Thursday morning I woke up very early, or rather, I gave up attempts to sleep at about 5am. I did some housework to keep busy. The only person who I thought would also be up so early was my sister, so I went to see her. Thursday was a daze. Unlike Wednesday, today only had an appointment with the surgeon late in the afternoon, so there were many hours to fill in between. I went into work to tidy up a few things. It was all very strange, lots of hugs and tears in the office. My life had imploded in the space of a day. It felt like I was packing up my life for an unexpected holiday with no end date. People keep saying to me this is a journey, it is a journey to Shitville, and not one that I would ever have bought a ticket for. I can't remember how I spent the rest of the day, but I remember it going by very slowly.
My parents picked me up for my appointment with the surgeon. My myriad of doctor friends had assured me that I was in good hands. As I sat waiting at the Mater Private Breast Clinic, I was struck by the fact that this was getting scary. I was hoping that the doctor was going to say that there had been some mix up with the results and send me home with an apology. After being poked and prodded again, we sat down with the surgeon who had an action plan. We were told that I would need surgery to remove the tumour, the lymph nodes and have a portacath implanted for chemotherapy - followed up by radiation. The reality of the situation was sinking in. There were a few surprises in store, like when the surgeon asked me if I would like to have children. As a single girl, it wasn't something that I have actively thought about and certainly not a question I thought I would have to answer to my breast surgeon. However, as the chemotherapy would most likely make me infertile, it was best to get my eggs harvested before they were destroyed by the six months of intravenous domestos. A round of IVF - just something to squeeze in between the tumour surgery and chemotherapy starting - lucky I had no other plans that week. December was not going to be the festive season I had planned.
The next question which was raised was whether a lumpectomy or a masectomy would be required. The surgeon, very politely, looked at my left breast and then my right breast, then advised that a masectomy would not be required as there was no higher cure rate - besides that would make me very lopsided! I felt better that there was a plan, now we had to launch into action. The next day saw me being scanned from head to toe to see if there were any more tumours lurking about. I was thinking about many things whilst lying on the cold bed being scanned. The first thing I thought was that I felt fine, so I thought I would be all clear. Then I thought that I didn't feel the tumour in my breast or any of the enlarged lymph nodes - so who knows what was cooking inside. I was also thinking that lying on a bed and not being able to move for 45 minutes was very boring and they should provide some sort of entertainment. I kept thinking back to every ache and pain that I had had in the past few months thinking it was brain, stomach, bowel, intestine or esophagus cancer. It was a relief when all the scans were clear. The next hurdle was to check if there was anything sinister in my blood - apart from left over espresso martinis from the weekend before!
The next day was Saturday, which found me having blood tests for everything. The week had finally come to an end. It was emotionally exhausting and devastating, so what better way to end the week than having a lunch for 40 people! We wanted Sunday to be a pre-operation/early birthday party. It was also good to give mum a task to focus on. During the week there had been a flood of phone calls and supportive cards, flowers and presents. It was hard to tell my friends what was happening. I had told close friends, but it was hard to make 50 phone calls and tell people, so I text and left cryptic messages on facebook. It was hard to vocalise something that I couldn't get my head around. Sunday lunch came and it was great to be surrounded by family and friends. I was surprised that there were no tears. It was truly a happy way to end a crappy week. The way I looked at it was like this - it was a crappy diagnosis with a good prognosis - and that was what I was determined to focus on.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
The day my life imploded
I slept fitfully that Tuesday night. My thoughts were consumed with questions, not about my lump, but by Twilight. Things such as - why did girls go crazy for skinny pale Rob Pattison, why the werewolves were always conveniently half naked and why did people think that Bella can act? I also had a few random thoughts about the fibroid adenoma and how I had hoped it wouldn't grow to a size where it got annoying and had to be removed. I had joked with my friend the night before how my friend, who is a breast surgeon, could cut it open and pop it out before the rugby one night over pizza. It hadn't even entered my head that it was anything more sinister.
