The week that followed confirmation of my diagnosis and the realisation I had to wait for yet more test results, was, by far, the lowest point on this roller coaster ride we are clinging onto for dear life. Both Alan and I left the hospital feeling as though we'd been hit by one of Dad's coaches (plug plug lol). I spent the following week convinced "The Git" was attached to every major organ and all my bones. Every ache and pain I felt was "The Git" infecting another part of me. I had trouble sitting up straight, my rib cage felt uncomfortable and enormous. I googled what organ was under there (not paying attention during my Biology lessons in 1981 was proving to be a big mistake!) and discovered it was my liver - well, that was it - I had cancer of the liver too! I was a goner. Alan (and everyone else) spent the week telling me I was wrong, that it hadn't travelled. Every time someone said this to me I would be thinking "how on earth can you possibly know".
During the week I visited my chiropractor, Fiona Fingers (a nickname given to her by my friend, Alison's family - and a very apt one - her fingers should be on prescription from the NHS!) I've been seeing Fiona for about 2 years now after I started losing my balance and suffering crippling neck and shoulder pain. She had put all my neck, back, shoulder, hip and heel (ha ha have just read that back and I sound like I was destined for the knackers yard 2 years ago...) problems down to a whiplash injury I'd received in a minor car accident almost 20 years ago. The vertebrae high in my neck (C2 & C3 if you want to get technical) were inflamed and trapping the stuff that needs to flow easily (see how technical I can be?). It took a good few months but finally she got it under control and I was now only having to visit every 6-8 weeks (if needed) and at times of stress.......! Anyway, again I go off at a tangent, I told Fiona about my BC diagnosis and my fears that "The Git" was everywhere. She explained that the liver is the organ which absorbs all our negative feelings ie. grief and anger, and that it was no wonder mine was "playing up". She worked on that area and also explained that if you have bone cancer, this makes the bones weaker. Now, considering she had been using "high level adjustments" (by that I mean she had made virtually every bone in my body crick, crack and pop on every visit) for the previous two years, she was pretty certain she would have broken one of my bones by now. I left there feeling a little calmer than when I had arrived, see I told you she was wonderful.
Things were moving fast now that my cancer had been named and shamed. I'd had my CT scan after leaving Casper's office on the Thursday afternoon and we had to be back at the hospital at 11.30 the following morning for my PET scan. You are injected with a radioactive dye that takes approximately three hours to travel round your body. So after I'd subjected my arm to another needle (and the poor nurse doing the injection was subjected to some inane chatter about the pigeons on his roof not being very fat - I was in panic mode so don't ask!), we left the hospital and went into Southend to do some more Christmas shopping, have a bit of lunch and generally lose three hours. I was a bit worried that I might set off the shop alarms with my radioactive blood, but the trip passed without me having to roll my body over the barcode readers - life's just no fun anymore... My scan was booked for 2.30 so we checked-in and sat in the waiting room. I wish they'd make these places a bit more interesting. I'm getting fed up reading posters of a nurse saying "it's ok to ask if I've washed my hands" I wonder if anyone ever does this - I know I don't. Mind you, quite often I want to follow women out of the Ladies and ask them why they didn't bother washing their hands afterwards - but I like the shape and position of my nose, so I just mutter "skanky" under my breath as they leave.
The PET scan is a bit like an MRI minus the claustrophobia. I had to lie on my back whilst the machine's "brain" s-l-o-w-l-y travelled the full length of my body from skull to toes taking pictures of my bones. It takes approximately 20-25 minutes and you have to lay quite still. The nurse kindly played a CD of Christmas Carols for me.....
On Thursday, 8th December we made our way back to the hospital. I spent the 10 minute journey not speaking a word to Alan, just praying in my head over and over again "please God just in the breast, please God just in the breast". I made all kind of promises to God if He would let me get good news that morning. I think the most challenging and selfless one I made was to promise to stop losing my rag with the kids when they get on my last nerve, argue, leave their crap all over the floor, argue, forget to bring their washing down, argue, leave their stuff on the kitchen counter instead of putting it in the dishwasher, oh the list goes on. This was a big one but I was prepared to make sacrifices!!
We got to the hospital an hour early, now, if you know me in real life (RL - another acronym for you to learn), you will know I am absolutely terrible at being on time and I am NEVER early. Debbie, my best friend of over 30 years gave up eons ago and admitted that, for a long time now, if we have to be somewhere at, say 7pm - she will tell me 6.30 so we stand a good chance at least being on time! I always try and cram 20 minutes of stuff into 5 and then am totally dumbfounded when I arrive late. So, for us to arrive an HOUR early at the hospital was all down to Alan - who hates being late.
