Marisa 'eM' Louw

  Wednesday, 4 December 2019 - Tomorrow will be my seventh chemotherapy session. It feels almost unreal to think that I’m already on Day 41 of my 126-day chemo treatment cycle. My hair started falling out on Day 25. Other than that, I cannot say that I have any noticeable side-effects (yet).  Let’s talk about hair loss. When I speak to women in the breast cancer support group, most of them fear hair loss more than any of the other chemotherapy side-effects. I can understand why. Without hair you are exposed. But you must know that hair does not make you who you are. It is not easy having to face the real you, stripped naked for the world to see. You cannot hide the sadness in your eyes by letting your hair fall over your face. And you cannot express sensuality by untying your hair from a bun and shaking it loose to fall over your shoulders. Like the sexy biker-chick that takes off her helmet, or the swimsuit model who gets out of the pool. We use our hair to voice our mood, whether we

  It's been a while since my last real social interaction with a group of people and this weekend's social activities made me realise it may be a good idea to give everyone an update on my health. Living a normal life I am blessed not having experienced any chemo side-effects so far after four sessions. I shaved my hair by choice and am keeping it short, just in case it starts falling out. I am up and about and am not quite sure why people were so surprised to see me at work this weekend. My cancer diagnoses is not a death sentence and there is no reason for me to be bedridden. My body is recovering from four surgeries since August 2019, all under general anesthetic, and the side-effects from anesthesia and all the antibiotics are leaving me slightly fatigued and with a little 'brain fog' at times.  I have a healthy appetite, I sleep well, I go to gym, I play outside with my animals, I wash the car, I work in the garden... I’m pretty much living a normal life. And I am

  Friday, 1 November 2019 - Over the last three months Fridays have almost lost that ‘happy’ feeling because hubby and I have been spending them mostly in doctors’ consulting rooms or in the hospital. But it is strange how one gets used to it. Very much the same way I had to get used to spending between four and six hours in the car every other day to drive to and from Parys for client meetings in Johannesburg. Some projects required me to make the commute daily. Although it is a pretty relaxing drive for most of the trip, the traffic in Johannesburg can be brutal and at best unpredictable. If you are feeling ill, or had a bad night’s sleep, or in a bad mood the trip feels extra long. And no matter how ‘good’ the day has been, one is generally exhausted by the time you get back home, especially if you have been the driver all day long. But this blog post is not about commuting; I just wanted you to know that my medical team is not 10 km away, but 130 km. This is my reason for being so

  Friday, 25 October 2019 - I wake up in an anxious mood. If the surgeon is happy with how my wounds are healing I will be starting chemo today. Hubby is irritable this morning. I guess it is because we never know what is going to happen when we meet the surgeon. Each time we go there it seems as if something else is wrong: complications, more surgery, more complications, more procedures... What will today bring? Should I pack an overnight bag for yet another hospital stay?  At 8 am we got into to the car and I tackled the trip from Parys to Rosebank behind the wheel of the Black Widow. We arrived just in time for my 9:45 am appointment. The surgeon examined my wounds and expressed happiness at the healing process. My left wound still has stitches in after last week’s fat necrosis complication and my right breast is healing really well after the debridement procedure on 27 September. New skin is growing nicely and have covered almost the full area of the wound. He gives me the go-ahea

© Norman G Geldenhuys - 1975 I walk this Earth, sampling with thanks and pleasure the gifts She offers. I weep at the ravage as Her bountiful resources are raped and plundered. I shun the ways of the young and restless, who seek gratification in financial means only, and I abhor, as nature abhors a vacuum, the mindless collections of the materialistic. For my ways are simple, and my needs are few. My pleasures cannot be bought for any price, only those on the path may attain them. The breathtaking beauty of a sunset, and the glorious splendor of a full moon, bind me, and make me one with the cosmic greatness of the universe. I know, as do my kin, that at these mystic times, I am infused, nay, blessed with the greatness and wonder of the Lady, She who walks the heavens, She who is the Mother of all. I celebrate the changing seasons, and accept that in all endings there is a beginning, and in all beginnings an ending. I know that the process of death starts at the moment of birth, and th

  It is so easy for negative thoughts to consume you. At first, you don't realise it much, but later one negative word can affect everything you think and do. When you focus on the negative it can destroy you from the inside out.  Since my breast cancer diagnoses at the end of July, the word 'cancer' became an obsession. Almost like the squirrel-obsessed dog in the movie Up. In the four weeks following my diagnoses, I went for a myriad of diagnostic tests and at least two doctors' appointments every week. My first thoughts when waking up was about cancer and the many 'what ifs' that accompany any life-threatening disease. At this time I was very busy at work, so did not have much time to consult Dr Google too much. Then I had a mastectomy. The four weeks following the surgery was the worst. It is much easier for negativity to take over your life when your head feels like it is attached to a stranger's body. Having never had any kind of surgery before in my l

