breast cancer

Light Shop

Mr Cool and I have spent a few months and a hunk of cash repairing an investment property that was left in quite a state by previous tenants. This week one of the jobs that needed doing was replacing some of the broken light fittings.

Late on a freezing wintery day I Googled light shops in my city and decided to drive to one of the shops out of town a bit. Normally I would go to the closest business to where I lived.  But this afternoon, I felt compelled to try the one out of my way. So late in the day I took a drive to the light shop.

When I arrived, there were just two cars in the car park. As I locked my car, did up my jacket and adjusted my head scarf I noted how illuminatingly warm and inviting the shop looked from outside. It was just the second time in my thirty nine years that I have entered a light shop.

Amongst the sea of lights I could see a lone customer and a couple of staff standing at the counter.

Image from

As I slowly wove my way through the lights and approached the back of the shop I recognised the solitary customer as a fellow breast cancer sister who was diagnosed with breast cancer a month before me.  She had a much better prognosis than me, a smaller tumour, slower grade, and less lymph node involvement.  Our surgeries and treatments pretty much replicated each other, except she had a slightly shorter chemo regimen and a different cocktail of drugs.  Her hair grew back luscious and thick. 

In all of the time we have known each other, I have only met her in person twice.  Our interactions were largely online in a breast cancer support group.  Yet, here she was, standing at the counter in front of me in a light shop at 4:53pm on a Monday afternoon. A totally random encounter, between these final minutes of close of business day.

We embraced and quietly chatted about our present circumstances. Our conversation was rushed. We spoke at a million miles an hour. There was much to share in a small window of time.   The shop was rapidly approaching closing time and we were both there to purchase lighting.  The shopkeepers standing behind the counter would have seen hand gestures pointing towards our breasts as we discussed our double mastectomies and reconstructive surgeries. They would have overheard the terms diagnosis, ovaries, liver, exchange surgery, tumour markers. I remember a year ago, being wishful that my journey was as timely as hers, when she had her final exchange surgery in the private health system at a time when I was told I’d be waiting another fifteen months on the public list.  

As the light shop employee researched prices of lights and ceiling fans in her computer,  I wondered how much of our bizarre conversation she had heard. 

As it turned out, this light shop did not stock what I wanted. They referred me to the light shop near where I lived.

Lately, I’ve been needing a bit of light in my life.  I have been in a funk for a few months and depression has been following me in the dark halls of my house. It has been reaching out to me but has yet to make contact.  It’s been hard to move forward with the acknowledgement of the permanent loss of my hair and the ongoing pelvic issues I have which are being surveilled with repeat transvaginal ultrasounds and blood tests. Just more and more intrusive tests for my mutant post treatment ovaries lay ahead, not to mention the ongoing pain. 

This fear of the unknown is amplified with each succession of bad news we get about cancer choosing a new family member, or my continued disbelief at my friends battle with Hodgkin’s lymphoma.  I grapple and I grieve.

I am still in the midst of coming to terms with what happened to me and my family. Juggling young children. Going through the motions. Trying to hold onto and focus on the positive aspects of my life which are plenty; my partner, my kids, my incredible friends and family.  Practising the notion of gratefulness as I continue to try to navigate my relationships, my marriage and my role as a mother.  Trying to keep up with the effort it all takes. Trying desperately to keep the light in my life switched on. 

Thankfully, I have had enough good sense and have returned to the blue chair in recent weeks.  It has been ten months between visits and although the chair is the same, my new, youthful, spirited and shiney psychologist is providing me with some strategies to navigate some these dim perspectives.

But even after this, I’m still in limbo. I have retreated from the exercise which has held me in good stead for this entire journey.  I have retreated from talking about how I feel, thinking about it, reflecting on it or even articulating it in writing. Hence the infrequent and rare blog posts.  I’m over cancer, or the experience of having had cancer, or the helpless feeling of watching a friend continue to fight it, or learning a new loved one has been diagnosed.  It’s causing my life lights to flicker. Threatening to smother and flatten me with impenetrable darkness.