We sat in that blasted waiting room, me shaking, taking huge breaths and sighing constantly - neither of us talking very much. Each swish of the door we tensed, waiting for my name to be called. When it finally was - ONE HOUR after my actual appointment time I very reluctantly I got up and walked through the doors - I swear I heard the whole waiting room give a huge sigh of relief that the rather large raincloud had left the room.
The set up in Casper's office was the same as previous weeks, he sat behind his desk, I sat to the side, Alan sat opposite him and the BCNs perched on their edge of their chairs ready to catch me if I passed out, looked like I was going to be sick or - more probable, made a run for it! I was staring at him, willing him to give me good news. Alan's derriere wasn't even in the chair when Casper said "I'll come straight to it.....", (cue sharp intake of breath from us) "Well Deborah, your CT scan is clear and so are your PET scans" - OMG!!!! I nearly slid onto the floor with relief and I think Alan collapsed into his chair. Finally, we had some good news, maybe it was the prayers - not just mine, so many people had said I was in theirs that week, maybe it was the fact I wore a different top at this appointment or maybe it was just pure luck - I like to think it was a bit of all three. At this point I would like to say that I did remember to say a huge Thank you to the heavens as we drove out of the hospital gates.
A lot of what Casper went on to tell me went right over my head that day, I just wanted to phone everyone to put them out of their misery, cancel the loan I had taken out for the luxury walnut coffin with the plush satin lining and a little pillow (sorry, sorry I couldn't resist that one - you are all so blooming easy to shock - its too easy sometimes....). I really don't know who was more pleased that morning; Casper, the nurses or us! The meeting immediately took on a whole new, upbeat feeling. Now the fighting talk began, my raincloud had turned into a rainbow, the sun was shining again and I suddenly felt like Christmas was back on (I'll just ignore the large debt that comes with it lol). Whereas I had been told at my initial appointment that the first thing they would do would be take me in and perform a mastectomy with chemo and rads to follow. Now he was asking me to consider having treatment the opposite way round. They were going to discuss little ole me at the weekly team meeting the following day and he was going to see if they agreed with him to start with a Sentinel Node Op (SNB - remove some lymph glands from under my arm to see if the cancer has spread there), followed by 8 cycles (24 weeks) of chemo/Herceptin with a mastectomy and rads after that. The Herceptin would then continue 3 weekly for another few months. All in all we were looking at about a year of treatment and operations - I say "we" but obviously it will be me sitting there having "good" poison pumped into my body for the next four months. However, I say "we" because Alan has never made me feel that I am on my own fighting this. Yes, there are times I feel alone but that's a different feeling altogether. He has been there every step of the way, every appointment good and bad, supporting me, comforting me, holding me and taking the pee out of me when I get too over indulgent. It's a cliche, I know, but he has been my rock and I will never be able to thank him enough for as long as I live.
A very different Debbie left the hospital that day. This one had found her sense of humour and her fighting spirit - I really must clear out my handbag more often! This Debbie does not want to speak to anyone who isn't on the Positive Thinking Bus - and is quite happy to let that be known to anyone who needs telling (whereas, Old Debbie would have worried about hurting their feelings). Don't worry, Old Debbie will return but not until this evil, invasive, destructive piece of crap has been beaten, removed, pulverised and sent packing once and for all!
I hope this post has not been too depressing. I feel it's important for anyone reading this who might be unfortunate enough to be fighting the same battle to realise that ALL your feelings, reactions and ways of dealing with it are NORMAL. There is no "right" way to handle this, just go with what feels right for you. Some people wouldn't have written a blog, some people will only tell those closest to them or on a need to know basis, some will tell anyone and everyone - well, that's the right way for them and I wish them all the love, luck and positivity in the world. However, I am a gas-bag - I will speak to people at the bus stop until they get on a bus, any bus - sometimes I suspect they get on the wrong bus just to get away from me - but that is me. This blog will be "warts n all", there is no point in glossing it all over - that won't help me or anyone else going through it. It is my dearest wish that it makes you laugh your socks off, I certainly sit here with an inane grin on my face whilst typing it so I hope it at least makes you smile. If it makes you cry, then I am so sorry but I hope it's just a one tissue, "there for the grace of God go I...." cry, because you ARE allowed to feel like that and not feel guilty. Nine out of ten lumps/masses are nothing or a cyst (painful but treatable), I was just unlucky enough to be the one in ten.
Well my sister in Geordie land is waiting for an update so I had better sign off now. No doubt she has a pocketful of witty comments prepared to keep me grounded - and I love her for that.
My next post will be covering the Sentinel Node op and my first dose of Herceptin - as you have probably realised by now I loathe needles, veins, blood eugh - makes me want to up-chuck - so I might have to get that post ghost written!!!
As always, Onwards and Upwards!
Thursday 22 December 2011
Tuesday 20 December 2011
The week I lost my sense of humour......