  I'm scrolling through the Twitter hashtag #BreastCancerAwarenessMonth and even though there are more stories of survival than anything else, I cannot deny that I am afraid. My body is recovering well after the three surgeries I had on 1 August (lumpectomy - 1 hour), 30 August (bilateral mastectomy and reconstructive surgery - 3 hours), and 29 September (debridement - 1 hour). Yesterday I managed to drive the 140 km from Parys to Joburg and back for business meetings. I was fatigued and sore by the time I arrived back home, but I am slowly getting my independence back. My body is still suffering some unpleasant side effects from being on antibiotics non-stop since 30 August. The last dose is today and hopefully, I won't be put onto another course when I see the surgeon tomorrow for a follow-up. Tomorrow I'm also meeting another oncologist for a second opinion. The first oncologist still hasn't confirmed to me in person what stage my cancer is in. I have a stack of rep

  On the 8th of July, I went for a routine mammogram and on the 23rd of July it was confirmed - I have breast cancer. Following an array of diagnostics tests and surgery, I finally sat opposite my oncologist on the 21st of August receiving the news that I have aggressive Grade 3 invasive lobular breast cancer. A week later I was admitted to hospital for a bilateral (double) skin-saving mastectomy and direct to implant breast reconstruction. Today, on the 16th of September, I heard that I will start chemotherapy in the next two or three weeks. But let's take a step back and allow me to explain a few things. Cancer cells were found in my right breast. My type of cancer is stimulated by estrogen and it has aggressive growth patterns. During the mastectomy, we managed to obtain what the doctors call surgical clearance. This means that all the cancer cells were removed during the surgery. A total of eight lymph nodes were removed around the area of the cancer (six in the right breast an

  As you may be aware by now, I have been diagnosed with aggressive grade 3 invasive lobular breast cancer about three weeks ago. I have since had a bilateral (double) mastectomy and will be finding out whether I will be receiving chemotherapy this coming Monday. Those of you who know me knows that I am level-headed and able to do multiple things at once. I am a hard worker who is dedicated to my clients and work-related commitments. My personal affairs have always played second fiddle. But over the past three weeks, I had to learn to put my personal affairs first. And it came with several sacrifices - some by choice and others forced. Being diagnosed with cancer has, so far, been an administrative nightmare! First and most frustrating is being passed from doctor to doctor to doctor. And each visit comes with diagnostic tests and a medical bill that is not covered by my entry-level hospital plan. My inbox looks like a tornado hit it with all the invoices from doctors, pathologists, rad

  It has been five days since my bilateral skin-saving mastectomy and direct to implant breast reconstruction. I want to share my story of how post-operative complications broke my spirit, and about the knight in shining armour that came to my rescue. I am 45-years old and this is my second surgical procedure ever in my life, both in the same month. Eight weeks ago I was healthier than 95% of women my age, and today I suffer from water retention, fatigue, digestive problems, a dry mouth, and blurry vision. I cannot bathe myself or wash my hair. I can't get in and out of bed without someone physically helping me. And the worst of all, I cannot feed or hold my furry children. Those who know me understand that I am independent and ambitious. But now I find myself helpless... and with a broken spirit.  It all started yesterday morning with a call from the surgeon's office: "Mrs Louw, the labs found a bacteria in the tissue that doctor removed that must have come from the previ

  Friday, 30 August 2019: At 10:04 I stepped into the ring to begin my fight against grade 3 invasive lobular breast cancer with a bilateral skin-saving mastectomy and reconstructive surgery. Let me tell you a little more about the first round. We (my hubby Stéfan Louw and I) left home at 05:00 that morning so that we can be at the Rosebank Clinic at 07:00 for admission. The admission process was smooth and handled very professionally and efficiently by Thabiso (if I remember his name correctly).  Upon arriving at the ward I was very surprised to learn that I have a private room. The nursing staff were very friendly and helpful, and started with the admission tests immediately. Once my patient file had been opened and all my vitals recorded, I was escorted down to the nuclear medical science department in the basement of the hospital. This is where an isotope scan and marking of the lymph nodes took place. It is important to mark the lymph nodes so that the surgeon can remove them for

  After six emotionally draining weeks, the day that I will step into the ring and start my fight against breast cancer is around the corner. On Friday, 30 August I will be undergoing a bilateral skin-saving mastectomy and direct to implant breast reconstruction. What does this mean? An oncological surgical team will remove both my breast organs after which a reconstructive team will immediately begin to reconstruct my breasts. The surgical procedure will last between two and three hours. After the procedure, I will be in a high-care unit and should be discharged after three nights. The surgical sites will be drained for about 10 days and I will be shown how to monitor and care for the drains, after which I will be admitted again to have the drains removed. 14 days of rest is recommended for recovery, but when you work for yourself time is money. Lucky for me I work from home and my computer has voice recognition which means I don't have to sit and type, I can talk to my computer a