Some days I am feeling like I am holding my breath waiting, just waiting for the cancer to come back. I feel like I’m not really living. Like I’m quietly sitting in the dark, with shallow breathes just waiting for the clock to tick past midnight.

In the chance meeting that occurred in the light shop, my friend said that that is exactly how she felt, intuitively feeling like it would come back.

And it did.

Today, she is over half way through chemo for stage IV disease to shrink and stabilise the secondary tumours they recently discovered growing in her liver while having tests for something else.  She will never be cured of breast cancer and she is just thirty.

It is crazy that I would run into her by chance in a light shop at ten to five on this Monday afternoon.  It’s also incredible that in our brief meeting, she would tell me to stop thinking about the cancer coming back because it just might.  And what a waste of time all this thinking about fear of recurrence or progression would have been.  

A true light bulb moment if ever there was.


P.S Thank you Coldplay for releasing a new album this year.  You rock!

In the darkness before the dawn

In the swirling of the storm

When I’m rolling with the punches, and hope is gone

Leave a light, a light on.


breast cancer

Just call us Kylie and Delta

I’m sorry! I have finally reached the point that I might need to start drafting invites to my pity party. You were all expecting it at some point. Go on, admit it! Anyone want an invite? It’s guaranteed to be a blast. You all come over and we sit around in the dark. There is no food or alcohol, just a bald head with a eyebrow-less and lash-less, solemn, podgy face. There will be no music and no dancing as 95 year olds filled with chemo induced arthritis don’t boogie. Though there will be some empty, scattered pain med packets and the sombre host will very likely be dressed in pyjamas. Except don’t go thinking it is a pyjama party. It isn’t. Finally, when you are so bored and depressed that you just can’t stand it anymore, you can leave. Yes, the most anticipated party of 2013 is coming!

I’m 7 months into treatment which has (in no particular order) entailed; 3 mammograms, 4 ultrasounds, 2 core biopsies, 1 sentinel node biopsy, a full clearance of 21 lymph nodes from my armpit, some serious cording complications, 3 chest X-rays, 2 full bone scans, 1 chest abdo CT scan, 18 blood tests, 6 rounds of chemo, 1 lumpectomy, 1 mastectomy, countless dates with the surgeon, psychology visits, physiotherapy, tears, pain, 50 odd empty pill canisters, a bucket load of laxatives, tissue expanders, scars, nerve damage, grief, loss, ongoing (worst ever) spinal pain that has held me hostage for five weeks and caused a decline in my mental wellbeing, and a partridge in a pear tree.

I’m feeling like I have hit rock bottom with this. And I’m hoping I have as I can’t imagine it getting any harder. Though life is full of surprises right?

I am mindful of the procedures that still lay ahead… another mastectomy and reconstruction with implants in 9 days, and 5 joyous weeks going to the radiotherapy barbecue. I’m even getting some black radiotherapy tattoos even though I HATE tattoos, on my chest of all places. All of this is to be completed by mid October, in time for 5, maybe 10 years of hormonal therapy. But that’s enough about me, even I’m tired of listening to this situation.

Interestingly, none of this last crazy 7 months of treatment has affected me, made me more shocked, angrier or sadder than the out of the blue message I received nearly four weeks ago.

Hi Lisey,

Are we still competitive in adulthood like we were in primary school? I have pretty much been diagnosed with cancer today. Will have a biopsy soon to confirm what we already know. Not in the boob though, it’s lymphoma.

So, do I win because it’s probably a better cancer to have? Or do you win because you will endure so much more? I’ll get away with one tiny incision to remove a lymph node! I think you are the winner.

At the moment, I’m hiding away not wanting to talk to anyone. Did you go through that? I hope so because I am hoping that phase passes and I can be even half as courageous as you.

Maybe there was something in the water at our Primary School. The timing is pretty unbelievable!

Hope you’re well and through or nearly through your chemo. We will chat soon I’m sure. Probably no work trips to your town in the near future but hopefully we’ll catch up to compare head scarves or something.

I hope we can both grow old and look back on what a crap year 2013 was!


