This article has been added to the site in support of our Sep 2009 Newsletter in an attempt to raise awareness of Breast Cancer - Next month (Oct 2009) is designated Breast Cancer awareness month and there is going to be a nationwide campaign so we thought we'd try to do our little bit to help. Check out our Pink Ribbon Section.
Our boss (Cally) developed Breast Cancer when she was only 28 and had 3 young children to cope with. This is her account of her survival and she hopes it will inspire others to take the risks seriously but never give up hope.
MY STORY - (by Cally)
The day started the same as any other day in a household full of young children, the usual morning flurry of lunch boxes, kisses, P.E kits and lost homework, followed by the silence of an empty house and the feeling of a job well done as all the children are deposited safely into the hands of the Education system. Little did I know that this was the day that would change my life...
I was 28 years old, married with 3 young children and just Mrs Average really, nothing to set me apart from anyone else. As the day drew to a close, hubby and I settled down to a well earned slice of peace and quiet and a good programme on the TV. With his arm slung around my shoulders, we were enjoying a nice cup of tea and waiting for the adverts to finish when all of a sudden my hubby says 'what's this? - You've got a lump'. In a split second I went from contentedly glowing to icy cold. A lump? I've heard about these things. However, on closer inspection my 'lump' was the size of a dried pea - phew - that had me going for a minute. Men, they do exaggerate!
After that I was thoroughly hen-pecked, are you going to see a doctor? when will you go see the doctor? Will you do it in the morning? he just kept at me all evening until I lost my temper. There was no way I was going to disturb a busy Doctor with something the size of a dried pea - He'd think I was a hypochondriac
Still, the next morning I found myself making an appointment with the Doctor and cursing my husband mentally for bullying me into something I really didn't want to do. 'When the Doctor smiles at me and tells me to clear off - my husbands life is not going to be worth living' I promised myself.
FIRST APPOINTMENT
'Mrs D' announced the Doctor. 'Oh well, bread and water for hubby from now on then, here goes...' and I trailed the doctor into the surgery. Sheepishly I explained about my 'lump' and waited to be dismissed. Surprisingly the Doctor didn't dismiss it out of hand. After having a good prod and a poke, he pulled out a wad of papers sporting a female silhouette and 'X' marked the spot. He gently explained that it was probably nothing, statistically I was very young to be having Breast Cancer, but he'd like to refer me to the hospital anyway - just to be on the safe side. With letter and Mrs Silhouette in hand I was sent down to the hospital to make an 'Urgent' appointment.
THE HOSPITAL
For 'Urgent' read six months I think to myself as I trudge down to the hospital - my faith in the NHS was not all it should be. I dutifully stood in line, repeated the Doctors instructions and was totally amazed to be given an appointment for THE NEXT DAY. Wow, the NHS wasn't as bad as everyone said.
The next day, still feeling that this was a lot of fuss about nothing, I set off for my appointment at the hospital. It all starts to get a little fuzzy now...... I remember the consultant reassuring me and saying he wanted to do a needle biopsy, I remember them sticking a needle into my lump and not managing to draw anything off, I remember the words 'Breast Cancer' and I remember being given an admissions form for day surgery at the end of the week. I do not remember the walk home - I'm lucky I didn't get run over really. I remember calling in at my friends house and dissolving into tears, I remember phoning my husband, but I don't remember another thing of that day. I know the children must have got home from school and were fed and watered, but I don't think I did it!
DAY SURGERY
Still a little dazed, I went to the hospital for my 'Day Surgery'. The idea was to cut the lump out, send it for testing and have a follow-up appointment for the results. Very routine, only a small chunk of me gone, no problem. I could go home as soon as the world stopped spinning and I could repeat my name. I wasn't down in theatre very long, hubby waited patiently and we were home for tea time. I had a week to wait for the results. You have no idea how long a week can be when you're waiting for the axe to fall.....
