lymphoma cancer is not a \'battle\', it\'s just part of me
It grabs slowly, and then holds firmly.
\"You must have lymphoma,\" said the doctor one day, at some point in the beginning or end of the year, looking harmless and I can\'t remember the exact moment or expression.
This is just the latest development in the long diagnostic process.
It started with some strange blood test results from pregnancy nine years ago.
After I did a further uncertain test with my newborn daughter in my arms, an expert was excited to announce that he had solved the mystery and predicted an automatic
Immune condition in the next 10 years.
I think he is a little weird and lacks social skills.
He proved right.
I have been in the position of ABC European reporter for about five years.
I\'m tired of people telling me how tired I look, but I can\'t argue with the assessment.
My eyes are swollen and itchy every day when I wake up, and it looks like a party in the early hours of the morning, but I work very hard, have two children, and it\'s getting bigger and bigger. Middle-
Age is really bad, I think.
But there were some persistent problems, I swallowed some food and didn\'t feel like I was in danger of choking and the lymph nodes under my chin were always swollen.
I started a series of tests in London, but we moved back to Australia before we figured out the truth.
It was mentioned at the time that cancer was a possibility, automatic
Immune condition Sjogren\'s, eventually diagnosed in the medium term2017.
Sjogren\'s brings a higher risk
He Jiejin\'s lymphoma, a cancer of the lymphatic system that starts with white blood cells.
Before the lymphoma was finally confirmed, another half year of acute events occurred in my spleen.
My son started high school about the time my dad died.
I changed another department and went back to the shift. work.
I was so busy and depressed.
I honestly don\'t feel like I have time to think too much about it.
It seems to me that this is a cruel coincidence because nausea and fatigue really intensify and I have a sofa sitting behind the place where I work.
The edit room upstairs is another bigger sofa I fantasize about.
On particularly bad days I would stare at the meeting room and wonder if anyone would notice if I climbed down the table and lay down for 20 minutes.
I found that fatigue is not really sleepy.
Snoozing avoids the devastating feeling of not being able to hold your head upright.
But I will soon be as slow as before.
Direct thinking becomes an ongoing challenge.
I imagine these thoughts have to go through the thick fog in my brain.
Exercise is almost impossible.
I changed from the slowest person in a running club to the slowest runner.
\"Come on, you can go faster!
As I walked through the difficult times, a passionate member of the club shouted.
\"I really can\'t. \" My body screamed.
I have been jogging a lot for more than 20 years.
This is how I think about the events of the day, look at the new city, think about the lines I should use in the story, and have an understanding of my personal life.
This is my place. I can\'t do it anymore.
A few months ago, I filmed an encouraging story in Brisbane about a young man with autism.
My job is to carry a bag with lighting equipment.
I was dizzy and almost vomiting.
I just want to rest on the street.
I occasionally flash this scene in my mind.
Just the moment I knew I was really crashing.
A variety of tests, scans and biopsies were carried out during this period and the final decision was made to switch to treatment.
\"You will definitely lose your hair,\" said the nurse gently . \".
It\'s hard to describe how nervous it is to lose hair.
This is a public representation of what is happening internally, which means that you no longer have control over the information.
Shower and blow
The drying of the hair is equivalent to taking a blood bath.
No matter how much hair you sweep from the bathroom floor, more hair will appear immediately.
\"Has anyone got a haircut here?
My son asked one day.
As I walk around trying to hide the balding patch, I put the glasses on my head.
One day my daughter\'s friend said, \"You look strange . \".
I decided it was time to bite my teeth and change my wig.
I have decided that I will post my cancer diagnosis on Facebook when this moment comes.
Telling others alone is exhausted.
Nothing can prepare me for the outpouring of love and support I have encountered.
It\'s an emotionally stressful weekend to read and respond to messages from far and near.
Then Monday morning, I realized with a sinking feeling that I had to move from the virtual world to the real world with a damn wig.
People are always very kind.
They will tell you the stories of those successful friends and instinctively protect you from the stories of those who have not succeeded.
This may be a good thing.
The fact that my childhood friend in Scotland died of cancer last month is something I am still trying to deal.
The news about Australian golfer Jarrod Lyle made me sad that he was the father of two young girls and until now I have not paid attention to their profession and illness.
Recently my partner shaved off most of my hair and made me look less crazy and more like a failed punk.
It was a little funny, but a little heartbreaking, and I endured tears as much as I did, when a News reminder popped up on my phone announcing that US Senator John McCain had died of a brain tumor.
I also stayed on this news for too long.
There is, however, much to be appreciated.
Lymphoma is the sixth most common cancer and has a very good chance of survival: at the age of five, 76
The annual mark of Australia.
I often feel that I am not worthy of the attention I have received now, because I feel that I am relatively OK.
I am also the best of 50 people.
If so, I\'m nearly half a century old.
Most importantly, this did not happen to my child and I was lucky to have the child before the treatment disrupted my fertility.
Oh, how did you Google when you started chemo!
Every night, I enter words in search engines next to \"lymphoma\" or \"chemotherapy.
After \"sunken eyes\" suggested that it might be a sign of imminent death, I took a short break.
Once, when I was tired of all the symptoms associated with lymphoma or chemotherapy, I randomly started typing some in the experiment;
\"Itchy elbow in chemotherapy\" or \"cold feet in chemotherapy \".
The strike rate is about 50 cents.
One day, a friend said, \"This is a story about what we tell ourselves . \".
I think a lot.
I\'m not the woman who\'s fighting cancer.
While the combat narrative clearly inspires a lot of people, it doesn\'t resonate with me.
Perhaps because there is no tumor site, the cancer spreads to my lymphatic system.
Maybe it\'s because I don\'t want to fight.
It\'s hard enough.
This is also because I have a certain fatalism in my heart.
Now is part of me, forever.
It is not yet known what caused cancer.
I\'m not sure if it has scientific support, but I think it may have been a part of me all the time --
Now it releases its anger.
I have joined the ranks of beans and bruises and I am happy with that.
In a strange way, when I was sitting in the waiting room with them, I felt that it was easier to breathe and relax.
These are my people now.
Greek, Chinese, Thai, Scottish, we are all here, waiting, curious.
I have received four rounds of chemotherapy so far.
These drugs are really effective.
In the days after chemotherapy, I didn\'t feel very good.
Tired but taking steroids and nausea at the same time.
But in general, I feel better now than in the past few years.
At the end of the second week of three weeks
During the weekly treatment cycle, I occasionally forget that I have cancer.
I started jogging by bike again.
Outside you will see me dragging my heavy pace with little progress.
Inside, I flew high, and on the bay near my house, I flew above the water.
When I got to the end, I felt like I was a million dollars.
I know it may be a temporary respite, but the boy feels good.
This weekend is World Lymphoma day.
As a journalist, I\'m usually reluctant to mark these days.
As a cancer patient, I found out what that means.
Many cancer patients told me and gave me comfort in my later reports-
Internet access at night.
I hope some of them can find something relevant here.
I share your pain, your worries, your fatigue.
Surgeon and cancer expert Chris O\'Brien quoted a quote in the foyer of the life building he conceived before he died of a brain tumor in 2009.
It says: It seems to be a good start.
Barbara is a senior reporter for ABC News and former ABC European journalists.
Twitter: @ abc barbmtopics: cancer, children, death, family-and-