I am now a year on from my diagnosis. I had a 1.5 cm left-breast, invasive lobular cancer, surrounded by DCIS and LCIS taking the whole area up to 6cm. It took five long, painful and distressing weeks to diagnose the extent of the disease and decide on treatment.
In August 2015, I had a left breast mastectomy and reconstruction with implant using a dermal sling.
The two weeks afterwards were so surreal; lying in bed most of the day, the world carrying on without me it seemed; my friends and family visiting, the flowers and chocolates and magazines, the many ways people showed they cared. It was amazing and humbling. I could hardly move and gave myself up to my post-operative state. My husband slept in the spare room, coming in at bedtime to tuck me in, he fitted pillows around me to hold me in a comfortable position because I couldn't turn myself over in the night. He cared for me, the kids, the dog, the house; whilst trying to do some work himself. He showed his love for me in everything he did and I allowed myself to be cared for in a way I never thought I'd be able to. Beforehand, just thinking about needing to be looked after had made me cry.
All the time waiting... has it already headed up to the nodes, perhaps elsewhere? None of us talk about this, we don't dwell. I avoid talking to anyone who I think will ask me. What the hell would I say?
Finally, the results from the pathology lab came in - clear nodes. Such a relief. I am lucky in this at least, some good news in a terrible situation.
A month later, I started 12 weekly chemotherapy treatments with Paclitaxel. My veins were rubbish and I had a line fitted into my chest before my second treatment. I hated having it put in, I was so scared, but the procedure wasn't painful and having a line made my chemo visits much less stressful.
Looking back over my diary for the chemo, I can see that although I did really well, I wasn't sick or anything and my hair hung on for a good 6 weeks; by the end I was a shadow of my former self. After my final chemo session I lay in bed with the room spinning, feeling like I was on a ship in a storm, overtaken by nausea. Then, during the following few weeks, I had two urine infections and felt like I had constant flu. I was cold and weary, food tasted disgusting, I was bald and looked pallid and I couldn't walk further than the end of my road without feeling exhausted. I suppose I was expecting to suddenly feel ok again once chemo had finished but it felt like I was getting worse rather than better.
I went back to work in March 2016, three months after the end of chemo. My manager was a brilliant support but I'd used up all my sick entitlement and every other possible type of 'leave' except for my accrued holiday. I knew I wasn't ready to go straight back full-time so I used that to give myself a phased return; building up from 2 days a week to full-time over 12 weeks. By this time my hair was just beginning to grow back and I decided not to wear my wig or scarves for my return to work but just to brave it. Many colleagues didn't recognise me, my long hair had been such a feature.
People say how much short hair suits me, like I've been to the hairdressers or something. At first I didn't really know how to react to that. Now, even though it is about 2 inches long and 'almost a style', I just say it doesn't feel like me, which is true.
It wasn't too bad going back to work, in fact I found myself enjoying it again. I felt lighter, glad to be out of the house and back to normal. I have given up ideas of promotion, something I'd always been hankering after but which now seems unimportant. I just want to do a good job and get home to my family.
It's been hard to come to terms with my body. I found the implant really difficult at first. I just felt it was stuck there on my chest like an alien being. I felt like a person attached to an implant rather than the other way around. I could not get used to it. Now, I don't really notice it, and in clothes it gives a pretty good shape.
I had the other side reduced because there was such a difference in size, I used to be a FF cup and the implant is probably about a D or DD. The implant side was also so much higher up on my chest and naked, in the mirror, I thought I looked weird. I didn't like it. I had to wear a prosthesis, a big chicken-fillet thing, in my bra to even them up and in swimwear the difference was so obvious.
The reduction is all part of the treatment. It's so different from what women 20 years ago were offered, when mastectomy meant 'going flat' for life. I know that is what some women prefer even now, but for me it was really important to have a 'breast' again. My surgeon said 'it's not finished until either you are happy or we say there is nothing more we can do.'
Straight after the reduction, I wondered what I had done. No feeling in the nipple, sore, scarred. But now, 2 weeks later, I am really glad I did it. They look good in clothes, both are the same size and height, much more pert than a woman my age could normally expect! I just need to lose this stone in weight I've put on and get fit again and then, at least physically, I will be more like the person I was before this awful disease got me.
Another thing I've found it difficult is when people I don't really know very well ask me if I am going to die. No, not really they don't put it exactly like that. They say, 'so are you alright now?' Or, 'did you get the all-clear?' I know they mean well but there is no 'all clear' with this disease and I don't want to have to explain my prognosis to people I barely know. I don't want to explain that I have a good chance of being here in 10 years time, a 93% chance in fact, according to NHS Predict. That's about as good as it gets, so I just say 'yes, I am fine, yes all good, yes my treatment is completed, just a few more Herceptin injections and a tablet to take for the next five years'.
So, there is light at the end of the tunnel. I do still worry about it coming back but that is only occasionally in bed as I am falling asleep and my mind starts to grasp at my worries. I can't stay there in that place for long; there is no point spoiling the life I am living now.
I don't seem to have had any kind of epiphany. I am not living each day in the moment, I am not appreciating every second of every day. I am not cramming my life full of experiences. I am just me. The same slightly cynical, grumpy person I was before.
I did struggle with this, once I knew I wasn't in any imminent danger I felt the the pressure to make the most of my life, to enjoy it more, value it more. Such a lot of what is written about cancer is about making the most of every moment, really living your life. But I have come to terms with the fact that I am still just me and that's ok.
We've been on holiday and I really loved being able to take the kids somewhere nice after this year of not being able to do very much. That was great. I did love every moment and I am looking forward to the summer and moving away from surgery, from illness and pain and towards being well and getting fit.
At last life is good again.