This is someone who has been a great emotional support to me since January, visiting me in my home town through my treatment several times despite living several hundred kilometres from me. We reconnected this year and I have even blogged about her several times… the genius forensic doctor who I have written about here has devastatingly joined the cancer club, the club membership that noone wants or deserves, where memberships are randomly chosen.

What are the chances that two girlfriends who met in grade five at primary school and went all through high school in the same class, played tennis and netball together, would get diagnosed with cancer in the same year in their thirties, six months apart to the day?

As I am finishing chemotherapy, she will begin a gruelling six month course of fortnightly visits to her chemotherapy ward. I still cannot comprehend it and yet I know she has already started walking down her long chemo road. As my hair begins to grow back as cat fur, hers will just begin falling out. As I move out of the chemo brain drain and pain game, she is just being sucked in. Hard to comprehend really.

How will this news feel to our mutual friends? To the people we went to school with? Is this the beginning of a cancer cluster? Or is this just what happens as we age and we are somehow the chosen ones of an umbrella of diseases that claims the most number of Australians than any other?

This is us in the late 1980’s, a carefree time of long white socks, boyfriends and perms. Wait, I never had a perm cause I never went to the hairdressers. Fast forward nearly a quarter of a century, and that kid between us might be shocked to learn that the two chicks on his left and right got cancer in their thirties.

This predicament has unsettled me greatly. Since January I have firmly stood at the centre ring as “cancer patient” in my own crisis. The road has been lonely. Now, I am joined by a friend. While still being treated for cancer my role and perspective has had to change, I need to put my feet outside the circle to make room for someone else’s crisis and be of support to her. I feel helpless and I wish I could do more. I worry about what to say. I think about how can I best be of support living so far away? Should I even complain about my own predicament anymore? We text often.

I’m beginning to understand the impact of cancer from the “outside looking in” as all my friends and family have experienced. I’ve been so blindsided by my own diagnosis I hadn’t really considered the impact that this year has had on my own friends and family who have watched me struggle and change, have watched me lose my hair, and put my dreams on hold while this disease makes me pause my life for a year of treatment. It’s not just about me anymore. We all have struggles. My friend’s diagnosis is teaching me so much already.

So to answer your question, “Are you the winner?” You were always the winner. You had the better fingernails, the better dress sense, better monkey bar skills, the better earrings, the better hair, better teeth, you were smarter, got higher grades, and had the conviction and drive to work towards a career that you had passion for. One of our close school friends, Bevan Lemon often laments that by his definition, you are one of the most successful persons from our school. But you have cancer now, so that might take you down a peg or two. I can’t wait to see what sort of magic comments Bevan makes as you lose your eyebrows! I kid, I kid.

So far, you have handled your diagnosis and treatment like a true champion and I wait with anticipation to see if you come up with a better blog. Or even if you’ll say, “fuck it, now I have cancer I’m joining Facebook!”

It will be hard for you in a way I have not experienced. Being a doctor means you can see the treatment path ahead. I was lucky, I was blissfully ignorant to the treatment realities. Your vast medical knowledge and experience means you are always a step ahead of your own doctors, accurately self diagnosing and being able to tell your team what tests you need if they even flinch for a second. You even have access to excellent friends in pathology and radiology to give you second opinions on scans and you were able to have your extracted lymph node hand delivered to your chosen expert. Though I’m surprised you didn’t run your own pathology on it. That would have really been something!

You will learn who matters and who doesn’t and what is important in this crazy thing called life. It will fundamentally change you to the core. You might start to reevaluate the relationships in your life as I have. You will learn that there will be times when you have to ask for help and you have to get people to look after you because you can’t. You will be surprised at the people that will be there for you and the ones that aren’t. You will learn to laugh at the stupid things people say or believe about why you got cancer, or how you got the “good cancer” and “how lucky you are”. Your children will be okay through it all. You will be surprised at how resilient they are and how strong you are.

