Date

Joanne Wallen

Breast Cancer Ribbon

Posts Tagged ‘Hodgkins Disease’

30
Jan

It must have been a shock?

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I met a friend at a party on Saturday who I hadn’t seen for a few months. Barbara used to be the landlady of our local pub, the Grapes, and moved back to her flat on the other side of town in September when she sold the lease to Grapes neighbour Sir Ian Mckellan and his partners in the venture, theatre director Sean Matthias and Evening Standard owner Evgeny Lebedev.

Barbara didn’t know about my breast cancer and she was quite shocked and sorry to hear about it when we met. In the cold light of the following day she emailed me, reiterating how sorry she was. “It must have been such a shock,” she said. I thought about that. My girlfriend who was diagnosed last week and who has been caught very early, broke down I tears when I spoke to her. “I’m really sorry,” she said, knowing that in the scheme of things hers was considerably less serious than mine, “It’s just that I only found out a few days ago and it was such a shock,” she said by way of justifying the tears.

Had it been a shock to me? I wasn’t even sure. On one level, it must of course have been. The only things that would have mitigated that shock were the fact that I knew there was something wrong myself, and I suppose the initial shock came when I got a recall from my mammogram, confirming my own worst fears.

I know it was a huge shock to Martin when I came out of the first consultation with the specialist, lent into the cab on my way across the road to see the secretary about booking all my tests and told him: “I’m afraid he’s pretty sure it’s the big C.” But from that moment, I went into overdrive.

When Martin asked if I still wanted to go down to Ramsgate for a party that weekend, I said, of course. We had to carry on as normal until something stopped us carrying on as normal. And that it precisely what I have done so far. In the nine weeks since that day I have carried on as normally as possible. I am actually having my fourth chemo session as I write this. I suppose there have been moments when the “shock” did start to filter through. But not many. Which led me to consider, when Barbara suggested it must have been such a shock, whether in fact I was still ‘in’ shock.

Ironically, we have just watched the film “The Bucket List” with Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman about two terminally ill men who write a list of things they want to do before they kick the bucket (I am home now after chemo, which all went well and to which I was accompanied by my friend Gilly, thanks G, and once she left I had a lovely reflexolgy treatment).

The film had some pretty awful reviews when it cam out, ( see this one for example, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/film/3671168/Film-reviews-The-Bucket-List.html) but I thought it was excellent, if a little poignant in my situation. I mean, Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman. They could read the telephone directory and it would be fantastic. Anyway, whatever its merits, when they first found out about their illnesses they talked about the five stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I thought, am I in denial? But I don’t think so. I had Hodgkins Disease at 17. It happened, I dealt with it, I got through it.

The same will happen this time. But that’s not to say I sit around dwelling on the idea of having cancer. I’m too busy communicating with and seeing friends and loved ones, keeping fit, working, oh yes, and having treatment and getting healthy.

So yes, it was certainly a shock for Martin and my parents and sister and all my family and friends. And I suppose it must have been a shock for me. But shock is not a productive state to be in. I have far too much to do in the next six months or so to entertain it. When I’m successfully through it all, it may creep up to hit me. But not now.

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CATEGORIES: The Big C

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26
Jan

Different ways of handling it — emotional space

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Yesterday I found out that a close friend of mine has just been diagnosed with breast cancer. She is still in the sort of shock that I realise I didn’t really go through when I got my diagnosis two months ago. There are a couple of reasons for that. Firstly, I spotted something wrong myself (a change in the shape of my left breast) and I instigated having a mammogram. So when I got a recall I was horrified but not shocked. Secondly, as my surgeon Robert Carpenter said to me on our first meeting, I have been through it before.

Yes, I do remember walking around in a daze for the first couple of days after my Hodgkins’ Disease diagnosis at 17. I was just about to start my A Levels. I remember sitting in my first French exam thinking “what’s the point? I won’t be around to get the results.” Fortunately, that feeling was very short-lived and never returned. What was I thinking of? Of course I’d be around. Now, where was the next party to go to?

Thirty-four years later, I skipped the first train of thought and went straight on to the “where is the next party bit. I had my initial consultation with Mr Carpenter on a Friday evening. Did I still want to go down to Ramsgate that weekend? Martin asked. “You bet”, I replied. There were grandchildren to see and a party to go to. “We must carry on as usual until we can’t,” I told him.

