i got past ten years! Breast cancer i win!!

At the beginning of February 2005 I had a letter inviting me for a routine mammogram. I didn't want to go for several reasons, I thought I would be embarrassed, I was invited to have a mammogram as I was in my 50th year, but as it was 6 months before my 50th birthday I didn't think I was old enough to have it! I was 49 for godsake! I had not found any lumps so didn't think I needed one.
My first thought was to put the letter in the bin and forget about it, I would be wasting everyone's time, so I thought, basically I just didn't want to go.
Boy was I wrong!
When my hubby fished the letter out of the bin and told me off for throwing it away I still didn't want to go but I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I was going. It was to be in a mobile unit on the car park of a local clinic just five minutes drive from home, I wouldn't even have to go to the hospital, a place I dislike intensely.
The hardest thing about having a mammogram was having to take off my clothes. I can't say it hurt, you are squeezed pretty tight when you have it but it's more uncomfortable than painful, the whole thing took no more than ten, maybe fifteen minutes at a push, nothing out of your life when it can save a life.
Three days after that mammogram I got a letter asking me to go to the hospital breast care unit, the letter arrived on the Saturday, the appointment was for Tuesday, they certainly work fast. I shook and cried when I got that letter, I rang Graham, my hubby at work to tell him and could hardly talk for crying. He tried to reassure me that it would be ok but I knew, in my heart I knew.
I had a biopsy under a scan at hospital, the area was numbed with local beforehand and I didn't feel anything. The radiographer showed me the tumour they had found on the screen, it was buried deep and was small, he said it had been caught early. He told me straight when I asked for an honest answer he thought it was cancer, the calcification he told me, gave it away. He couldn't say for definate until the lab results the next day.
We returned home in a daze, I had to tell Graham in the waiting room after my biopsy that they thought it was cancer, I felt terrible, it's truly horrible having to tell your husband of almost 30 years bad news like that. We were dreading telling our children, my mum, and the rest of our family and friends. We decided to keep the news to ourselves until we knew for sure, no point in upsetting everyone if it turned out to be good news after all.
The 8th February 2005 was the day I was told I had breast cancer. Even though I knew in my heart of hearts that it would be the case, it was still a shock. I tried to pretend it wasn't happening by asking for a tummy tuck if they could use the fat from my stomach to rebuild my breast. I used humour to hide my feelings, it didn't seem real.
The specialist breast care nurse who was in the room with us when the doctor told us the news obviously realised it hadn't sunk in, she followed us down the corridor and whipped us into a small room for some privacy when the tears came, as they were bound to.
I was booked in with the surgeon, he explained what would happen, a wide local excision, removal of lymph glands, he thought it was stage one, grade one and I would need just radiotherapy for three weeks. I breathed a sigh of relief, no chemotherapy.
Wrong again.
The operation took a bit longer than expected, apparently when they opened me up it was obvious the cancer was a correct diagnosis, the surgeon removed enough tissue to ensure he did not leave any cells behind. He removed 13 lymph glands and I woke from the operation with  a bottle attached to a tube going into my body, draining off the lymph fluid, the bottle was held in place in a small cotton bag which I had to carry around over my shoulder! Very becoming. That was in place for 5 days until enough fluid drained off then they pulled it gently out before I went home. I was so glad to get home after five days in hospital. I had exercises to do to get back full use of my arm, and had an appointment with the surgeon a  week later to get the lab results.
The lab results were such a shock, grade 3, stage 3 aggressive, fast growing cancer. It was already in 3 of the lymph glands they removed. I had to have chemotherapy. I would loose my long thick brown hair.
Chemotherapy, even the word scared me. You hear of people being so poorly, who knew what would happen? I was scared, very scared. Would it be by injection, tablets, a drip? I really had no idea, fear of the unknown is sometimes more frightening than the reality.
Everyone at the Deansley Centre in New Cross hospital were lovely. The room in which you have chemotherapy was not so bad, there were armchairs which reclined to keep you comfortable, a radio playing softly to combat the silence, the nurses were all lovely, so kind a caring. The first session of chemotherapy involved having an iv inserted in my hand and a kindly nurse pushing a large syringe of a cocktail of drugs into me whilst chatting away to take my mind off it. You can take someone with you to sit with you, you can also send them off for sweets, sandwiches, magazines! I had that kind of chemotherapy every three weeks for four sessions in all. When I used the toilet my wee was bright red which, had I not been warned, might have alarmed me!
After the first session my hair fell out, it got thinner and thinner and I would find it on my pillow, all over the carpet, until the day before my second session when the majority went down the plug hole in the shower! Quite a shock! Luckily the lady who supplied wigs to cancer patients had given me her address and I had to go and see her to have the remainder shaved off and have my wig. I also had a selection of pretty scarves to wear, which I did opt for a lot of the time as the wig could feel a bit itchy.
After four sessions of chemotherapy I had three weeks of radiotherapy which made me very tired and caused some burns to my skin. I then started a different course of chemotherapy which I had for two weeks on then two weeks off. I had to take an antidote after 24 hours to stop it working after each session.
Yes I was sick, I was given anti sickness medication which had to be doubled after the first session which helped a lot. I was very tired, I would feel disoriented and I passed out a couple of times, but I got through it.
I was looking towards the end of October when all my treatments would be over, the end of chemotherapy, something to celebrate. Then a terrible thing happened. My lovely mum died suddenly. It was so unexpected, so shocking, so hard to cope. My mum, my rock, my lovely mum, gone. She was 84, not a young woman I know, but we had not foreseen it, we were all numb with grief. Only two years previously we had lost dad after a long illness, mum was devoted to him, they were devoted to one another. I'm sure she died of a broken heart. The shock and grief of loosing dad, the worry over my cancer must have been unbearable for her. I felt guilt for worrying her so much, and I was, for a time, convinced she would take me with her. The surgeon had said my cancer was fast growing and aggressive, he also said he had even got ladies alive ten years after a diagnosis like mine! I cried when he said that, ten years would take me up to the age of 59.
All thoughts of celebrating the end of chemotherapy went out of the window, I couldn't bear the thought, not without mum being there to see the end of the ordeal.
So the end of October came and went then I had  a letter to tell me my tumour had been retested and proved to be HER2+. My heart sank, the fight for herceptin was all over the media, women were fighting to get the drug approved to save the life of women who were diagnosed HER2+, I prepared to join the fight.
I applied to the local PCT for the drug to be used and kept a lookout for news on tv and in the newspapers in the hope that all those who needed it would be allowed to have it. On the morning I had a phone call from the PCT to say I had gained approval the news was on the radio that it would be available for all, it had been approved!
So started another year of hospital visits where I had herceptin again by iv drip, and once again I was at the hospital every two weeks, after looking forward for just over seven months to finishing treatment, I was back for another twelve months of needles and blood tests!
Just before Christmas 2006, I finished having treatment at hospital and started  to take medication at home, hormone tablets every day.
Last year I finally stopped having to take hormones. I was signed off by the oncologist, slightly scared as the comfort blanket of knowing you are being looked after has gone, but thankful not to have regular hospital appointments to attend. This year the surgeon should sign me off his books too, or so I was told on my annual visit last year. Normally a breast cancer patient attends hospital for five years, I was told I would need to keep going for ten years as the cancer was so aggressive and fast growing.
Well that ten years is up, I'm still around, I'm cancer free, it's 2015 I am alive!!

