Breast cancer. What can I write about this horrible illness that hasn’t already been written? I don’t know, neither do I know if what I write will help anyone, or if anyone will identify with my words, but I think it will help me if I put the words down in black & white.
Everyone remembers their diagnosis. I was told when I was on my own - I’d been told by an Irish doctor the previous week that she was convinced the lump was a cyst, she even had three attempts at bursting it but, when that didn’t happen, she biopsied it. I always remember her pointing to the picture of the lump on screen and saying “that is NOT screaming cancer at me and although I can’t reassure you 100% right now, I’m 95% convinced it’s a cyst”. I went back to the clinic the following Monday, not even slightly concerned at what I was going to be told. I can’t remember what I said when Dr Stallard said I had cancer. A long silence followed by an “okay”. Then being taken for another mammogram and trying not to let the women in the clinic see me crying ‘cos I didn’t want to upset them. Very generous of me, huh? And then the same Irish doctor, rushing into the room, full of apologies, doing another scan and finding the second lump. Two. Both Stage 3, both highly aggressive and neither of them cysts. I had a lumpectomy. It could have been a mastectomy, the plastic surgeon suggested that, but I chose to keep my breast. Now I wonder if I did the right thing because it seems to be that anyone who’s had a mastectomy doesn’t need to go through the horrors of chemotherapy and, had I known that, I may have chosen differently. Everything just happens so quickly and I’m still not sure if what I say is right. Chemotherapy is the hardest, hardest thing I’ve ever had to endure. As it has been for the people around me who watched. I’ve been in A+E at 2.15 in the morning ‘cos I couldn’t stop being sick. I’ve had numerous house calls from my GP for differing reasons. I have so much medication at home I don’t know where to put it. I’ve been on three or four lots of antibiotics, lost my voice, had a chest infection, can’t get shoes on as my toes are so sore and now my teeth are decaying due to the lack of saliva in my mouth. It just doesn’t get much better. The good news is that the 6 treatments of chemotherapy are over. Amen. I honestly don’t think I could have done another one. Lying on the reclining seat, surrounded by other people having treatment administered, you paint a stupid smile on your face and place your hand on the pillow, waiting for the different syringes to be administered. Then three weeks of hell. Straightforward, no messing about, hell. I hated it and I’ll never lie about that. Soon I have to go through a month of radiotherapy, every day (bar weekends) and whatever that may bring. I may be misled in my thinking, but I doubt the side effects could match those of chemotherapy. Nothing can ravage your body in that way. I’m told on a website not to store my food in plastic containers. I’m told on another to stay away from dairy products. A friend who had a mastectomy years ago tells me to drink Actimel every day. So much advice, so much confusion. My son left for University before my last treatment and that was hard. I’ve brought him up on my own for almost 20 years and who knew he’d be leaving home when I was having treatment for breast cancer. Hard, but I painted that smile on again and hugged him as though my life depended on it. Maybe it did. So, radiotherapy then 5 years of Tamoxifen which, if the forum I read has any truth in it, doesn’t get a good Press. Still, everyone’s different and I’d choose life any day so of course I’m going to do it. What have I lost through having breast cancer? My hair. My confidence. My self esteem. My basic human right to have a half decent life. My boyfriend - latterly there was always an elephant in the room and though we talked and talked and talked, neither of us could handle the strain and so he left. Who could blame him. And what have I gained? Fear. The knowledge that I have to look over my shoulder for the next 10 years as I’m at high risk of the cancer returning. Fear and a lot of weight - eating faddy foods ‘cos of lack of taste buds. But I have plans. Plans to lose the weight, eat healthily, walk the dog every day and get myself back to full strength. My hair has started to grow back already (not even three weeks since my last treatment) and I check my body daily for stubble. Funny when I think how obsessed I was with shaving, waxing and getting rid of unwanted hair. Stupid, but I have no doubt I’ll do the same when it returns. Vanity, thy name sure is woman. I think the worst thing about it all has to be the effect the disease has on the people around you. Seeing their worried faces when you’re lying in bed, bald, ill and helpless. And more often than not, crying. I wish I could change that. I wish I could change a lot of things, but this is the path that has been chosen for me and I have no option but to walk it. I sleep with my son’s hat on every night ‘cos my (almost) bald head is cold. And because it makes him feel closer. I do know that I’ll get there. Strange how you think that, once the chemotherapy’s over, you’ll be just fine. ‘Cos you’re not. Far from it. It’s the longest journey I’ve ever been on and one I would never wish to repeat. I will be positive and I will be forever grateful to everyone who’s helped me to get to where I am. Nurses, doctors, friends and family, all sent from God. And God himself, of course, never have I prayed so hard to ask him to take away my pain. Sometimes he heard me, other times I suppose he must have been helping someone else. Finally, never again will I hear of someone who’s been diagnosed, shake my head and move on to the next subject. No. I’ll weep for them, I’ll take time to go and buy them a card and I’ll think of them every single day. ‘Cos that’s what someone who has breast cancer needs. The knowledge that someone, somewhere, cares.
If this posting is negative I apologise but that's how it is. All I’m doing is writing about my cancer. ‘Cos that’s what it is. Mine. Mine to cope with, get rid of and face up to. My sister now wears a pink wrist band every day. I sometimes wonder if I should get one too, but then I realise I don’t need one. I know I had two Stage 3 tumours and that knowledge is enough.
