Big up the sisterhood

As promised, here is yet another amazing survivor story from another amazing woman. Today we hear about Leesha Duce's battle with breast cancer......

 Leesha Duce –My Breast Cancer Story

 

In February 2008, when I was forty,  I discovered a lump the size of a hard boiled egg in my left breast as I got out of the shower. I contacted my GP immediately and was sent for tests straight away. The Breast Cancer Care Unit at Gloucester Hospital were brilliant and within ten days I’d had a mammogram and a core biopsy, a further ten days later I had my results. At the end of March 2008, I was told that I had a grade 3 tumour DCIS and was sent into hospital for the doctors to do a wide local excision and for them to take lymph nodes to test. That first time around they told me that they couldn’t get a wide enough margin in the tissue and so I went into hospital again so that they could repeat the surgery. Again the doctors couldn’t get a clear reading, but by this time I’d decided a mastectomy was the way forward and so in May I went in to have the necessary surgery. Chemo then followed at the end of June and later Radiotherapy in September. In December I started on a years course of Herceptin. During the second stage of treatment I started to lose my beautiful thick hair – I used to sit in front of the telly playing with it to see how much would fall out! In the end I decided to shave it off. I think my girls were more upset than I was to be honest. I was just glad that I had a nice shaped head!

I’m a pretty stoic person, what will be will be and as long as I could talk about things to my family I was okay emotionally. I think my family found it harder than me because it was their job not to let on how worried they were. My husband might even say that I froze him out and forgot to talk to him about how he felt. I remember him getting drunk one night and telling me that he was afraid I might die, to which I got mad and shouted back at him – didn’t he think that I was worried about that too?

 

I focused very much on my two teenagers and my horses throughout – obviously I couldn’t ride much, but grooming the animals was so therapeutic. We also brought a puppy, which kept me entertained and was an absolute godsend to my daughters.

 

From very early on in my illness, I decided that if I was going to have cancer it was going to be with a small c and not a big one! It wasn’t going to take all of my life and energy. My friends say that I’m strong, but I know the real reason I fought the way I did – I’m just bloody stubborn!

 I will now be on Tamoxifen for the next five years. I don’t look back though, as far as I’m concerned I’m cancer free. Of course there are times when I’m reminded how I’ve been affected by it all, but that’s only natural. The first time was in 2010 when I took my daughters to visit my sister in Canada and had to declare it all on my travel insurance, to which I was quoted nearly £800! The second time was when I went into my local M and S only to be told that they no longer did mastectomy bras. I lost it with the sales assistant and burst into tears. I picked myself up though and found an amazing on line retailer.

I’ve promised myself faithfully that I will live my life to the full. I took on a Women V Cancer Cycle challenge and I’ve decided that I won’t put up with any crap in any relationship – I think that’s frightened my husband! My family keep asking if I’m okay and when I say ‘yes’ I genuinely mean it. Life’s too short to worry. I keep an eye on things and go to my check ups every year and in the meantime I live.

 

Useful links

 

http://www.actionforcharity.co.uk (Women V Cancer Challenges)

www.breastcancercare.org.uk

Charity Chat

I did it!

On Sunday 21st October I finished the Bupa Birmingham Half Marathon. I came in 9,734th out of 18,000, which, as a very amateur runner, I am incredibly proud of. What's even better is that all the funds I raised through sponsorship go to the brilliant Macmillan Cancer Care charity.

Charity Chat

So, the big Birmingham run is about two weeks away now. Nervous...me.....never! I have been out training hard and last week achieved twelve and a half miles in under three hours and so I'm pretty confident that I'm going to finish the half marathon on October 21st. I might not be the fastest, the fittest or complete it with the most finesse, but being my first attempt at any kind of running type thing, I reckon I'll still be pretty proud when I cross that finish line (and I will be crossing it, even if I have to crawl the last six miles on my bleeding hands and knees).

I hoped to raise £150+ for Macmillan Cancer Charity and so far have bagged £50 from the pockets of those poor people that I incessantly nag to help me raise money for various charities close to my heart. I also have the promise of sponsorship from many more and so hopefully I will reach my target by the time I run.

Running has never come easily to me. At school I was the one sucking desperately on the end of an inhaler, sweating and waiting for the Grim Reaper to drop by whilst everybody else breezed the 800m like African Giselle's. After leaving school, I pranced about on treadmills in an attempt to get into some kind of shape (although I still insist that round is a shape thank you very much), but the thought of running any kind of marathon half or otherwise, made me want to barf. Nowadays I still want to barf but it's a side affect of a ten mile run.

I'm looking forward to pushing myself to the limit for my first proper big run and maybe in the coming years will be looking forward to the marathon in that London.  Who knows?


If you would like to sponsor me this time round there's still time and every penny raised goes to such a worthy cause - Macmillan Cancer Support. Anything and everything you can donate will be utterly appreciated.

http://www.justgiving.com/Vicki-Wootton1

Big up the sisterhood

As part of Breast Cancer Awareness month, the Young and Wasted blog will be sharing some  real life stories from women who have suffered with breast cancer, in an attempt to urge women young and old to check themselves regularly. Today Jenny White tells her story about her own personal battle.

 

“I was two months short of forty five years old when I discovered that I had breast cancer. I been moving lots of rubbish into a skip in our garden and when I went to shower I noticed a discharge on my bra. I checked my breasts and found nothing else out of the ordinary, but I knew that the discharge was not normal for me. Typically it was 6pm on a Friday night and so I spent the whole weekend worrying about what I had found before I managed to see a doctor on the Monday morning. The lady that I saw was absolutely lovely, but she couldn’t find anything abnormal either, although when I suggested that I might have knocked my breast causing infection and asked for antibiotics, she told me that in all conscience she couldn’t just let me walk away without first referring me to a ‘One Stop’ clinic at my local hospital to get checked out. They guaranteed to see patients within two weeks.

I received my appointment within ten days of seeing the doctor and underwent a mammogram followed by an ultrasound and a guided biopsy under ultrasound. The mammogram had shown up a small black mass and this was what they took at the biopsy. All of this was relatively painless, although there was a certain loss of dignity to it all.