'Your lump gave us quite a surprise' I remember hearing the consultant say, then it all goes a bit fuzzy again. 'Good surprise, or bad surprise?' I thought. Bad surprise it turned out. The lump had contained pre-cancerous cells and they wanted to take out a bigger chunk to make sure they had it all. Not quite 'Day Surgery' this time. I was scheduled for theatre the following Monday.
Well, they took a bigger chunk - a very big chunk in fact - I was left with a nipple that pointed heavenwards. No more 'Wet T.shirt' competitions for me, I thought ruefully! I enjoyed the delights of hospital food for 3 days and only had 1 day to wait before my next appointment for the results. By now, I wasn't quite so dismissive of my 'lump', and I was quaking in my boots by the time my turn arrived to see the consultant. This had to be the end of it surely!
Unfortunately not, the next sample had showed more abnormal cells, but not only had they found one sort, but 2! They wanted to remove not just the affected breast, but the other one too, because there was a 50% chance of it showing up in the other side and going unnoticed until it was too late. THIS COULD NOT BE HAPPENING - It was the size of a DRIED PEA for goodness sake! I was going to loose BOTH of my breasts because of something the size of a pea??????
SHOCK SETS IN
I retreated into my own little world at this point. I didn't want to talk to anyone, I didn't know what to tell the children, I didn't know how to live without my boobs. I went numb, nothing penetrated my little world, I functioned at a 'Zombie' level. I hadn't said anything to my sisters and parents by this point, because there was no point worrying them for nothing. But, when your life comes crashing down, I did what most children do (age doesn't come in to it) I went home to Mum. I didn't want her pity, I didn't want to talk, I just wanted 'normal life' going on around me. If anyone was 'nice' to me, I just burst into tears, I didn't want 'nice' - I couldn't cope with 'nice', I just wanted 'normal'.
I felt totally distanced from life, as if I was on some sort of conveyor belt and was just being carried along. To be honest, the thought of Cancer didn't scare me as much as loosing my breasts. The fact that I might die from cancer never really entered my head at this time, I just mourned the loss of my breasts. I was going to be a freak, how would my husband be able to look at me again? I hadn't stuffed my bras since I was 13 years old! Would the children be ashamed of me because I looked funny? I wouldn't be able to take them swimming anymore, but my husband, thoughts kept returning to my husband. Would he still love me without boobs? I knew he said it made no difference, but you can't help feelings of repulsion, no matter how much you tried to cover them up. How would I cope with seeing that in his face?
This was a very 'low' period for me. My husband was marvellous, he took over the running of the household, made sure the children were looked after, and still found time to squeeze my hand every so often. Although it felt like an eternity, it was only actually the weekend because I was scheduled for theatre on the Monday morning.
THE BIG OP
Sunday evening I packed my bags and we all went to the hospital. I was left in a corridor for hours because there were no beds (That's more like the NHS we know and love)! and to top it all off, I'd picked up a cold and was feeling really rough. They eventually found me a bed, but I was told the op would have to be delayed because of the cold, but they weren't letting me go home (probably thought I'd do a runner or something). By Wednesday I was well enough to go to theatre ( I wish they would sell over the counter, whatever pills it was they gave me to dry up my cold, - they'd make a fortune!) Strange how the mind plays tricks, I spent the extra couple of days convincing myself that 3 general anaesthetics in the space of 2 weeks was really pushing my luck and I was so sure that I would not wake up from this one. So when I kissed the kids goodbye, I really thought that was the last I would see of them. The trip on the trolley down to theatre was strange, I thought the rusty overhead pipes were going to be the last I saw of this world - but I felt totally calm, I just accepted it. As the anaesthetic kicked in, and it all started to go dark, I gave a final sigh.....
Well, I did wake up and boy was I sore. To move my left arm sent shooting pains through me, and for some reason my heels hurt. I'm sure they must have dropped me when I was out or something - why else would your heels hurt? They hadn't really dropped me, my heels hurt because I'd spent hours on a hard surface flat on my back.