My friend, who doesn’t want to be named, has never been through it before. She is very shocked and upset. I would not want to trivialise her shock at being told she has breast cancer. But relative to me, she is a lucky lady. Hers was caught extremely early through a routine mammogram. The doctor told her she was one of their “scan successes” because what the scan picked up was so small she was unlikely to have noticed anything herself for at least a year. I, sadly, was one of the scan failures. I had been on annual mammograms on a higher risk list and mine was not spotted.

I actually shed some tears when I thought about that. I should have been like my friend, caught early. But then I decided that due to mine almost certainly being caused by my previous radiotherapy, the outcome might not have been all that different whenever they detected mine.

The other reason why I’m sure my friend has been less able to cope with her bad news than I was, is that she didn’t have any emotional space left. She has been dangerously stressed for the past year with her job, which is putting ridiculous demands on her, and with coping with elderly and infirm parents. I’ve been worried that she was pushing herself too close to the edge for some time, so the cancer diagnosis must have seemed like the final straw! I, by contrast, was, at the point of diagnosis, in a very good place. Things were going well at work and at home. My parents are elderly but still quite independent. I was physically fit and healthy. I had the emotional space to cope with this.

Naturally, I phoned my friend and had a long chat. Part of her obviously knows that she’s lucky hers has been caught so early. She is scheduled to have a lumpectomy and probably two or three weeks of radiotherapy after that. But I urged her to take this as a warning. No one can take so much sustained stress without consequences. Her job, while on paper a rewarding one, is clearly not serving or rewarding her in any way now. The demands being made of her are impossible to fulfil and she is getting the opposite of thanks for all her efforts. She really, seriously needs to use this nasty shock as a positive opportunity to reevaluate. I hope she will.

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CATEGORIES: The Big C

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12
Dec

It’s all about me, but……. part 2

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Any parent will know that your child can’t go through anything good or bad that you don’t feel you’re living with them. I may not have had my own children but I know this to be true both because I know how my mother feels and because I’m privileged to have step children and grandchildren who’ve given me the opportunity to know how that unconditional love feels.

The hardest thing I had to do once I found out that I had breast cancer two weeks ago was to tell my parents. At 78 and 84, they’ve both spent their fair share of time at hospital and doctor’s appointments in the past few years. Last year, dad had an ankle replacement. A few weeks ago, mum fell and broke her foot. So Lou and I had started caring for them, started making plans for what would happen if and when they were unable to take care of themselves. All the usual things that “middle-aged” (I hate that phrase!!!) children need to consider when they’re lucky enough to still have their parents around.

And then suddenly, it was me, not them. And not for the first time either. They’d already been through every parent’s nightmare when I was diagnosed with Hodgkins’ Disease at the tender age of 17. And again when I was 38 — a major operation and 44, two more ops. This time, I was fit, healthy, enjoying life and hoping upon hope that mum and dad would both make it to their 60th wedding anniversary on June 15th 2012. Suddenly, I was having to find a way to break the news to them. Guess, what, me again, I’ve got cancer.

I phoned my sister first. The most neurotic person you’d care to meet when it comes to me. Ever since she, as a 15-year old had to cope with my first illness, she’s tried to wrap me in cotton wool, phoning several times each day and worrying about nothing. But of course, when I phoned to drop the real bomb shell, she was calm and strong, and has been ever since. We agreed that I had to tell mum and dad sooner rather than later. Before I could pluck up the courage to phone them I phoned a couple of friends. I had to practice saying the words on someone who was not so emotionally involved.

And then I told them. I can’t even remember what mum said. I don’t think she broke down there and then. But over the next few days my sister took the brunt of the upset, while they tried to keep it together when talking to me. Nothing I can do can make it any better for them, except come through this and beat it. Which I will do! But it’s easier for me. I’m the one who can do something each day, who can get stuck in and fight the fight. They can only sit and wait, and, I’m sure, pray.

Once again, it’s all about me but it’s equally about my lovely parents too. If there’s a downside to them still being around for me, it’s only that I have to see them suffer this.

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CATEGORIES: The Big C

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