9 years cancer free, and counting ..........

It's that time of year again, October, no I'm not talking about Halloween, or the beautiful russet colours of the leaves on the trees, or the fact I had to find a sweater out yesterday because the weather is turning chilly. No I'm talking about breast cancer awareness month!
I was diagnosed in 2005, I didn't find a lump myself, I was turning 50 in the July (yes that means I shall be 60 next year, eeeeeek!) I had an appointment come through the post to go for my first routine mammogram. I knew you are sent an appointment for a mammogram when you are 50 but this was the beginning of February, my 50th birthday was not until mid July, how dare they send for me 5 months early?! I felt slightly offended, how could they send me for a mammogram at 49, I had ages to go until I turned 50, I hadn't noticed anything so did I need to go?
I put the letter in the bin!! Stupid, especially considering what happened, but I didn't want to go, felt a bit embarrassed, felt slightly miffed that at 49 I was being sent for a test meant for a 50 year old, I didn't want to be 50, I certainly didn't want any early reminders! I didn't need one anyway! How daft was I? Luckily my husband, Graham, fished the letter out of the bin when he realised it looked official and told me I was going, no arguments I was going. It was half an hour out of my life, I didn't even have to go to hospital, it was at a mobile unit in the next village, parked on the clinic car park. I hate hospitals so that did make it easier.
The mammogram didn't hurt, slightly uncomfortable and a bit squishy, but ok really!
Three days later a letter came to say there was a problem, I needed to go to the breast unit at hospital. I shook when I opened that letter. I cried. I rang Graham, I cried over him. He told me try not to worry, it might be nothing.
When we arrived on that Tuesday I was ushered straight through to have a scan and needle biopsy, I asked straight out do I have cancer? I was told yes, they did think it was cancer, you could see on the scan the tumour was calcified, a sign it was not right. My breast was numbed and a long thin needle inserted into the tumour, it didn't hurt surprisingly. Everyone was so kind, so caring. I had to then go out into the waiting room and tell Graham they thought I had cancer, it was very hard to do, he said maybe they are wrong, perhaps the lab results will be negative. I knew though.
We had to return next day for the results, yes it was cancer but they had caught it early, it was 1cm, I would have an operation to remove it, probably followed by 15 sessions of radiotherapy, that would be it. No I shouldn't need chemotherapy.
Telling my elderly mum and my grown up son and daughter was awful, I tried to keep positive but it's hard and I was scared. Mom couldn't speak, my daughter shook for hours, my son was quiet but trying to stay positive.
I had my operation a few weeks later, it took longer than expected, when I came round the surgeon said he removed a lot of tissue to ensure nothing was left, he also removed 13 lymph nodes to test.
Soon afterwards I went back for the results, the cancer was grade 2, it had spread to three lymph nodes making it stage 3, I needed chemotherapy, it was fast growing and aggressive. I needed aggressive chemotherapy to combat the disease. I had to fight. Devastated is the word for how I felt, how we all felt. I wasn't expecting to be told such news and I was very frightened.
Apparently I had shown signs of cancer had I but known it, Orange peel skin and dimpling, it never crossed my mind that was a sign. Now I know I urge people to check themselves carefully, go to seek help if you find something. It could save your life.
I was very scared about having chemotherapy, I knew it could make you feel so ill and I didn't know quite what to expect, would it be tablets to take, injections, a drip? Would I loose my hair? It was fear of the unexpected, as well as fear of the chemotherapy, how long would it take, how poorly would I feel? Could I go through with it? Having seen my father in law go through treatment for bowel cancer I had actually told Graham I wouldn't want to have chemotherapy, I had said in the past I would refuse it, so he was very worried when it came to it that I might say no I can't go through with it. When I was faced with the reality of my own situation I realised I had a lot to live for, a wonderful husband, two brilliant children, they might both have been in their twenties at the time but they were still my babies, my lovely mom, great family and friends who rallied round us to show their love and support, an invaluable thing in itself. I had to have chemotherapy, I had no choice. I owed it to myself and my loved ones.
The first few sessions involved a nurse putting an iv needle into the back of my hand and very slowly pushing the bright red epirubicin drugs into my body, she gently rested my arm on a pillow and sat in front of me, chatting all the way through to keep me distracted and relax me. It took over an hour, I sat on a comfortable recliner armchair, as did other patients having various kinds of chemotherapy and Graham was able to sit with me. I had to have it every three weeks, and I had four sessions. After the first session I was very sick, despite being given anti sickness medication, and eventually had to have the district nurse come in to inject my anti sickness as I couldn't keep it down, the emergency doctor came to see me at home after that first session and it was him who sent the district nurses in to me. After five days thank God it stopped and I began to feel a bit better. I felt spaced out but by the third week I felt better, though not relishing the idea of the second chemotherapy session. I had to have them every three weeks.
