“Have you any questions you would like to ask?”. “Yes, can I still have a gin and tonic, and secondly am I going to die?”. I would never have imagined how cancer would change my life for the better.
After many years of searching for a new gym and motivation, I came across a social media post advertising BA Fitness and in January 2018 I joined up. My first session almost killed me. Looking back now, I realise how unfit I was at the time, struggling to keep up motivation but somehow it kept coming, although to no extent near my previous fitness levels.
One evening, laid in bed with my husband an advert caught my attention on the television regarding breast clinic appointments. At the time, there had been publicity surrounding this topic, letters that hadn’t reached patients, reminders to check yourself regularly, and so on. I admittedly recall saying to Alex that I couldn’t remember the last time I checked my breasts, so what better time than the present, I checked there and then. Maybe not the most thorough, but nothing stood out, I didn’t come across anything out of the ordinary. Fast forward to two mornings later, post gym session at BA Fitness and whilst having a much-needed shower, I felt something I could only liken to an egg under my skin in the inner quadrant of my left breast. My heart sank. Despite having cysts in the past, instinct kicked in and I instantly thought it was cancer. Feelings of anxiety and fear overcome me, even though I tried to remain calm, my mind had other ideas. I was approaching the big 5-0 with plenty of birthday celebrations which generally fell around the Easter holidays, so a doctor’s appointment was hard to come by during such a busy period. When I finally got in contact with the surgery receptionist, I distinctively recall being told “there are no available appointments and it is not deemed an emergency”. I eventually got to see my doctor on 4th April 2018, my 50th birthday.
I hadn’t wanted a party as such, as my Dad was now in full time, secure care suffering with vascular dementia. Instead, I wanted to raise money for the home where an upstairs room would be converted into a salon for residents to enjoy and be pampered. I rallied round all of my friends and contacts and together we transformed the local village hall into an authentic 80s disco. At £10 a ticket we raised approximately £1500. Honestly, despite going through hell, seeing those faces as residents emerged from the now new salon with fancy nails and pristine hair, it had been worth every minute spent in neon leg warmers and vivid eye shadow.
Back to 4th April, I sat anxiously in the waiting room, and with the next beep my name appeared on the screen encouraging me to go in and see the doctor. I made my way through the corridor and knocked on the door. Greeted by my doctor, I explained the situation and she proceeded to examine the area where the lump was prominent, during which she was happy to rule out any cause for concern but having been 50 for a matter of hours I was refereed for a mammogram due to my age. Due to recent publicity around breast clinics, system failure and a back log of appointments, a concrete date was yet to be confirmed. One instance where turning 50 was on my side, regardless of usual connotations. Luckily for me, I was contacted within two weeks where a cancellation had opened up an appointment, and as a result I was asked to pop in. Timing my appointment in with a pre teatime gym session, I made my way to the breast clinic for 5:30pm. Sweaty, hungry and tired I made my way to the check in desk for my appointment. No water left in my gym bottle, no cash in my pockets, and a phone running out of battery presuming I would be in and out within 30 minutes or so. Just over 3 hours later, sweat, hunger and stress levels rising and a distinct patch of warn out carpet from where I repeatedly paced up and down, I was called in for my mammogram. For those of you who have been unfortunate enough to experience this machine, you’ll know it’s not the most dignified nor comfortable examination. Another wait was endured before being called back in for an ultrasound. Laid on the bed, cold gel smothered where needed, I lay anxiously anticipating what was to come. Within minutes I knew something wasn’t right, numerous questions of reassurance, asking if I had happened to bring anybody with me, and compassionate, sympathetic facial expressions I prepared myself for bad news. I concentrated hard on the screens, trying my best to see what they could see, and read their minds of any information before it had even reached their mouths. Then I was shown a tumour. And another. And, another. Then, those words – one is cancer and the other two are yet to be determined.
Next came the anaesthetic, in preparation for 12 biopsy samples to be taken. At which point my hunger and tiredness had been replaced with stress and mental exhaustion, having gotten dressed and returned to the waiting area. As I began to sob, the nurse sat me in a booth in the waiting area where I happened to be sat across from another woman waiting to go in. It was inevitable that she understood I had received bad news and lifted her hand to her mouth with a look of sympathy. It just so happened the woman before me had also received the worst news, so I was able to look and her and smile, “Don’t worry, you’re going to be okay, third time lucky”. It is hard to note what happened at this point, there was no feeling, numbness at best, and all proceeding events blurred into one. I did get to see a Breast Care Nurse, who provided me with what felt like a mountain of paperwork outlining Oncology details, appointments, and procedures. Again, no dates could be set in stone, but she reassured me that they would do everything they could to treat me. She left the room to acquire some more information, which gave me an opportunity to ring my husband, a short conversation I can still recall easily;
“I’ve got cancer”
“You’re joking”
“Do I sound like I’m fucking joking?”
Some 4 and a half hours later, in a dream like daze, the usual 10-minute drive home felt like a lifetime, questioning why with every bit of progress I made on the journey. At this point it was still unknown what strain of cancer I had, exactly what treatment was needed and how any of this was going to pan out. There was a strange sense of calm in my surroundings, I don’t remember seeing another soul on a road usually busy with life.