But today, this doesn’t stop me feeling sorry for our 4 children under 6 years of age, and sorry for our families and friends and deeply sorry for us. Maybe a joint pity party is in order? Cancer sucks big hairy ones. Nothing about it is fair, or just, or rational. Nothing about it makes any sense and I am really sorry this has happened to you and your family. I would have preferred to not have had to share this experience of having cancer with anyone. But together, we will make the best of it.

Just call us the new Delta Goodrem and Kylie Minogue. The unfortunate recipients of Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and Breast Cancer in 2013.

If I could say something to those two little girls back in 1985, it would be… in your thirties you will face a hurdle like no other, but you are both a formidable pair with a wicked sense of humour. You will get through it. It is true, it will suck dogs balls. Big hairy ones in fact. And it will be sucky and hairy for quite a while. No, not hairy, hairy is the wrong word given what chemotherapy does. But for some reason, your lives will be intertwined in such a remarkable way after many years of limited contact. For the girls in this picture, the year 2013 seemed so unimaginable, so futuristic that it was the stuff of science fiction.

And now here it is, 2013 with an almost simultaneous cancer diagnoses which could also qualify as the stuff of science fiction.

A strange Delta and Kylie duet of sorts.

breast cancer · breast surgeon · plastic surgeon · stalker

Boobie Doodler

I think I am in love.

Today she listened to me.  Smiled at appropriate times.  There were even outbursts of laughter. I know she would have brushed my hair from my face if I had any.

For this consult she had researched some literature for my individual case.  “I know that you like statistics so I’ve done some research for you” she said.

See, she is thinking about me even when we aren’t together.  She even answered all of my questions in great detail.  Time stood still.

There was an acknowledgement that going straight to implant with this next mastectomy might be difficult. “You fit types with strong pec muscles make it hard for plastic surgeons” she said.

Oh she does make me blush!

She again said “We want you to be around for a very long time.”

Let’s not kid ourselves.  She wants me to be in HER life for a long time. That’s essentially what she meant.  No illusions necessary here.

We lingered longingly, even though other women had already waited too long in the waiting room.

There was an apology about her criticism of my nipple position at our last consult. “I was getting ahead of myself” she said.  She is just beginning to truly appreciate my uniqueness.

This was by far our most successful encounter yet!

I wouldn’t be surprised if I get a post date text message tonight.  If only I wasn’t living so far away and wasn’t married, maybe, just maybe we would have a chance.  Another life perhaps.

She is mesmerisingly and extraordinarily impressive and out of respect for her privacy, I’m not posting a picture of her shoes today.

Can’t wait for our surgical date! August 13th is just so, so far away.

The image below depicts installing a zip to the side of my breast, criss crossing it with black pen, and watching black arrows explode from my nipple.  Well not really.  More like location of the incision site, removing all of the breast tissue and scraping the inside of the nipple to test for cancer while still in surgery, and taking it off if it tests positive for cancer.  That my friends is a nipple-sparing subcutaneous mastectomy right there.

600K per year and she gets to doodle boobies. He he!
breast cancer · chemotherapy · children · FEC -D · Mr Cool

Wacky Wednesday


From “Wacky Wednesday” written by Theo.LeSeig

Well, this is kind of what happened this morning, except there was no shoe on the wall and obviously I don’t have a cute Meg Ryan type hairdo at the moment. And there is no way I could sleep with a humongous soft pillow like that as my neck wouldn’t cope with it. And there are portraits on our wall but not of doctors, sailors and scoutmasters. And we don’t own a straw broom or a cat.

But at that precise moment in the hallway, my shiny, dry, calloused, slippery, Taxotere soled feet slid from underneath me and I crashed down like a sack of spuds, landing heavily on my skull, neck and spine and split my head open (this turned out to be more of an oozing graze). This would not have happened if I was wearing my gold sequinned slippers.

For a moment I layed on the cold, hardwood timber floors evaluating my situation. I called out to my kids and Mr Two came to investigate and then ran off to get Mr Five yelling “Mummy’s fallen. Mummy’s fallen!” From the other side of the house they then got into a tug-o-war over some Schleich farm animal toys and forgot about me. (Note to self: enrol children in First Aid course, teach children principles of empathy and merits of sharing).