 I waited a week for the results. I felt utterly numb and quite frankly, I’d basically planned my funeral as I knew deep down inside that it had to be cancer.

 When the results did finally come back, the consultant that I saw was very clinical. His people skills weren’t the best and he didn’t even look me in the eye as he said; “Mrs White, it seems you have breast cancer.” My first reaction was to get up and wash my hands in the sink in his room – totally bizarre!

 Following my diagnosis I had two operations. The first was to remove the tumour/mass and a node that was a bit higher up to see if that was cancerous too. The results that returned ten days later revealed that they hadn’t taken enough away and so they had to operate again. The doctors also suggested I had all my lymph nodes removed, which they then did four weeks later. After another four weeks I started chemotherapy for eighteen weeks. I then underwent twenty sessions of radiotherapy.

As my tumour tested positive to a certain protein that attaches itself and helps to feed the cancer, I now have three weekly infusions of Herceptin to combat it and I will be on Tamoxifen for the next five years to stop production of Oestrogen, as this again feeds the tumour.

I have four beautiful daughters – the oldest is only 21 and they were incredibly upset and scared, particularly as I’d only lost my dad to cancer five months before I was diagnosed, but they were so wonderfully supportive. None of them even cried because they felt that they needed to be strong for me.

Having cancer is all consuming and you don’t realise how much the little things matter until you get it. I lost my hair which was one of the worst parts because in turn I lost confidence. I didn’t want to look in the mirror anymore. It was even worse when I lost my eyebrows – I just looked naked. I wore hats because I didn’t like wigs, but it was devastating.  I found that I didn’t want to attend charity support sessions, I already worked as a nurse for Macmillan caring for the terminally ill, but during the hard times I didn’t feel like going out to the mixers. I did get an Ipad though, which I found useful. I could watch films and read books on-line. My husband booked me some nice nights away and I scheduled some relaxing duvet days.

Things are looking up now. I’m on number 15 out of 18 Herceptin, which I’m due to finish at Christmas and I’m proud that I’ve come through it. Throughout treatment I put on weight, which again knocked my confidence and so I started cycling, signing up for The Women V Cancer challenge 2013 in Cuba. I want to give back, raise funds and show everyone, including myself, that I’ve moved on. It’s 400km so an incredibly tough undertaking and my energy levels aren’t at their best, but the training is going well, slowly but surely. I even wrote a blog about my cancer journey and have just published a book to help my fundraising attempts called ‘ From Chemo to Cuba.’

I’ve learnt so much about myself. I had the strength to beat cancer and I realised that I owed it to my wonderful friends and family to fight to stay alive longer. I’ve gotten over the loss of dignity now too – I’ll whip my bra off nowadays as I approach the hospital doors!!

 It sounds a cliché, but breast cancer really helped me appreciate my life and forced me to strive for the most out of it.

 I hope that my story helps to raise awareness. My cancer wasn’t run of the mill in that I didn’t find a lump. If you notice any changes, I urge you to see your doctor straight away. "

To purchase a copy of Jenny’s book or to sponsor her for the Cuba challenge please visit www.justgiving.com/Jenny-white1.

My Big Run

 

 In my head I'm all grace and elegance, a little Jessica Ennis if you will, however the above clip is an accurate example of how I'm currently running!

I'm not going to lie to you, training for The Birmingham half marathon in October has been epically difficult and for a wide range of reasons. Firstly finding time to train for anything when I'm trying to hold down a couple of jobs and a social life has been tough.

Secondly, running is really really hard.

 Your fat bits wobble, your nose runs and your legs hurt. Not only that but I've been suffering from what I've dubbed runners rash. My whole body adopts a disgusting stung by nettles kind of look after every run and unless I jump in the shower immediately, it becomes incredibly uncomfortable.

However, despite all my moaning I am determined not to give up. I told my gym instructor the other day that I would finish the damn thing even if I had to crawl it and so help me God I will.

This year I've chosen to run for Macmillan Cancer support (I say this year like I'm a seasoned pro and will be doing it again....the truth is so very different!) and so even if it kills me, I'm going to do my very best for them.

One in three people will get cancer in their lifetime and for those that do, it is the toughest thing that they will ever have to face. Macmillan provide practical, medical and financial support for sufferers and their families, in a bid to make that terrifying journey that little bit better for all involved. In the past they have proved vital to both my own family and those of my friends and to give a little back would be to honour the memories of those that we have sadly lost.

If you would like to sponsor me simply visit http://www.justgiving.com/VickiWootton1. It's easy and secure and the donation goes straight to Macmillan Cancer Support. Not only that but if you are a UK taxpayer, Just Giving automatically reclaims Gift Aid on Macmillan Cancer's behalf.

Thankyou

My big run

After Kenya it wasn't long before I was itching to take on another challenge. Due to the huge cost of doing a trip like Kenya, I decided it had to be something on a considerably smaller scale and started to browse the tinterweb for ideas. The Bupa Great Birmingham Run flashed up on my browser and without a second thought I signed up almost straight away in aid of Macmillan Cancer Support. Macmillan improves the lives of those affected by cancer by providing practical, emotional and financial support. They have been there for my family a number of times after we lost Lil and my Nan and Grandad and most recently they helped my best friends Nan through her final days.

By running this half marathon for Macmillan I hope that I will be honouring the memories of all four of our loved ones and also helping to raise funds for Macmillan to continue to support those who need it in the future.

If you would like to sponsor me please visit

http://www.justgiving.com/Vicki-Wootton1

Thankyou.

NEW SECTION ADDED

Young and Wasted readers, I am currently in the process of adding a new section to the blog. This will be called 'Adventures!' For those of you that know me, you will be aware that in February I took on the challenge of a lifetime and cycled 250 miles across Kenya for charity. After my big adventure I created a blog to tell the people that had helped me to fundraise, all about the wonderful work that they had done. I'm now going to transfer that blog onto this one for all my other readers to take a look at! It will be followed up with information about my training and preparation for the Birmingham half marathon this year. Happy reading!