Thursday, 1st December arrived and Alan and I found ourselves sitting in the waiting room at the Breast Clinic again. To be truthful, although I was worried, I had already gotten my head round going into hospital the following week and having my breast removed. I would deal with the mental side of it later, was my view. I just wanted the cancer removed from my body as soon as possible. My name was eventually called, only 15 mins late but it felt a whole lot longer. We sat down in front of Casper and I noticed that again he was very solemn. He told me that I have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, Grade 3 - all double dutch to us so we had to ask him to explain. IDC is the most common form of breast cancer (no comments from the back row please.....). It starts in the milk ducts and can only work backwards towards the chest wall as it has no other way to go. I asked what Grade 3 meant (I got to Grade 4 or 5 when I was learning to play the Viola, so hoped the higher the grade the better - naive again....). Casper said Grade 1 was not aggressive and this would be ideal, Grade 2 was aggressive and that Grade 3....... well, he would have preferred Grade 1 - blimey, so would I but I didn't have much of a choice in the matter. Innocently, I asked him when the mastectomy would take place. Again, he gave it to me straight, but it took a while for it to sink in. No treatment plan could be agreed until they knew if and where the cancer had travelled to. What? Say that again.....Travelled? - who the hell gave it a passport? I will be honest, the thought of it travelling hadn't even crossed either or our minds. We had spent the week getting used to it being in the breast, the thought that it could be anywhere else in my body totally knocked us for six. I felt like I was in the ring with Amir Khan - every time I got to my feet, I got knocked back down again. Casper told me if it was only in the breast it would be radical chemo/rads and a mastectomy. However, it was anywhere else, they couldn't cure it, only seek to control it and treat the primary tumour (breast). Frightened does not even begin to describe my feelings at that point. I can only say I was surrounded by people, Alan, Casper two BCNs - all holding my hand and making comforting noises, but I have never felt so alone in all my life. At that point I was convinced I had just been given a death sentence. Over the coming days I was shocked at how pessimistic I was, for the life of me I could not see anything to laugh about or to feel positive about. I have always thought of myself as a "glass half full kind of person", I didn't realise I was so negative. On Facebook I described myself as feeling like Eeyore (my favourite Winnie the Pooh character), with my own personal raincloud. Even now I cannot think of a better analogy to describe my mood that week. My get up and go got up and went and took my sense of humour with it.
To determine whether or not The Git had indeed travelled required me having some tests - a CT scan to check your brain and other organs and a PET scan (bone scan to you and I) to look for any indicators in your skeleton. I asked how long I would have to wait for these to be arranged, as I didn't want to sit around for another week waiting. Casper looked at me, shook his head, said "the things I do for my patients....sigh", picked up the phone and called in LOTS of favours - My Hero! My CT scan was booked for 2 hours later (the fibs he told to get that sorted lol) and my PET scan was booked for the following day. We are so lucky to have these dedicated, professional, passionate and caring people prepared to fight for us and I will never be able to thank them all enough for the care and understanding they have shown over these past dreadful weeks of my life. The speed they have worked at from diagnosis to now has, on occasion, literally taken my breath away.
Alan and I left there in shock and headed over to the X-Ray department for my CT scan - where to my embarrassment, I admit I just sat and sobbed uncontrollably right there in the waiting room - in full view of everyone - oh dear! Poor Alan, his shoulder was soaked. The lady doing the scan thought I was scared of the machine and tried to calm my fears, bless her. I explained why I was crying and she got all choked up, gave me a hug and said they would look after me. To do this scan they need to inject a dye into your vein which travels around and shows up all your arteries etc. The scan itself is not painful, neither is the dye they use, though when they push it through you may get the feeling like a hot flush in your nether regions!! I hate needles so inserting the cannula was the worst bit for me. During the scan you lay on the table with your arms laying on the table behind your head - as though you are having a big stretch. When the scan starts you slide in and out of a giant polo mint - breathing normally then holding your breath, as instructed by the bossy computerised voice. Part way through they inject the dye into you, I've since had an operation where they inject yet more dye into you and, at this rate, before this year is over, I will be able to audition for a part in Tron! The scan was over and done with in about 15 minutes and we were heading back to my mums shortly afterwards.