As I stared at the dusty skirting boards a small spider came out to greet me, but it wasn’t expecting to see Gulliver’s Travels happening in the hallway, so it hastily turned around and scurried back into its home. Boy I have really let the housework slip this year. Those skirting boards are filthy!

Thankfully, the kids returned and Mr Five brought me the telephone and I was able to call my awesome Mother in-law and Mr Cool at work for some assistance. And with perfect timing a friend from running club arrived with a freshly home cooked meal for my family and although shocked by my gorgeous appearance she looked after me until the others arrived.

I have a good supply of Endone and the GP kindly offered me more. So it’s all good, I’m just a little sore and bruised. Yet I can’t help but laugh at what chemotherapy has transformed me into in five months… a completely bald, arthritic, ninety five year old falls risk, complete with dirty skirting boards.

I have been in bed since Friday letting my last chemo take hold, perhaps I should have stayed in bed an extra day? Anyhow, chemo is done now and I intend on having the last defiant word.

Incidentally, last Wednesday was also wacky. I had a full bone scan to see if I had bone mets in my spine after weeks of worsening spinal pain. Results were negative. Yes they were! But I do happen to have a shit load alot of arthritis instead and the Taxotere has made symptoms flare. Amazing that a diagnosis for arthritis could fill me with such joyous relief! So I am again winning! And most wonderfully in all of this, after today’s fall, that arthritic pain shouldn’t be so noticeable anymore. Well played Lisey! Well played!

In short, for those blog readers that are time poor… On Wacky Wednesday there was a huge wacky of my cancer free backy along with a smacky to my cranium.

My very sexy arthritic filled cancer free skeleton.
breast cancer · chemotherapy · FEC -D · Hair loss · live your best life · Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge

Shittytittie Chemo Cut Five

The positive pledges keep arriving. So if you haven’t yet stopped and thought about how exactly you could improve your health and wellbeing or some other aspect of your life and sent me a little note about, what on earth is stopping you? So far 52 people have joined the “Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge”.

One incredible Mum who has three kiddies under five shared this personal challenge…

“I want to see the next hair cut! So I’ll share my personal challenge for 2013. After reading the book Revolution In World Missions (2004) about stories of poverty… I have decided I will not spend any money on clothes for the year. Wow! Hard, but it has so far been a fantastic experience for me! It has been very humbling. I stopped worrying about what I look like, I rediscovered old clothes and have got better at mending clothes. I have more spare time as I am not standing in front of the mirror or browsing shops. It has made me focus on how I feel on the inside … and I am looking very much forward to the end of the year giving that money to people who have not even a pair of shoes! So here is to ‘holy’ socks for 2013!”

Great for people less fortunate and for living more simply. An awesome idea, don’t you think?

Yahoo Serious from the Australian film "Young Einstein" (1988). Complete with cockatoo.
Yahoo Serious from the Australian film “Young Einstein” (1988). Complete with sulphur crested cockatoo.

So on we roll to Shittietittie Chemo Cut Five. This one is deemed the “Yahoo Serious Haircut” after the 1988 Australian comedy film titled “Young Einstein”. It starred Yahoo Serious, yes that was his real name after he changed it via deed poll from his birth name of Greg. If you see this movie in your video store, probably best to keep moseying on by it. I can’t remember anything about the plot either. It could also be referred to more simply as the “Electrocution Haircut”. Or the “Polly want a cracker sulphur crested cockatoo haircut”. I can’t make up my mind.

I really liked this one and it might become one of the favourites as it made me feel rather happy and confident. It has been interesting to see the change in confidence in me as a person as each hairstyle gets shorter. I think this comes out in the photography.

This is the moment the echidna jumped from my head.
This is the moment the echidna jumped from my head.
Looking at Punk Chick's photos from her punk days circa 1990
Looking at Punk Chick’s photos from her punk days circa 1990
The final shooshing
The final shooshing
The Electric Shock
See, twins almost!
See, twins almost!
Polly want a cracker?
JRF sent a text of this haircut to our close friends and here he reads their replies.
JRF sent a text of this haircut to our close friends and here he reads their replies.
Oh là là

I could potentially revisit this haircut when my hair grows back. What do you think? Imagine me taking my eldest to primary school next year with this! Cool and crazy Mum indeed!