The bit before

WOMEN V CANCER CYCLE KENYA

GROUP FIVE

18TH – 27TH FEBRUARY 2012

Around January time in 2011 I started to feel a little bit bored with my life. I wanted a challenge, something to look forward to – not just a holiday or a trip, but something that would make a difference, open new doors, new worlds and teach me new things about myself.

I’ve always been a bit of a secret fundraiser geek, particularly for Breast Cancer Care as we lost our beautiful family friend Lil to it when I was still quite young and knew that I wanted to do something for women’s cancer charities, but wasn’t quite sure what.

Around the same time I was feeling this need for this elusive something we lost our grandparents on my dad’s side, who left us some money in their will. It would have been quite easy to splurge, buy a few nice things and have a few rock and roll nights, but I felt like I should do something memorable with it, something that would hopefully make them proud of me and honour their memory.

So, I fired up Google and had a browse, not really knowing what I was even looking for truth be told.

By fluke, chance, fate or otherwise I came across the Action For Charity website. AFC are a successful fundraising event management company and organise a whole range of events all over the world for all different kinds of charities. Throughout the eleven years that they have been running they have raised over £11 million for various well deserving causes.

One of the events running at the time was Women V Cancer Cycle Kenya. The advert read:

Women of all ages are joining together for an incredible fundraising ride through the Rift Valley - from the slopes of majestic Mount Kenya to the shores of magnificent Lake Victoria. Join the team and cycle as a group to cover around 400kms over 5 days, experiencing Africa away from the usual tourist trails. Funds raised by Women V Cancer will be divided equally between three important charities: Breast Cancer Care, Jo’s Cervical Cancer Trust and Ovarian Cancer Action and used to support their valuable work.

It will be a journey full of fun, friendship and incredible support as women of all ages and from all walks of life challenge themselves for an amazing cause.

Before I’d even blinked I’d signed up for it. I hadn’t ridden a bike for nearly fourteen years and my fitness levels ranged somewhere between nearly dead and barely living, but yet I knew instantly that this was the challenge I was looking for….and ‘OMG’ what a ride it was!

Getting started

First things first, I decided, I had to get fit. I had been a member at various gyms since leaving high school, always aiming for the tanned, toned look of the likes of Cheryl Cole and Beyonce, dying for a butt so tight you could crack nuts in it, but still sort of resembling a floppier, saggier, squidger kind of Susan Boyle. The days of ambling along on a treadmill, dribbling over Robbie videos on the TV screens had to go.

“It has to be hardcore all the way” I declared, flexing in some seriously unflattering lycra, in the hope that this would instantly convert me into some sort of supercharged fitness freak (instead all it converted was some poor people’s sleep into restless nights peppered with nightmares…sorry about that guys!).

It was then that I embarked upon my first spinning class. Created by Johnathon Goldberg in 1987, spinning is apparently interval training at its very best. A high calorie burning, high-intensity, muscle building, stamina soaring workout on a specially designed stationary bike, and OH MY GOOD GOD it hurts!

After the first class, I tentatively hobbled down to my mom who had been in the swimming pool at the gym, holding my burning lady bits and asked her to check to see if the saddle was still wedged where it shouldn’t be! Sitting down to drive home turned into a military style mission and (because of course, you really want to know this) going to the loo was virtually impossible.

I began to wonder what the hell I had let myself in for. Still, it was too late to turn back now and so, very, very reluctantly I began to go to each and every spin class on offer, even popping along to the spin studio in the week to replicate what the teachers had taught me when the classes weren’t on. For a while me and my bits didn’t get on well, they couldn’t understand why I kept putting them through this torture, but – believe me on this one – eventually everything sort of gets used to it and spin becomes this addictive drug that you want more and more.

I was disgusted with myself the first day that I realised I was actually enjoying exercise!!!

Alongside all this I also tried to get outside and practice on a real live bike, dragging the remains of my old rusty wreck out of the shed to pedal along the canal on. It has to be said that there’s nothing quite as embarrassing as a seventy year old lapping you from Stourbridge to Swindon on foot. It took a long time to get a hang of the gears again (and to remember to breathe when I was pedalling – at least in the spin classes I had the teachers to remind me to do this when I started going blue), and in all honesty, the bike was not the best. Eventually, after one flat tyre too many (and after Halfords informed us that my bike was so old that they didn’t stock the inner tubes for its tyres anymore) my lovely friend Kerri took pity on me and loaned me her brand new bike – thank you Lord!!!

And so, the training was underway.

Fundraising

My next step was to fundraise. The total cost for the whole trip was £2,800 to be split between the three women’s cancer charities and The Farajah Project in Kenya, which offers complimentary therapies to those with cancer during the treatment process.

Unfortunately, timing never particularly being one of my best qualities, I had decided to fundraise during an almighty recession, when people didn’t have enough money to buy food let alone hand over to me. I sat thoughtfully chewing on a BIC biro as I considered this right at the start of my fundraising plan, “Oh Shit,” merrily swirling around in my head.

I needn’t have worried. It appears – and I never realised this before, although I really should have – that I have a good old group of people around me, who love me enough to indulge me in my crazy ideas. My loyal, wonderful, utterly brilliant friends and family dug deep and came to every quiz night, every fun day, every coffee morning, every nineties themed birthday party (BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!) that I put on. My Just Giving account was flooded by donations from them and my girlies even agreed to pose for a WI style nude calendar to help me raise the dosh. Sadly (or not so sadly, depends who you ask), the calendar never materialised, but the very fact that my friends were willing to do that for me was enough.

My parents were also one hundred and ten percent supportive and helped me out considerably both financially and emotionally. I suspect that sometimes (okay, okay…the majority of the time!!) I really can be a thorn in their sides, but still they were unwavering in their tremendous encouragement and assistance.

I can never thank the people that supported me enough. It seems that it would take me a thousand years to repay their kindness, but if that’s what it takes I will do it. I appreciate these people more than they will ever, ever know, each and every one of them.

I realised during the year that I spent fundraising, that if I didn’t get anything else from the challenge, I had been shown just what amazing people I am lucky enough to have in my life and I love them all so much.

Ooh look at me ….. “totes emosh!!”

