A Lump In The Road . . .

There are no words to describe the shock I felt. It took a couple of weeks to process those words “you have breast cancer”. Why me? Why now? And most devastating of all why do I have to subject my precious children and family to this?

As the shock subsided somewhat, I made a decision: to only think of the positive. Always look for the silver lining. And so my new life mantra is: Positive vibes, positive mind!

I’ve decided to document my treatment journey here firstly so my family and friends have a place to go to hear about my progress. There are not enough hours in the day to call and message everyone who cares (silver lining: there are so many people who care!). And secondly, I am a documenter. At first I thought that I didn’t want any sort of reminder of this heart-wrenching time. But then I got to thinking that maybe just writing my story would help me process it better. Maybe help my family understand better. Maybe help my children understand what was happening if they read this sometime in the future.

So welcome to my story.

The first question I get asked when I tell people I have breast cancer is “Did you feel a lump?”. So my story starts like this:

I felt a lump. I would regularly self-check my breasts, not knowing what I was feeling for. Then all of a sudden, there was no mistaking that there was something there that wasn’t in the other breast.

I didn’t hesitate to make an appointment to see my regular GP. So within a week I saw her and upon examination she confirmed that there was definitely a change there so it’s best to get it checked. At this stage I wasn’t too concerned. I only finished breastfeeding my youngest about 2 ½ years ago and that particular breast (right side) had felt a little different since then. I was sure it would just be a blocked milk duct or cyst or something harmless like that. I was so proud of myself for not jumping to any conclusions.

My doctor agreed with me that most likely it wasn’t cancer as it didn’t “feel” like a typical cancer to her (she has diagnosed multiple breast cancers) and also, I had some pain and discomfort there and typically, breast cancers don’t hurt. (I now know that is NOT always the case).

I confidently called a specialty breast clinic and booked in for the very next day. The next day also happened to be my husband’s birthday but I thought a couple of hours at the breast clinic would be fine. I would still have time to make a cake and special dinner for him. Ha!

I called my Mum and told her and she offered to come with me of course. I told her no, I was absolutely fine and I was sure it was nothing. Later that night, she messaged me to tell me that she would definitely come with me. There’s that motherly instinct.

The next day I headed to the clinic, the youngest patient out of a room absolutely full of grey haired, older ladies. Lots and lots of waiting. My first mammogram. More waiting. An examination by the doctor. Then a very lengthy ultrasound. Very lengthy. With lots of measurements taken. But that didn’t surprise me as I knew there was something there. Just didn’t know what.

Back in with the doctor and she said “What we’re seeing looks very worrying”. At that second, I felt heat coming up my neck and my heart stopped for a second. “So it’s not just a cyst?” I asked. She sadly shook her head “No.”

The clinic was emptying . . . we’d been there hours at this stage. I took Mum outside and told her what the doctor told me and had a bit of a cry/panic. It’s funny that in the midst of this, I couldn’t believe that I wouldn’t be home in time to make a cake for my husband’s birthday!

I was called in for biopsies. Multiple. Under ultrasound guidance I had three fine needle biopsies and 5 core biopsies. I was numb. Literally and figuratively. After the biopsies I was taken to a quiet room to apply ice to the area to minimise swelling. Mum joined me and we tried to process what was happening. The doctor came in to check on us and again, we were prepared for the worst.

She would call me the next day with the biopsy results but I could tell that she knew. My medical TV show experience told me that. Her body language, her tone of voice and her words were gentle and caring and sympathetic.

So after 6 hours, we could go home. To “celebrate” my husband’s birthday. How on earth was I going to put on a brave face in front of the kids? I don’t know how, but I did. At least I think I did. And my poor husband. Happy birthday, your wife might have cancer.

Day one of this journey: 25/7/17. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.