We had already decided to tell Alec and Hannah that evening, it wasn't fair that everyone else knew and they were still in the dark. Plus which, we knew what it was now and had been told what would happen once they knew if and where it had travelled. The children were brought to my mums and we sat them down to break the news. I sat between them holding their hands, I couldn't speak as I didn't trust myself not to cry and we wanted to tell them with as little fuss as possible so as not to scare them too much. Alan handled it brilliantly, he told them I had been having some tests and that the Drs said I had breast cancer. He also said that we were in for a rough year but that we would all fight it together. He explained that I had some more tests to go through before the Drs could decide on my treatment. We played down the reasons for the extra tests as we decided we would cross that bridge if we came to it. They both reacted exactly as we expected. Alec went very quiet and did not say a word until I asked him if he understood, at which point he broke down, cuddled me tighter than he has for years and told me he loved me - unprovoked for the first time since he was about seven, after all he is a teenager and its not cool to tell your Mum you love her is it lol. Hannah was scared and crying. She immediately asked the question we had been dreading "is mummy going to die", she asked that two or three times in quick succession, obviously not happy with the answer she was getting. Alan assured her over and over that we are going to fight this with everything we have, that the Drs are on mummy's side and. although the medicine will be horrible, it will help. We explained that I might lose my hair and start to look very unwell but this would not be forever. Over the next few days both my kids surprised me. Alec is 7 years older than Hannah and often sees her as a pain in the rump (as is the norm with siblings), he will go to great lengths to avoid being in the same room as any of us and spends a lot of time in his room on Facebook or his phone (I know this because I have just recently paid a phone bill of over £100 - can you tell he has a new girlfriend?). Suddenly, he had lots of time for her, cuddling her and calming her down when she was upset. Of course, things are back to normal now and they are rowing about something and nothing as I type.....
Hannah showed a maturity beyond her years. I was wary of breaking down in front of her but there were occasions that following week where I couldn't help it. She would calmly get me a tissue, cuddle me and she told me on more than one occasion "just look on the bright side mum, by next July you will be all better and we can go on holiday" She also asked if I would consider wearing a purple wig, as its her favourite colour...... Kids!
It's at this point where I would like to get a bit mushy - look away now if you don't like mushy. Come on, when you read that I love old black and white films, you must have realised what an old sentimentalist I am... you can't say you weren't warned!
These past few weeks have been scary, terrifying and full of the unknown, they have also been an eyeopener. I truly did not know how many people love and care for me, Alan and my children. The support we have received via text messages, letters, emails, phone calls, Facebook and flowers has been overwhelming. We really are so grateful to everyone who has been and continues to be there for us.
Without a shadow of doubt, the love and support from our parents, sisters & brother and their families really has kept us going and, without them, I really do wonder how we would have gotten through this. I thank them from the bottom of my heart (see Dad, I could have said from the heart of my bottom, but I resisted the urge....oops). I certainly don't tell them often enough that I love them all very very much.
It's okay, you can look again now. My next post will be about how we revoked The Git's travel permits and planned it's annihilation - boo-yah!
As always, onwards and upwards
Debs x
Don't worry, they'll have made a huge mistake, you'll see...
These were words Alan and I heard a lot that following week, however, we had been in the room when Casper had made his announcement, seen his face and heard his words to me as we had left - "I'm so very sorry Deborah". I found myself apologising to him, he looked so upset, poor guy. The Breast Care Nurses (BCN - don't worry, you will soon pick up the lingo) told us we were the only ones Casper had had to give such horrible news to that day. He is such a funny and warm guy - I felt guilty for ruining his day!
We left the hospital after chatting with the BCNs about the next steps - we also left with enough paperwork to paper the downstairs loo! We saw Casper having a crafty cigarette outside so I shot him my best "Mums not happy" look and I like to think he looked a little embarrassed at being caught lol.
Despite being a grown woman of 43 and married with two kids, the only place I wanted to go right then was to my Mum and Dads. I just wanted a cuddle from my Mum and for my Dad to tell me it was going to be ok - both of which they supplied in abundance and continue to do so. An hour or so later I left feeling a lot calmer and more positive about it all.
Telling family and friends there was a strong possibility that I had cancer was very difficult. The look of shock on their faces was so upsetting and I felt awful for making them feel that way. A couple of my friends asked me how they should treat me - I think they meant should they treat me normally or with kid gloves. I assured them both that if they acted like they were walking on eggshells around me, I would absolutely hate it. I'm still Debbie, the one who organises our annual Ladies Wot Lunch days out to London, our trips to the theatre etc (still so very sorry about The Vagina Monologues disaster ladies....). I hope I can still be relied upon to come out with a sarky comment or a witty retort, especially at the wrong time! I still hate ironing and cleaning the bathroom, still eat penny sweets till I'm sick (got any Flying Saucers Kerry?), love black and white films - especially It's a Wonderful Life and Arsenic & Old Lace and still think this year's X-Factor was the biggest load of crap on telly in years! It's just that some of my cells have turned bad and need a good talking to! Thankfully, my friends understood this and so, in the spirit of friendship, they have continued to give me a hard time - for goodness sake, don't they know I have cancer? Have a little compassion ladies......... ;-)
Alan and I knew it wasn't a mistake, but could totally understand family and friends who wanted to think like that. I know that I would have said the exact same thing to any of them if the shoe had been on the other foot. However, we agreed that we wouldn't get our hopes up and would prepare for the worst - just in case. We also decided against telling Alec & Hannah anything until we knew for definite. Alec, at 17, is just about to take his AS Levels so has enough on his plate (after all, just being a teenager is difficult enough isn't it?) and Hannah is such a Mummy's girl, we were already worried how she would handle the news. It seemed kinder to leave them in ignorance for a while longer.