I saw my consultant before my next session and told her how sick I was, she doubled up the anti sickness and from then on I was sick on occasion but mostly felt sick for the first week at times then was not too bad for the rest of the time, a bit tired and spaced out but I rested when I needed to and everyone rallied round to help. My hair started to fall just before my second session, it got thinner and thinner, coming out in clumps, it would be all over my pillow, the furniture, everywhere. I had a shower on the Sunday before my second chemotherapy the next day and most of my hair disappeared. Thankfully I had already seen the wig lady at hospital and had her number. I rang, reluctantly as it was Sunday, and she was so nice, she had the wig I chose, come over to my home she said, I will shave off the rest of your hair and fit your wig. Once my hair had gone Graham told me I looked like my dad. That helped. Not!
Everyone said my wig looked good, but it felt uncomfortable and a bit itchy, I prefered wearing a bandana. The positive to having no hair was not having to style my hair, which I'm no good at, I just popped my wig on.
After the first four sessions of chemotherapy finished my radiotherapy began, you lie on a big table with a huge machine turning round you and laser beams directed at the spots to be zapped. I had 15 sessions, my skin burnt quite badly and became infected as the blisters that formed burst, so I had dressings on. Nobody warned me about that.
My next sessions of chemotherapy were different, I had it via a drip this time and it took over an hour. I had to take an antidote to stop the chemicals working after several hours which was a bit scary. I had one a week for two weeks, then two weeks off before the next session, eight lots in all. I felt a bit better than with the first type of chemotherapy though it could make you prone to bladder infection as it sat in the bladder, I only experienced that once, and wouldn't want to again.
Chemotherapy was due to finish in October, we decided to have a few days away in September as we needed the break. On our second day we had a phone call to say my lovely gentle kind mom had been found dead, she collapsed on the floor in her flat, our daughter found her very much loved granddaughter, it was too late. We were heartbroken. Mom was 84, she had been fine, it was unexpected and a terrible shock. The bottom dropped out of my world. Dad had passed away two years previously and I was still struggling with his loss. To loose mom was unbearable, she was my rock. I got it into my head she had gone in my place, then I thought I wouldn't make it, she would take me with her and had gone to look after me. Stupid, irrational thoughts but my life was turned upside down and I couldn't cope. Thank God for family and friends, thank you for all the positive vibes, the cards wishing me well, the flowers and chocolates, the love and support. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Xxx
My chemotherapy finished, I carried on because I knew it's what mom would want and I looked forward to the end of needles and hospitals.
It didn't work out that way. Just before Christmas I found out my tumour was HER2 positive, a lot of people with the same disease had been fighting to get the drug herceptin approved, it was expensive, many thousands of pounds, people had died waiting for NICE to approve it, the fight was all over tv, newspapers, radio. I prepared to join in.
I was lucky, my doctors put in a request for me to have herceptin, I was told it was a waiting game. I had a phone call just before it was announced on the news, from the primary care trust, to say I had been approved to have herceptin. Then it was announced on the news that herceptin had been approved for use on the NHS, for everyone.
And so began yet more treatment, thankfully unlike chemotherapy I had before herceptin didn't have too many side effects and I felt OK on it. I had to go every two weeks for a year and again it was administered by drip into an iv in my hand, it took an hour and a half each time as it had to be very slow, so I did a lot of reading! The first session made me go very very cold and I passed out, frightening my husband and the nurses, but I was fine after that first time, though did need to wear warm clothes as it could make you feel chilly.
My hair had started to return in the September while still having chemotherapy and by now I had a head full of curls, most unusual as my hair came back in tight curls, very soft and fluffy much as it had been as a baby! I even went abroad for my daughter's wedding in August of 2006 whilst having herceptin so you can see it wasn't so bad, I could never have managed it while having chemotherapy.
It's now 2014, I'm still under the hospital as the cancer was so aggressive, I was discharged from oncologist this year and have been told I should be discharged from the surgeon next year. I am cancer free and alive, despite my diagnosis, my family and friends helped me through my two years of treatment and I am eternally grateful for the love and support. It's almost ten years since I was diagnosed with an aggressive fast growing cancer and I'm still here to tell the tale. I have other health issues, hypermobility syndrome, arthritis, degenerative disc disease, but that's a whole other story. If I can do it, you can do it.
If you find a lump, if you notice strange changes, Orange peel skin, discharge, pain go and get checked.
If you are asked to attend for a mammogram, go!
If I had not had that mammogram it might have been too late, I might not be around to tell this story.
I am still here nearly 10 years later, so don't despair, stay positive, cancer can just get lost.
By the way I am now grandma to a beautiful four year old granddaughter, who I might never have met if I had ignored that letter. Now that's an incentive!
Love and good health to all. Xxx

