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

BREAST CANCER - I KNOW I AM SO LUCKY.

I don`t take anything for granted, not since I had cancer. Facing my own mortality has taught me to be grateful that I am still around, that I have seen my kids married, become a grandmother to a wonderful little girl, had the support of my wonderful hubby, children, relatives and friends.
Its been 8 years now since my diagnosis, 8th February 2005 I shall never forget the date, when the doctor and a breast care nurse took me into the office and told me my tumour was breast cancer. I refused to believe it at first, this could not really be happening to me could it? I remember saying something stupid like if I needed a mastectomy could I have reconstruction using the fat from my stomach, getting a tummy tuck as part of the deal. I was attempting to joke, all the while falling apart inside. I cried on the way down the corridor heading away from the doctors office, unable to take in the awful information that I had cancer, wondering what to say to my mom, my children, how would I cope? The breast care nurse must have realised my reaction was unreal because she had followed us down that corridor and she steered us into a room to get myself together, handing me tissues from a box in her hand. I suppose they get all kinds of reactions from people told bad news.
This past few days I have had my attention brought to a lady is dying of breast cancer. It is in her lungs, bones, now brain. She may have months only to live. She was diagnosed in the same year as me. I am lucky, I am fine now, she is not. It could have been me, after all my cancer was grade 3, stage 3, fast growing and aggressive, HER2 positive. I don`t know why I am okay and Sue is not, thats the way of this awful disease I suppose. Some are lucky, some are unlucky. That is why research and then more research needs to be done. Breakthrough Breast Cancer and other organisations like it do a great job, so please give all you can afford to help. Lots of women are diagnosed with breast cancer each day, some make it, some don`t. It could be you, I hope it isn`t but to be realistic it could be. I never expected it to be me, it was frightening, the treatments were not nice, but I got through it, I am here to tell the tale. 8 years later I am here. Sue may not be here to tell her tale, so she is telling it now, so please follow @suewhitham1, read her story, download her music, her legacy to her children.
Thank you. x

8 years cancer free

Exactly eight years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was one of the worst days of my life. I have always been afraid of death, the thought of anything happening to someone I love terrifies me though I had never before been faced with, nor even thought of, my own mortality. 
At first I was told my tumour was grade one, new and very small. I would probably not need chemo, just radiotherapy after an operation to remove it. 
A month or so later, following surgery which lasted longer than I had been lead to believe, the news was a different, terrifying story. My cancer was fast growing, very aggressive stage 3, grade 3. 
Not only would I need radiotherapy but I would also need chemotherapy too. I would feel very poorly because the chemotherapy would have to be aggressive to fight the cancer. I would loose my hair. 
The operation had lasted longer than expected because the tumour had grown so much, the doc took away13 lymph glands, cancer was found in three of them. This was as serious as it got. 
I was told, in no uncertain terms, that I had to have the treatment, without it I would die. What went through my head was would I suffer the treatment, feel dreadful for months, and die anyway?
I had to trust the doctors, we were told to cancel the holiday we had just booked so I could undergo chemo. 
Chemo is not nice, I won't lie to you. It makes you vomit, though they do give you anti sickness medication. It did not work for me first time though and I had to have the district nurse call twice a day to inject me, even then I was sick for 5 days before the drugs took effect. I told my oncologist how sick I had been when I saw her before my second chemo session and she doubled the meds. I felt sick for a week or so, I was sick a couple of times, but mostly it was kept under control. Then there is the exhaustion. My friends often remarked that I was somewhere else and that's often how I felt, on another planet! I passed out a couple of times too, had to use the toilet a lot and could not taste my food, everything was like cardboard, very bland. Come to think of it my taste buds have never fully recovered and I have to try and make meals extra tasty so I can enjoy them! 
Just before my second chemo session my hair had all but fallen out. I had a shower the day before my second session and saw most of my hair disappear down the plug hole. I cried. A hairdresser who sorted my wig out shaved off the rest and I was mortified. It didn't help when hubby said I looked like my dad! The wig was hot and itchy so I wore a bandana most times, or a be any hat. Nobody saw me without my head covered apart from hubby, I could not wear a hat to bed. I wanted to though! My daughter once arrived in my bedroom and caught me unexpectedly without my scarf, she shot back out again with a shocked look on her face calling sorry, sorry mum. I hated that, I did not want her to see me that way, I'm her mum, I was meant to look after her, not the other way around!
Chemo is given by drip, it can take 30 minutes or an hour and a half, depending which kind you have. Best take a book or magazine, and some sweets to suck! A family member or friend is another good thing to take, to keep you company. The nurse puts a needle into the back of your hand and the drugs drip slowly into you. You go be very two or three weeks for treatment, depending on what drugs they give you. I had herceptin too after chemo finished as it was discovered my tumour was 2 positive, just to add insult to injury. So I had to attend hospital for a further year after already having 8 months chemo, and 3 weeks radiotherapy. I now see my oncologist annually, I also see my surgeon annually so visit hospital twice a year. Then there are the visits for mammograms. I am sick of the place to be honest!!!  I have to see the consultants for ten years as my cancer was so aggressive, I also take hormones every day,  other breast cancer patients only see the specialists for 5 years but I don't do things by halves!!
Oh and one last thing. Go for your mammograms!  That's how my cancer was found, a routine mammogram at the age of 49 (because I was approaching my 50th birthday) and I never even suspected I had a problem,, therefore I did not want to attend! I'm glad I did, if I had not gone for my routine mammogram that February day in 2005, I might not have been here to tell the tale 8 years later! 
If you are reading this because you have been diagnosed and need some support the very best of luck. I got through it. I'm still here. You can do it too. Keep smiling. Xxx