Remember I mentioned earlier that I had been going to Slimming World when this all came about? Well, week after week I had gone along with Kerry. Every week, on the way there, she would confess to having eaten either the entire menu at Pizza Hut or the contents of her fridge - and every flaming week she would be a loser! Some weeks she lost 3lb and they rang that damn bell, other weeks it would be 2 or 2.5lb - there was only a couple of occasions where she stayed the same. Me, on the other hand, I would lose half a pound here, a pound there or stay the same and I was following the flipping plan! Well!!! after the week I'd had - my appetite had flown out the same window I had wanted to jump out of, the thought, smell or sight of food made me heave. I had the constant shakes, in fact I felt as though I was on one of those Power Plates at the gym, so I must have lost weight. I told Kerry I was going to SW that night because I was going to ring that damn bell if it killed me! I got there, signed in, took off my boots and cardi and stood in line......... My moment came and I stood on those scales, I had lost a total of..... 2.5 sodding pounds! Honestly, I felt like picking up the bell and chucking it out the window! Mind you, Anne, our Leader took pity on me and marked my card as having "reached target weight" so now I get to go to SW and don't have to pay - see there is ALWAYS a silver lining if you look hard enough! Think on, the next time you hear a bell ring - especially at this time of year, it does't necessarily mean an Angel has got its wings (a quote from Clarence the Angel in It's a Wonderful Life) - it could mean that a SW member has lost 3lb.......
As always, onwards and upwards!
Debs x
We left the hospital after chatting with the BCNs about the next steps - we also left with enough paperwork to paper the downstairs loo! We saw Casper having a crafty cigarette outside so I shot him my best "Mums not happy" look and I like to think he looked a little embarrassed at being caught lol.
Despite being a grown woman of 43 and married with two kids, the only place I wanted to go right then was to my Mum and Dads. I just wanted a cuddle from my Mum and for my Dad to tell me it was going to be ok - both of which they supplied in abundance and continue to do so. An hour or so later I left feeling a lot calmer and more positive about it all.
Telling family and friends there was a strong possibility that I had cancer was very difficult. The look of shock on their faces was so upsetting and I felt awful for making them feel that way. A couple of my friends asked me how they should treat me - I think they meant should they treat me normally or with kid gloves. I assured them both that if they acted like they were walking on eggshells around me, I would absolutely hate it. I'm still Debbie, the one who organises our annual Ladies Wot Lunch days out to London, our trips to the theatre etc (still so very sorry about The Vagina Monologues disaster ladies....). I hope I can still be relied upon to come out with a sarky comment or a witty retort, especially at the wrong time! I still hate ironing and cleaning the bathroom, still eat penny sweets till I'm sick (got any Flying Saucers Kerry?), love black and white films - especially It's a Wonderful Life and Arsenic & Old Lace and still think this year's X-Factor was the biggest load of crap on telly in years! It's just that some of my cells have turned bad and need a good talking to! Thankfully, my friends understood this and so, in the spirit of friendship, they have continued to give me a hard time - for goodness sake, don't they know I have cancer? Have a little compassion ladies......... ;-)
Alan and I knew it wasn't a mistake, but could totally understand family and friends who wanted to think like that. I know that I would have said the exact same thing to any of them if the shoe had been on the other foot. However, we agreed that we wouldn't get our hopes up and would prepare for the worst - just in case. We also decided against telling Alec & Hannah anything until we knew for definite. Alec, at 17, is just about to take his AS Levels so has enough on his plate (after all, just being a teenager is difficult enough isn't it?) and Hannah is such a Mummy's girl, we were already worried how she would handle the news. It seemed kinder to leave them in ignorance for a while longer.
Remember I mentioned earlier that I had been going to Slimming World when this all came about? Well, week after week I had gone along with Kerry. Every week, on the way there, she would confess to having eaten either the entire menu at Pizza Hut or the contents of her fridge - and every flaming week she would be a loser! Some weeks she lost 3lb and they rang that damn bell, other weeks it would be 2 or 2.5lb - there was only a couple of occasions where she stayed the same. Me, on the other hand, I would lose half a pound here, a pound there or stay the same and I was following the flipping plan! Well!!! after the week I'd had - my appetite had flown out the same window I had wanted to jump out of, the thought, smell or sight of food made me heave. I had the constant shakes, in fact I felt as though I was on one of those Power Plates at the gym, so I must have lost weight. I told Kerry I was going to SW that night because I was going to ring that damn bell if it killed me! I got there, signed in, took off my boots and cardi and stood in line......... My moment came and I stood on those scales, I had lost a total of..... 2.5 sodding pounds! Honestly, I felt like picking up the bell and chucking it out the window! Mind you, Anne, our Leader took pity on me and marked my card as having "reached target weight" so now I get to go to SW and don't have to pay - see there is ALWAYS a silver lining if you look hard enough! Think on, the next time you hear a bell ring - especially at this time of year, it does't necessarily mean an Angel has got its wings (a quote from Clarence the Angel in It's a Wonderful Life) - it could mean that a SW member has lost 3lb.......