Cancer messes with your head.

Let he who is without sin cast the first stone. I always took this to mean that everyone makes mistakes, so forgive others the mistakes they make.
To err is human, to forgive divine. Blimey I'm getting all biblical this morning! You don't always know what's behind the anguish, the hurt, the pain, the fear, the anger of why. To be diagnosed with an illness which is life threatening is scary and even though you have people around who care, you feel alone, frightened, angry, confused, a whole host of emotions.
Cancer messes your head up. You needed time to get over it. If you ever do. Takes your confidence and strength. You don't know unless you've been there. If you have ever been told you need to face your own mortality you can understand. If you haven't, you can't.
It's simple.
9 years on I'm in a better place.
Thanks to family, friends, those who rally round with support. You find out who is here for you. And who is not.
If you are fighting cancer, or know someone who is, give them a call, send a card or letter, drop round to see them, it really helps that you care.
Hope my musings help if you know someone diagnosed with serious illness, or if you have to go through the hell yourself. Every little helps
People said to me "I wish I could help". Well you did. Each kind word helped. Each phone call helped. Each card helped. Each visit helped. Each person who took the time and trouble to offer love and support, whether it was emotional help by talking, practical help by taking me to hospital, or doing something around the house I could not manage, making me laugh, lending things to keep me occupied and take my mind off the treatments and frightening things happening to me, sending me flowers, a thoughtful card with a few words saying you were thinking of me, every person who did these things helped me through.
Thank You. X
Thank you seems inadequate but it's the only words I have, the thing is you showed you care, that is what helps.

Bye bye oncologist, and thank you.

Almost nine years ago, in February of 2005, I had my first mammogram and subsequently diagnosed with breast cancer.