With very little time to spare, I reached the target amount just before the deadline and, as I received the final bits of paperwork and started to pack – just don’t talk to me about packing!!! – I suddenly realised that this was it…. This was really going to happen.

Day One /Two

Departure – Day 1

On the day that I left for Heathrow (the 18th February to be precise), I found that what had once been a soft flutter of butterflies in my stomach had now become giant mutant moths. I swigged from a bottle of Kalms all that morning like a drunk from a White Lightning bottle. Despite the fact that I had met most of the girls on the training weekend in the Cotswolds (which, just for future reference, was nowhere near as tough as Kenya – in comparison it was a bit like having a walk up Kinver Edge in training for Mount Everest) and spoke to them regularly on Facebook, I was nervous at the prospect of going out on my own with essentially one hundred people I didn’t really know, I was scared about flying, dreading the travelling, which was set to take nearly two days and just generally bricking it!

My poor old mom and dad had the job of getting me down to the airport (or up….whatever…I did History not Geography!) in one, relatively together piece.

Luckily when I got there, as I should have known, it was all just fine. I met up with the other girls and we all instantly put each other at ease, sharing our terror and doing the only thing that seemed right …..heading for the bar!

Drinks in hand, we toasted the trip and then gave Heathrow a bit of a treat! Gillian, one of our ladies organised a flash mob song, changing the words to “Leaving on a Jet Plane,” to tell the story behind our trip, which we performed for a very confuzzled airport just before boarding the plane.

Here it is:

All our bags are packed, we’re ready to go,

We’re standing here at Heathrow,

We hate to leave you here and say goodbye,

But after all the training and early morn’s,

The plane is waiting to take us on,

Already we’re so pumped we could fly,

Send wishes and smiles with us

Tell us that you’ll think of us,

Think of us as we go on our way

Cause we’re leaving on a jet plane

In two weeks we’ll all be back again

Oh, we can’t wait to go.

There’s so many miles we’ve rode around,

So many roads been up and down,

I tell you now, they don’t mean a thing,

Every mile we ride, we ride for you,

Every hill we climb, we climb for you,

When we come back, we’ll have done a brilliant thing

Chorus

Now the time has come to leave here,

To do our bit for cancer research

Any minute now we’ll be on our way,

As we think about the reasons why

We’ve all made this sacrifice,

We know it will all be worth it in the end.

Chorus.

I’ve never been part of a flash mob before – that’s one ticked off on the list.

The flight was long, boring and uncomfortable, just as flights should be, but finally we arrived in Kenya. Henk our guide, guru, motivator and organiser was at the airport to greet us and guide us onto some very rickety old buses, which were to become part of our little family during the week and we set out on the four hour transfer to the Green Hills Hotel in Nyeri.

I was told that there were elephants at the airport when you arrived in Kenya before I went and naively believed it, which everyone laughed at- but ha ha, I was pleased to see that there actually is elephants at Nairobi airport, albeit metal ones. They look quite real though! Jokes on you!

We literally dropped our bags in our rooms, briefly meeting our new room mates – mine was Gina ( Jirina Klimesova) from the Czech Republic- before we had to head out for bike fitting before it got dark. We then had a very quick ride up to Baden Powells Grave to test our new toys. This might have been alright in ordinary circumstances, but for those of you that don’t know, Baden Powell founded the Boy Scout and Girl Guide movement and on that particular day, the locals were holding a jamboree to celebrate the 100th anniversary, meaning that the streets were absolutely packed.

Do bare in mind that all the areas we visited were not tourist areas and so there were no white people around at all, until suddenly one hundred white women in lycra on bikes appeared in the middle of proceedings. We caused quite a stir! The locals kept pushing to get to us and touching the bikes.  Shouting things to us and waving. None of it was at all malicious, but it was incredibly intimidating, especially as we were all so tired after a long journey.

Looking back on it now, I suppose it was just an introduction to what was to come. That particular afternoon though, we were glad to get out of there and go back to the hotel for a drink and a shower.

The rest of the day was pretty much spent getting to know each other, talking about why we were there and what we were expecting. Over dinner that night (a buffet of rice, veg, potatoes, fruit, chapattis, meats and sweet cakes – which we had every meal time while we were there) Ann Frampton, a remarkable lady and our ‘leader,’ welcomed us to the challenge and she and Henk went on to tell us what to expect.

Bed that night was very much welcomed, but Gina and I found it hard to sleep, chatting away in the early hours when we both woke up at the same time, nerves and excitement refusing to go away and let us rest!

The 5am wake up call came sooner than we wanted – the show was officially on the long and bumpy road!

Day three

Day Two

LEAVING ON A JET PLANE



All our bags are packed, we’re ready to go

We’re standing here at Heathrow

We hate to leave you here and say goodbye

But after all the training and early morn’s

The plane is waiting to take us on

Already we’re so pumped up we could fly



Send wishes and smiles with us

Tell us that you’ll think of us

Think of us as we go on our way

Cause we’re leaving on a jet plane

In 2 weeks we’ll all be back again

Oh, we can’t wait to go



There’s so many miles we’ve rode around

So many roads been up and down

I tell you now, they don’t mean a thing

Every mile we ride, we ride for you

Every hill we climb, we climb for you

When we come back, we’ll have done a brilliant thing



Chorus



Now the time has come to leave here

To do our bit for cancer research

Any minute now we’ll be on our way

As we think about the reasons why

We’ve all made this sacrifice

We know it will all be worth it in the end

Woke at 5:30 am…….that’s five thirty AM. The only time I’ve ever been up at 5:30am was when I’ve been coming home from a night out!!! Still, excitement meant that we were buzzing and ready to cycle the massive 99km (61 miles) from Nyeri to Nyahururu. After breakfast we saddled up and set off, back through the town which was now far quieter than the night before. Eventually we got out into lush countryside, with views of Mount Kenya, encountering some massive hills along the way…and I mean MASSIVE!!

It was here we started to learn about HENKISMS.

The things our guide Henk said were not technically as they were and throughout the trip we started to realise this. The first thing we noticed was that “undulating….a few small hills…nothing to worry about,” actually meant, “By the time you get to the top of the MOUNTAIN, you’re knees, eyes and lungs will have exploded from the sheer strain of dragging your bodies up there.”