For all the details of the challenge and how to participate click here

You can also use the category menu at right of this blog to see all of the “Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge” blog posts as they progress.

Who will be the next ten people to share their commitments to living a better life or making proactive steps towards creating a great legacy? YOU! Yes you!

Get a move on peeps or I’ll still be trotting these hairstyles out come Christmas, by which time I hope the original hair will be growing back. There are still five to go!

Love and peace,

Yahoo Serious aka Cocky
photo-6 copy

breast cancer · chemotherapy · FEC -D · live your best life · Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge

Shittytittie Chemo Cut Four

Hang on to your seats because on this fine day we reveal Shittytittie Chemo Cut Four, after another fabulous group of people committed to the “Shittytittie Chemo Cut Challenge” to make an effort to live their best life. For the beginning of this challenge and all the details of how to participate click here. Please feel free to donate to the great causes below if you are that way inclined or just loaded and don’t know what to do with your money!

I received some emails and messages from some amazing women for this haircut. Women who have endured so much and yet have the get up an go to make their lives productive and contribute a great deal. I am sure their lives and the lives of those they know are richer for it. It is so inspiring to hear from people about their personal struggles and then see them stand and take life by the horns.

“Since breaking my back and fracturing my skull back at uni, I’ve battled constant back pain but I’m proud to say I’ve since run a 35km marathon, ridden a bicycle solo from Melbourne to Adelaide, hiked and sea kayaked the South Island of New Zealand and cycled the North Island, ridden through Vietnam and travelled a lot of the world and fulfilled a twenty year long dream to complete a triathlon just last year. All because I wanted to prove to myself that having a disability was no excuse not to go for it”.

The same person volunteers her time at a Landcare group, works with people with disabilities, taught in India last year and while living there helped with the clean up of a devastating cyclone. At home, she regularly helps friends who were seriously affected by the Black Saturday bushfires with chainsawing, pruning, weed spraying, babysitting and she also works at a not for profit organisation teaching kids about sustainability. She went on to say…

“I guess ultimately I feel strongly about community causes, environment and family. Life is tough at times. Sure. But I won’t be beaten. I will make a difference on this Earth and I am conscious of giving everything my best shot. Where to next? The Tour de France in 2014!”

It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if she was riding in it next year! That is one gutsy lady with an enormous legacy right there!

It is hard not to be amazed and inspired by people who live this way. So I dedicate all of my Shittytittie Chemo haircuts to you B! You are amazeballs! Not sitting and letting time pass by, not letting the personal circumstance and disability of a broken back and fractured skull get in the way, but living fully and passionately. You are so inspiring and I was lucky to cross paths with you years ago.

Reading all of these responses to this challenge makes me think that this hurdle of cancer in my life is a mere U/6 hurdle at the Little Athletics. Remember those? Teeny tiny they were.

So back to my trivial little cancer induced hairdos.

Echidna haircut
Echidna haircut
This haircut felt like one of those beanies with the ear pieces, so cosy. Yet it looked a bit like having an echidna wrapped around my head. Echidna aside, I have deemed it the “Tumultuous Tina Turner” unless any of you can come up with a better name. It’s a bit 1980’s era, Wedding Singer movie meets Kath and Kim television series. A bit boganish. Noice, noice, very noice! We nearly have exposed ears here… nearly.

I’ll admit I was a little eager to say goodbye to this one. So after snacking on some of the best figs I have ever eaten from Punk Chick’s awesome garden, on we went… snip, snip, snippety snip into the late afternoon sunshine.

Punk Chick's delicious home grown figs. The BEST ever!
Punk Chick’s delicious home grown figs. The BEST ever!
Punk Chick's expert hands at work
Punk Chick’s expert hands at work
Echidna gone!
Echidna gone!



It really was like an echidna don’t you think?

For all the details of the challenge and how to participate click here

You can also use the category menu at right of this blog to see all of the “Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge” blog posts as they progress.