The next day the consultant gave me the best news I'd had in a while - the lymph glands were clear and he had been happy enough that it was contained, to give me an implant! We had discussed this, but it was touch and go and he wouldn't make any promises, the feeling of elation was overwhelming. I may be in pain, I may miss my home and children, but I had got a sort of boob! Before theatre I had joked with the surgeon that if I could have an implant, I wanted a 'Dolly Parton' model and I couldn't wait to see my new 'boob'.
I remained strapped up for about a week, and then the grand unveiling arrived, the strapping was coming off! I felt a mixture of fear and excitement as the bandages were unwound, what was it going to look like, would it look real? My first glimpse sent me into shock again - it was misshapen, black, blue and various shades of green and to be honest, didn't look much like a boob. Trying not to cry, I asked what happened to Dolly Parton, and the surgeon just smiled and said she'd been on a diet!
For some strange reason, the surgeon thought the mangled wreck I had strapped to my chest was wonderful - no accounting for taste! As the days past, the mangled wreck began to look more and more like a boob, as the colour returned to normal, the swelling subsided and the shape took on more curves. But I wasn't out of the woods yet........
With number 1 boob in place, I was allowed a 6 week reprieve to recover before going back for more surgery to remove my right breast. I had been packed off home with some Lanolin to massage into my poor little sore, false breast to stop the scar tissue from tightening and leaving me with a 'Chelsea Bun' stuck on the front of my chest. Despite my efforts - and you have to believe me when I say massaging my own breast is not something I was used to doing - the new 'boob' did go solid as a rock as the scar tissue formed, but it didn't matter that much because they were going to replace it at the same time as they did the other side.
The 6 weeks passed far to quickly for my liking, and I found myself sitting in the same corridor waiting for another bed. At this point I was still more concerned about my appearance than my health. The surgery went well and there was another long wait for the grand unveiling - but I was ready this time, and managed to look past the bruising. I was told that they had some good news for me - my other breast was clear. I know it's stupid, and I should have breathed a sigh of relief, but all I could think was 'What a waste of a perfectly good boob!'
Once I got used to my new appearance, my thoughts turned unwittingly to the Cancer itself. It hit me hard one day, just out of nowhere, I could have died. I felt as if some alien creature was crawling around in my body just waiting to settle somewhere else. What if it came back? What if a few cells had broken free and were happily swimming round my blood stream? For a good 6 months I lived in terror of it returning, every time I had an appointment at the hospital I felt sick, every time I came down with a cold and my glands enlarged I broke out in a cold sweat. There were no thoughts of disturbing a busy Doctor now - I was camped on his doorstep banging on the door!
It took a long, long time before I started to believe that this might finally be over. My check-up appointments went from weekly, to monthly, to 6 monthly and finally to an annual visit. For the first year at least, the thought of it returning was always in my thoughts, then I managed to push it to the back mind and it only reared it's ugly head when I was due a check up at the hospital. It is now some 22 odd years later, but when I go for that annual visit I still get nervous, and if they hesitate or re-examine an area, I still go icy cold. When I hit my 60's, I will still have the boobs of a teenager, but sadly not the rest of the body.
Two or three years ago they offered me new implants as a day surgery patient and I accepted thinking perhaps they'd give me the 'Spaniels Ears' I would normally have had be my time of life and as I was only going to be in the hospital for a few short hours, I thought it wouldn't be painful - I was wrong on both counts but you have to take the rough with the smooth.
Sitting here writing this, re-living that period of my life has really brought home to me how different it all could have been if I hadn't succumbed to my husband's bullying and made that first appointment. If I'd followed my instincts and ignored it until the lump was large enough to make a fuss about, it might have been too late. So anyone reading this with a 'lump the size of a pea', get away to your GP, early detection really is the key, the medical profession won't laugh at you or think you are making a fuss over nothing - HELP THEM TO HELP YOU and go now!
Footnote. Seven years ago I lost my Mother to the disease and a close friend a short while later - they left it too late. However, my younger sister has also developed the disease and has been successfully treated because she went to the doctors at the first sign of something wrong - The moral of the story is clear - Go see the doctor early and you can beat this disease.