I was woken up early Wednesday morning by a phone call from my mother. I was hoping she had good news, but all she said was that her and my father were in the foyer of my building and I should come down and get them. I knew straight away it was something serious. In the few minutes it took me to get dressed and travel the 38 levels to the ground floor, I didn't think about how my life was about to change forever. As soon as the lift doors opened and my parents turned around, my stomach dropped. I have never seen my parents look so grey and ashen. The only colour mum had in her face was her red eyes, where she obviously had been crying. Dad entered the lift and I remember asking what was wrong, as he had his serious face on. He said it was serious, but that we should wait until we were back in the apartment to talk about it. That seemed like an eternity away, so I asked again what was wrong. It was at that point that my father had to tell me that I had a malignant breast tumour. It was also at that point that I cursed myself for not going to another doctor, so that my father didn't have to deliver that news to his own daughter. I remember entering the apartment and collapsing on the couch in tears, shortly followed by my parents. I was 34, living in town by myself and loving life. I had no family history of breast cancer, never had a baby and never breast fed. Things like this were not supposed to happen to people like me.
Dad quickly launched into doctor mode and began arrangements to get me into the Wesley Breast Clinic that day. In talking to mum I found out that dad had received my results the night before, and went home and told mum. They had consulted with my siblings as to the best way to tell me the horrid news. Dad has already arranged an appointment with the go-to breast surgeon in Brisbane before I even knew the results. I was allowed to sleep well on the Tuesday night, far better than any of the other members of my family. I vaguely remember calling my boss to tell her that I wouldn't be in that day, but I couldn't really speak, I was more of a blubbering mess, but she got the message that something bad had happened and I wouldn't be at work that day. I rang a few close friends and my cousin to tell them the results. After telling three people, I was drained and couldn't call any more friends. I took the easy way out and sent a text to a few more friends. My friend Sam immediately came over with flowers, and I will never forget the look on her face when I saw her for the first time since telling her I had breast cancer. My cousin also came over, but it took her a little longer to get there as she has a propensity to wear very high heels!
My parents, my cousin and I went to the Wesley Breast Clinic. During the six hours I was there, I was poked, prodded and probed. My first procedure was a mammogram and that was quite a rude introduction! I believe that if they checked for testicular cancer the same way they check for breast cancer, someone would have invented another mode of detection which didn't involve your breasts doing an impersonation of a flesh pancake with a nipple topping. I know why the lady performing the scan stands behind a big plastic screen, it has nothing to do with the radiation, it is so she is not hit in the eye when your nipples pops off after being squeezed to an inch of its life! My next humiliation was an ultrasound, where the rather chatty lady asked me whether I was going to wear a scarf or a wig when I go bald. Since I only had about two hours to digest the diagnosis, I hadn't put any thought into hair related topics. In her further chattiness she advised that my lymph nodes were enlarged on that side which wasn't a good sign. The next step was to have lump and lymph nodes biopsied. I was not enthused about having more needles stuck into me, but I thought it would be nothing compared to the upcoming boob surgery trauma. The biopsy confirmed it had spread to the lymph nodes, which was less than ideal. My thoughts of having a simple operation to remove the lump where soon blown out of the water. It would involve an operation, chemotherapy and radiation treatment.
After spending the day with people, I just wanted to be alone that night to absorb everything that had happened. I was kindly visited by my brother and a friend of mine who bought me a care package of treats. It was good not to be alone, but as I went to bed alone a million thoughts ran through my head and attempts to sleep were fruitless.
I was woken up early Wednesday morning by a phone call from my mother. I was hoping she had good news, but all she said was that her and my father were in the foyer of my building and I should come down and get them. I knew straight away it was something serious. In the few minutes it took me to get dressed and travel the 38 levels to the ground floor, I didn't think about how my life was about to change forever. As soon as the lift doors opened and my parents turned around, my stomach dropped. I have never seen my parents look so grey and ashen. The only colour mum had in her face was her red eyes, where she obviously had been crying. Dad entered the lift and I remember asking what was wrong, as he had his serious face on. He said it was serious, but that we should wait until we were back in the apartment to talk about it. That seemed like an eternity away, so I asked again what was wrong. It was at that point that my father had to tell me that I had a malignant breast tumour. It was also at that point that I cursed myself for not going to another doctor, so that my father didn't have to deliver that news to his own daughter. I remember entering the apartment and collapsing on the couch in tears, shortly followed by my parents. I was 34, living in town by myself and loving life. I had no family history of breast cancer, never had a baby and never breast fed. Things like this were not supposed to happen to people like me.
