into a nice rhythm. I kept Chloe close in my sights as I
knew that she was a stronger swimmer than me. I exited the water in 2nd
only 30-40 seconds down on Chloe.
By the time I left transition I had shaved
another 20 seconds off her lead. I felt AMAZING on the bike, rode past Chloe at
about 42km/hr and knew that I was putting time into the girls behind me.
The
40km bike felt like it took 10minutes and I was soon out on the run course. 4
laps of 2.5km made it easy to eyeball the competition and know that I was
continuing to put more time into 2nd with every lap. My lead bicycle
tried to take me down the finish shute at 7.5km but I knew that I still had a
lap to go!
I crossed the line in a very quick 2:03 but I think it was a little
short but I will claim it. I was over the moon because at that moment I thought
it would be my last time. I felt as though I had finished on a high and close
to a near perfect race.
The high lasted a number of days from both the win and the
commendations I received for my speech. I was more proud about the later and so
thankful to the entire committee who organised such an amazing first time
event. I was soon back into the mundane routine of work, exercise and trying to
have a life. With my trip to South America fast approaching I tried to continue
to focus on a positive ahead rather than what lying on the other side.
I had a review with my oncologist in early August which I
had postponed for a month given I didn’t think it was very important. My
oncologist isn’t offering me any treatment at this time. He is a wonderful man.
They type of man you wish was your grandfather (he’s about 75). He’s kind,
incredibly intelligent and so well experienced in thyroid cancer. He always
starts with ‘how are you?’ and shakes my hand. I still find this question
ridiculous. I am fine, but I am not fine. I still have cancer yet I look well.
‘Aside from all of this,’ I said waving my hand over my neck
and chest, ‘I am fine! I won a triathlon 10 days ago,’ and then everything
changed. When a doctor sits there and says to you that his recommendation would
be to do nothing how was I supposed to interpret and react to that? We all knew
that I still had cancer lurking in the lymph nodes behind my sternum. We have
proven that with a biopsy. There is potentially still cancer in my neck too but
we’ve been unable to access it for a sample but I’m sure it’s likely to be
cancer too.
For the first time in my life I was speechless. I didn’t
know what to do, what to say, what questions to ask. I thought I should call
someone and talk about these new developments in my medical management but I
actually needed the hour drive back to the coast to process the new
information. The fact of the matter is that the disease itself is quite stable.
My blood levels (thyroglobulin) are not really changing at this point and the
cancer isn’t growing rapidly on my radiological scans. Additionally, right now,
I am fit and healthy with quality of life. People are so quick to say ‘just cut
it out,’ without any considerations of the potential repercussions on me and my
life. There are dark days where the thought does cross my mind that I’d prefer
not to wake up from the next surgery rather than living with the ramifications
of how it will leave me. So before you jump to say unhelpful things like ‘just
cut it out’, take an extra minute or two to put yourself in my shoes and really
consider how you would be feeling if you were facing something so frightening,
so life-changing that you can no longer see a future beyond it. Modern medicine
is profoundly advanced however surgeons are not miracle workers and there are
no guarantees on a good or even a bad outcome. I know one day that this decision
will probably be taken out of my hands. One day the thyroglobulin levels will
elevate and the mass in my chest will start to grow or even more frightening still
that cancer will show itself in other areas, namely my lungs and bones.
I have been forced to evaluate so many questions that continually
run through my head when I (rarely) get a moment to myself to think about it
all;
Can I live
with cancer?
Can I sleep
knowing that it is still inside me and has potential to spread beyond where it
currently is?
Can I manage
every 3-6 months the sickening anxiety that plagues me when I have to have
investigations and bloods done? Can I handle the waiting time between having the
test and hearing the results?
When you
have conflicting information from multiple doctors at the top of their game who
do you listen to?
There is no
easy answer here. No-one seems to have the right
answer and I suppose it comes down to what I want and what I can or can’t live
with. One thing that has resonated with me loud and above all is that; sometimes
the cure is worse than the disease.
Rachie xo
Below is my
speech from the Yeppoon Triathlon:
First and foremost I wanted to welcome everyone to the first
Yeppoon Triathlon. I would also like to thank Glenn & Belinda for inviting me
to talk tonight and I appreciate the opportunity to compete in your event
tomorrow.
