Caring for Claire

Often, GoFundMe pages are set up by concerned friends and families in an effort to support a loved one through a tough time. But, unfortunately, I am that friend, I am that family member.

You should all know that I HATE the term “journey” so I will instead tell you a bit about my story and how I have ended up here writing this blurb, instead of sitting where you are reading it.

Most women with Ovarian Cancer aren’t diagnosed until the insidious disease has spread throughout the body. So, when I was first diagnosed in 2018, I was at Stage 3, and instantly knew why this cancer is known as “silent killer”. After a radical hysterectomy and more than 20 rounds of chemo my outlook was positive, my PET scan showed ‘No Evidence of Disease’ and I thought the nightmare was over.

Just last month I was elated, no ecstatic, after being told my blood tests showed no sign of cancer in my body and my PET scan was clear. This was almost a year to the day after my final chemo infusion. Just two days after that blood test, in some cruel twist of fate, I presented to the doctor with stomach pain. I was sure it was an issue with my appendix. After tests, more tests, scans, and diagnostic surgery - my worst fears were realised. The big C was back. This time there was no surgery option – the cancer was back with a vengeance and had spread. STAGE 4 Ovarian Cancer.

They say a cancer diagnosis is much like riding a roller coaster. In my experience that analogy could not be more true, and, unfortunately, I’ve just reboarded the biggest MF’er of a big dipper going around.

This time, instead of following the rules, I am challenging my doctors to do more.  I point-blank refuse to leave any stone unturned. As a Mum, and with my kids still so young, I cannot let this beast do the unthinkable. I will do whatever it takes to be there by their side as they grow-up.

The money that you donate (and a big heartfelt thank you for doing so) will be spent on trying a range of different therapies to help me beat this diagnosis. At this early stage I’m still exploring the many alternate therapies available. There’s no doubt treating cancer is an expensive business. With extra funds I’ll be able to try a range of different approaches that would otherwise be unaffordable. If there’s a retreat - I’ll get there, organic produce - I’ll buy it, natural therapies, meditation, counselling – I’ll give all of it a red hot go.  

My son Callum, eight, is a quiet shy boy. We share a deep deep bond. Tyler, ten, is growing up quickly to become more friend than daughter but she’s sensitive and still needs regular reassurance from her Mum. A few months back she was diagnosed with severe scoliosis. With a 60-degree bend in her spine she’ll spend the next five years of her life in a fibreglass back brace.  We’ve been told spinal surgery is almost guaranteed before her 15th birthday. At just ten my little girl has dealt with more heartache and grown up issues than most people twice her age.

With an Irish-expat Mum, Callum and Tyler don’t have the safety and security of family living here in Australia. Their grandparents, aunties, uncles and cousins all live in Ireland. And, despite a very close friendship group who adore my children, I know nothing replaces blood.

So, as I tackle cancer for the second time, with your support, I’m hoping to buy myself hope. Help me make sure I can continue to look both my children in the eyes and tell them honestly that I am doing whatever I can to be well and to keep our bond for as long as I can.

With hope, anything is possible.