So, here we go. The last two weeks (is that really all it’s been?) have been the proverbial “rollercoaster”. Sounds like a cliche, but it’s the only word that springs to mind to describe what I’ve been through since I sat in front of Mr Robert Carpenter on Friday afternoon, 25th November, and heard him say: “This is worrying”.
In just 15 minutes, he had decided, and therefore left me with little doubt, that the concerns I’d had myself about changes to my left breast, were almost certainly due to breast cancer. I’d booked myself in for a regular mammogram knowing there was something bothering me. I then asked to bring the scan forward and had it done at Bart’s on Wednesday 16th. Just six days later I had a recall letter and my stomach churned. This was no coincidence.
Not content to wait a moment longer than necessary, I called my cousin, a GP and a font of knowledge about the right specialist for the right job, and, thanks to my company’s private healthcare scheme, was off to see Mr Carpenter two days later.
But this all happens to other people. Not to me! You hear about and read about the blow, the shock that comes with a cancer diagnosis, and you just don’t take it in, because that’s for other people. And this despite the fact that I had Hodgkins’ Disease at the age of 17. So you could say I should have been prepared for this. But to tell the truth, I thought I’d had my meeting with cancer and overcome it. And everyone close to me must have thought the same. Because all they have said since I had all the tests in the few days after meeting Mr C and had the dreaded confirmation, was, “why do you have to go through all this again?”
I could ask the same, but that would not help anything. Right now, I have to think only positive thoughts, and “why me?” is not one of those. It’s me again, get over it.
I have been through untold terror in the past two weeks, none more so than when I went for scans of my lungs, liver and bones to see if the cancer had spread. Life has a strange way of shifting your perspective. When I was told the cancer hadn’t spread, I was so unbelievably relieved that I “only” had breast cancer, it was incredible. Eight days earlier I’d have been devastated that it was the big C. Now I was grateful and relieved that it was contained. And so was my husband Martin, my parents Barbara and Monty, my sister Louise and all of my relatives and friends who are now on this journey with me.
People have galvanised themselves into action so quickly. It’s amazing. My friend Gilly came with me to my first three tests on Monday 28th, sister Lou and her partner Bev were there for the bone scan etc and the offers keep flooding in. I’m so lucky to have such a great support team!!
So Martin took me away this weekend to Brighton to spoil me before the treatment starts.
Tomorrow I have to go in for a little procedure to insert a “port” under the skin, through which they’ll be able to do all the blood tests and administer the chemo.
Tuesday morning I’m back up to Harley Street to see my wonderful oncologist, Alison Jones, and then the nurses, plus am having an echo cardiogram. Then on Wednesday afternoon I’m having the first chemo session. If all goes to plan I’ll have one every two weeks for 16 weeks. Then there’s surgery to come (subject for another day) followed by radiotherapy.
Am I scared? You bet. Am I positive? You bet. I intend to get on with my life to the best of my ability and I WILL NOT let the chemo get me down. As to the final outcome – I ain’t going nowhere!! I’ve got loads more to do in this life and I will be around to do it. No question.
So let the battle commence. I don’t know why I’ve been chosen to fight this war, but fight it I will. And on the way I’m sure there will be much that is positive!
I will write this blog as part of my therapy, and to keep my friends and family updated, and if in the process I can help anyone else who’s going through what I am, then that would be great too.
Jo