For those of you who don’t know me, a brief history. I have
been a professional triathlete since 2009. One morning in June 2013 I got up as
normal, went and swam 5km with my swim squad and went for a 10km run. At 9:30am
I went to see my GP & was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. I had no signs or
symptoms and I was fortunate enough that they accidently found a thyroid nodule
during a physical examination by another specialist a month prior. Supposedly
it was a good one to have with near 100% 5-year survival rate. I was told I
would probably only need one operation, one round of radio-active iodine and it
will likely never bother me again. Fast forward two years & unfortunately
my papillary carcinoma hasn’t played by the rules. I have had four extensive
neck operations, two failed rounds of radio-active iodine and sadly the story
hasn’t ended there. 3 months ago I had a large needle inserted between my ribs
to take a biopsy of a suspicious mass behind my breastbone. A week later it was
confirmed that it is in fact cancer. The fight of my life continues.
But I am not here with a ‘woe me’ story and the ins and outs
of my cancer. Glenn asked me to give a motivational ‘road to recovery’ talk
tonight which is a little bit difficult given my situation as my road is rocky
and the end is far from in sight. So I thought instead I would talk about my
‘road to reckoning’ as I felt it was more appropriate.
Adversity strikes when we least expect it. It reveals to us
the true person we are deep down. It challenges us to the core and forces us to
re-evaluate all we’ve ever known. When life is smooth sailing those moments
fade and blend into one another and are usually the memories first to be
forgotten. The times of hardship are those that will be ingrained in our
memories forever. We constantly ask why do bad things happen to good people? We’ve
asked it so many times it’s become cliché. But bad things do happen to good
people all the time. I think I’m a fairly good person. I work in an altruistic
job as a Physiotherapist helping other people every day. I lead a healthy life.
I exercise regularly, I eat well, don’t smoke or take drugs and I’m nice to my
mum. But Cancer doesn’t discriminate.
My memories of the past two years revolve around my
surgeries, multiple admissions to hospital and then jump to racing and good
times with close friends. I don’t really remember the patients that I have fixed
over the past six months. However I do remember sitting on the edge of my
hospital bed in December whilst my mother brushed my hair because I could
barely lift my arms. I remember what I was wearing and that I was crying out of
sheer disbelief. I remember riding an exercise bike for hours on end whilst I
was in isolation in October 2013 during treatment. I remember waking up in the high
dependency unit in July 2013 feeling as though someone had taken an axe to my
neck, how painful my right heel was after resting in the same position for my 7
hour operation and the look of fear on my parents faces. And then I remember
racing my first triathlon post cancer diagnosis at Bribie Island in February
2014. How I took the lead early in the bike leg and never looked back. How I
had my 2nd operation days later and returned to win the next race
there only 3 weeks later. How only days after being told that I had more lymph
node cancer in my neck in August 2014, I did my first half marathon and ran 6th
over the line. I remember running the last 2km for the win at Coffs Harbour
Triathlon in March this year 3 months after my 4th major neck
resection thinking “insert explicit here-you cancer”. I remember having an epic
weekend in Byron Bay for my 31st birthday in June with 10 of my
closest friends and the birthdays, weddings, engagements and celebrations for
dear friends over the past 2 years. I remember the numerous home cooked meals
made for me from the people in my support network.
To a lesser degree, the same goes for sport, specifically
triathlon. We never retell stories of perfect races but rather the ones that
went wrong. I don’t really remember much about the 70.3 I won in Malaysia in
2009. I do however remember standing on the side of the road for an hour in
2010 at Japan 70.3 waiting for a mechanic. Rather than pull the pin I decided
to finish the race even though the other 4 pro women were an hour up the road.
6km into the run leg, I ran past one of the other pro girls walking. So even
after a time consuming mechanical I still didn’t come last! When we race,
sometimes things just don’t go right. Tomorrow things will go wrong for some of
you. Mechanicals, flats, broken goggles, blisters, the list is endless and more
often than not completely out of your control. I say to you embrace those
moments. Thrive on the way in which you deal with it, react and recover from
the disappointment of things not going to plan. This is training for life.
There will be another race down the road where things will be smooth sailing.
But those will only be mildly etched in your memories. And in the scheme of
life, will it really matter? Your wife, husband and children won’t love you any
less. On Monday when you go back to work your clients and colleagues won’t
treat you any differently. They probably won’t even know what you did
yesterday. The biggest thing you will have to accept is how you react and cope
with your disappointment.
So how does one react to being told ‘you have cancer’? I can
tell you it was never something that I considered being said to me, even during
the week of scans and biopsies I underwent in the lead up to diagnosis. I had
lost one of my good friends on her 28th birthday to cervical cancer
2 years prior. But she was really sick and had a lot of pain. I was fit,
healthy and planning an international race schedule but all of a sudden I had
Cancer. No-one knows how they will react in a situation like that until it
happens. You just have to hope that when it’s your turn you’ll know what to do.