Love and support of family, friends and the GP!

I had a phone call from my GP when he heard that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer, I was very surprised as our GP is not normally one to phone his patients up so I was grateful that he had taken the trouble. He asked me to attend the surgery so he could go over my treatments with me and answer any questions I might have. He told me, in no uncertain terms, that I needed to have the operation, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and any other treatments offered to me. He said that without those treatments I simply would not make it. It certainly brings things home to you when your family doctor tells you something like that! He discussed my treatments with me, answered a few questions I wanted the answers to, and told me that he wanted to see me every 3 months to make sure I was okay, sooner if I felt the need to see him for anything at all, and said he would help to get me through it. Quite frankly he was wonderful, and I never thought I would say that about my GP! I knew he was a good doctor, he picked up on a medical problem that my Dad had, sent him straight to hospital and saved his life, the consultant was very impressed that a GP had picked up on such a complex medical problem so I knew that he knows his stuff. When I had an infection on the burnt skin underneath my breast, caused by the radiotherapy, he noticed I looked unwell on a visit to his surgery and sent me to hospital straight away for treatment. I still see him every 6 months, he does full blood tests and a very good medical examination each time, and makes sure I am keeping well. I see my consultant oncologist annually, and my surgeon annually, so with my seeing my GP so regularly I see somebody medical every 3 months so if I have any worries at all I have someone to tell.
When my chemo finished I did not know at the time that I was HER2 positive, they did not find that out until a few weeks later (this was in the days when women were fighting for the right to have the drugs and I did not know whether I would be able to have them or not) and I felt quite frightened knowing I would not be going to the hospital every couple of weeks for my chemotherapy. I felt stupid as I was looking forward to chemo finishing, but when I mentioned that I was worried to my chemo nurse she said it is a normal reaction and most people who have been going through cancer treatments feel the same way. You want the chemo to finish but you worry that you will not have the same support from the nurses and doctors at the hospital that you did before. After all if you go to the hospital every 2 weeks and you have some ailment you wish to discuss you can do so, but you are suddenly on your own and it seems scary to have nobody to turn to. I was reassured by the nurse when she said everyone feels that way, and she said I would have the phone number for the ward, and the consultants, so that if I every had a problem all I had to do was call them and they would help me to sort it out. I felt a little better when she told me this, and now to this day those numbers are held on to the side of my freezer with  fridge magnets! I have had cause to call my consultants too and what the nurse told me was true, I had a lump in my neck you see which I was scared about, a few years ago now, so I called the consultant and had an appointment to see him a couple of weeks later! The lump was removed and it was a benign reactive lymph node, nothing to worry about! Sigh of relief!
My GP told me that every time I had a sniffle, headache, sore joint I would go into panic mode for a bit and think `has the cancer returned`? He told me it was normal to feel that way, but that you have to realise that a headache is probably just a headache, not a brain tumour. A stomach pain is just stomach ache and not anything more sinister. A cough and cold is just a cough and cold, not lung cancer. I laughed when he said this to me, convinced that I would not be that way but he said "you mark my words, lots of cancer patients feel that way". You know what? He was right! At first if I had a headache, the first thing that came into my head was "Oh God, do I have a brain tumour?" Then I thought of what the doctor had said to me, gave myself a good talking to, and realised the doctor was right! Now 8 years later I can rationalize and realise that not every ache, pain or niggle is the return of the dreaded big c. I have a cold at the moment, and thats all it is, a cold!!
Oh and one last thing, this is another thing my GP told me. Cancer is not catching! Well ofcourse it isn`t, thats just stupid but he told me the tale of an old gent that developed cancer who went into his surgery to speak to him very upset. He was complaining about one of his oldest friends who, on learning that he had cancer would not visit him any longer. Ofcourse the old chap who was ill was very upset by his friends rejection and could not understand his attitude. Hopefully his friend soon realized he could not catch it, or somebody put him straight, after all its hard enough having cancer, without friends keeping away because they think they will catch it. I have had friends who have stayed out of my way and I found out later that they were worried about what to say to me! This was after I forced the issue by knocking on the door! As I told her I didn`t want to feel like a victim, I just happened to have cancer but I was the same person! All was well.  So if anybody does avoid you, don`t take it to heart, they can`t cope and don`t know what to say to you. Act normally around them, tell them you want to be treated the same way as before your diagnosis and don`t want to feel like a victim, and they will soon come round. If they don`t, well they are no friend really are they? You certainly find out who your friends are, I know I did. I was, and still am, very grateful for them all. I shall take this opportunity to say thanks for the support. x

