To be brutally honest – I’ve never truly understood why so many people were willing to say ‘good riddance’ to the year just passed. Guess that shows I’ve had a pretty good life.

This year however, is obviously quite different. I can’t say I wont be happy to see the end of 2009. That attitude seems wasteful in some respects, but whilst I’ve learned many (some very hard) lessons this year, now I know is the time to draw a line in the sand. (I must admit to feeling a sense of profound grief for those who have recently been diagnosed. If only we could spare them from some of the heartache – particularly at this time of year.)

Tomorrow – Paul and I will embark on a holiday to tropical Port Douglas. We’ll be out of our beautiful, but somewhat cage-like home for a whole two weeks. And better still we’re going to spend some time with our friends Jason and Jodee and their toddler son Jake.

The whole ‘parenthood’ and ‘family’ thing is in fact quite a big deal. Some of my most precious friends (Summer, Clinton, Renae, Jas & Jode) are now Mum’s and Dad’s. For some of them, this wonderful gift has occurred during my little journey. My treatment for breast cancer has only highlighted the fragility of human life and also the difficulties one can and sometimes must face in endeavouring to achieve this feat. Without putting too finer point on it – can’t help feeling a little sad. In the space of nine months your world can be turned upside-down – for each extreme of the human condition.

Happy New Year everyone. More than anything – I hope it brings you perfect health and with that, the ability to savour all the joy life has to offer.

By now you’ve probably worked out how sincerely grateful I am to those involved in my care – both medical and personal. I’ve also mentioned how often I’ve been reminded that ‘help is only a phone call away’.

Earlier this week the Practice Manager from Dr D’s (a very likable, knowledgeable and busy woman!), took the time to give me a call. (She’s also a very private person – so let’s just refer to her as ‘J’.)

J told me both she and Dr D were a ‘bit concerned’ about me, following my last visit ‘my smile just didn’t have the same spark’. I guess the emotional strain showed no matter how brave a face I tried to put on.

After asking if there was anything they could do, J asked what it was that I was having difficulty with. ‘Is it the implants – the fact you have something foreign in your body?’, ‘Is it the changes that have occurred to your body?’, or ‘Is it the fact there was a big ‘C’ in front of everything?’. (Did I mention how experienced this woman and her staff are?) My honest response was ‘no drama with the implants, but probably a combination of the other elements’.

The reality check is clearly underway (might I add J had warned me about this months ago – actually the day before my mastectomies) and I’m doing my best to ‘get a grip’. From her experience women usually ‘fall’ or ‘crash’ while the expanders are in-situ. Perhaps it’s a bit delayed in my case as I went back to work and tried to keep everything as normal as possible during that time. As J afforded me the opportunity to touch on how the diagnosis and treatment has affected every area of my life (personal and professional relationships, my career, physical fitness etc.), she reminded me that my prognosis is very good and reassured me that I’d done everything in my power to ensure that is the case.

I was also offered assistance in arranging to speak to a counsellor – if I wanted to (‘not saying you need to – but just if you’d like to’).

At this point, I’m pretty sure that (and anti-depressants – not that she mentioned them, but a Dr or two may have), wont be necessary. I told J I had my head on straight and know this is just a phase of ‘adjustment’ (big time!). I’m certain of this, in part because I’m so confident in the people alongside me on this journey.

J’s caring and compassion, the generous giving of her time and sharing of her knowledge is, I’m sure you’ll agree, above and beyond what one might expect. Another very special person, doing extraordinary things in her daily life, to help people like little old me. Sometimes, life can throw these curve balls that end up exposing you to some wonderful human beings. This, is just another example.

*You may notice I haven’t said ‘Thank you’ here. This is quite deliberate. Every time I try to express my thanks to J (and Dr D and Andrea for that matter), I’m met with a very humble ‘that’s not necessary’. Guess by the footnote – you can see I think it is!

It’s fair to say that a cancer diagnosis can bring out the best and worst in people.

Granted – those who have travelled with me since April 23 this year (even back as early as January when I initially went to the Dr about the first lump), have seen the best and worst in me. For the not-so-nice displays of ‘cranky-pants-Carlyle’ – I apologise.

While fessing-up about my highs and lows, let me add there have been times when dealing with others has created a ‘mood’.

Everyone warns you that ‘people don’t know what to say’, they ‘find it hard’ etc. etc. Okay – I get it. What I don’t get is some of the irrational responses and completely insensitive comments some individuals either blurt out or concoct (perhaps in the hope of saying ‘the right thing’, but failing miserably as it just ‘came out wrong’). A clanger delivered with a very straight-face recently was that my four surgeries and the trauma my body has been through was really ‘controlled butchery’. Now – my initial shock quickly turned to an image of Dr D working delicately with scalpel in hand. I’m not too stupid to think that certain elements weren’t very ‘nice’, but comparing his expertise to that of a bloke slicing your lamb cutlets – I felt was a huge insult, to him! Secondly – as I, in my own way, deal with the fact that my breasts have been removed to rid myself of cancer and try not to feel, well mutilated – could this person not have chosen more suitable words? (or just shut the hell up!)

There’s been some remarkable examples of caring, understanding, kindness, thoughtfulness, generosity and compassion from not only my nearest-and-dearest, to new ‘cancer’ or ‘boob’ friends – and also complete strangers. (Like the parking attendant who waved me through with no charge every Wednesday morning after my 3hr session at the Cancer Council. She recognised my ‘floatie’, having used one herself while battling breast cancer years earlier.)

To all of you who have been so wonderful – my sincere thanks. To those who have found it difficult and at least tried – thank you too.