How to cope. How to persevere. In that moment for me I went into defence mode.
I gathered what was left of my composure, went for another scan and then to work
to fix other people’s problems when mine were just beginning. There is no
manual on how to react in times of despair and tragedy. I am often praised for
the strength and courage I portray but my private moments of struggle, weakness
and desolation far outweigh those of bravery. These moments are very rarely
seen by others. I’ve always been a bit of an over achiever and some would say
that has made me somewhat of a control freak. I’m a firm believer of you get out what you put in and at times I have
been known to put in 110% at any cost in order to achieve. So I don’t cope so
well living everyday with something so out of my control.
So how do I cope? How do I persevere? In the face of
something I never thought I would have to go through in my late 20s I’ve learnt
to embrace the hard hand dealt to me. I’m not saying that I’ve come to grips or
am looking forward to the impending life changing surgery I will have to have
later in the year but rather I’ve embraced the person that this hardship has
moulded me into. Why should adversity be deemed as negative? Cancer for me has
been a huge wake up call. To put things bluntly I’ve learnt to cut the crap and
every day I am more aware of the things that matter to me. I have tightened my
already close circle of friends and family to include people that offer me more
than just friendship and support, they are those that go the extra mile. I have
re-evaluated what I actually want from life, everything from my career to
travel, from love to life experiences.
I am comfortable in talking about what’s happening, however
sometimes I stupidly find it somewhat embarrassing. I don’t look sick. I don’t
even feel sick. So how can it be that I have a metastatic cancer? As athletes
we are quite forthcoming with telling everyone about our injuries. I’ve had two
pelvic stress fractures, broke my collar bone and disrupted my AC joint in my
left shoulder, however I can be a little more cagey when declaring my cancer to
someone I’ve just met. It makes other people a bit uncomfortable and unsure as
to how to respond. But talking about it helps me. Sometimes I don’t know how to
put into words the emotions and feelings I’m experiencing. Grief, disbelief,
fear and uncertainty is difficult to describe and we each feels these things
differently. Writing also helps me. I have a notebook I keep to vent feelings
of frustration, sadness and anger. I write a blog to keep people updated, not
for a self-indulgent purpose but to help others understand what it’s like from
this side and to rethink saying to someone with cancer ‘it will be ok’.
I have rediscovered my love for triathlon since being
diagnosed. It was once an all-consuming obsession for me, borderline unhealthy. This will be familiar to some of you I
suspect, but I used to reject social offers for training, racing and early
nights. I felt like my world was falling down around me when I had a bad race,
which now seems profoundly trivial. At the end of the day I was the only person
losing sleep over a poor performance. That’s the thing about triathletes, we
are pretty self-absorbed and in retrospect I really didn’t like the person it
had morphed me into. Now triathlon and training is my main coping mechanism. It
is one thing right now that I can control. I can control getting up and going
for a ride or a run. I get to choose with triathlon. However, I now do it with
far more balance than ever before. This time last week I was at a Hen’s Party and
let’s just say no exercise was done the following day. Time with precious
people should never be sacrificed in the name of training. I do savour the
seconds I’m swimming, riding and running as in months to come it may no longer
be possible for me. Most of the time my training isn’t in the pursuit of athletic
success, but rather for a therapeutic purpose. It keeps me healthy leading into
more surgery and is my opportunity to expel my ‘why me’ anger to make sure I
don’t take it out in the work place. It’s my thinking time to plan for my trip
to South America in October, for surgery on my return and my life thereafter.
That life is filled with new opportunities. I’m already planning to learn how
to surf, trading my beloved time trial bike for a roadie and possibly going
back to university.
One day I will look back on this stage in my life and say I
fought like a trooper. That over a number of years I managed to race triathlon
at a high level, I even won some races, the whole time with a massive monkey on
my back. For now I will race and enjoy with what time I have left. I have some
time to spare as my cancer is growing slowly but I will have another
significant and life changing operation later this year. With major thoracic
surgery and a likely vocal cord paralysis there is an enormous possibility that
triathlon is soon coming to an end for me. Unfortunately the end of my
professional triathlon career is not on my terms.
Tomorrow I will try to
imprint the moment I cross that finish line, regardless of the result because
for me it will be likely to be one of the last times. So cherish the moments
you have ability to do something you love. I know I sure do. I wish you all the
best mechanical luck for your races tomorrow. Don’t forget to give your support
crew a wave and a smile when you are out on course and when the going gets
tough embrace it.