As always, onwards and upwards!
Debs x
Monday 19 December 2011
I don't even like rollercoasters that much!
What was it Julie Andrews sang to those annoying Von Trapp kids? Oh yes, I know "lets start at the very beginning, it's a very good place to start..." Well, I suppose she had a point so that's what I will do.
My beginning was an evening in late Summer/early Autumn this year. My daughter, Hannah is ten and loves a cuddle. She was sitting on the sofa, leaning her head against my chest when I suddenly felt a sharp pain on the right side of my breast bone. "Hmm" I thought "that doesn't feel right" so I had a tentative feel of the area - all the while dreading that I might actually feel a lump and trying so hard NOT to do so - if you know what I mean? Although it was tender, I couldn't feel anything that shouldn't be there so I put it to the back of my mind. Over the next couple of weeks, I gently prodded the area a few times to see if the pain was still there, but it seemed to have cleared up - maybe I imagined it - after all, she does have a bony head? However, call it intuition - call it pessimism - heck, call it what you like, a nagging started at the back of my mind that all wasn't as it should be. I began to feel that my right breast was different in some way so took to checking it almost daily - even walking around Tescos I would have a crafty feel, it became like an obsession to prove my inner voice wrong.
It was during one of these examinations (not in Tescos I hasten to add) that I noticed my nipple had inverted, "Uh Oh" I thought, "this is definitely wrong". I then found what seemed to be a swelling inside my breast but, in my naivety (if you continue to read my blog you will see that I was naive A LOT over the following weeks!), I thought the swelling was just the muscle inside my boob. I had been doing Slimming World for a couple of weeks and, like most women, the first place I lose weight is the last place I need to - in my case, my boobs and I think this is the reason why I noticed the swelling. The next day I did the right thing and made a Drs appointment for a few days later. However, a day before the Drs appointment the nipple went back to normal and I convinced myself I had imagined the swelling (I know, I know....). So, when I went along to the Drs I did the wrong thing and instead of mentioning my concerns, I told her about the strange "damp" smell I had been experiencing inside my nose for the previous couple of weeks. I had blamed the hamsters and put them in the bathtub, I thought maybe we had a leak and went around smelling the pipes. My family got used to seeing me with an Olbas nasal stick stuck up my nose. Anyway, I digress (another thing I am guilty of), the Dr diagnosed a sinus problem and gave me antibiotics and I went away content - sort of.
A week later when my husband came home from work, I asked him to feel my boob - of course, he thought all his Christmases had come at once - after all, it wasn't our anniversary or his birthday, we were in the kitchen and it wasn't quite dark yet! He took off his jacket and had a feel then told me that he too could feel something and that I should make an appt with the Dr for the next morning. I went to bed a bit concerned but still believing that it was probably nothing. After all, I am only 43 years old, live quite a healthy lifestyle, drink very little (though I will admit to being partial to our friend, Lisa's version of Long Island Iced Tea - but that's not an every day occurrence), I don't smoke and avoid white bread like the plague (just ask my Mum and Dad!) so how COULD it be anything sinister? My friends agreed with me when I mentioned it to them, we all thought that, if anything, it would be "just a cyst". I visited the Drs on Friday 11th November, Remembrance Day! Both the Dr and his student said they could feel something and he referred me to our local hospitals' "One Stop Shop Breast Clinic" - I never even knew such a place existed. According to NICE, a patient must be seen within 14 days of being referred and my appointment came through for Thursday 24th November. I was told to allow 3 hours for an examination, a mammogram and an ultra sound, if required.
My husband booked the day off and we went along, me still not too concerned just wanting to be out of there so we could do some Christmas shopping afterwards...... I was called in to see the Dr for an examination. He spent so long going backwards and forwards between my boobs that in the end I put my hand up and asked him if he really was the Dr and not some bloke off the street getting a quick feel. The nurse fell about laughing and he spluttered. I apologised and explained I am a bit of a joker, especially when feeling nervous, luckily he has a great sense of humour and took it in the spirit it was intended. He told me I had to have a mammogram and an ultrasound and, that if it was a cyst, it would be drained that day. Having already spied the trolley with the needles in they use for draining, I left the examination room feeling a little green. I went back to Alan and explained that he would have to come in with me if that happened as it was likely I would be seeing my breakfast again soon.