Who will be the next ten people to share their commitments to living a better life or making proactive steps towards creating a great legacy? YOU! Yes you!

Get a move on peeps or I’ll still be trotting these hairstyles out come Christmas, by which time I hope the original hair will be growing back. There are still six to go!


Tumultuous Tina

These organisation’s are very dear to my heart because they do some awesome things.

The Forgotten Cancers Project. Click to DONATE

Peter MaCallum Cancer Centre Click to DONATE

Bendigo Health Foundation Click to DONATE

Pink Hope Click to DONATE

Breast Cancer Network of Australia Click to DONATE

breast cancer · chemotherapy · FEC -D · Hair loss · live your best life · Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge

Shittytittie Chemo Cut Three

Another ten inspiring people contacted me and expressed their motivation for improving their lives; treating themselves with more respect, making changes to their day through eating better or moving more, getting their boobies checked out, paying forward kind deeds to those they know or surprising complete strangers. One lovely lass has stepped up her fitness goals and has started running 10km having never run that far before, and all of this whilst visiting Laos and Cambodia on a working and holiday trip. Go you good thing! Change in you can happen anywhere if you really want it to.

Quote of the week came from way out west “If you can do chemo, I can do kind!” Just love it!

So keep them coming people. For every ten peeps I hear from I’ll roll out the next Shittytittie Chemo cut. I’d like to hear from more blokes. Since blokes take a while to get on board especially since this is a breast cancer blog, and we all know blokes need a good kick up the bum to embrace these things especially when it comes to their health. So I have decided I will count any blokey contributions as two points towards a hairstyle reveal. Some of the guys I know just need a little helping hand.

All of this is riveting I know. But at least I’m having fun with it. It takes a lot of guts to embrace the effects of cancer on your life and it also takes a lot of guts to promote shameless ‘selfies’ and past embarrassing school photos on the world wide web. Something I never would have touched with a six foot pole twelve months ago. Not sure what has happened to me in recent months. I’m now full of guts! lol

My first ever hairdresser haircut circa 1983
My first ever ‘professional’ haircut circa 1983

Okay so back to the haircuts… The last bangs I wore on my pretty forehead were back in the springtime of 1983 which happened to be my FIRST EVER visit to a hairdresser. Back in those days I chose a shoulder length cut, with a nice straight part down the middle and a lovely flicked fringe. The photo is months after the haircut but you get the gist. Of course as the fringe grew out with no subsequent hairdressing visits, it had to be restrained by wearing a bit of white lace around my head to hold the bangs back. I now admit I copied the lace idea from my cool primary school friend who later became the forensic pathologist I affectionately wrote about in the last four paragraphs of this blog. My primary and high school mates will remember this ‘lacey do’ fondly as I had it for the next 7 years. Some may even be able to produce photographic evidence. I loved the eighties.

As promised we move onto revealing “Shittytittie Chemo Cut Three” named the ‘Linda Librarian Evangelista’. Very special because it is the second time in 38 years I have had a fringe. The fringe embraced my forehead for a good thirty minutes before we moved on. It was sort of comforting in a teddy bear kind of way. And then Punk Chick continued on with her merry Edward Scissorhands journey.

Why hello! Nice to meet you.

DSC_0926_2 DSC_0958_2 DSC_0972

For the beginning of this challenge and all the details of how to participate click here

Alternatively you can use the category menu at right of this blog to see all of the “Shittytittie Chemo Cuts Reveal Challenge” posts as they progress.

Who will be the next ten people to share their commitments to living a better life or making proactive steps towards creating a great legacy? YOU! Yes you! Get a move on peeps or I’ll still be trotting these hairstyles out come Christmas, by which time I hope the original hair will be growing back.


Librarian Linda

Photos taken by the extraordinarily talented bestie JRF

These organisation’s are very dear to my heart at present because they do some awesome things.

The Forgotten Cancers Project. Click to DONATE

Peter MaCallum Cancer Centre Click to DONATE

Bendigo Health Foundation Click to DONATE

Pink Hope Click to DONATE

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