Dad quickly launched into doctor mode and began arrangements to get me into the Wesley Breast Clinic that day. In talking to mum I found out that dad had received my results the night before, and went home and told mum. They had consulted with my siblings as to the best way to tell me the horrid news. Dad has already arranged an appointment with the go-to breast surgeon in Brisbane before I even knew the results. I was allowed to sleep well on the Tuesday night, far better than any of the other members of my family. I vaguely remember calling my boss to tell her that I wouldn't be in that day, but I couldn't really speak, I was more of a blubbering mess, but she got the message that something bad had happened and I wouldn't be at work that day. I rang a few close friends and my cousin to tell them the results. After telling three people, I was drained and couldn't call any more friends. I took the easy way out and sent a text to a few more friends. My friend Sam immediately came over with flowers, and I will never forget the look on her face when I saw her for the first time since telling her I had breast cancer. My cousin also came over, but it took her a little longer to get there as she has a propensity to wear very high heels!
My parents, my cousin and I went to the Wesley Breast Clinic. During the six hours I was there, I was poked, prodded and probed. My first procedure was a mammogram and that was quite a rude introduction! I believe that if they checked for testicular cancer the same way they check for breast cancer, someone would have invented another mode of detection which didn't involve your breasts doing an impersonation of a flesh pancake with a nipple topping. I know why the lady performing the scan stands behind a big plastic screen, it has nothing to do with the radiation, it is so she is not hit in the eye when your nipples pops off after being squeezed to an inch of its life! My next humiliation was an ultrasound, where the rather chatty lady asked me whether I was going to wear a scarf or a wig when I go bald. Since I only had about two hours to digest the diagnosis, I hadn't put any thought into hair related topics. In her further chattiness she advised that my lymph nodes were enlarged on that side which wasn't a good sign. The next step was to have lump and lymph nodes biopsied. I was not enthused about having more needles stuck into me, but I thought it would be nothing compared to the upcoming boob surgery trauma. The biopsy confirmed it had spread to the lymph nodes, which was less than ideal. My thoughts of having a simple operation to remove the lump where soon blown out of the water. It would involve an operation, chemotherapy and radiation treatment.
After spending the day with people, I just wanted to be alone that night to absorb everything that had happened. I was kindly visited by my brother and a friend of mine who bought me a care package of treats. It was good not to be alone, but as I went to bed alone a million thoughts ran through my head and attempts to sleep were fruitless.
Monday, April 26, 2010
The Discovery
Someone famous said that the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. My journey started with an itch. It was the end of November 2009 and I was happily planning for my four day birth festival to celebrate my 35th birthday. The biggest thing I was worried about was whether to invite a certain guy to the festivities. I remember being uncontrollably sad that Saturday about him and I couldn't stop crying. Which is very unlike me and my best friend in Sydney was so worried, she wanted to jump on a plane and fly up to Brisbane immediately.
It had been a tough year with the GFC affecting my work and failed relationships, but it also included a trip to South America and the opportunity to work in Melbourne. Work had picked up, boy issues had faded and No-man-vember was in full swing. I gave myself each November off from men, just to take a break and not have to deal with boy issues. Things were looking up for 2010. Then I had an itch.
I had gotten home from my cousin's birthday and was watching late night tv and my left boob had an itch. When I went to scratch it I found a few little lumps in a row - almost like a ropey formation. It was worried, but there was not much I could do late Saturday night. Sunday morning I rang my sister to seek advice. Mostly about which would be less humiliating - having my dad feel me up or my brother. There are many advantages about having doctors in the family, but a few downfalls also - like having them feel you up! I decided to call my brother, but as he wasn't available until the afternoon, I went to see my father early Sunday morning. Not wanting to unnecessarily worry my excessively worrying mother, I asked to see Dad, which only served to worry my mother further. After being palpated by my father, he suggested that the lump may be fatty deposit, but would be wise to have an ultrasound just to make sure.
