Bown - C-list: Chemotherapy, clinics and colostomy bags: how i survived colon cancer

To Lois and Joseph

In memory of Kate Needham
(19682013)

Countless books have been written about the Big C how to fight it, how to survive it, even how to accept it when the doctors say they can do no more, but The C List stands out from the crowd for its originality and good humour.

Packed with sage advice, Rachels lists, compiled during her cancer experiences, are funny, spot on and at times a little sad. After three major ops to remove the tumours from her bowel and liver, and eight months of chemo, Rachel has a lot to share.

The C List offers something for everyone affected by cancer, whether they are fighting the disease themselves or are caring for someone who is. The books USP is that much of what Rachel wants you to know is presented in easy-to-follow lists, even if some of the lists themselves are plain bonkers!

Matthew Wright
2014

What is a good list?

1. One that you nick and adapt as your own?

2. One that sticks in your mind long after you have read it?

3. One that you have scribbled on a beer mat or napkin?

4. One with some unusual must-dos and must-nots?

5. One that makes you laugh out loud?

6. One that gives you the sort of advice that saves your bacon?

Before you settle on your answer, let me give you a bit of background. You have picked up my book and might justifiably be thinking that you have stumbled across a list bore: someone who would leap into action and know just what to do when cancer was diagnosed, pushing organs and peace of mind aside.

In fact, you could not be further from the truth! I was neither organized nor prepared for this (is anyone when it comes to cancer?) and had to wise up pretty quickly. But thankfully, I had my A list of supporters and my endless lists for comfort.

If I am honest, I wrote those lists to help me create an illusion of control in what had become a chaotic, unpredictable life.

At the time, I feared that everything was going to slip through my fingers if I did not make lists. I also wrote them because I needed to quieten the deep-seated anxiety about not achieving or remembering what I set out to do: like living long enough to teach my children resilience, for example.

People asked me continually how I felt or dealt with what was thrown at me. So I thought it was about time I wrote it all down while it was still fresh in my mind and before it entered the realm of mythology.

And as I began this project of writing my story, I remember feeling the butterfly thrill of anticipation as I contemplated the silky sheet of paper in my new bought for cancer moleskin book; the empty Microsoft Word page in front of me; even the back of my bank statement or any scrap of paper to hand.

I need to confess something at this stage: I do not limit myself to one list or form, as ideas tumble from my mind to my fingers while I type or scrawl across the page in unintelligible handwriting. No, I am certainly not that organized! (I once booked someone to organize me, and after a tour of my house and finding hair dryers in the same cupboard as saucepans, the person sent me a document on how she would declutter and organize me. Unfortunately, her number was on the document that I lost within days of its arrival, and so I was never able to book her to complete the job.) But I am energetic and full of hope, with a healthy love of anything or anyone hare-brained and absurd.

So bear with me as I take you through my story of being diagnosed with stage 4 bowel cancer at what I am now aware was the relatively young age of 45. I am a mother of two, with an interesting job, a lovely house in the country and more friends and family than I can fit standing side by side in said house. My life was as near perfect as I could wish for. I never wanted for anything, and my only worry was when my run of good luck was going to dry up.

But, and heres the important bit, despite the abrupt jolt to my peace of mind, dont be fooled into thinking that this is a misery memoir. Neither is it an Ive got cancer, but let me tell you, its the best thing thats ever happened to me sort of book.

Instead, it is a wake-up call of what is important in life. It is about the daft and sometimes funny things that happen to people living with cancer, about the useful tips for making the best of it and about learning how to deal with your new menagerie of medics. Naturally, I found that most of the advice and insights fell rather neatly into lists that I could have really done with knowing before I started out on my ordeal.

I decided to call this book The C List as it occurred to me that apart from being a handy way to sum up any nuggets of wisdom I might have picked up from hundreds of sources along the way, I also wanted cancer to be demoted to the bit part it is, and for it not to loom so imposingly large in my life. It may have got hold of a sizeable chunk of my body, but I was damn sure it was not going to capture my mind. I was hell-bent on my A and B lists to continue and, come what may, to spend quality time with my dearest friends and family.

I was blindly oblivious and complacent about cancer. It could happen, or maybe it has happened, to you. I hope not, but if so, my wish is for this book to help you in some small way.

Heres my C list for starters! I had to shorten it as there really are a lot of things beginning with C

C list for starters

Chaos

Comedy

Cuddles

Compassion

Cake

Chocolate

Champagne

Colonoscopy

Cancer

Colon

Catheter

Colostomy

Courage

Chemo

Crisis

Care

Clinic

Confidence

Carcinoma

Control

PART ONE

CHAPTER ONE

The Race for Life or where it all began

To do

Book doctors appointment.

Remember to collect sponsorship this year.

Check if Cornish holiday apartment takes dogs.

I finished the 5k Race for Life on the Rye in High Wycombe in 32 minutes. Yes, I promised my mother and daughter that I would walk it as the doubling-up pain from somewhere unknown inside me was getting worse. But as I was dragging my body around the sea of pink again for the third year running in memory of my Auntie Naomi, who had died of bowel cancer at the age of 50 a few years previously, the emotion and adrenaline of the event overtook me, and I decided it would be gutless to walk (just noticed how many synonyms for cowardice relate to the body: lily-livered, yellow-bellied, spineless, pigeon-hearted, cow-hearted, chicken-hearted, weak-kneed, having the willies). It was also true that I would rather admit to a double homicide than concede to being outrun by my poor mother! So I ran sandwiched in between my 11-year-old daughter and my 65-year-old mother. I knew, as I finished, that something was wrong. You might sensibly wonder why it did not occur to me in a field hosed down with memories and experiences of cancer that I would also be carrying this disease. But all I can say is that humanity is divided by two great beliefs: it will never happen to me; and everything always happens to me.