"It's life Jim, but not as we know it!"

The realisation dawned on me this afternoon that after November 10th my life is never going to be the same again and that's a really scary thing to have to admit to yourself. The change began when I got the first part of my diagnosis but a mastectomy changes things forever. It's not just that it's cancer and who knows what the future holds where other treatment etc is concerned, but that I have to deal with such a radical change to my body. As a woman I find this difficult to deal with - I'll be reminded of it every day.

As a dancer it's also given me pause; will I ever want to perform in public again if I feel so differently about my body? Currently I have several thousand pounds worth of designer costumes in my wardrobe, none of which I will be able to wear with a prosthesis and I don't yet know when I'll be offered reconstruction. I feel so sad when I look at them! I know it's early days yet but sometimes thoughts about my future as a performer, something that's been an integral part of my life, being changed so much is really distressing. Dance has helped me get through so many difficult things but somehow it hasn't really helped this time around.


I guess all I can do is wait and see. . .

Strange echoes in my mind

It’s weird how cancer takes over not just your day-to-day life but your mind as well. I am finding it harder and harder to ignore the annoyingly incessant little murmur; ‘oh shit, I have cancer!’ that never seems far from my thoughts. I wake up to it in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning, in fact whenever I have a moment’s repose.  I’ve ended up caught between being almost desperately practical about everything to wandering around in a kind of stupor trying to remember what it is I should be doing. It’s maddening, sometimes deafening and I wish it would just get the hell out of my head! I know I have cancer and I don’t need a constant reminder thank you very much!

My practical side is working overtime to compensate for all of this. For instance I should have guessed just how hard it would be to buy a simple mastectomy bra in my size when it’s hard to buy 30D bras at the best of times. I’ve spent hours in front of my laptop searching through specialist websites in the hope of finding something suitable. I’ve also made numerous phone calls as I continue the hunt for that oh so elusive garment. Someone I spoke to at a manufacturer said ‘oh I’m sorry but we only stock normal sizes.’ There was a very long silence when I asked if she could recommend anything for ‘abnormal’ people like me! I know that as a nation we are growing in size but for heaven’s sake I see plenty of women on the streets that are petite like me, where are we supposed to buy our bras!

This of course turns up the volume of that persistent murmur and once again I find myself thinking about cancer instead of what I need to be doing about it. It creeps slowly up to catch me unawares, one minute I am sharing a laugh with a friend and in the next I am plunged into despair at the thoughts of losing my breast. I’ve ended up in a kind of alternate reality where the thoughts and worry about cancer constantly dog my heels, threatening to overtake me, but so far not quite succeeding. This is worst at night because I am finding it increasingly hard to sleep. I wake up several times a night just thinking about the consequences of my diagnosis. People around me offer reassuring platitudes about how good survival rates for breast cancer are and that I should try not to worry about having a scar because the surgeon will do his best to make it as small and neat as possible. They are absolutely right and the logical part of my mind is nodding in agreement with them, but cancer is still Cancer and treatment comes with no guarantees. A scar in place of a breast is still exactly that and something that I will have to look at every day - not something to look forward to!

Just starting out

I was diagnosed with Grade 2 multi-focal invasive lobular and ductal breast cancer on 14th October 2010. A day that will be etched on my memory for a very long time! I will remember it simply as the day that my life changed, although if you asked me what anyone told me beyond the word cancer, I don't think I could tell you.

How did it start?

Like many women, I found a lump in my breast during my regular monthly check and immediately made an appointment to see my GP. I was convinced she would tell me it was a cyst so I was not prepared to be told that it needed checking out pretty quickly. What followed after that was several weeks of tests and waiting. It was like a form of torture because you cannot think of anything else whilst you wait for that all important piece of news.

Even at the very start I was still convinced that everything would turn out okay, after all I am not in either of the high risk categories (under 40 or post-menopausal) but as time went on I started to worry more. My first trip to the local breast clinic gave me a clue that it wasn't going to be a simple thing. I was in the ultrasound room for ages - everyone else was coming out after about 20 mins. Then after having a mammogram (ouch!) I was told to go back for a further ultrasound and was in there for nearly 3/4 hour. At the end of which the doctor told me that he had never seen anything as complex and needed to go and consult a more senior colleague. This led to a trip to a larger regional hospital where I had a stereotactic guided series of biopsies and yet more ultrasound. The doctor was lovely but she was very, very reticent when I tried to get her to tell me what she thought it might be.

The final clue that something was wrong was when the Breast Care Nurse from my local hospital phoned and asked me to go to the clinic the same afternoon to discuss 'choices.' It all went down hill from there and the bad news just kept on coming! The surgeon was super; very kind and understanding when he explained that it was likely that I would need a full mastectomy but that he still needed to do a further biopsy on two other parts of my breast and he did that straight away. The next thing I know I have got my operation date (10th November) and then the final bombshell was dropped when the nurse told us very gently that I had a provisional Grade 2 invasive lobular and ductal carcinomas, along with a Ductal Carcinoma In Situ (DCIS) and cancerous micro calcifications. It was such a shock and there was no question of me having anything other than a mastectomy but now instead of having a simple Sentinel Lymph Node Biopsy I was going to need a full axillary clearance removing most or all of the underarm lymph nodes. On top of all of this there is a good chance that I will need to have chemotherapy too. At this point any pretence of being 'strong' just dissolved, I felt bewildered and just numb about it all.

And that's where I am just now - living in what seems like a surreal dream. I just cannot believe that this is happening to me. I have crappy health anyway so what did I do to deserve this?? The answer is of course, 'absolutely nothing,' because like me, you can live a healthy, active life-style, eat sensibly, not smoke, drink in moderation and still end up with cancer. It's bad luck, plain and simple and there is nothing you can do about it, except follow the advice you are given and get on with having the treatment.