Tuesday 20 October 2009. The day I was told I had cancer. The day I stepped on the rollercoaster for the most difficult and draining ride of my life.
I didn't have many symptoms that alerted me to having a serious health problem and to be honest, they could have been easily missed had I been a less diligent person. I was lucky to have a fabulous G.P. who referred me to a Gynaecologist and few weeks later I was having a biopsy. At this point I still didn't think I had cancer; I had my smear two years ago and all was fine then, so why worry?
For about forty-eight hours after hearing the diagnosis I was in my own little bubble, too numb to feel anything other than feeling numb! It is such a weird sensation that I think only people who have experienced a shock like I and everyone else on this site, can ever understand. It seemed like I was watching my life like a movie, going through the motions as I was told, when suddenly I would realise that this was my life and oh crap, it was me who had cancer.
Over the next few months the rollercoaster ride intensified. Within a week of my diagnosis I was in hospital having my lymph nodes removed to check to see if the cancer had spread. Luckily for me it hadn't so I was scheduled for a radical hysterectomy. I remember when I was told that this was the next step in my treatment and how calm I was when I heard it, how matter of fact I felt about being told I had to have half of my insides removed, essentially giving up the only thing I have ever wanted more than anything else in my life - the chance to bear my own children. I know how desperate I have been all my life to be a mother, how I wanted so much to know what it felt like to carry my own child to term, and it is because of these feelings that I am amazed at the way we humans adapt to news that threatens our lives. Even though this was my one true dream, one that I would take over anything else, I accepted the loss of it like it was a decision I make every day and the consequences of which I am only now beginning to deal with.
I had the radical hysterectomy at the end of November. I was in hospital for a week and then came home still waiting to hear about the pathology of the removed tissues. All along I had been told I had to be really unlucky to require any further treatment and the surgeons were quite happy that everything sinister had been removed. I let myself believe that perhaps this was all going to be over now; I could start getting my life back in order. I have been very good at reading situations and I knew that as soon as I stepped into the consultant's office mid-December that I was one of those really unlucky people. Disappointment again as I am told that it's now all over and that further treatment is still required. Why me? What did I do to deserve this? Have I not been a good person all my life?
A few days before Christmas I met my Oncologist who explained that there was some 'indecision' in the team of doctors treating me over whether further treatment was required or not. The surgeons believed they had removed the entire tumour and there was no further risk, however, the pathologist determined that my safe margins were positive and therefore there was a definite possibility that rogue cells had been left behind. It's funny, I kept joking that I was difficult and I didn't normally follow the path that others took and well, on so many occasions I proved myself right. I couldn't be a 'normal' patient could I, sticking to the rules of 'expected' and 'standard procedure' like other people do? I was so awkward I even caused a 'professional disagreement' between the pathologist and my surgeons which resulted in seeking a second opinion from the team at The Royal Marsden Hospital. Maybe being different from the majority of others is something to strive for but on this occasion I was desperate to be just like everyone else. Despite having to wait over Christmas for the news of their decision, my oncologist told me I would certainly need radiotherapy. Ok fine, I thought, I'll deal with that after Christmas, right now I just want to think about something else. And I did, strangely enough. The remainder of December was pretty normal for me and my family and we just got on with all the normal things that everyone else without a life threatening condition in the world was doing.