We had booked a holiday afterwards so you can see I didn't think anything would be found, though knowing now what I do I was stupid not to realise. I had not realised the dimpling and orange peel skin around the nipple could indicate a problem, yet I had it for ages and did nothing about it, through sheer ignorance. I did check myself for lumps, though to be honest I had no clear idea of how to do it correctly, with the flat of the finger tips, and I put the occasional pain down to hormones, I had often had pain when my period was due, so thought nothing of it, yet if I had tied all the symptoms together, if I had seen the symptoms on a poster in my doctors surgery or a leaflet, maybe I might have made the connection. I had not found a lump, but the mammogram picked it up. 

I had the mammogram on the Wednesday, on the Saturday the letter came saying I needed to go to the breast unit at the hospital the following Tuesday, the letter didn't exactly say urgent but the way it was worded made me think it was. 

So less than a week after the first mammogram I ever had, the mammogram I didn't want to go for, the mammogram I thought I did not need, I was sitting in a hospital waiting room waiting to go through for a biopsy. Everybody was so nice, but I knew as soon as I handed my letter to reception, that it was serious, the receptionist had just directed everyone else to a seat, with me she told me the breast care nurse would be with me shortly and told me which seat to sit in. The breast care nurse, Corrin, was beside me within a few minutes and sat with me to explain quietly that I was to have a biopsy, she sat my husband in a separate section and escorted me through to a room with a bed and a large scanning machine and told me to take off my top things and put on a gown. I had already been warned not to wear perfume or deodorant. The doctor came into the room and explained the procedure, he would put some gel on and scan the breast to find the lump they had found, then insert a long thin needle into it to remove tissue. Had I noticed anything? Had I found a lump? Yes I told him, I thought I had just about detected a small lump deep in the side of my left breast the night before, it was hard to say for sure and I had been hoping I was wrong. Yes, he told me, that was the area the mammogram detected the tumour. He showed me on the screen, it showed up as a white area, apparently it shows up like that because it has calcified, there it was clearly defined. 

The biopsy didn't hurt, the area had been numbed first, and it didn't take too long, I was told to get dressed and then I went outside to my husband and had to tell him they thought I had breast cancer. He looked shocked and tried to tell me to wait until the lab results of the biopsy came through the next day but the doctor had already said he thought it was cancer, the lab results were just a formality. 

We were both escorted to the doctors office by the breast care nurse who sat with us while the doctor told us he couldn't be certain of course, but he thought the biopsy results would show cancer. We were asked to return the following day for the results and told try not to worry!!

When the cancer diagnosis was confirmed I was numb, I tried to joke it away by asking for a reconstruction involving my tummy and a tummy tuck, I had been expecting it but somehow could take it in. The words, I'm sorry but you have cancer, words you never want to hear. I didn't cry I just sat in that office and rambled on, stopping to listen to what the doctor and nurse said without really taking it in. We could see the surgeon that day if we were willing to wait, he was in surgery, but would be able to see us in a couple of hours if we were willing to wait. As we had a 45 minute drive home, traffic permitting, we decided to walk to the canteen, have a coffee, wait around. I couldn't bear to have to go back yet again the next day.

I think it was around 6pm by the time we finally left the hospital, as we got in the car I switched my mobile on, ten missed calls from my mom. I had told her some clock and bull story about where we would be that day, I didn't want to tell her the truth, not while there was a tiny tiny chance it was all a huge mistake, what was the point of my lovely mom, in her eighties, worrying herself sick for nothing. She had had enough to deal with having lost her husband of almost 60 years, my wonderful dad, a couple of years previously, after a long illness, but it turned out I had inadvertently worried her anyway as she had been trying to get hold of me and I was not answering my phone. She had even asked my sister's if they knew where I was, but neither could shed any light as I had not told anyone. I felt awful for being the cause of her worry, and terrible that I was about to make it even worse for her, being the youngest of three I was still, at 49, her baby.

The operation had been scheduled for three weeks time, I would have rather it be done straight away but I had to fit in with operating lists, I felt like there was an alien in my body, I just wanted it out. I had been told it was grade one, I would probably not need chemotherapy, just 15 sessions of radiotherapy, my hair could stop on my head.

Telling mom, and my two children, both in their twenties, was hard, very hard. Mom sat silent, unable to take it in, then asked if I would be all right. I tried to reassure her I would be fine, but it can't be easy to be told your baby has cancer, and with dad no longer around she did not have her rock to turn to. My children were in their twenties, no longer children, but it's not easy to tell them their mom has cancer. My son was very quiet, he didn't say a lot, and all through he remained positive, telling me off when he discovered me reading a book about cancer, thinking I was being negative by reading it, as I told him I wanted to know all the facts, so I could fight it. My daughter cried and shook from head to foot, we held each other close for ages, she couldn't stop shaking. She told me later she must have cried for a week. Funny how everybody reacts differently, their way of coping I suppose.