Beating cancer.

In February 2013 it is 8 years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I have always been afraid of operations, anaesthetics and going into hospital, but I just wanted the cancer out of my body, I wanted it gone.  Hubby was a bit worried at first that I would not go through with the operation, the chemotherapy, radiotherapy and everything that goes along with it. I have always been frightened of cancer, even the word filled me with dread, and I had always said I would not have chemotherapy, I would not have an operation.  When it actually happened to me I realised that my worst fear had been realised, I had cancer, and I did not feel any different to how I felt before! I was scared yes, I wondered what was going to happen yes, but I was more frightened of worrying my family, I did not want my elderly mom worrying herself about me. I did not want my husband worrying about me, and I certainly did not want to worry my kids. We told nobody until I got a definate diagnosis, there was no point in making anybody worried about something which may or may not happen, so we kept it quiet but once the diagnosis was confirmed I had no choice but to tell them. When my hair started to fall out they would notice, when I was feeling ill from effects of chemotherapy they would notice, when I was in hospital having the operation to remove the alien from my body they would definately notice. Telling my loved ones was awful, terrible. I could barely get the words out when I had to tell my husband I had cancer, my voice broke when I told mom, she was so quiet, too quiet. My son did not want to believe it, my daughter cried and cried, shook and shook. I never wanted to hurt them that much, I knew I had to fight.

I was told my cancer was fast growing and aggressive, if it had not been discovered by that routine mammogram my story might have been very different. I had an operation to have it cut out of me, I had 8 months of chemotherapy, I had radiotherapy, I had herceptin because it turned out to be HER2 positive, I took tamoxifen and even now today I still have to take hormones because the cancer was fuelled by oestrogen so I have been told my best chance of it not returning is to take the hormone tablets. I have to visit the oncologist and surgeon for 10 years because the diagnosis was so bad, so you see I could so easily not be here, but the thing is I am. I never thought about dying, I always thought I would live, my family and friends kept me going, they helped me through, as did the nurses and doctors, my GP everybody has been amazing. Thanks to you all, without you where would I be?

So if you have just received a diagnosis of breast cancer, even if it is grade 3, stage 3, fast growing and aggressive, HER2 positive, just like mine was you can do it, you can be here 8 years later, just like me. I won`t lie, chemotherapy is not very nice, I would not choose to have needles stuck in my hand but if thats what it takes, do it. I was very sick through chemotherapy but the oncologist increased my anti sickness medication so that helped. I passed out a couple of times, I felt very tired, the skin underneath my breast was burnt by the radiotherapy meaning I had to have dressings put on for some time, but its ok now and I got through it. There are lots of side effects, but if those side effects say goodbye to the cancer, if those side effects help you to live to be with your family and friends, its only for a short while. No the treatments are no nice, but you can do it. I did. So you can do it too. Believe me I know, I got through it, even though I never thought I would, I have always been afraid of cancer, even the word. I am beating cancer, its not beating me, don`t let cancer beat you either. I am still here 8 years after cancer diagnosis, you can still be here in 8 years time too. Good luck. xxx