 Sugar coated….I think so!

It was on the stretch to lunch that I met Angela – a representative from Ovarian Cancer Action- who was cycling on the trip with us. We were both a bit worn out I think by that point, but as we got chatting we soon found our pace again and before we knew it we were at the lunch stop! Bonus. Here a field kitchen provided us with the buffet we came to know and love every day (I say love….I know a few people who won’t be considering rice for their meals for a few weeks after this trip...sick of the sight of it!)

Lunch was also were I had my first long drop experience.

Not one I want to ever repeat.

 We in England are very spoilt when it comes to public conveniences – very molly coddled. As a westerner you come to expect a nice clean toilet, perhaps some sparkly white sinks with a little mirror above them where you can check your lippie.

Kenyans don’t have toilets like these. Nope. They have a hole in the ground in a shed (if you’re lucky). There’s no toilet roll, no nice sinks and….well no nothing….except a hole.

The smell is just indescribable.

However, that’s how the locals live and we all tried in vain not to moan about it too much as said locals had been kind enough to let 100 women use their facilities – would you like one hundred sweaty women tramping through your toilet?!

Whilst we were at the lunch stop, a local school came out and performed a few songs for us. The children were incredibly sweet and well behaved. Before we left we presented them with a collection of things – namely pens, pencils, paper, footballs etc – that we had all brought with us from England. The locals have nothing out in Kenya and so these things make a real difference (one of our bus drivers told us that they aren’t actually starving though as the soil is very fertile, meaning that they can grow their own crops).

After a little recuperation – talk about throwing us in at the deep end, we set off again. Through tea and coffee plantations where we stopped for a talk from one of the farmers who told us how they make the tea and coffee. I brought a sample for mom and dad, which might have been a mistake at that point as every time I opened my bag for the rest of the trip, I got a nose full of coffee!

Another school came out to sing for us at that point and again we gave them a selection of goodies. They waved us on our way, wishing us all the best for our epic journey.

The people are in fact incredibly friendly in Kenya. They line the sides of the road in most areas and used to shout “Jambo!” at us – Swahili for “Hello!” and “Howa yooou,” which we got used to shouting back breathlessly.

That afternoon we reached the equator. I’d been looking forward to this for a long, long time. I don’t know why, but the idea of crossing that imaginary line just excited me, but then so does popping bubble wrap – I’m a simple person!

I had started to find the journey quite a struggle before we reached this point and because I had been alone for a short stretch- having lost the people in front of me and being too far in front of the people behind - had really had to fight to get to that line. It was like my body was giving up on me. I was incredibly worried – I’d signed up for this challenge and now it seemed I was struggling to do it.

It wasn’t until I reached the equator that it became apparent why.

I stumbled off my bike, jelly legged and dizzy and managed to stand still long enough for someone to take my picture at the sign that tells you “You’ve reached the equator,” before one of the ladies said to me “You look a bit grey!” I then proceeded to be violently sick.

Lovely!

To this day I don’t know why I was. Kenya is actually higher than any point in Britain and so altitude sickness is extremely common, the food might have irritated me, the water…anything. Whatever it was made me very ill.

I had to laugh though. At the equator – as with many of the stopping points – were locals trying to sell their goods – jewellery, pottery, certificates, the usual – they’re a bit keen to say the least, which is fair enough – these guys have to make a living after all and money is extremely tight in Kenya. One of the ladies was so keen in fact that as I was bent over being sick she was trying to show me some of her souvenirs and couldn’t quite understand why I wasn’t overly interested at that point!!

We spent that night at Thomson’s Falls Lodge. I shared a room with Vikki and Becki, poor girls. I’d only met them that night and I spent most of it sleeping. I didn’t even make it to dinner. I was just so desperate to get my body better for the next day so that I didn’t miss any of the challenge.

That room was interesting. As with many of the rooms we stopped in over the week, there was more inhabitants than we first thought. Cockroaches and giant beetles were rife out there and you would often wake to find one had shared your pillow with you! Normally I’m quite squeamish, but I decided to embrace Kenyan life and actually got a bit disappointed if there wasn’t a little guest in a room! Crazy….must have been the heat!

Day four

Day Four

Another 5:30 am wake up call, only this one didn’t seem quite so bad – my body was obviously getting used to being woken up at ungodly hours. Plus, of course, I’d slept since about 8pm the previous night. I tried in vain to stomach breakfast but for every mouthful I forced down, I could feel it sitting in my throat waiting to come back up. Oh the joys of travel bugs!!!

There was absolutely no way I was going to let my stomach stop me from taking part in this challenge though, so I clipped on my helmet, pulled up my gloves, stuck two fingers up to sickness and off we went.

After a few hill climbs (mountain climbs!) we stopped at the viewpoint over the Rift Valley. It was just beautiful, stretching for miles and miles.  The sky was blue, the sun was out, I felt a little bit like bursting into song ala Julie Andrews in The Sound Of Music (I’m missing the cute little pixie crop though so I resisted). Henk collected us together and informed us that after all that hill work we now had a blissful 9km (5 mile) downhill.

We cheered in unison. Oh how naïve.

It was half way down, wondering if I might need a change in knickers, that I realised the downhills are just as bad as the uphills, only in reverse! Steep doesn’t even cover it and you’ve got the added chance that one of the locals might suddenly step out into the road or, even better, herd their cows out into the road just as you’re approaching at 30mph (which is pretty fast on a push bike), just to mix things up a bit.

Worse still was that it seemed that I was actually just being a big wuss, totally reinforced when Mags, our 70 year old Welsh member (an absolute pleasure to be around as she had a cracking sense of humour) whizzed past me, practically pirouetting on her handlebars, totally unafraid of the vertical drops (I so want to be like her when I’m 70….heck I want to be like her now!).  

When I got to the bottom, I peeled my hands off the handlebars and attempted to shake my hands loose again (remember the Friends episode when Chandler plays too much Pac Man and is left with ‘The claw?’…yep…. that’s pretty much how my hands looked!).

