31/05/2026
Shared with kind permission from Yvonne McClaren, author of the GAG | eating life Substack, where she writes with honesty, humour and hard-won insight about eating, recovery and life after throat cancer treatment.
House Keeping: I wrote this over a year ago and never got around to publishing it.
If you have other things you could be doing, be warned this is a winge of the highest order.
12 months ago; life was clearly going south. Currently I am heading west.
I have a confession.
I am not coping. Not with winter, weight gain, high blood pressure, ORN (Osteoradionecrosis) half a face that constantly drips with a dull ache. The other half leans toward a cement drill wearing a plastic raincoat. My gums on the radiated side receding faster than coastal property prices in a flood zone.
Eating whatever I can manage. The scales don’t lie.
None of it.
My doctor looks at me - she knows, she’s been on the journey with me since ground zero.
No one, but no one, truly understands the side effects of this fin-awful treatment.
Doing this solo has its own special piquancy.
No one to make a cup of tea, no one to share meals, bills, decisions or take out the bins, service the car, feed the animals, stack the dishwasher, measure out the dimensions of new stove, get the back drains cleared and stand about with the plumbers chatting about the footy.
No one else to follow up the tax agent, the advisers, the aged care plan, the what if and it’s ok hon, I have your back, type conversation.
It’s all exhausting.
Juggle, juggle, juggle - drop a ball. Then another and manage the treatment side effects, continue to earn a living and keep up with family & friends.
Currently I can’t lift the arm on my neck dissection side, the exposed flesh on my lower jaw line (internal) is stripping away any vestige of personality I once possessed.
Shall I do this or this.
What if I am wrong. What if I am making the biggest mistake of my life.
It weighs heavy.
All of it.
Yet I continue to fight, kick and sometimes scream into the void that is my new life.
What the hell happened.
What now? Throw your best at me.
No seriously if you are going to do this you best do it properly, do it with passion and intent. Because I am definitely not here for a haircut, I am here staring straight at you, all knowing.
It’s exhausting and I am being drained of every last drop of “isn’t this all positive and good” and look, you are alive you best be grateful.
It’s not. It’s s**t.
It really is.
This disease tests your metal at every turn.
Just when you think it is going along ok, another white pointer looms in the murky depth of my future life.
Baby sharks, sea turtles and gently waving seaweed.
All I need is the yellow submarine and I’ll have the full trifecta.
Courage is rarely noble.
Most days it looks like getting out of bed when you don’t want to. Making another phone call. Attending another appointment. Paying another bill. Eating another meal you don’t particularly want. Smiling politely when someone tells you how lucky you are.
Lucky.
That’s an interesting word.
I didn’t feel lucky.
I felt tired.
Bone-deep, soul-deep tired.
Tired of making decisions. Tired of managing symptoms. Tired of explaining why I couldn’t eat that, do that, stay longer, push harder or simply “get back to normal”.
Because there is no normal.
There is only adaptation and adaptation is not a one-off event. It is a daily negotiation with a body that no longer follows the rules you once took for granted.
Some days I won.
Some days the sharks won.
Some days the seaweed wrapped itself around my ankles and I went nowhere at all.
But …
I kept showing up.
Not gracefully. Not with dignity. Not while radiating positivity and inspirational quotes.
I showed up muttering obscenities under my breath, carrying far more fear than I ever admitted, and occasionally staring into the abyss asking whether it might like to take a number and wait its turn.
Yet somehow, here I am.
Still fighting.
Still laughing at inappropriate moments.
Still finding the occasional baby shark, sea turtle and patch of sunlight among the wreckage.
So if you’re reading this and finding it all a bit much, welcome to the club.
Pull up a chair.
The tea might be cold, the biscuits stale and the conversation somewhat unhinged, but at least you’ll know you’re not the only one wondering what the hell happened and what comes next.
As for me?
I’m still waiting for that yellow submarine.
If life insists on being ridiculous, I may as well travel in style.
“When the white pointer lurks beneath, it’s passion that throws the best lifeline.”
Yeah Baby - Shark.
Eat Well x, Yvonne
About Yvonne McClaren
Yvonne McClaren is the author of GAG | eating life, a newsletter about eating, recovery and life after throat cancer treatment. She is also the author of GULP: Taking a Seat at the Table After Head and Neck Cancer, which explores the practical, emotional and social realities of eating after treatment. You can read more of Yvonne’s work at GAG | eating life. https://yvonnemcclaren.substack.com/