Update
2021 was an especially shitty year, although it looks like it will be surpassed.
In the January, the day Biden was inaugurated, though that has nothing to do with it, I had to say goodbye to my best friend, my buddy, my darling, Billy.
I don't want another dog, I have developed a morbid habit of looking at all dogs and their owners while silently thinking, 'oh no, it's going to happen to you one day. That utter dismantling of your heart and soul. The wretchedness of a lost love, a warm body ripped from your concave tummy where once there was a beating heart.'
Miserable, I know, sorry about that.
It gets worse though.
My daughter, on the day that Billy died, announced that she was pregnant. This was supposed to 'lift the mood.' It did for about thirty seconds, but I was too distraught to really take it in.
Her pregnancy wasn't great, the baby decided to be awkward and insisted on laying in a position that felt, to my daughter, very much like a consistent assault on the gall bladder, with a sharp knife.
The summer was a trial as instead of Billy asleep or sunbathing at my feet, I had two manky foxes for company. I phoned the 'Fox Project' and they sent some medicine which I had to put in the food I was feeding the foxes. Instead of a proud dog owner I became a 'mad fox lady.' Still, they got better. Clever animals, foxes, one comes and knocks on the backdoor every evening and with his head on one side, begs for his supper. He especially likes tinned pork from Poland.
Anyway, the baby was due on a Tuesday in September.
On the preceding Sunday I was doing my morning yoga, I stretched my arms wide, looked down and thought, 'hmm, that bit of boob is new.'
I knew straight away what it was, and it wasn't part of my rib. I could feel the lump and my first thought, bizarrely, was that it felt like a cough candy sweet or an aniseed twist, you know the ridged, big ones that you bought in a quarter (4ounces) from the sweet shop, and which stuck stubbornly to the paper bag, so you had to suck the paper off before getting to the tasty bit?
A very sensible voice popped into my head. 'Okay' it said. 'This is what we are going to do.' I listened while this wise imposter issued instructions.
'We are going to A&E in the morning, we are not going to mention this cough candy cancer to anyone at all, we are not going to tell the girls (I have two daughters) We will wait for the safe delivery of the baby. We are NOT going to panic.'
The next morning, I queued for three hours outside the A&E department, in the rain. Covid rules were in place and the waiting room was at capacity. I finally saw the triage person who told me that I would only see a GP and that they no longer had the mobile mammogram unit. The wait to see a GP was another three hours.
I didn't think that was worth my while, so I jumped in the car and drove to my own GP. I was quite amazed that I was able to enter the reception area without any questions. The GP surgery had been out of bounds for so long, it seemed strange to be allowed in so easily.
I had a chat to the (friendly!) receptionist and she said the doctor would call me before 4pm.
I didn't believe that I would get a call, but I did. The doctor asked me to go straight to the surgery, which I did.
There was no faffing around, the GP, a nice lady who I had never seen before, felt the lump, pulled a face, and immediately went online to request a mammogram at the local hospital.
I still didn't tell anyone. On the Tuesday, my daughter went into hospital to be induced. On the Wednesday I sat at her house all day with Olive, her dog. On the Thursday, my daughter had to have an emergency caesarian. I was allowed to sit outside the operating theatre and could hear everything going on, the baby wailed very impressively indeed.
Mum, dad, and baby were all well pleased with themselves. It was wonderful to hold my little grandson in my arms.
The following Sunday, I took myself to the hospital. I met with a consultant who examined me.
I warmed to my consultant straight away. She is one of those people that you feel is a mislaid best friend. Kind but no nonsense, she felt the cough candy lump, raised her eyebrows, and looked into my eyes. We both knew, I ended up reassuring her that I wasn't surprised, that I knew straight away what it was, a cancer the size of a cough candy.
I had a mammogram, (that hurt when the lump was flattened) then I had an ultrasound scan. The breast clinic was so busy that Sunday that I had to go back the next day for another ultrasound and a biopsy, also I had to have a clip inserted into the lump so that it could be located easily.
So, a week after I had felt the lump, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was to have a consultation in a week's time to discuss how to proceed.
I had to tell my daughters.
They were both shocked but amazed that I had gone to the hospital and had had all the tests. I am known to go into 'denial' mode where my health is concerned. It's the way I was brought up. The attitude to any ill health when I was a kid was, 'there's nothing wrong with you, have a Disprin or go for a walk.'
This attitude resulted in a hip replacement operation when I was 49 years old, and a severe case of pneumonia and sepsis, which nearly killed me, a few years later. I had never had a mammogram as my mum had warned me not to, as, 'they find things and start to mess around with you when, there's usually no need.'
Mum died in 2013 at the age of seventy-three, she had a heart attack.
Both of my daughters came to the consultation with me. I didn't see Eleni, my original consultant, I was upset about this as I had really felt a connection with her.
It was decided that I would start taking a hormone medicine called Letrozole as my cancer was 'feeding' on oestrogen and the Letrozole would reduce the amounts of oestrogen my body could make, therefore the cancer would have less, to eat, I suppose. Then I would have surgery, and then I would have radiotherapy or chemotherapy. I would need to take the Letrozole for at least five years.
Two weeks later I got a letter giving me a date for the surgery, it was to be the next week and I had to go in for pre-operative checks the day after I received the letter. I was a bit shocked at the speed of everything as I thought that the Letrozole needed more time to shrink the cancer thereby making surgery less invasive. But I told myself, I am not the expert here.
I went along for the pre-operative tests, filled in loads of forms, had a chat with the Macmillan cancer support lady, who is also lovely, and was given loads of information about exercises to do after surgery. Then as I walked along the corridor with the Macmillan nurse, we bumped into Eleni.
Eleni asked if she could talk to me. She explained that she didn't want me to have the surgery yet, that she wanted me to stay on the Letrozole for longer, as she didn't think enough time had elapsed to shrink the tumour. I didn't think so either, I still saw the cancer as being the size of the original cough candy sweet.
We agreed that I would continue to take the Letrozole, and the surgery was cancelled. I had another ultrasound just a few days before Christmas. The cough candy cancer originally measured 20x14mm and was now measuring 18x8mm. So, I imagine a cough candy slowly reducing in size like it does when you suck it for long enough.
I have another ultrasound this month (March) and a consultation a few weeks later.
Taking the Letrozole has side effects that vary in degrees from one person to another. Some people have a rotten time, with lots of aches and pains, low moods, and anxiety. Brain fog and fatigue are my thing. Everyone will react differently, the best way to describe the feelings is to liken them to menopause, and most of us who are prescribed Letrozole have already had one menopause, so that can be tough.
I count myself as being incredibly lucky. My treatment on the NHS has been exemplary. My consultant and her team go beyond in their concern and care.
To help myself, I exercise more than I used to. I do yoga every day, although I have been doing that for years, it might well have saved my life! I eat a healthy diet (most of the time) I meditate, I have an acupressure mat that I love, and practice mindfulness, I love being outside, so thank goodness we are heading into spring and summer.
I can't see myself buying any cough candy sweets any time soon.
Good luck and lots of love to all who may be on a similar journey.
cjeturner@hotmail.com
