Keeping It In Proportion

Keeping It In Proportion

April 2012

So, where to start – perhaps with others, rather than myself.  Andy and I are very conscious that we have really dear friends and family currently facing much more serious health issues than mine, cancer and otherwise.  That assists wonderfully in providing a lesson of keeping it in proportion.  As most will know two of my very best friends in the universe were both given cancer diagnosis last August / September.

My lovely Cornwall friend Jacq received her breast cancer diagnosis in August, and has written a blog throughout (she’s where I nicked this blog idea from – she knows I’m copying – imitation – the sincerest form of flattery!).  Wonderfully, she’s just about through her treatment now – only two more weeks to go and she’s flying free again!!  We thank her for her positive example, and inspirational determination not to be defined by her cancer, but only by her own super-positive outlook on life in general.

My wonderful lifelong friend Chris received her terminal lung cancer diagnosis in September 2011 – initially with a time frame of 12 to 18 months left on this planet.  Well, in the event she died on Easter Sunday this year.  Andy & I were lucky enough to be there all over Easter weekend – it was a privilege.  It was amazingly peaceful and loving and I swear she was happy because she was surrounded by people who loved her deeply.  So, 34 years of friendship brought to a conclusion, as is now her very unusual life and way of approaching her time on earth.  All I can say is what a gift it has been to share so deeply so many of her 52 years.

And now, Dave, Andy’s brother-in-law diagnosed with lymphoma, and in a much more serious situation than I myself – we send him every blessing, and good luck.  Previously, other members of Andy’s family with other cancers, and now through their treatment.  My Mum and 20+ years of heart problems, numerous operations … and still with us … thanks NHS.

It seems cancer (all the 200+ types) currently affects 1 in 3 of the UK population, so we will all know several people on this journey, or who have already completed the journey.  It seems to me it’s the disease of our times.  In the sense that whenever we happen to live in history, and in whatever society, there’s always a major disease (or several), and this is ours.  In that sense I’m not at all surprised to be included in the 1 in 3.  I’m sure there were some teenage years when I thought statistics somehow didn’t apply to me personally, but those years are far behind now, so I don’t feel surprised at all.

All of life, obviously, is learning, so Andy, Fran and I are now learning about the world of cancer first-hand.  Its ok, it’s not as scary as it could be by any means, and actually we’re finding it all quite interesting.  Andy has turned into super-researcher extraordinaire in addition to all the talents we already knew he has.  His particular talent for spreading calm is definitely coming in handy.  We’re not claiming total lack of shock and similar – that’s all in the mix as well.  Since Chris’s death we’ve been a house of tears, but after all they can be cleansing, so good.  And, again, as we all already know the price of love can always be loss, so only natural.

It seems this is a very interesting time to have cancer.  Just as the whole UK treatment emphasis is moving from generalized treatment, and aggressive over-treatment for all, to more specific and targeted treatments for each individual.  We’ll all be hearing the daily tv and radio discussions on imminent changes to treatments – very interesting stuff.  However, I’ve fallen into the current NHS systems – had I been diagnosed next year I feel it’s likely my entire treatment regime would be radically different.  Just to be clear – that’s not a complaint, just a point of interest.  Had I not been lucky enough to find this cancer this year, in its early stages, next year, who knows, the diagnosis may have been terminal.  So I’m definitely counting myself lucky, as it isn’t.

Ok, off we go on the journey.  I’ll attempt to get the medical stuff right, but the accuracy might not be 100%, so bear with me!

Diagnosis to Operation

January/February/March 2012

Lump found January this year.  GP referred me to hospital for mammograms, ultrasounds, and core biopsy.  Formal hospital diagnosis given to Andy and I at 5pm on Thursday 9^th February together with an offer of surgery at 10am on Friday 10^th February.  Lord above – we really can’t complain about NHS waiting times!  However, Andy and I had a similar reaction.  Apparently most people would have taken that offer.  We needed thinking time, so opted for surgery a week later on Friday 17^th February.  We spent the intervening week researching like mad.  Apparently lots of people ask no questions at all.  We had lots – really lots of questions.

• The formal diagnosis is breast cancer : invasive ductal carcinoma / hormone receptor positive & HER-2 negative.  The good news is it is small (30mm), and it hasn’t spread to my lymph nodes, therefore in theory hasn’t traveled to elsewhere in my body.  The bad news is it is aggressive (grade 3) and being fed by my own oestrogen.

• The plan is surgery on 17^th February, followed by 3 weeks radiotherapy, and 5 years tamoxifen - and no chemotherapy required.  The surgery is a wide local excision (a lumpectomy), so I’m lucky and am able to avoid a mastectomy – it was offered as a possibility, but not recommended.  All done by the end of March 2012!  Sounds fab, sounds manageable (hint - that changes later).

• Consequently, we decided not to tell friends and family at this point.  Plenty of them have bigger issues to deal with than this.

• So, a whirlwind week 10^th to 17^th February.  We had a couple of gorgeous Chinese students staying (Danqi Shen and Xixi Jin), who left on Saturday 11^th.  We hadn’t mentioned it to them 9^th and 10^th because they made us very happy and we didn’t want to spoil our last couple of days together.

• The day before the op involved a trip to the Nuclear Medicine department for a sentinel node imaging scan.  Blue radioactive dye injected to assist the surgeon to see what’s she’s doing.  I’m all in favour of the surgeon being able to see what she’s doing!  A super-quick, super-simple process, with the interesting side-effect of blue wee for the next couple of days!  On to the op.

• Op day 17^th February – all went ok.  As far as the surgeon is concerned, this is not complicated surgery (all surgery seems fairly mind-blowing to me – for a start cancer cells are invisible – how do they even start?).  Andy and I got in a couple of games of verbosity whilst waiting (I beat him hands down).  I was even allowed to come home the same day, which felt really, really good

• Nurses advice – no housework or similar for …. ooh… ages.  Suits me just fine (cheers Andy).

• After a few drugged and bruised lounging about days I got a bit lax, forgot I was still post-op, and overstretched … resulting in a haematoma (a localised collection of blood) pressing on my ribcage.  I’ve never had broken ribs, but imagine this may be how it feels… amazing pain … for 2 weeks.  It was eventually drained … what a relief!

• Results clinic on 1^st March.  Operation totally successful – the surgeon is very pleased with herself – me too.  What a woman.  Thanks.  After which Andy, Fran and I went out for the best celebration dinner ever at Plunkets - my favourite restaurant.  With real champagne no less, courtesy of my lovely Fran! (cheers Fran).

• On to the next stage – next blog in a while.