Samuel Johnson - Love Your Sister

Love Your Sister

Connie & Samuel Johnson

To my boys, big and small

Mike, Willoughby and Hamilton .

In loving memory of Dad and Aunty Marg .

Connie

CONTENTS

Every year in Australia alone over 14,000 women are diagnosed with breast cancer and every year nearly 3000 women die of advanced breast cancer.

But it isnt just women who are affected. Every time a woman is diagnosed her partner, her parents, her friends, her siblings, her children are all affected, even more so if she passes away of advanced breast cancer, so it is time for women to step up and take action.

Dont fall into the booby trap be breast aware.

Men can help too, by learning how to do a breast check, and

Save a life grope your wife!

A little known fact about breast cancer is that men get it too. About 1 in every hundred cases of breast cancer is male, which means nearly 130 men are diagnosed every year and close to 30 will die.

So, no matter what your gender, be breast aware, and be proactive about your health, so you dont become a statistic like my sister.

Samuel Johnson

Nowadays I often talk about my feelings about cancer how cancer has shaped who I am today and what my relationship with cancer is like. Ive had quite a few years to think about it and this is how I sum it up: me and cancer, we have a lovehate relationship. I hate cancer, but cancer loves me. Its pretty unusual to have cancer as a child, not many people have cancer in their twenties, and it isnt common to get cancer in your thirties. I had it when I was 12, then again when I was 22, and I was diagnosed with terminal cancer when I was just 33. All different, unrelated cancers, all unrelated to previous treatments. Just the luck of the draw.

But this time, with this last diagnosis, there is a difference. This time I wont be a cancer survivor. That is a hard thing to write down and an even harder thing to come to terms with, especially now that Im a mum. Writing this book is one of the things I had on my bucket list (along with seeing my brother, Sam, finish the ride and scrapbooking memories for my kids). Sam and I want to share our story to help others, to make sure women pay attention to their health and check their boobs regularly. We want people to remember our catchphrase, Dont fall into the booby trap, be breast aware. I also want people to understand how Love Your Sister came about how Sam stepped up to help me make a difference, to help me make my life mean something more permanent, to help me become somebody who made a difference to others. Dying of cancer is such a random, cruel and ultimately solitary experience and I wanted it to create a positive reaction in some way. I want people to think of me and smile. If telling my story, our story, can save just one woman from saying goodbye to her children too early then Ill feel that my death will not be meaningless. That is a comfort.

But theres something else I want to do with this book, too. I want to show how people can help their loved ones inflicted by this disease. If I can make someone think twice before uttering a comment like, Just be positive, you can beat this! as if cancer cells shrivel up and die if you are cheery then that will be another great outcome. There is a big difference between a cancer diagnosis and a terminal cancer diagnosis. I know because Ive experienced both. I can be as positive as Pollyanna and as cheery as The Wiggles but it wont help me this time around. I understand that people struggle to know what to say. I get that people want to help. Being positive definitely makes the life I have left more meaningful, but it wont extend it it wont give me more time.

So, just remember this: dont be scared. You dont have to say something wise or witty or memorable. Be there for your friend or family member. Listen. Hold their hand when they need it, and give them space when they need that too.

There are no rules when it comes to dealing with cancer for the person with the disease or for those who love them. We all have to find our own way. But thanks to my family and a promise Sam made, my cancer has meant $1.8 million (and counting) has been raised for breast cancer research, more women are getting their breasts checked, and we have one big story to tell.

We werent sure how we should put it all down. There is so much to say and Sam and I have very different ways of seeing things and very different ways of telling the story. So we decided the best way was to mix it up a bit between us. This is our way. This is our story.

22 NOVEMBER 1989

Dad, pleeease , my leg is really sore, I cant ride to school. Can you give me a lift?

My family often teased me about the way I counted my bruises, and I was always telling them something ached or that I felt sick. Dad called me the girl who cried wolf so his response wasnt totally unexpected.

Con, I cant drop everything just because youre a bit sore. Ive got that important meeting and Im running late. Youre going to have to get yourself there. Ill see you this afternoon. He straightened his tie, swept up his briefcase, and headed for the door. I was just being Connie.

None of us knew it, but that morning was the start of everything turning upside down. This time there really was a wolf hiding in the bushes, just out of sight. Dad had no idea Id already tried to ride to school, but my left leg hurt so much I went back to ask him for a lift. Sam had rushed off without me, leaving me the bike; he didnt want to be late, which was fair enough. I listened to Dads car pull out of the driveway and then screamed in my loudest, angriest voice. I threw my house keys across the room and they smashed into the wall and fell to the carpet with a thud. That didnt make it any better.

Well if I cant get to school, then Im just not going to go to school, the inner rebel in me whispered, but the conscientious do-gooder I really am drowned her out. I had only ever missed class when I had chickenpox as a primary schooler and I had never missed one period of Year 7. I prided myself on my good grades, so the thought of skipping class was a first for me.

I knew if I didnt hurry Id be late for first period Geography so I didnt really have time to debate with myself any longer. I grabbed my bag and limped out to the driveway where the bike I shared with Sam lay on its side. I hoisted my heavy school bag onto the pack-rack and strapped it on, swung my leg up over the crossbar, onto the pedal and pushed off.

Pain seared in the calf of my left leg and tears ran down my cheeks without me actually crying. I had to stop before I even got as far as the end of the driveway. I didnt know what to do. Walking hurt too much, pedalling hurt too much, so I ended up hopping on my good leg, while leaning on the bike, all the way to school.

It was a hot November morning already, even though it wasnt yet 9 am. It was surely going to be a sizzling summer. I was sweating and had to stop every hundred metres or so to have a little rest. I soon realised that there was no way I was going to make it in time for Geography. I wondered if anyone would notice and if Mr Castlemaine would wonder where I was. I didnt want to get into trouble. I decided Id give up on getting to school on time and just aim to make it before the beginning of second period French. I started to cry properly, not from pain, but from frustration. I didnt like the feeling that I was wagging school I just wanted to get to class and start working and I certainly didnt want to face the embarrassment of walking into class long after everyone else. My French teacher, Mrs Raynor, was strict and I knew shed have no sympathy for a latecomer.