Holly Chabowski har været gennem tredje runde af den kemoterapi, der forventeligt gør hende fri for brystkræft – og det betyder også hun har gennemført anden etape af sit projekt om at gå Hærvejen fra syd til nord mellem kemobehandlingerne, så hun slutter på toppen af Danmark, når hun forhåbentlig er fri for kræft og på toppen igen. I det følgende kan du læse anden del af Hollys beretning og “No hair”-vejen, som hun har døbt den.
No Hairvejen, part II
Tekst og billeder: Holly Chabowski
Over the past month I have had two more rounds of chemotherapy and walked 114 km from Padborg to Vejen. Probably more actually as I tend to half disco, half walk. Moonwalking backwards in my hiking boots and shuffling forward. I enjoy listening to music and singing loudly to myself through fields and forests. Friends send me inspirational tracks and I like to think about each friend as I listen to ‘their’ song. I think about how much I love that friend, and my heart feels gigantic.
Late Summer is a fantastic time to walk. I am enjoying the fruits of the season: apples, pears, blackberries, raspberries, mirabelle. I even stumbled across an aronia bush and gorged myself until my mouth was purple.
Admittingly, the Southern Jutland isn’t the wilderness of Namibia, but it has small nature. Equally as magical as any jungle, desert or arctic tundra. Gentle rolling hills, dappled sunlight through oak trees, meandering rivers, peaceful sunsets over farmland. Plus, you can never be further than 5 km from a Brugsen (a fact I just made up, but I assume is close enough to the truth).
As I pack up my tent this morning, loading everything into my backpack, ready to go, it dawns on me how much I value independence. I am a self-contained unit – everything I need is strapped to my back. It is a simple and seductive existence. Cooking food on a gas stove, setting up home for the evening. Deciding what I want to do and when. A million miles away from my bed and sickness.
The weeks after the surgeries and the days following chemotherapy, I have been reliant on others to take care of me. I am grateful and blessed to have a wonderfully supportive tribe who do these tasks with pleasure. However, I find the temporary loss of independence particularly frustrating. So, it is with happiness and gratitude this morning that I pack up my tent, shake a plum tree for breakfast and take a refreshing shower with a hosepipe. Doing a naked jig to keep warm, I feel natural and free. I am grateful that I do not need to wash my hair. The No Hairvejen!
I do need to wash my boob though. I got a new boob yesterday. My left boob now has a new ‘breast’ friend. I’ve baptised her Barbara, after my Nanna (farmor). Barbara Boob. My Nanna would have found that funny. It might seem a bit odd to take a prosthetic boob on a hike, especially when I have made an effort to cut down weight in my backpack. Barbara helps to balance my body and keep my back in proper alignment. She also helps my bra to properly support my natural breast. Barbara is brilliant.
Aside from walking, this past month has been mentally tough.
After reaching Immervad Bro, approximately 45 km north of Padborg, my right Achilles began to swell, and my knees began to ache. Joint stiffness is a side effect of the chemotherapy. I stopped, took a nap in the sunshine and tried walking again. I managed another 500 m to a road and knew I had to stop. If I pushed through my body would hate me during the next round of chemotherapy and recovery would take longer. I put out my thumb, hitched a lift to Vojens Station and made my way home feeling utterly deflated.
The following week I felt sad. I tried cycling to loosen up my joints, but it made my legs feel worse. I tried shorter walks with no backpack, but everything hurt. I went to the swim stadium in Aarhus for two days in a row (Julsø has algae in August, so no open water swimming) and swam intervals, again trying to move my body without bearing weight. Swimming helped and my self esteem started to return. I focused on my breath, my stroke, the tumble turn, flipping and gliding through the water. I felt powerful again.
Two days later I was back in bed, with flu-like symptoms from being in a public swimming pool. A weak immune system is another side effect. Yet another roadblock.
The negative thoughts kicked in and I had some dark days. What if the cancer comes back? Can I feel a lump in my left breast now? What if I must go through this again? I looked in the mirror and saw a bald zombie looking back at me. Where have I gone? I had a few days where I struggled to get out of bed until early afternoon, feeling that I lacked a purpose for the day. I lost a day doom scrolling on my phone. My sleep was effected, and I woke in the night feeling tense, fearful and alone.
On August 24th I wrote this in my journal –
“I woke around 6am this morning in panic and fear. My body felt tense. I’m just waiting around now for the next infusion rather than living my life. Out of the window was the most beautiful pink and orange sunrise. It calmed me. I returned to my breath, life flowing through me and for me without effort and I fell back asleep.”
There comes a point, after lying in bed for days, when I think ‘’fuck this shit’’ And it feels like … ARRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGGGGHHHH!! Enough now, Holly. Get up. Go outside. Pick up that weight and do a workout. So, I did. I put on my motivational tune – Lovely Day by Bill Withers. I completed three slow sets with light weights, focusing on each repetition one by one. I sat on the stationary exercise bike, put it on the lowest intensity setting and built up a 15-minute sweat. Focusing on what I can do, rather than what I can’t.
That evening, I wrote this in my journal:
‘’Take it easy on yourself and be proud – you are an Olympic athlete of hard times. You are an incredible, kind, courageous and beautiful woman. Find joy and gratitude for what you have and trust for what will come. Go to nature and just be. You will get back on the trail, but it can’t be forced. That is not the way the river is flowing today. Remember the point of the journey, to relax into what is, trust that the time to walk will come when it is ready. Go to sleep now, it’s enough for today. Beautiful, bright sunny times are coming. A lifetime of rainbows.’’
Round three of chemotherapy was tough. I was exhausted and spent 6 days mostly in bed being cared for by friends. My main symptoms are headache, bloating and fatigue. The fatigue can be debilitating, and I am happy for sleep to eat away the hours. It may seem strange to say, but the best way I can describe the chemo hangover is that my body feels like plastic. I feel artificial.
Day 7 though is my lucky day, after each infusion day 7 is always the day that I bounce back. The contrast is amazing. My mood goes from night to day.
On September 3rd (day 7 after chemotherapy) I wrote this in my journal:
“Woke up feeling fresh! I am alive! No pain, discomfort or brain fog. The sun is shining, and I am grateful to be pain free. I want to do all the things – empty the dishwasher, clean the fridge, go for a walk, dance, be in nature, read a book, maybe I should drive to the west coast and go surfing. I am alone and I feel happy this way. I am so excited to get back on the trail. A lifetime of rainbows after this storm.”
Thank you to my tribe who have supported me through the first three rounds of chemotherapy, getting me to that magical day 7 – for coming with me to hospital appointments, sending me kirtans, singing with me in church, Dad jokes, warm wishes, massaging my back, making me food, praying for poo, Palo Santo-ing me, hugs, pep talks, cups of tea. This is how life is meant to be.
And to Greta for the constant reality checks – “det er ikke så slemt, bare grin og glem det, Mamma. Skulle vi se nogle katte på YouTube nu?”