The Cancer Survivors Club (17 page)

I was a young, fit fifty-one year old when I found a lump in my breast. I'd had lumps before, but, thankfully, after seeing a specialist and having mammograms, they always turned out to be cysts. This lump appeared during a very hectic time in my life. With help from other relatives, I was looking after my elderly parents, so this was a physically and emotionally busy time. Both my parents were very poorly. Sadly, in March, we regretfully decided they needed more professional and experienced residential
care.

On the Friday, they were both admitted to a care home, and I thought, ‘Right, on Monday, I'm going to see the doctor and get my lump checked out.' My doctor quickly referred me to the hospital and just two days later I went through a number of tests and examinations. I also had a mammogram, scan and a biopsy taken. I was still busy, just in a different way. Once all the tests were completed, the consultant called me back into his office and said those dreaded words: ‘Yes, it is cancer.' He might as well have hit me with a sledgehammer; I was totally knocked over by the
news.

‘You knew, didn't you?' he asked.

I suppose deep down I did wonder, but chose to believe it wasn't anything more than another cyst. I'd had the lump for several months and knew I should have seen my doctor sooner. However, due to previous test results always coming back clear and my time being occupied looking after my parents, I'd chosen the easier option. I talked things through with the consultant, and another appointment was made for the following Tuesday.

This gave me time to digest the news and think about the options I'd been given, including having a mastectomy. I felt way too young and healthy to have my breast partially or even completely removed.

In the meantime, I carried on throwing myself into my work and dancing. I was a dance teacher for children and adults with learning difficulties and special needs. As well as this, I also ran a book-keeping business so always kept very
busy.

3 April
–
It was my birthday but I obviously felt I didn't have too much to celebrate. I did have two lovely cats, though: Mitzi and Pixie.

Mitzi was pregnant and due to have kittens at any time, so I decided to visit the vet and find out if it was likely she would have them while I was in hospital. I was told the kittens could be here any day and it looked like there would be four of them. I explained I was going into hospital and was hoping they'd arrive once I got home. ‘You'll be lucky,' the vet
said.

Once home, I told Mitzi to hold on until I was discharged, but wasn't convinced she understood me. She seemed more interested in having a brush.

My next appointment was at the Breast Care Centre where I told the consultant that, after a lot of thinking and sleepless nights, I'd made the decision to go ahead with the mastectomy. He was delighted and thought it was the right decision for my long-term health. He explained my breast cancer was stage two: small and hormone related. He also said the operation would be done the following week. I was pleased with this
–
the sooner the better from my perspective. I just wanted to get it over with. I explained to the consultant that I didn't want the chemotherapy, radiotherapy or any reconstructive surgery.

His response was that I might still need to have it, despite having the breast removed. However, they wouldn't know for sure until after the operation.

I was booked to have my breast removed on 12 April. My stay in hospital would be for about five days and it would take another eight or so weeks at home to recover fully. I'd also not be able to drive for four weeks; this was going to be a big hindrance. In the big picture, I guess not driving was the least of my troubles. I remember the doctor started to explain what would happen after my stay in hospital, but I stopped him. ‘Nope, just one step at a time please,' I said. I needed to deal with my cancer slowly, in my own
way.

As soon as I got home I started making plans for my stay in hospital and continued telling Mitzi to hold off having her kittens until I was back. I told her every day. I still wasn't sure she was listening
–
like most cats she was more interested in her
food.

12 April
–
A lady called Margaret whom I met while in hospital was going to be there at the same time as me. We first met while I was waiting to hear my test results. We soon got chatting and found we had so much in common.

My friend Teresa came with me to the hospital. When we arrived, I immediately noticed Margaret; she had some relatives keeping her company. We all sat together and Margaret and I were told by the nurses not to drink anything after 10:00
A.M.
We were all joking about, pretending we were at an airport lounge waiting to be transported to some exotic destination. This helped pass the time and made us both feel a little more relaxed. At 10:15
A.M.
, we were called in, first Margaret and then
me.

