Blood, breast and bone

What multiple myeloma and breast cancer taught me about life and death.

It might be a little late in the day to say this, but Happy New Year and hello to my new subscribers. Last month on New Year’s Eve, I celebrated the end of 2022 by posting a video on TikTok. It was my full hair growth transformation, from bald to mullet after breast cancer treatment. You can watch the video here:

Fiona Cowan (@ficowan) TikTok | Watch Fiona Cowan's Newest TikTok Videos

I gained over 11,000 views as a result and stats for the Double C newsletter shot through the roof. So, thank you. But 2022 was also the year when my husband, William, was diagnosed with multiple myeloma and that’s what this month’s edition of Double C is all about. It’s called ‘Blood, breast and bone’ and if you’re listening to the audio version, narrated by yours truly, Fiona Cowan (Music by AG Soundtrax on Envato Elements).

I hope you enjoy.

When you get a cancer diagnosis life as you know it stops, and the scariest thing is no one tells you how to restart.

For me, life after lump (my only breast cancer symptom) changed super fast. First I had chemo, then surgery, then five weeks later radiotherapy, then immunotherapy and that was just the life-saving stuff… Not the mere inconveniences like self-injecting growth factors to stimulate white blood cells, or smearing some kind of weird cream on a beaming nipple that was threatening to pop.

I’m a blazing ad for radiation as a therapy that gives you a certain glow.

Image credit: The Guardian)

William, on the other hand, waited six months in agony before he was finally treated for multiple myeloma – five months after my diagnosis. But here’s the really shitty thing: unlike me he’s never smoked, is super fit and save for the odd beer now and then, barely drinks.  Yet he still managed to grow an incurable blood cancer.

Seems it’s a really sneaky disease myeloma. It attacks your bones and the first symptoms are difficult to detect. Particularly in the early stages when aches and pains get mistaken for minor ailments. We now know this stage is called smouldering myeloma, a pre-cancerous condition that can be controlled with pills before it bursts into flames.

All it takes is a simple urine test and a savvy doctor to diagnose the disease fast. The only problem was no one suspected that William, who’s young and built like a brick house, could get multiple myeloma (it’s generally considered an ‘elderly’ person’s disease).

Even when Rhi drove him to hospital with such excruciating chest pain he could barely breathe, the doctor just papped him off with painkillers and suggested he lay off the weights. Codeine didn’t help since it causes constipation (a torture that only intensified his grief). Instead of a pulled muscle, William had been bench pressing 140 kilos with fractured ribs – no wonder he couldn’t breathe.

After three more trips to A&E involving much head scratching and inconclusive blood tests, there were moments when I wondered if it was all in his mind.  Yes, he could barely sneeze without screaming and driving over speedbumps made him yelp, but William had form for exaggerating. This is why when he rang one evening to tell me it might be myeloma, I suggested a rest on the couch.

Great advice if he wasn’t flat on his back already having a bone biopsy.

What are the odds of a husband and wife being diagnosed with cancer just months apart? Or, to put it another way, what are the odds that our diagnosis will give us some perspective on life and death?

In the past we just got sick then better, though truthfully speaking those days were few. As well as a home, he and I exercised and built a gym together: a cable machine, squat cage, ropes, straps, chains. It was all rather sexy really - fifty shades of grey packed into our garage. Except, we weren’t in to S&M.  

Like Bret Contreras, he had me doing hip thrusts and glute bridges – my butt never looked so good. William didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer either, it was ass to the grass or a kick up the ass. How lucky to be married to a man who doubled as my personal trainer. Did I ever think that before now?

When we first met, he was leaning against a wall in Glasgow Central Station – blue eyes, dark hair, his head tilted towards the arrival board. He looked even better than his profile picture (all chiselled features and square jaw) and I felt shy, so pretended not to notice him… until he was there in front of me.  

