Carly Findlay's Blog

I’m looking for some work! 

I’d like to supplement my part time job, so I’m looking for one off gigs like:

– speeches, MCing, training at conferences, team building days, awards etc (specialising in topics of resilience, diversity, disability, writing, feminism, cancer, menopause, the arts)

– writing articles and copy; 

– editing; 

-social media content collaborations; 

– arts and health mentoring, advisory panels, consulting and boards; 

– podcast hosting;

– accessibility consultancy and resource creation

– speaking (and cooking) on TV

– developing accessibility resources;

– guest lecturing in writing and health;

– proof reading;

– scribing and note taking support;

– sensitivity reading and viewing.

I am in Melbourne and can do these gigs locally, online and interstate.

I am also happy to consider part time office admin, or retail work one or two days a week, including short contracts. 

I wonder if I could do customer service at a library?

If you know anywhere that might benefit from my skills, please let me know. My email is carlyfindlay8@gmail.com. 

Thank you! 

Image: Carly, a woman with red skin and short dark curly hair, wearing a denim dress with floral embroidery on it, over a colourful floral top, standing near a white wall. She’s smiling. Black text to her top left reads: “I want to work with you!”

The post I want to work with you! first appeared on Carly Findlay.

I said no more cancer.

But.

I got another cancer diagnosis last week.

Skin cancer.

A sore on my forehead had been bothering me for more than a year.

The diagnosis was uneventful.

The dermatology registrar called me on a Tuesday afternoon. She gave me the results of the biopsy on my forehead, less than a week prior.

It’s superficial and we’ve caught it early.

Is it basal cell carcinoma? Or is it squamous cell carcinoma? It was a quick phone call – I didn’t catch the specifics.

At least it’s not melanoma.

When I got my biopsy stitches out (it didn’t hurt), the GP told the medical student that I’ve had three cancer diagnoses in just over a year. Well, when you put it like that, do I get a coffee card and get a present when the card is fully stamped?

He also said this one is easily treatable. It’s not aggressive.  And I exhale.

Next I’ll go to the plastic surgeon at the hospital to have the cancer removed. I don’t know when.

Like my first cancer diagnoses, waiting for the unexpected and the unknown is the hardest. Nothing has moved quickly like it did when I had Ovarian and Endometrial cancer. I joked that I got lucky with those, there was such urgency.

The skin cancer is minuscule compared to the cancerous mass on my ovary. That was 25 cm. This is millimetres. Like a drawing pin on a map.

Even though more medical procedures and admin are ahead of me,I’ve been questioning if this is not as serious , compared to last year. Would I even write about this? 

Is it a cancer diagnosis if it’s just a small skin cancer that can be removed? Is it a cancer diagnosis if I’m not given a stack of literature to read from the Cancer Council?  Is it a cancer diagnosis if I require no treatment?

Is it even cancer?

This new diagnosis feels so tiny. Insignificant Not like a whole uterus and ovaries that need to be removed. Not like a life overhaul.  Not like being catapulted into menopause while recovering from major surgery, stopping work and then having chemotherapy and radiotherapy, and then getting the all clear.

This is a blip on the radar. A sore on my face.

Just a little spot that will be removed and then I can get on with my life.

I was told that one in three people have these types of skin cancer. It’s so common it’s unremarkable.

Rare people also have common things, my dermatologist told me.

A friend said I’ve had a good success rate at beating cancer. I’ll do it again.

Image: a selfie of Carly, a woman with red skin and short dark curly hair, wearing a brightlly coloured dress over a teal roll neck jumper. She’s smiling. The dress has an orange sun on it. She’s also wearing a necklace that’s a green hummingbird with green leaves and pink flowers.

The post Skin cancer – another cancer diagnosis first appeared on Carly Findlay.

At the deli, waiting to buy five chicken thighs.

The customer next to me takes a long time, asking for bones for her dog. “The dog will shoot me if I give it chicken thighs that small”, she says, and we both laugh.

By the time the supermarket worker gets to me, this has become more than just a quick trip to get groceries for tonight’s dinner.

The supermarket worker’s first words to me is “why is your face so red?”