I was in hospital for five days, I had a wide local excision, which means I kept the breast, the surgeon removed the tumour and tissue from around it to ensure all the cancer was gone, he also removed 13 lymph nodes. I woke with a drainage tube going from my breast at the side to a bottle, to drain away the lymphatic fluid, I had to carry the bottle around with me slung over my shoulder in a small fabric bag! Nobody had warned me of this rather odd addition to my wardrobe!

A week after my operation I was back at the hospital for the lab results, expecting to be told the tumour was grade one, as has been indicated to me previously. When the surgeon said I'm sorry but the tumour was fast growing and aggressive, stage three, grade three, I was shocked to say the least. We both sat dumb struck unable to take in this awful news. The surgeon then went on to say "don't worry I still have ladies alive ten years after a diagnosis like this" and that's when the tears flowed, ten years, I only had ten years? He hastily amended his words, saying even twenty years, I still have some ladies alive twenty years later. The shock was enormous, I had been expecting him to say I would have fifteen sessions of radiotherapy and then it would be over, not that I could potentially have less than ten years to live! I would need chemotherapy, aggressive chemotherapy, to seek out any rogue cells which may have escaped, I had cancer in three of the thirteen lymph nodes removed, therefore it could potentially have spread. I would loose my hair, my lovely thick long hair. I couldn't bear it.

Cancer is a word which has scared me for a long time, I had seen my uncle loose his life to this terrible disease, my father in law, my aunt, my husband's uncle, all lost their lives because of cancer. I was so scared of it, of the treatments too, that I had indicated in the past that if ever I got cancer I would not have treatment, I couldn't bear to go through it if it made me so ill only to loose my life anyway. My husband was scared I would refuse treatment, he had heard me say it a few times, knew how terribly frightened of it I was, fear of the unknown, fear of the pain and suffering I had seen others go through. When it came to it though I could see no other option than to have the chemotherapy, the radiotherapy, what option did I have? I had too much to live for, my kids needed their mom, my husband needed his wife, I couldn't leave them.

I had six months of chemotherapy, needles stuck into the back of my hand whilst strong drugs dripped into my body, making me terribly sick, especially the first time when I was sick constantly for five days, having to get the emergency doctor out to stop it, resulting in district nurses arriving twice a day to inject anti sickness medication as I couldn't keep tablets down. After that the oncologist doubled the dose so I could cope better, meaning I as sick sometimes but not all the while! The team in the chemotherapy unit were great, supportive and kind. 

I had radiotherapy too, which burnt the skin beneath my breast, something I didn't envisage, as the treatments themselves were no problem, you just lie still, nothing hurts. I got an infection on the burns which proved painful and had to be dressed by the nurses door months until it healed. Very painful, so if you have radiotherapy take great care of yourself.

I finished the chemotherapy at the end of October, and had been looking forward to celebrating the end of treatment, but in September we all had the most terrible shock when mom passed away suddenly. She was found on the floor of her flat by our daughter, nothing could be done she was already gone, while we were away in the Cotswolds for a few days break from everything. I was the last person she spoke to, she rang to see if we were having a good time, she told me she was proud of me, I can't remember her ever telling me that before. Mom died quietly, she was such a kind gentle person, who lived her life quietly. We were devastated.

Round about Christmas time we had another shock when I discovered my tumour was HER2 positive, a new treatment had been found for people with HER2 positive tumours but the drug had not been approved for use in the UK, women all over the country were fighting to have the drug and some dying before they got the chance. Now I needed it. I contacted my local health authority to see if I would be approved and wondered if we might have to sell our house to get the £20,000 it would cost privately. I had to wait a few weeks then one morning I had a phone call to say I had been approved, in fact it was on the radio later that day that herceptin was now available for all who needed it! I'm so grateful to those women who stood up to fight.

I had a year's treatment on herceptin, going to hospital every two weeks to have needles stuck into my hand again, the side effects thankfully were negligible and my hair had returned, thank God, that wig was hot, itchy and uncomfortable! My hair fell out in the shower three weeks after the first chemotherapy, and began to grow again just before mom died. Strangely it came back in tight curls, very soft, and I'm told they call it the chemo curl!

For five years I took tamoxifen, a hormone treatment to keep the cancer from returning, before going on to metropolis which unfortunately affected my arthritis quite a bit but I stuck with it and took it for the three years the doctors recommended.

