We had chosen the colour. Or perhaps the colour had chosen us. Greyish, greenish, it was not our usual choice. But these were not normal times for us either. We needed a clean slate in the kitchen – so we chose the colour of slate; a leaden sky full of brooding. Or the colour of a cold dawn in winter. But mizzle is green – no doubt about it. We thought we’d made a mistake at first and now, well, it’s just right. My husband’s face was resigned: I was tenacious. The kitchen had to be painted, it was high time, and the time was now.
In the beginning, there had been a dull ache which didn’t go away at any time of the day. A heaviness, just like a bruise. It hurt a little when I raised my arm, when I brushed past something, when I put my bra on and when I ran. Like the dirty kitchen skirting boards, I was ignoring it. When it didn’t go away and I felt a heavy lump in my right breast when I showered, I decided to book an appointment at the local doctor’s.
Like most things in life, things did not move seamlessly or gracefully. First of all, I waited two weeks to see the doctor and on the morning of my appointment, a call from a receptionist delivered the news that because I was booked in with a locum doctor, who was ill, I would need to rebook. ‘I have found a lump on my breast,’ I said. She knew, because of course I’d had to record that to gain an appointment. ‘Is there no triage? I asked. No there was not. ‘It’s just, well – I’ve waited and I’m really worried’. This was not of any concern. She booked me the next available appointment with a nurse (a really good one she told me) and I waited another ten days.
She was right, the nurse was great. I waited over an hour after my appointment slot, there had been an emergency – an elderly lady was seen. She was in a wheelchair and her son pushed her out of the surgery, both looking well and apparently on their way to the hospital to be checked out further. They looked relieved and the nurse, she looked tired. She smiled and I followed her to her examination room and this was the start of the journey. She referred me – because of my age (young for breast cancer – imagine – 50 is young in this scenario). I retold the story which I had been sticking to, that the dog, Florence, had jumped on me while I was in bed. She’s a large dog I said, a pointer. She has skinny legs, huge paws and weighs 35 pounds. She’s big. And bouncy. I think I remember it hurt and I must have commented, because when I found the lump, my husband immediately reminded me of the event. Isn’t it just a bruise? The nurse said she could feel something and she used a different word – not the word ‘lump’. I reached out to the conclusion with finger tips - it's just like a bruise or a knock which is going to go away. I hadn’t wanted to waste anyone’s time and the nurse confirmed that I hadn’t. I was fast tracked. This meant two another two weeks wait. This also meant that the appointment fell in the first week of my holidays, and our stay in Devon.
We arrived in Devon and just managed to put the tent up before the downpour. The rain began and did not stop for two days. On the third day, it was Summer and so with an aching right breast, I swam out into the ocean, turned my face to the sky, and floated. I’m sure you can see what this was. Looking back, I knew. Or is this what we all think in the aftermath? Recently, in reflective mood, I commented to my husband that one of the strangest things I’ve had to process is the idea that this was my destiny – that like the iceberg which sunk The Titanic – the cancer was always going to grow. My own ‘sinister mate’ to quote Thomas Hardy. In the solitude of the sea on this brilliant day, I took a moment to try to record the memory of the open sky, the cradling of the bay and the wondrous cities of rocks rising from the clear, gentle sea.
It's worth mentioning that the causes of cancer are multi-facetted. Research proves that environment and lifestyle are contributary factors to increasing the risk of cancer. According to reports around the world, you are more likely to have cancer, for example if you live in a town. The biggest threat to our health in towns of course, is air pollution. Chemical pollution is not only the seemingly visceral smog of urbanisation but it is also present in the very products which we rely upon to make us feel and look better. The term for these contributing factors to an increased risk of cancer are called, ‘The Body Burden’. In spite of everything we do to be healthy, to have a complete sense of wellbeing for ourselves and those around us, we are under siege. Surprisingly, something that I did not know, is that beauty products and packaging are known to be disruptive influences on our hormones. Isn’t that ironic; our infinite desire to be beautiful and blemish free, can be detrimental to our health and leave us scarred for life. These types of chemicals are called Endocrine Disrupting Chemicals (EDCs). On Breast Cancer UK’s website, there are 20 chemicals they advise us to avoid. The names on the list are polysyllabic scientific words which you’d be hard pressed to remember never mind locate amongst the ingredients printed in font too small for human eyes. I grabbed five lotions from our well stocked bathroom cabinet. By well stocked, I mean to say that it is crammed full of product for face, body and hair, some of which is newer than twelve months old. Of the five products, two did not list ingredients. What is hidden here? The next contained at least one of the damaging EDCs and the remaining two products’ ingredients contained lots of similar stem words or prefixes similar to those on the watch list. Surely there is a need for our laws to protect the consumer, since companies – real life human beings who invent, develop, pitch, design and sell for profit, products containing these EDCs to the population – ought to be a little more mindful of the damage they might wreak on families. I cannot control my DNA, and it is too late for me to reconsider the binge drinking I did at university, so it feels like a betrayal that the lotions we use for comfort can lead to a risk of developing cancer.
I floated eyes skyward, with ears submerged, hearing only the rise and fall of breath and feeling the weightlessness of limb, I promised to myself that if the pulsing ache in my breast was cancer, that I’d be brave, because I had everything to live for, because I had to be strong for my husband, who would inevitably bear the load with grace, but didn’t deserve this to be laden at his door.
And on my skin, its scent a delight, it’s creamy texture a luxury, was the sunscreen which contained at least one EDC.