We laughed with the receptionist about being in an airport lounge and she joined in the fun; either that or she thought we were absolutely mad. We completed the necessary paperwork and were given instructions on how to find the ward. ‘You can wait there for your flight,' the nurse joked.

As we entered the ward, we continued doing our best to keep our spirits up; again, we tried to forget how nervous we were now feeling. We told the staff how we were imagining we were going on a sun-drenched holiday. The nurse showed us to the ‘airport lounge' and told us the stewardess would be with us shortly.

Soon, I was lying on a hospital bed being whisked off to theatre with the porter, nurse and Teresa pushing. The joking had stopped now and I was starting to feel very anxious indeed. We arrived at the theatre, where I was moved onto another bed, then Teresa and I said our goodbyes before she went home. When the various consultants, anaesthetists and other doctors greeted me and asked how I was, I replied, ‘Suddenly nervous.' They all did their best to reassure me everything would be
OK.

The next thing I knew, it was midnight, my breast had been removed and I just remember my throat feeling really
dry.

13 April (Good Friday)
–
I was given a cup of tea and a bed pan. When a nurse came around to change my dressing, I asked if I could see my scar. The nurse said, ‘Really, are you ready?' I nodded; the sooner the better, I thought. The nurse slowly uncovered the site and let me take a quick peek at where my right breast had been. Once I'd seen the scar, my fears instantly dispersed; I was so pleased I'd asked.

If I'd hung on and waited a few more days, the dread would have built up inside
me.

My friend Margaret was in the next bed to me, which was nice as we were able to chat and look after each other.

Later that day, I managed to walk to the toilet with the help of the staff and even managed to wash myself. The staff kept a close eye on me as I got back into bed, just in case I fell. I was told I'd be able to get dressed the following day. I also had a number of visitors, which was really
nice.

14 April
–
I got myself washed and dressed without the nurse's help, which I was so pleased about. I put my big comfy jumper on and managed to stuff the various tubes and bag under it. I kept telling other patients I was six months pregnant and it wouldn't be long before my baby arrived. If nothing else, I'd convinced them I was mad! It's always good to keep a sense of humour in these situations, even if it was only me laughing.

15 April (Easter Sunday)
–
I had lots of visitors, which really helped the time pass. I even managed to walk down to the café for a drink. I was so looking forward to getting home now and seeing my cats. I kept my fingers crossed Mitzi hadn't had her kittens
yet.

16 April (Easter Monday)
–
I had a steady flow of visitors again and the tube in my hand and the drain in my chest were removed. The painkillers were too strong for me now, so I decided just to have some paracetamol.

17 April
–
I asked the consultant if I could go home and explained about Mitzi being pregnant.

He agreed, and after arranging the paperwork I finally got
home.

18 April
–
At 3:00
A.M.
, Teresa and I watched Mitzi deliver her kittens. She really had been listening to me. She had five kittens in total: two black and white, which looked a little like her; two grey and white; and one pure grey. This was a big boost to my recovery and perfect timing,
too.

19 April
–
I had to go back to the hospital to see what they had found during my operation. I was told the cancer had spread to my lymph glands and they had therefore removed them. Because of this, it was decided I would need some chemotherapy and radiotherapy. I felt very numb at the news and started doing things in a complete daze, knowing I'd need more treatment. I guess I'd hoped by having the mastectomy all the cancerous cells would have been removed. My dear Mitzi and her kittens were so lovely and really helped to take my mind off the situation but I knew I still had some big decisions to
make.

1 May
–
My appointment with Oncology arrived, confirming I'd need both chemotherapy and radiotherapy. I continued to recover from my operation, while disbelieving I'd need further treatment. This was another nightmare I didn't want either. My niece visited me and brought some books about breast cancer, as well as information on the ‘Bristol Approach' published by the Penny Brohn Cancer Centre. This centre was started by Penny Brohn, along with Pat Pilkington, who wanted to develop a holistic programme for people with cancer. As I started to read it, the more I wanted to find
out.