Yesterday I had my annual oncologist check up, on the way to hospital I said I had had enough, I wished it was all over, was ready not to have to go for check ups every six months (alternating visits to the surgeon). In the past I had been worried about not having that reassurance there, but I have been backwards and forwards to hospitals for almost nine years, enough is enough! I had been told by the surgeon I would need to attend for ten years so I was surprised when the oncologist, having completed his examination, said I had no need to take hormones any longer and that I would be discharged from their care. Yes I cried, I was so relieved to not have the burden of the regular visits to hospital, and he said I have the telephone number if I have any problems which he hopes I won't, so that's it, no more oncologist appointments, I am no longer a cancer patient. I have to see the surgeon in March but I think, hope, that when he realises I have been discharged from oncologist I will be discharged from his care too. Every year which goes by after cancer the chances of it returning get smaller and smaller, that's what the oncologist told me and I am glad to know it.

So my cancer journey is over, I hope so anyway, I am very grateful to the doctors and nurses who treated me and got me through . I am very grateful to friends and family for their love and support. I am thankful to be alive, what more can I say but thank you with all my heart. X

Breast cancer? Not me, Im not having it.

Eight years and eight months ago I went to visit a mobile mammogram unit parked on the car park of my local clinic by invitation of the NHS. My 50th birthday was 6 months away, and it is a routine invitation when a woman reaches her half century. Little did I know what was to come, if I had realised I may have run the other way and buried my head in the sand. Thank God I didn't know, I didn't want to go for the appointment, I didn't think anything was wrong with me, but looking back I now realise I had classic symptoms, though I had not realised they were symptoms, I wish I had been more aware, perhaps I could have avoided the aggressive chemo, the radiotherapy with subsequent painful burning of the skin beneath my breast, the hair loss, the spread to three lymph nodes. I did not realise the dimpling, orange peel skin was a sign of breast cancer, or maybe I was too scared to question it. Even the word, cancer, has always made me feel afraid, the thought of being cut open to remove the offending cancerous tumour has always frightened me. We even booked a holiday straight after the mammogram, not knowing the trauma to come the following week. When the letter arrived on the Saturday morning, having had the test just three days before, I knew straight away, you don't get results that fast unless there is a problem. My heart was in my mouth when I saw that my appointment was for Tuesday 8th February, just three days hence. I cried. I rang my husband at work and cried. I was frightened, disbelieving, shaky, petrified. He tried to tell me not to worry but how can you not? 
They were lovely at the clinic, they had been waiting for me to arrive it was obvious, as soon as I handed in my letter at reception we were seated in another area, the breast care nurse came out to me, took me into a room for biopsy, explained what would happen, I was talked through the procedure, the radiologist showed me the tumour on the screen, told me it was calcified, an indication of cancer, he confirmed it was most likely to be cancer but await the results. Shell shocked I walked shakily towards my husband, then I had to tell him I might have cancer, it was bad, really bad. He didn't seem to take it in, probably didn't want to, told me it might not be, wait for the results. The results would be ready the next day.
It was cancer, at first they told me grade one, after my operation and the tumour was tested in the lab, grade 3, stage 3, fast growing and aggressive. I had to fight.
I won't say chemo was okay, it wasn't. I was very sick that first time, for five days. The second time was more manageable, the oncologist doubled my anti sickness meds. My hair fell out three weeks after the first chemo session, they gave me a wig, I preferred a more comfy scarf. At least I didn't need to wash and style my hair, something I've never mastered, I just pulled it on to my head.
Chemo is given in various ways, the first few sessions an iv into the back of my hand, drugs slowly fed in by a nurse. The latter sessions of chemo were drip feed again by iv, over an hour maybe. The nurses were fantastic.
Radiotherapy is painless but it can burn the skin and being a larger lady friction under the breast burst blisters which proved painful.
I had herceptin too, having found when my treatments had finished that I was HER 2 positive, again by iv drip.
Now I take hormones and visit my surgeon and oncologist once a year. I'm still here against all odds, if the mammogram had not detected the tumour when it did it may have been a different story.
Eight years and eight months later I am ALIVE!