After my mammogram the machine broke down - that was the ONLY bit of luck I had that day. The nurse came to get me for the ultrasound and said Alan could come too - now, I should have realised at this point that things were going downhill fast - but not me and I walked to the room laughing with the nurse about something daft! We entered the room and it was full of nurses who immediately started talking to me in that lovely, caring way they have. I laid down on the bed and the Dr explained she was going to do the Ultrasound, another nurse sat beside me rubbing my arm. In the back of my brain little alarms were going off "ping ping ping" and I felt myself begin to start shaking, like tremors from within me that I couldn't control. The Dr said she needed to take a biopsy from the lump - at this point she confirmed it wasn't a cyst after all. During the biopsy they asked Alan if he was okay little did they know that he loves anything gory like that so was in his element! In fact I'm surprised he didn't ask if he could sit closer.... The biopsy didn't hurt, they gave me a local anaesthetic and then took 5 or 6 samples from the lump. Now, on my way to visit the loo earlier, I had noticed a room to the side, a room with comfy sofas and lots of boxes of tissues. "Oh dear" I had thought, "that must be where they take people to give them bad news". After the Ultrasound the nurse took Alan and I to that ruddy room. It was at this point that I broke down and sobbed, then felt guilty for sobbing because I hadn't been told anything so was I just being a drama queen? The nurse came back about 10 minutes later and said the Dr was waiting to see us. My Drs name is Casper and we have met a number of times since that day, he has a fantastic sense of humour but, on this occasion he was so solemn. We sat down and he explained that he had been confused when he first examined me because my story "didn't make sense" but now, having seen the results of the mammogram and the ultrasound, it all made perfect sense. He said that although we had to wait a week for the biopsy results, he was convinced I had breast cancer. I'm afraid to say I didn't take this very well, I think you always wonder how you would react to bad news like that but you never know until it happens. I had always imagined (or rather I'd hoped) I would react with a quick quip or a throw away comment, I didn't, instead I went to pieces. I lost the ability to form words, I could only make daft sounds like "oof". I cried. I asked if it was treatable - a stupid question to my mind because they didn't even know what type it was at that point. Casper offered to show me the pictures but I didn't want to see it, this only made things more difficult for him to explain so in the end I agreed to look. Luckily, Alan had retained the use of both his brain and his mouth and was asking all the right questions. He was so calm whereas I was a wreck. The breast care nurses offered me water, to lie down, did I want a window open - open? I wanted to jump out of it and run away. It was explained that I would need to return on Thursday December 1st to get the results and, if confirmed, I would most probably be having a mastectomy the following week with chemo and rads to follow that. Blimey, that morning I had been sorting my Christmas list out - three hours later I was planning my funeral in my head.
Well if you have managed to get to the end of my waffling, I congratulate you! I need to take some more meds now which will knock me for six so will continue my blog in a day or so.
Debs
My beginning was an evening in late Summer/early Autumn this year. My daughter, Hannah is ten and loves a cuddle. She was sitting on the sofa, leaning her head against my chest when I suddenly felt a sharp pain on the right side of my breast bone. "Hmm" I thought "that doesn't feel right" so I had a tentative feel of the area - all the while dreading that I might actually feel a lump and trying so hard NOT to do so - if you know what I mean? Although it was tender, I couldn't feel anything that shouldn't be there so I put it to the back of my mind. Over the next couple of weeks, I gently prodded the area a few times to see if the pain was still there, but it seemed to have cleared up - maybe I imagined it - after all, she does have a bony head? However, call it intuition - call it pessimism - heck, call it what you like, a nagging started at the back of my mind that all wasn't as it should be. I began to feel that my right breast was different in some way so took to checking it almost daily - even walking around Tescos I would have a crafty feel, it became like an obsession to prove my inner voice wrong.
It was during one of these examinations (not in Tescos I hasten to add) that I noticed my nipple had inverted, "Uh Oh" I thought, "this is definitely wrong". I then found what seemed to be a swelling inside my breast but, in my naivety (if you continue to read my blog you will see that I was naive A LOT over the following weeks!), I thought the swelling was just the muscle inside my boob. I had been doing Slimming World for a couple of weeks and, like most women, the first place I lose weight is the last place I need to - in my case, my boobs and I think this is the reason why I noticed the swelling. The next day I did the right thing and made a Drs appointment for a few days later. However, a day before the Drs appointment the nipple went back to normal and I convinced myself I had imagined the swelling (I know, I know....). So, when I went along to the Drs I did the wrong thing and instead of mentioning my concerns, I told her about the strange "damp" smell I had been experiencing inside my nose for the previous couple of weeks. I had blamed the hamsters and put them in the bathtub, I thought maybe we had a leak and went around smelling the pipes. My family got used to seeing me with an Olbas nasal stick stuck up my nose. Anyway, I digress (another thing I am guilty of), the Dr diagnosed a sinus problem and gave me antibiotics and I went away content - sort of.