This type of curious, well intentioned interaction is always equally an expected and surprising interruption to my day. I was feeling good after Pilates, and looking forward to a disability pride event soon after. And boom! Ableism disrupting.

The supermarket worker didn’t ask about the previous customer’s face.

I answered her.

“Your job is to serve at the deli. You don’t need to know about your customers’ appearances or medical history.”

“Sorry”, she said.

I walked off to get the prepackaged chicken thighs, happy to pay more because it doesn’t come with a side of ignorant curiosity.

See, for the person asking the curious question, that seems polite to them, it’s the first time they’ve seen someone who looks like me. But for, me it’s the not the first time I’ve been asked. Sometimes not even the first time that day.
It’s a cumulative effect.

It’s on top of the influencer who i really respected, using a facial difference filter and then blocking me when i call her in.

It’s on top of the friend who said they have a right to use the R word and won’t stop.

It’s on top of the kid who hid behind their mother‘s legs because they were scared of my face.

It’s on top of the taxi driver who refused to take me because they were worried my face would ruin their car.

It’s on top of the casting agency who called for ugly faces for a horror film.

It’s on top of the physical pain I endure every single day.

It’s on top of helping disabled people unlearn their internalised ableism.

It’s on top of the advocacy and education I do, often for free.

Usually I can handle this, I brush it off. Explain “I was born this way.”

But today at the supermarket, I asked if can speak to the manager?

Image: Carly in front of a painted mural of flowers & pomegranates.

Has this post helped you? Has it made you think about disability or appearance diversity? Please consider buying me a drink. Thank you.

The post Can I speak to the manager? first appeared on Carly Findlay.

Last year I was suddenly launched into early menopause just after a hysterectomy and a diagnosis of ovarian and  endometrial cancer. Recovering from major surgery, chemo brain fog and getting used to my new body meant that I was in no place to learn about menopause. 

Before my hysterectomy and diagnosis, I was told it was risky for me going into early menopause – because of low bone density and risks of depression. When I got the official cancer diagnosis, I was told I can’t have Menopause Hormone Therapy because my cancer was hormone receptive. 

I had a few questions, which included:

– Did I skip peri-menopause -and go straight into menopause? 

and

– Was my night sweats chemo, cancer or menopause – and why is this happening when ichthyosis doesn’t allow me to sweat?

But I had to focus on getting through cancer treatment so menopause education and management was put on hold. 

This year though, I’ve been actively researching it, and encouraging women younger than me to research it too. Because like so many millennial women (and older), I didn’t learn about menopause at school or anywhere else. 

But more and more people are talking about it, and I’m so grateful. 

Here are books, podcasts and other resources that help me. 

Anomalous podcast, hosted by Em Rusciano. I feel lucky I heard this while in Johannesburg, just before cancer became my reality. Em mostly talks about neurodivergence, and menopause is mentioned too. Em is soon releasing Rage Against the Vagine – a pod solely on menopause.

Rage Against the Menopause podcast, hosted by Patrina Jones. This is so useful – covering exercise, menopause hormone therapy, support from partners and the physiological and mental stuff. And it’s funny. 

It’s the Menopause book by Kaz Cooke. Funny, informative and an easy read. 

Medically Induced Menopause Resources by Jean Hailes & Inherited Cancers Australia. So useful for my situation. 

Food for Menopause book by Linia Patel. Such a comprehensive cookbook.

Dare I Say It book by Naomi Watts. Unapologetic and informative.

Shoutouts to Mid, the pod by Holly Wainwright; & another book friends gave me but I can’t remember the name of due to menopausal brain fog. 

Image: a collage of six podcast images, book covers and resources. Top: Anomalouss, Rage Against the Menopause, It’s the Menopause:
Bottom: Medically Induced Menopause, Food for Menopause, Dare I Say It.

Has this post helped you? Feel free to buy me a drink. Thank you! 

The post Six useful resources about menopause first appeared on Carly Findlay.

I’m feeling really tired. Physically and emotionally.

I chatted with someone recently and they said “no offence, Carly, but you’ve been through a lot”.

True.

As Princess Catherine said recently, life after cancer doesn’t feel normal. I’m trying to work as much as I can, and do social and domestic things. I’m trying to build up my savings. I’m trying to rest as much as I can.