Race for Life, donations needed please. Thankyou. x

In 2005 I was stood at the finishing line wearing a headscarf to cover up the fact that I had no hair, watching my wonderful daughter finish her first Race for Life. I had no hair because I was in the middle of chemotherapy for breast cancer, I was feeling rotten as I had just received my dose of chemotherapy a couple of days previously, and I had dragged myself to watch the race finish despite having passed out cold the day before, luckily I was standing next to my bed when I felt myself going, and managed to fall neatly across it! I was determined to see Emma do her race, after all she was doing it for me, and others like me, who were or had suffered from cancer. I owed it to her, the friends who were doing the race with her, and all the other competitors taking part because without all that effort no money would have been raised for cancer research UK. She did not expect me to be there because she knew I had passed out the day before so when she saw me at the finishing line, leaning on her Dad, she burst into tears causing me to burst into tears also! Reading the paper she wore on her back caused me to burst into tears afresh, "I`m running for my wonderful Mum" it said. We waited together for her friends to finish and a fresh round of tears started when I saw they were wearing papers on their backs which announced "I`m running for my friends wonderful Mum." I have tears in my eyes just writing this and thinking back to that day. It meant so much to me that I had all that wonderful support, that Emma had all that wonderful support, and that the Cancer research UK charity was to received all those donations. Since then Emma has run the race a few times, and this year she is running again to raise money for Cancer research UK, and to help and support all those people who have had cancer, who live with cancer, and who have lost the fight. If you could possibly sponsor my wonderful daughter we would be eternally grateful for your donations to a brilliant cause, one which has probably affected all of us at some time in our lives.
This is Emmas just giving page address, and thankyou so much. xxxxxx
 http://www.raceforlifesponsorme.org/emmabuckley0?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=socspon&utm_content=emmabuckley0&utm_campaign=post-sponsor-facebook

Kicking the hell out of breast cancer!

Its been over 8 years now since I was diagnosed with stage 3 fast growing and aggressive breast cancer. It had already spread to 3 of my lymph glands, out of the 13 they took out, and later on I discovered the tumour was HER2 positive. A very bad diagnosis by anybodys standards and I was told I would require very aggressive chemotherapy to beat it.

I had my operation, I had my chemotherapy, I had my radiotherapy and then I had a year of herceptin followed by 5 years of tamoxifen and now I am taking letrozole, another hormone. All have taken their toll on my body, my hair fell out, I was very sick, my skin was burnt under my breast caused by radiotherapy and took 4 months of excrutiating pain and careful management before it healed up, my immune system all but disappeared so that I kept catching lots of infections, my nails broke, I had mouth ulcers, I still suffer from stomach problems and like to know I am near a toilet when I go out. I have had a lot of positive things happen though. First of all, and most important I lived! I am alive!! Having been told by my consultant surgeon that he has a few ladies still alive after 10 years following such a diagnosis I was, understandably petrified, after all I was 49 years old when diagnosed, no age I`m sure you will agree. Yes I still have 2 years of those 10 years to go, so perhaps I am not out of the woods yet, I am still plodding to the hospital every 6 months for oncology appointments and to see the surgeon and I have to keep attending until 10 years after my diagnosis. In one way I am looking forward to those 10 years being up, to being properly in remission and being able to say "yes, I beat it." On the other hand I am slightly afraid of those 10 years being up because it will mean an end to all those hospital check ups, nobody to look me over every few months, nobody to make sure no other lumps have formed, nobody apart from myself, or self examination as the posters say, TLC, touch, look, check. I mean I did not even find the lump in the first place! I had no idea it was there, even though I had other symptoms that cancer was trying to invade me, I must admit I did not know what those symptoms were. The dimpling around the nipple, the inverted nipples, the pain I got sometimes, especially if I bumped myself or the dog stood on me when I was lying in bed! Apparently all those things indicated that cancer could be present, I wish I had known, maybe I would have caught it even earlier. All I knew was to look for a lump, maybe discharge, those other symptoms I mention, I had no idea. Yes, I had them all, not the discharge, but the dimpling, inversion, pain. No lump though, that showed up on a routine mammogram which I had because I was approaching my 50th birthday, deeply buried, 1cm so not very big. Thank God for that routine mammogram which picked up my cancer, thank God for the radiographer who recognised the calcification. Or perhaps I should thank medical science, whoever, just thankyou.

So the moral of this tale is I am still alive, I have seen my son and daughter married, I have become a grandmother, I can still live and enjoy my life. I am still alive because I had a routine mammogram. I am still alive because of the knowledge and skill of the doctors, the surgeon, oncologist, radiographer. I am still alive because of the support of my family and friends, because of the love shown to me every day. I am still alive over 8 years after a stage 3, grade  3 cancer diagnosis, when the alien which had invaded my body had already spread to 3 lymph nodes and was getting ready to rush around my body, to try to kill me. I am still alive because of the advances of medical science, and I am still alive because I was determined to be here, with my family, with my loved ones in 2013 and beyond.

I saw a lady yesterday who was diagnosed the year before me. She had just been for her check ups at hospital and was clear. Like me she has 10 years of hospital visits until she is discharged (a lot of people only need to go for 5 years) and when we were talking we agreed that it never goes away, it is there every morning when you wake up and get dressed, it is there every night when you get undressed and go to bed. The fear, I suspect, will always be with us, I don`t think that is something we can help, when you are faced with your own mortality the fear becomes ingrained within you. We are both alive, we did not let breast cancer beat us. If you are fighting breast cancer, if you have just been diagnosed, please know that although it is not easy, you CAN get through it, you CAN beat it. I will, you will. Good luck. xxx