A week later when my husband came home from work, I asked him to feel my boob - of course, he thought all his Christmases had come at once - after all, it wasn't our anniversary or his birthday, we were in the kitchen and it wasn't quite dark yet! He took off his jacket and had a feel then told me that he too could feel something and that I should make an appt with the Dr for the next morning. I went to bed a bit concerned but still believing that it was probably nothing. After all, I am only 43 years old, live quite a healthy lifestyle, drink very little (though I will admit to being partial to our friend, Lisa's version of Long Island Iced Tea - but that's not an every day occurrence), I don't smoke and avoid white bread like the plague (just ask my Mum and Dad!) so how COULD it be anything sinister? My friends agreed with me when I mentioned it to them, we all thought that, if anything, it would be "just a cyst". I visited the Drs on Friday 11th November, Remembrance Day! Both the Dr and his student said they could feel something and he referred me to our local hospitals' "One Stop Shop Breast Clinic" - I never even knew such a place existed. According to NICE, a patient must be seen within 14 days of being referred and my appointment came through for Thursday 24th November. I was told to allow 3 hours for an examination, a mammogram and an ultra sound, if required.
My husband booked the day off and we went along, me still not too concerned just wanting to be out of there so we could do some Christmas shopping afterwards...... I was called in to see the Dr for an examination. He spent so long going backwards and forwards between my boobs that in the end I put my hand up and asked him if he really was the Dr and not some bloke off the street getting a quick feel. The nurse fell about laughing and he spluttered. I apologised and explained I am a bit of a joker, especially when feeling nervous, luckily he has a great sense of humour and took it in the spirit it was intended. He told me I had to have a mammogram and an ultrasound and, that if it was a cyst, it would be drained that day. Having already spied the trolley with the needles in they use for draining, I left the examination room feeling a little green. I went back to Alan and explained that he would have to come in with me if that happened as it was likely I would be seeing my breakfast again soon.
After my mammogram the machine broke down - that was the ONLY bit of luck I had that day. The nurse came to get me for the ultrasound and said Alan could come too - now, I should have realised at this point that things were going downhill fast - but not me and I walked to the room laughing with the nurse about something daft! We entered the room and it was full of nurses who immediately started talking to me in that lovely, caring way they have. I laid down on the bed and the Dr explained she was going to do the Ultrasound, another nurse sat beside me rubbing my arm. In the back of my brain little alarms were going off "ping ping ping" and I felt myself begin to start shaking, like tremors from within me that I couldn't control. The Dr said she needed to take a biopsy from the lump - at this point she confirmed it wasn't a cyst after all. During the biopsy they asked Alan if he was okay little did they know that he loves anything gory like that so was in his element! In fact I'm surprised he didn't ask if he could sit closer.... The biopsy didn't hurt, they gave me a local anaesthetic and then took 5 or 6 samples from the lump. Now, on my way to visit the loo earlier, I had noticed a room to the side, a room with comfy sofas and lots of boxes of tissues. "Oh dear" I had thought, "that must be where they take people to give them bad news". After the Ultrasound the nurse took Alan and I to that ruddy room. It was at this point that I broke down and sobbed, then felt guilty for sobbing because I hadn't been told anything so was I just being a drama queen? The nurse came back about 10 minutes later and said the Dr was waiting to see us. My Drs name is Casper and we have met a number of times since that day, he has a fantastic sense of humour but, on this occasion he was so solemn. We sat down and he explained that he had been confused when he first examined me because my story "didn't make sense" but now, having seen the results of the mammogram and the ultrasound, it all made perfect sense. He said that although we had to wait a week for the biopsy results, he was convinced I had breast cancer. I'm afraid to say I didn't take this very well, I think you always wonder how you would react to bad news like that but you never know until it happens. I had always imagined (or rather I'd hoped) I would react with a quick quip or a throw away comment, I didn't, instead I went to pieces. I lost the ability to form words, I could only make daft sounds like "oof". I cried. I asked if it was treatable - a stupid question to my mind because they didn't even know what type it was at that point. Casper offered to show me the pictures but I didn't want to see it, this only made things more difficult for him to explain so in the end I agreed to look. Luckily, Alan had retained the use of both his brain and his mouth and was asking all the right questions. He was so calm whereas I was a wreck. The breast care nurses offered me water, to lie down, did I want a window open - open? I wanted to jump out of it and run away. It was explained that I would need to return on Thursday December 1st to get the results and, if confirmed, I would most probably be having a mastectomy the following week with chemo and rads to follow that. Blimey, that morning I had been sorting my Christmas list out - three hours later I was planning my funeral in my head.
Well if you have managed to get to the end of my waffling, I congratulate you! I need to take some more meds now which will knock me for six so will continue my blog in a day or so.
Debs
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