What goes up must come down and vice versa unfortunately, so once again at the bottom of that big old hill, we were faced with a big old climb – 4km (2 miles). The heat of the day was upon us and my stomach was empty. Everyone was tired, but we’re women and women don’t give up (that’s why we’re so good at nagging! You’ve got to have commitment people!).

It was tough, I’m not going to lie and for every few metres I did I had to get off the bike to drink or to heave a little bit. (God I was so attractive during this challenge – heaving, sweaty, clad in some serious lycra…..shudder!). All things must come to an end though and finally, finally, the top of the hill was in sight. Suddenly adrenaline kicked in and I powered it to the water stop, thankful at last to have a breather.

I decided enough was enough and went to seek out the doctor for some magic pills to stop me feeling sick. God love the wonders of modern medicine. Things after that became a lot easier thankfully. Elated after the hill climb and starting to feel a bit more human I found my energy again and cruised (sort of ) to the lunch stop.

This was infact our final stop of the day. We completed 35 miles and were then transported to our next hotel, which was about a two hour drive away in Baringo, a small village next to a fresh water lake.

The roads were pretty horrendous and at various points we had to get out so that the buses could navigate through what can only be described as craters, without the extra weight. I suspect also that we were made to get out incase the buses accidentally tipped over going through.

We arrived at the Soi Lodge late afternoon. Yet another interesting room. I lay down on my bed as soon as we arrived, only to sit up a few minutes later to find a cockroach had been eyeing me up about and inch away from where my head had been.

As the hotel was practically on the lake, we were offered a boat trip for about a fiver to go and see the hippos and crocodiles that lived in it. Again the scenery out on the water was just beautiful. It was exactly what you imagine when you think of Kenya, inhabited by a vast variety of exotic birds and fish. Locals paddled around in tiny canoes catching their tea, whilst eagles soared above us.

There was a bit of a panic when our driver wedged us in some bushes and then had to get out to push (knee deep in crocodile infested waters – I’ve never been one for horror films, let alone witnessing the real thing unfolding in front of me), but we survived…hurrah…and eventually came across the hippos. Despite their seemingly gentle nature, hippo’s are actually a tad violent so when had to keep our distance, especially after mommy hippo lunged for us as she protected her baby, but it was magical to watch them.

There was much excitement when a croc swam past, although I managed to miss it just by a millisecond as I was on the wrong side of the boat. I’ve seen other people’s pictures though and I reckon that monster had quaffed a few poor unsuspecting creatures in its time…talk about big!

Dinner that night was highly entertaining – not the meal I’m sorry to say, lovely food but still our bog standard menu of rice, potatoes and veg – as the staff put on a little show for us, dancing and singing and bringing out a giant cake to celebrate our achievements. I challenge even the most dance-shy person not to want to shake their money maker in Kenya, the beat is literally infectious and everyone gets involved. Kenyan celebrations have the kind of affect on you that a bottle of wine might – you want to get up on the tables and go wild- even though you’ve not touched a drop.

After our presentation, Ann gave a few motivational speeches. Each day we all nominated someone for cyclist of the day and if I remember rightly it was Kath who scooped the prize that evening. Kath lost her leg after a holiday, but she’s one of these people who refuses to let anything stop her, a true and utter inspiration to us all I think.

Henk ended the night by telling us that we had to be up mega early to transfer to Kabarnet the following day and we headed back to our rooms to shower and pack, just as the electric conked out. We showered by torch light and sporadically packed throughout the night when the power decided to switch itself on again for a few minutes, all the time growing nervous – tomorrow we faced THE HILL.

Day five

Day Five

The day we’d all been dreading. I remember sitting at the Women V Cancer Cycle Kenya meeting in London at the start of last year and listening to one of the speakers telling us about the dreaded hill. We had the option of doing Bronze level 6km (3 miles), Silver level (10 miles) or Gold level (16miles) and instantly I thought “pah, I’m going to do gold no problem.”

That was way back when I was a little naïve possibly even arrogant, hadn’t already done two days of long distance cycling and wasn’t suffering from a sickly stomach (which meant that I was still struggling to eat anything without that awful feeling that I might be seeing it again pretty soon!).

When we woke up that morning (in the dark – the leccy was still being a bit temperamental) and got on the buses for the transfer to Kabarnet, I genuinely started to wonder if I’d even manage to pedal my bike, let alone anything else.

Reaching Kabarnet, we started with a very steep 18km downhill (11mile). By now I was starting to get the hang of plummeting towards the bottom of things at nerve-shreddingly fast speeds and even found myself laughing at one of the locals who tried to amuse her friends by bouncing out into my path shouting “Jambo!” I was yet to pirouette on my handlebars, but hey, I was getting there.

As we started to flatten out though, I started to feel worse again. It was hot, I was exhausted and my legs were in talks with each other about taking strike action. I decided to grab a breather and snap some pictures of the scenery on either side of the road whilst my brain convinced my body that it could work a bit harder.

I’ve got some wicked pictures of termite hills thanks to my pit stops- they’d put our British moles to shame let alone the ants – seriously, some of those mounds were taller than me….then again most things are! (I realise that taking pictures of what was effectively a mound of soil is a bit strange, but I was genuinely fascinated by these wonders of the natural world…..I became David Attenborough!).

Eventually, through stopping and starting, I managed to get to ‘base camp,’ the water stop at the bottom of the hill. Pouring a rehydration sachet (those things are…to quote the late Jade Goody…proper minging!) into my water bottle and taking a deep breath, I convinced myself that I was ready to tackle it and after ten or fifteen minutes, joined the next handful of women to set off to start the climb.

By now (and because I’d dawdled along getting to the bottom of the hill) the heat of the day was pretty much upon us. I started to understand how bacon must feel when it gets dropped into a frying pan – quite uncomfortable!

It was also at this point that my inner voices came into play. That mythological Angel and Devil that sit either side of your head really aren’t all that mythological! In the blue corner I had my Angel telling me to keep going, reminding me of the support I had received from everyone at home and encouraging me to finish what I had started. In the red corner was my Devil. A giant monstrous demon, waving his pitchfork at me, screaming; “Why are you bothering? You aren’t going to finish this, look at the state of you!  Johnny Vegas would do a better job walking up this hill with a can of Carling and a fag in his hand. You’re pathetic!”