William was an Englishman in Glasgow, who like me, was dipping his toes into online dating after a failed relationship. On our first date, he smelled of Chanel Allure and wore a beige pea coat. I was a Glasgow girl, studying English literature and fantasising endlessly about deliciously dark and broody men like Heathcliff and Mr. Rochester.

Yet I later found out that his looks and those broody blue eyes that had me thinking of dangerous liaisons and well… what lay under that coat were not who William was at all. He was a dad, a divorcee and his looks weren’t dangerous. He was just a regular guy. But his lips did taste sweet and I began to think that vanilla could be as sexy as the unconventional.

So, four years later we got married.

But I have to tell you, our prospects weren’t looking good. We were complete opposites. William approached life with a logical, analytic energy while I threw caution to the wind. He spoke confidently and I softly. We didn’t know how to argue either. I got angry, he stayed silent. I hated that. He was thrifty, I was a spendthrift - we just didn’t seem to want the same things in life.

By the time we reached our first wedding anniversary, we were locked into a mortgage with three stepchildren - trying mightily not to piss each other off. But we finally acknowledged one day that even though our idiosyncrasies might feel like motive for throttling each other, there were qualities about ‘us’ that we valued too.

We were best friends and intellectual soul mates, sharing an outsider’s view of the world that made us laugh. On Saturday mornings he brought me coffee in bed and we gossiped, giggled and gabbed non-stop for hours. I often wondered if we should be doing something more productive with our day. But I now know how precious those carefree Saturdays really were.

In 2017, we were working flat-out while studying for master degrees and our children felt the brunt of that. Except by then, they had developed a taste for teenage freedom and we discovered why some animals eat their young.

When it looked like William might lose his job, I worried that it would disrupt our union. How will we pay the bills? What will it do to us as a family?  The pittance I earned as a library assistant barely fed our cats, but he had irons in the fire. “There’s no point in thinking the worst,” he said.

Turned out he was almost right.

By 2021, I was working in education and William for a company that sent him all over the world. We had a little money and a nice car.  Sometimes we would take a vacation together. Sometimes we took the whole family. But the best times were when we were all home, with feet up in our jammies.

Before William was diagnosed that clear blue February day in 2022, neither of us had seen it coming. I had just completed six rounds of chemotherapy treatment to cure my breast cancer. Seven days later, he began palliative care to improve his quality of life.

Remembering that moment, is like seeing a kaleidoscope spiralling into black. How can my husband have an incurable cancer? There were mornings when, after I was admitted to hospital in shock, I just wanted to sleep and never wake up. If I managed to clean my teeth or eat, I counted the day a win.

Six months later, William had a stem cell transplant. Three weeks later, I began bringing him coffee in bed and started tying his shoelaces and lifting his feet up and down the stairs. I also took over things like hauling the wheelie bins up the drive. But our neighbour must have seen me struggling because every Tuesday morning without word, he still takes care of those.

We talked about it and didn’t talk about it. William had learned to accept his diagnosis and I had learned not to feel so angry. When he found enough breath, we walked – one small step and then another. Even if we only managed the garden, it was a giant leap for him.

That was five months ago – five long months of stretching those small steps into strides. William knows that he could no longer workout like he did before. But there’s smaller weights and a few kettlebells that he’s pretty fond of, and the pulley machine. He loves that, especially now that he’s in remission.

As for me – a pathologic complete response is what my oncologist calls it – I’m officially cancer free… Except, the myeloma will come back.

The thought distracts us. We sit, unable to make long-term plans - not knowing exactly how to restart. But instead of thinking we’d rather die than live without each other, we’re thinking after such an extraordinary life together, lets live a little more.  

Thanks for reading Double C by Fiona Cowan. If you enjoyed this month’s issue or know someone who might like it, you can subscribe and share the newsletter by adding your email below. You can also follow me on Twitter @cowan_fiona and Instagram here: fiona_c_cowan

Comments and feedback are always welcome. But in the meantime, have a wonderful Rabbie Burns night if you’re celebrating and please stay tuned for the next edition of Double C.

Fiona

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