But I’m also processing all that happened to me in the last year and a half.

Moved house.
Bowel issues.
Inconclusive tests.
A life changing overseas trip.
Stomach pain on the way home.
More tests and a pre-diagnosis.
Stopping work.
Cancer diagnosis.
Hysterectomy.Recovering from major surgery.
Four rounds of chemotherapy.
Trying to access Centrelink.
Very sore skin and low mental health.
Ongoing targeted bullying and trolling from within the disability community and elsewhere.
Returning to work.
Five weeks (25 sessions) of radiotherapy.
Menopause.
Being told I’m cancer free.
Recovering.
Getting back to life as it was.
Still maintaining ichthyosis.
Worrying about cancer recurrence.
Work, housework, medical appointments.
Navigating ableism and discrimination.

Needless to say, I’ve got a bit of whiplash.

I’ve got access to mental health support. I’m happy. I’ve made many positive healthy changes including regular exercise. I’m surrounded by good people.

But reflecting on all that’s happened, and moving through the world now is overwhelming and exhausting (aside from all the horrific world events) . I’m weary. I feel like a need a holiday. I want to tidy my bedroom but I’d rather go to bed and sleep.

I can’t even think of a paragraph to round off this post. Other than to say, I’m tired and life has been a lot.

Image: Carly, a tired woman with a red face, wearing a pinkish beanie, a green and pink floral tee, navy jeans with strawberries on them, pink sneaks and a red jacket.

The post Whiplash first appeared on Carly Findlay.

Today is one year since I had a hysterectomy, and one year since I waa diagnosed with Ovarian and Endometrial Cancer.

A year is both a short time and a long time, and I am still processing all that happened.

I went from “you probably have cancer” to “you do have cancer” to chemotherapy and radiotherapy to “you’re cancer free” in around seven or eight months.

Last week’s blood test results made me much more confident about my health. I’m feeling good in my body. I had a really productive appointment with my psych.

I’m so thankful to all the medical staff, and to my friends, family, colleagues and online community for all the support they’ve given me over the last year.

I feel very brave and strong for getting through it. I’ve become much better at having needles. I have a new appreciation for an easy poo. I appreciate not having my period anymore. I can do hard things.

I am celebrating life this week, off to a fancy hotel on the weekend.

I’ve felt a bit silly in celebrating, though. The world is in a worse place now. The genocide continues, world war three looks likely, there’s a climate emergency and human rights are being taken away. It’s hard to feel excited when everything is so bleak.

Here’s to life, hopefully a long, exciting, happy and peaceful one for me, and for all of us.

Image: a collage of four photos – Carly ready for surgery, Carly having chemo, wearing a dress among the blossoms, wearing a big head piece.

The post Today is one year since cancer diagnosis first appeared on Carly Findlay.

How incredible is modern medicine?!

I just got some blood test results back. The oncologist was right to be confident when she said I’m cancer free in January, following surgery, four rounds of chemo and 25 sessions of radiotherapy.

Cancer markers were down significantly. They went from a five digit figure when I was diagnosed, to a single digit figure now.

I asked the doctor to tell me again, in case I misheard.

Wow. I’m so thankful to the doctors and nurses.

It feels like a miracle!

Also, this mop of curls is quite the miracle too. Another reason to be thankful to chemo!

Image: Carly, a woman with red skin and short dark curly hair, wearing a purple jumper and a brooch that’s a snail among the leaves of yellow and white dandelions.

The post First bloods since cancer treatment first appeared on Carly Findlay.

As my one year anniversary of surgery and cancer diagnosis comes closer, I’ve been reflecting on how much of myself I’ve given.

Writing has been a way to process it all, and also to educate and raise awareness – particularly because when I was told I might have cancer, there was no info on cancer and Ichthyosis available.

I told people so much about my cancer – my symptoms, diagnosis, surgery outcome, menopause and treatment I was having. I talked about how cancer treatment affected my physical and mental health, and the interaction between treatment and Ichthyosis (even contributing to an academic paper about this). I talked about the financial challenges and barriers to accessing support. I advocated for research funding and raised awareness throughout Frocktober. When the doctor declared I was cancer free, I rejoiced and provided a public update. I continue to talk about how I am still processing all that happened to me this last year, and my progress rebuilding health and strength.