14 May
–
At my appointment with the oncologist, I gave her a list of my allergies and told her what reactions I have to certain things. She told me that the chemotherapy would be more life-threatening than the actual cancer because of all my allergies. She explained that she wanted me to have radiotherapy because it would give me a seventy percent chance of the breast cancer not returning; obviously, I agreed. I explained I was taking Arimidex and some strong painkillers, but was having a lot of side effects. She advised I stop taking the Arimidex for a while.

When I saw my doctor a few days later, he also suggested I stop taking painkillers. This meant I could only take paracetamol. As I'd stopped the painkillers, I decided it was time to try a little meditation and some relaxation exercises. I'd been doing exercises since the operation to help with my arm and shoulder, and was almost able to straighten it above my
head.

18 May
–
I was now able to drive again; only a short distance, but I really felt like I was making progress. When the post arrived that morning, I opened an envelope to see a list of dates for my radiotherapy sessions, which was really scary. Feeling concerned, I phoned the helpline and they talked me through what was involved. They even suggested I visit them before I start my treatment, to see the machines. When I put the phone down, I cried bucketloads; it felt as though all the emotion and shock of having breast cancer had suddenly found its way out. I was on my own and knew I didn't want the radiotherapy but realized I had to have it; I felt trapped. I also had to have an MRI scan at the end of the month; this terrified me, too. I used to have a real problem in confined spaces and this fear was returning. I had coped well with the surgery and my stay in hospital, but the radiotherapy really worried me. I no longer felt the brave person I'd been up to now. At 7:00
P.M.
, I spoke with the radiotherapy helpline again. The nurse was lovely and we chatted for well over half an hour. She explained how important the radiotherapy was for me, which helped calm my nerves.

19 May
–
Saturday again; the weeks were flying past, even though I wasn't working. The kittens were already trying to get out of their box; eventually, it was the smallest one that managed it first. By the end of the day, they were all running about on the floor. They were such a tonic and really helped to cheer me
up.

21 May
–
My niece took me to the Oncology Department and help centre to talk about my forthcoming radiotherapy. The lady I met was very helpful and showed me photos of the machines to alleviate my fears.

29 May
–
I sat in the waiting room looking at the other people, wondering if they were waiting to see the consultant to find out if they had breast cancer. I wanted to say, ‘It's OK, everything will be all right; it's not as bad as you think.' When I was talking to the nurse, she asked if she could give out my telephone number to a few people who had just been diagnosed, who were waiting for their operation. I immediately said, ‘Yes.' If I could help anyone, I was more than pleased to do so. That evening, my niece drove me to the relaxation centre, where I did some meditation and healing, which I found really helped
me.

30 May
–
I visited the Oncology Department to have my MRI scan, which I'd not been looking forward to one bit. Thankfully, Teresa came with me for support, which helped. I took one of my favourite music CDs to try to help relax
me.

When I was called, I explained I was claustrophobic and extremely nervous. The staff were all lovely and so understanding; they made me feel more relaxed and comfortable. I climbed onto the bed with the machine above my body. They measured me, drew lines over my right breast area where I'd had the operation and demonstrated how the machine would come down close to my body. They explained that the machine would make a noise for several minutes and then it would stop and then start again; this would happen three times. They said I could ask them to stop at any time, but it would obviously take longer as they'd have to start from the beginning. They played my music and talked to me all the time through headphones while I was being scanned. In my mind, I managed to turn the noise the machine made into the sea, waves crashing against the sea walls. On the final section, I was actually visualizing standing on a beach with my friends in a circle around me. We were all drumming and I was dancing. I found this helped me to get through it, by visualizing something much nicer. Once the MRI had finished, the noise stopped and the machine was lifted up away from me. I needed to stay there a little longer while they took photos of the pen marks on me. They couldn't use the normal type of pens they used on other people because of my allergies. This meant the marks might get washed off in the shower. The pen marks would show them the exact place to give me the radiotherapy each time. They gave me a marker pen and asked me to renew the lines each time I showered until the radiotherapy was complete, or until the tattoo marks could be
made.