At this point I was on my own, having slipped behind my group and I started to feel that the Devil was going to win. Thankfully, and I remain eternally grateful for this, as I turned a corner, I stumbled upon Denise and promptly burst into tears for no other reason than I was just bloody knackered! It was the best thing I could have done, as after a bit of a weepy moment, (followed by a conversation with a random passing local) my Angel actually managed to land a drop kick right in the middle of the Devils face, knocking him flying out of my subconscious. We jumped on our bikes with a very “we can do this” attitude and set off again, gradually catching up with some more members of the group. Together we got to Bronze. It was the best feeling in the world when Angela (the rep from Ovarian Cancer) started running towards me shouting that we were there, we had done it!

We all celebrated with a head water and a drink of water!

Now, I quite like a bit of pampering – a massage here and there, a manicure, a facial when I’ve got a bit of spare dosh – but during my time in Kenya I learnt that there is no salon treatment on earth that will beat ‘The Head Water.’ A very simple procedure – tip your head upside down, whilst one of the men from the team very gently pours freezing cold water over your scalp, rubbing the hairline with his fingers- Oh. My. God! There are of course practical benefits of this – freezing cold water poured on your head instantly cools your body temperature down, essential when biking really far up bloody great mountains – but I don’t think that we were entirely all that bothered about that!!! Neither were we bothered when we stood up again looking like we were paying homage to The Joker out of Batman, all wild hair and makeup, it was worth it!

Over our celebratory drink of water, we started to discuss our next move. I was so, so tired and during that long pedal up to Bronze had started to think that maybe I would just finish there, but by now my Angel was pretty pumped. Not only that but the fantastic group of women that I reached Bronze with, were also pretty persuasive. “We could just go to the viewpoint before Silver and see how we get on from there,” one of them suggested. I shrugged- in for a penny, in for a pound.

We set off again, this time as a solid unit waiting for each other (okay, okay, the other ladies waited for me) every time we found a bit of shade. There’s a lot to be said for the power of a group of women. Men tend to think that when we get together all we do is bitch, gossip and moan….this is true….but we also become a force to be reckoned with. All our little Devils suddenly found that we weren’t going to listen to them anymore and vanished in a puff of smoke. The encouragement and support I experienced that day was just phenomenal. We got to the viewpoint just before Silver and cheered. Again, we had done it!

Photos were taken, head washes were ordered and bushes were peed in before we regrouped and asked each other; “So…..where do we go from here then?” Did we take the bus to the lunch stop, or did we get back on our saddles?

There was only ever going to be one answer.

The climb to Silver after the viewpoint was horrifically steep, I mean if I had lay down on the road, I would have been practically standing up. Even the trucks and lorries going up to the top were really struggling to drag themselves up there. I realise it sounds very much like I’m exaggerating, but really, I’m not. There is literally no way to describe ‘The Hill’ to you to make it believable, unless of course you have done it yourself, in which case are you still having nightmares about it or is that just me?!

We persevered though, powering away in our little bubble of determination. There was a slight embarrassing moment when Claude, one of our guides, offered me a digestive biscuit at one of our pit stops on the way up and I burst into tears again – honestly, I’ve never been so emotional as I was on this trip, it was like my body had stored all my hormones up for a year and then released them on that hill. I mean, granted, Digestives aren’t the best biscuits in the world, they certainly don’t match up to say….Custard Creams or Jammy Dodgers, but they’ve never made me cry before!

The heat at this point was unbearable (I think somebody said it was 40 degrees that day) and there was very little shade around. With every push of the pedals you could feel your heart frantically beating blood around your body and if you were unlucky enough to bend your head too close to your armpit…eugh…it wasn’t good!

With every bend in the road, we prayed for the finish line, but with every bend just came…well….another bend! I don’t know what time we actually managed to hit Silver because by that point I could barely remember my own name, but I do remember the sheer pride we all felt for our group, the teary hugs and the manic grins that spread across our faces. I have never achieved anything so physically demanding before in my life and I did it because of the group of ladies I cycled up that bloody hill with. They were so patient and supportive and just generally wonderful!

We didn’t manage Gold because we weren’t allowed to attempt it due to timing restrictions, but I think I speak for us all when I say that we didn’t care. We had achieved something so phenomenal in our minds and as a united group as well, that it really didn’t matter. I take my hat off to the girls that did get there because I honestly don’t know how they did it.

When we got to the lunch stop pretty much everyone else was already there – either they had reached Gold at crazy speeds or had been picked up at various points on the buses – and they all clapped us as we arrived. It was a very proud moment I have to say.

I have to say that the whole group in general were always really supportive throughout the whole trip from the super athletes right down to those who found the experience very tough, we all just sort of kept each other going, clapping and cheering those behind at every stop, congratulating those that made them before we did. There was no competition, no judgement, just this immense pride radiating from everybody that we had done it together.

We ate a hurried lunch as we had to complete the journey to Eldoret before dark and then tentatively climbed back on the bikes and after a “short climb, nothing really to worry about” (Henk!!!) we hit some blissful down hills. Not the sort that gave you a temporary face lift as the wind hit you, but the sort that meant you could pedal and bit and then sit pretty as your bike whizzed along on its own. Total relief for our tired and battered bodies.

Along the way we were accosted by hoards of local children – some tried their luck by smacking a lycra clad butt or two – and eventually we arrived in Eldoret and at our hotel The Hotel Sirikwa. We abandoned our bikes on the turning circle of the car-park and collapsed tired, dirty, sunburnt and proud outside the front lobby, cheering everybody as they arrived and congratulating each other on what had been one of the most physically challenging days most of us had ever faced.

At dinner that night, Ann told us that we were one of the most united groups she had ever seen.

If I hadn’t realised it before, I now knew that I was a part of something very special.

Day six

Day Six

Woke up relieved to find that I hadn’t received any nasty mosi bites (last night was the first time that my bed didn’t have a mosquito net and I was massively paranoid, despite the fact that I had practically bathed in Deet, so much so that no actual living thing would have wanted to come near me let alone the tiny lungs of a mosi!!) and still on a high from the day before.