I gave a lot.

But I kept things to myself.

I didn’t talk about what stage cancer I had.

I also didn’t mention the types of drugs I was on for chemo.

And I talked about the weight I’ve lost, but never the number.

These were very deliberate decisions.

I didn’t mention the stage cancer as I didn’t want people speculating on how much time I might have left in this world. The ongoing targeted trolling I endure takes its toll, and I knew that my cancer would be something these monsters would be gleeful about. I didn’t want anyone making assumptions about my prognosis.

I talked about some of the trolling I get on the weekend. Some people were posting about why I hadn’t provided an update about my treatment – when I didn’t even know myself. Gross.

Chemo was really hard on me. I am aware of my influence as an activist and advocate. I didn’t want to put anyone off doing chemo because I’ve had a bad experience. Everyone copes with treatment differently.

And I promote body positivity, yet I struggled with my own self image. Well meaning people commented on my body.

I’m a public figure. I share a lot. But there are things that I keep guarded. I don’t owe the world my entire self though my advocacy.

Images: Carly, a woman with red skin and short dark curly hair, wearing a burgundy velvet blazer over a teal floral top and wide legged navy pants, standing in a street and a doorway, smiling, holding a handbag.

The post What I owe people first appeared on Carly Findlay.

Feeling pretty proud of myself to have made it through a whole year.

One of the hardest times of my life – definitely the most uncertain, the most painful and the lowest my mental health has been.

A year ago today, I arrived home from France and South Africa. I got home at 7.00 am, showered and went to bed. I planned on logging onto work, to beat jetlag. But my stomach was too sore, and I had trouble breathing comfortably.

So I texted my manager and called the GP, making a booking for 2.00 pm. I opened my mail, had a little nap. I didn’t eat.

The GP I saw was new to me. My regular one had gone on maternity leave. He said my stomach probably had sepsis, and to go to the hospital immediately. He wrote a letter to give to Emergency staff.

Adam came to pick me up from the GP and take me to hospital. Hester and Ben collected my carkey and got my car.

And I waited, and waited. I ate half a sandwich. I was told off for doing so, in case they had to operate.

I had a blood test and went back to the waiting room.

Finally at 9.00 pm I got a bed in Emergency. I was quizzed a lot about my trip overseas – did I go on a safari? (yes), did I swim? (lol no!).

I had a second blood test. A nurse said they were testing me for cancer. Some numbers, CA125. I didn’t know what they meant. I now know – it’s the indicator for Ovarian Cancer.

I had a CT scan after midnight. Adam went home, I tried to sleep.

At 4.00 am, a surgeon from The Women’s came to see me, asking me about my family cancer history. He asked about my weight – I said I didn’t weigh myself but showed him some photos, six months apart. He said based on all my symptoms (weight loss, lack of appetite, feeling full Quincy, increased bowel habits) it’s likely I have Ovarian Cancer, but they still need to do more tests.

I scrolled through my phone. I saw Darren Hayes had replied to a story I shared. He was the first person I told, that I might have cancer.

I was finally transferred to a bed in The Women’s at 5.00am. I messaged Adam to say please don’t go to work, I needed to talk to him.

The nurses let me sleep til about 10.00 am. I had a private room as I had recently been in Africa. Lucky.

I beat jetlag by being in the hospital and worrying that I probably had cancer.

Image: my hand bandaged

The post How to beat jet lag: go to hospital and be told you probably have cancer first appeared on Carly Findlay.

A year ago tonight, I was flying back to Melbourne after feeling unwell in Singapore airport.

My stomach was so swollen and painful. It hurt to breathe. I couldn’t walk to the airline departure gate. I pretended I was fine to get home to Melbourne.

I thought I had worsened my reported hernia* with carrying my heavy case. I thought I’d worn my mask too long on the plane. I thought I’d slept badly in an uncomfortable plane seat.

I never thought it would be cancer.

Thanks to Mum and Adele for all their help at the airport. Mum worried someone would put drugs in our bags when she came to help me in the airport shower! No one did. But I surely got access to good pain meds a month later!

The post Pain at the airport first appeared on Carly Findlay.