The next morning, armed with the morning off work, a referral and my worried mother, I went to the x-ray place. I had managed to calm myself into a state of believing that this was going to be a pain-free embarrassing event and I should be more diligent with self breast checks in the future. When I pointed out the area of concern to the sonographer, she seemed unfazed by what I had found. I felt relief for about 8 seconds until she had discovered something far more interesting, which she bought to my attention by saying, 'I know you were concerned by those small lumps, but have you felt this very large hard lump in the middle of your breast?'. I was shocked to discover that during my (not very) thorough self breast examination I had failed to feel the Uranus sized lump located in the middle of my breast. She took a few pictures of it and asked for me to wait for the films to be developed. I was still unconcerned by the large black mass I saw on the screen, and while waiting for the films, I was discussing lunch options with my mother. When I was called back to the desk, she advised me that in the 2.7 minutes since my ultrasound, that the radiographer had spoken to my father and they are 'just' going to stick a need in the large lump to see what it is. I rather enjoyed the use of the word 'just' as a pre-fix when discussing sticking needles in me. It's almost if they use the word 'just' it acts as a local anaesthetic, so there is no pain.
I returned the next day, once again armed with my mother for the biopsy. Looking at the ultrasound as they guided the needle through the large dark lump was scary, but I couldn't look away. We were advised that the results would be available in the morning, but that it looked like it was a fibroid adenoma. After googling and asking a few doctor friends, I decided not to worry and went to the movies that night. It was Tuesday night and I thought the worst part of the week was being felt up by my father and having to sit through 'Twilight - New Moon' - God, I couldn't have been more wrong.
It had been a tough year with the GFC affecting my work and failed relationships, but it also included a trip to South America and the opportunity to work in Melbourne. Work had picked up, boy issues had faded and No-man-vember was in full swing. I gave myself each November off from men, just to take a break and not have to deal with boy issues. Things were looking up for 2010. Then I had an itch.
I had gotten home from my cousin's birthday and was watching late night tv and my left boob had an itch. When I went to scratch it I found a few little lumps in a row - almost like a ropey formation. It was worried, but there was not much I could do late Saturday night. Sunday morning I rang my sister to seek advice. Mostly about which would be less humiliating - having my dad feel me up or my brother. There are many advantages about having doctors in the family, but a few downfalls also - like having them feel you up! I decided to call my brother, but as he wasn't available until the afternoon, I went to see my father early Sunday morning. Not wanting to unnecessarily worry my excessively worrying mother, I asked to see Dad, which only served to worry my mother further. After being palpated by my father, he suggested that the lump may be fatty deposit, but would be wise to have an ultrasound just to make sure.
The next morning, armed with the morning off work, a referral and my worried mother, I went to the x-ray place. I had managed to calm myself into a state of believing that this was going to be a pain-free embarrassing event and I should be more diligent with self breast checks in the future. When I pointed out the area of concern to the sonographer, she seemed unfazed by what I had found. I felt relief for about 8 seconds until she had discovered something far more interesting, which she bought to my attention by saying, 'I know you were concerned by those small lumps, but have you felt this very large hard lump in the middle of your breast?'. I was shocked to discover that during my (not very) thorough self breast examination I had failed to feel the Uranus sized lump located in the middle of my breast. She took a few pictures of it and asked for me to wait for the films to be developed. I was still unconcerned by the large black mass I saw on the screen, and while waiting for the films, I was discussing lunch options with my mother. When I was called back to the desk, she advised me that in the 2.7 minutes since my ultrasound, that the radiographer had spoken to my father and they are 'just' going to stick a need in the large lump to see what it is. I rather enjoyed the use of the word 'just' as a pre-fix when discussing sticking needles in me. It's almost if they use the word 'just' it acts as a local anaesthetic, so there is no pain.
I returned the next day, once again armed with my mother for the biopsy. Looking at the ultrasound as they guided the needle through the large dark lump was scary, but I couldn't look away. We were advised that the results would be available in the morning, but that it looked like it was a fibroid adenoma. After googling and asking a few doctor friends, I decided not to worry and went to the movies that night. It was Tuesday night and I thought the worst part of the week was being felt up by my father and having to sit through 'Twilight - New Moon' - God, I couldn't have been more wrong.
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