Henk delivered our second Henkism over breakfast; “The traffic will be quite bad,” he said, “Just be a little aware of it.”

As we left Eldoret and headed towards Kakamega we realised that “traffic will be quite bad,” meant “traffic is on a par with the M1 at rush hour…and none of it will give a damn about you.” The roads weren’t great either. As we travelled through busy villages we created a chorus of “Pothole!”,“Speed bump!”, “Lorry!”, “car!” and at one point “PIG!” as one particularly amorous hog took a chance and tried to cross the road in front of us.

The speed bumps in particular did their best to slow us down, creating a number of accidents along the way which resulted in various cuts and bruises and a potential broken wrist as cyclists left, right and centre flipped over their handlebars. It seems laughable that a few lumps of concrete thought that they could defeat those brave women though and each and everyone dusted themselves down and got back on their bikes regardless.

I know you might be imagining speed bumps at home by this point and wondering how on earth one might miss such a great big thing, but the speed bumps in Kenya are narrow, come in threes and are often disguised by the amount of people milling around near them, meaning that if you are busy trying to swerve out of the path of one of the locals, there’s every chance you might not see the looming bump until it’s too late to do anything about it.  The same goes for the potholes along the roads. I thought Britain was bad for dodgy tarmac, but it’s nothing compared to Kenya where craters suddenly appear where you least expect them. I don’t think there’s any pain quite like the one you get from hitting a pothole you haven’t seen. Most of us would have been singing Soprano had we been men!

The lunch stop was particularly memorable and not only because it came with a fully stocked fizzy pop shop….mmmm….sugar!!

The majority of the women in the group had taken on the challenge because of someone that they had lost to cancer, myself included. For some, like me, it had been years ago, but for some the pain was still very, very raw.

 Ann and Henk announced that we would have a minutes silence to remember all those who couldn’t be with us anymore and for those that were still suffering. That minute really brought home just what we were out in Kenya for – although I’m sure that the majority of us had never really forgotten. It was nice to have a moment to reflect and remember our loved ones together as a group.

In that moment was also hope. Hope for a better future, where the money that we had raised throughout the challenge would make a difference to someone’s life and hope that one day there might be a cure.

As we set off again everybody seemed quiet and it was obvious to see just what a devastating affect cancer has on those who have suffered and those who are left behind. I made a pact to myself that for as long as I live I will continue to raise funds for charities that try to fight back – (yeah…sorry about that folks…that does indeed mean that I will be nagging you to come along to my fundraisers for years to come!!!).

The rest of our journey was very much the usual….pothole, speed bump, lone cow, HILL! A “Jambo,” here, a “Howa yoooou,” there, a few random shouts of “let me pick one of you to be my wife,” from the locals. We covered the 92km for the day pretty quickly…then again, 57 miles was nothing to us now, a mere pedal round the park!!!

At the finish line we were transported by bus to the Golf Hotel in Kakamega. As the sun went down we treated ourselves to hot showers and ‘Tuskers,’ (Kenyan beer) before dinner.

After we had eaten that night, Angela (The rep from Ovarian Cancer), was invited to give us a talk, again to kind of reinforce why we were out doing this crazy challenge, but also to inform us about the signs of Ovarian Cancer.

“Ovarian cancer currently kills one woman every two hours in the UK, and British women are less likely than women in Europe and the Western world to survive longer than one year from diagnosis. Early diagnosis of ovarian cancer is very important.  If the disease is found in the early stages, up to 90% of women will survive for more than five years.  Unfortunately, most women in the UK are not diagnosed with ovarian cancer until it has already spread, making successful treatment difficult and survival rates much lower,” (http://www.ovarian.org.uk/) which is why Angela goes out and gives talks on the subject and also why I asked her if I could print her story.

There are no particular tests for Ovarian Cancer in that they are not included in your cervical smear screening or in STD tests that you might (should) have regularly. When Angela first went to the doctors her stomach was massively bloated, so much so that she had to wear maternity trousers, she was so tired that she was sleeping on the office floor during the day and she couldn’t go to the toilet. In fact she took laxatives every day for five months just to try and go, but when she did it was sheer agony. The doctors told her it was a severe wheat allergy and to try to cut it out.

This went on for a year and Angela wasn’t convinced that what they were telling her was right and asked to be referred to a specialist, but was informed that she would have to be put on a waiting list and that it could take months and months to get an appointment. By this point she was totally fed up and finding it difficult to care for her six year old son and so she took matters into her own hands and asked to be referred privately. Of course, the doctors suddenly found an appointment had opened up at the end of that week!!!

When the specialist saw Angela, he asked her why she hadn’t been to him before. Scans showed a large tumour and she was immediately booked in for treatment. By this point Angela had Stage Four Ovarian Cancer, the most advanced form of the disease where ovarian cancer cells have started to spread into other organs of the body. Put shortly, Angela shouldn’t even be here.

She will now undergo various treatments for the rest of her life, keeping the cancer at bay. Doctors have told her that she has survived largely because of her strict exercise regime and amazingly positive mental attitude and it is amazing.

Up until this point I had no idea just what Angela had been through. I didn’t even know she had had cancer and we had ridden together numerous times throughout the challenge. All I knew was that she was extremely supportive, motivational, friendly and fun….oh and that she had a love for beautiful earrings which I often admired!!! I just couldn’t believe how positive she was and after what she had been, and continues to go through. Not only that, but instead of letting cancer defeat her, she had stuck two fingers up to it and taken on this massive challenge too. She will forever remain one of my role models in life. Whenever the shit hits the fan, or things get me down, I will turn my thoughts to her and know that if she can remain so positive then so can I.

I hope that by telling Angela’s story that someone reading this that might recognise those symptoms in either themselves or in a loved one, will do something about it. Fight the doctors, you have a right to be listened to and most importantly focus on your mental attitude, because in the end it will be that which saves you.

I don’t think anyone left that dining hall that night without a tear in their eye.

Tomorrow was the last cycle day, the end of our challenge, but I don’t think I speak for myself when I say (very cheesily…sorry!!) that this trip had been the start of new attitudes to life.