Here we go again
So, I nearly called this blog "Here we go again". But instead, I have taken inspiration from the eminently quotable Shakespeare, from Henry VIII's queen, Katherine, expressing her tenacity and strength. I'd like to channel that, so "My drops of tears i’ll turn to sparks of fire" is the title we'll stick with (https://thebardsbookclub.wordpress.com/2013/02/02/my-drops-of-tears-ill-turn-to-sparks-of-fire/).
And why do I need such tenacity? Because I have been diagnosed with cancer once again. I can hardly believe it. It already feels like I can't be talking about myself. But here we are. And although I hate all that language about 'being strong' and 'fighting it', we can and do choose how we deal with things, and my way is to face it head on and get on with it. Nothing I do - unless I do nothing - will make a difference, but I have a host of NHS doctors, nurses, radiographers, pathologists and phlebotomists already working on my behalf. They and their medicines will do the work. I just have to keep on turning up. That, I can do.
The story so far
Back in September 2009, I found out I was pregnant. And then I found a lump in my right breast. The pregnancy (and a subsequent one) turned out to be an anembryonic pregnancy. I never considered these to be miscarriages, as an embryo never formed. However, the lump did turn out to be cancer. Grade 3, 5cm, 20 out of 23 lymph nodes affected. I had a mastectomy, 8 chemotherapy treatments, radiotherapy and a year of Herceptin. I'm still on Tamoxifen. I also had fertility treatment, but that didn't work. My periods have more or less stopped now - I get one or two a year. I was 36 then, and I'm 44 now. I have had 8 years clear of cancer, and have had a new boob reconstructed in that time, got married to my wonderful husband Greg (who has been with me through all of this) and life has gone back to normal, except for the annual mammograms on my left side.
All of this history is documented in my previous blog, A Year in My Life.
The Recall
So usually, each September I go back to hospital for an annual mammogram. The first few years, I'd go to clinic for the results, and they were always clear. Eventually, they said "we'll write to let you know the results" and I didn't have to take half a day off work for a 5 minute appointment. However, after this years' mammogram on 14th September, I didn't get a letter. Instead, I got a text message on 6th October to say I had an appointment at the clinic. Why, I wondered? Have they changed the system? Is this a mistake? I phoned the enquiry line and the appointments lady said to call the consultants secretary or the breast cancer nurses. I called the secretary and left a message. The nurses called me back. Gulp. But we played phone tag on that Friday and didn't get to speak until the following Monday.
Don't worry, she said. Sometimes the mammogram pictures aren't clear enough and they want to take another set. Riiiiight. Ok. I'll try not to worry then. And promptly set about worrying, intermittently.
My appointment was on 25th October, and although Greg knew about it, I went alone as I took what they'd said at face value. Just a few more mammogram images. Firstly, I saw the registrar who said the same thing again, and did a quick physical exam. I would get the results today, I was told. I toddled off to x-ray, and had my mammogram. I was asked to stay in their waiting area, and thought they'd be checking the images to ensure they'd got what they needed this time. Then a lady came out, and said I'd be going in for an ultrasound in a moment. Umm, OK. Found something they want to take a closer look at, then.
As for the first time, with the ultrasound you lie on your side and can see the screen. I asked her to explain what she was looking for, and she showed me the dark patch that was some kind of lump. She'd like to take some biopsies. Of course. She took the first, and then I started to sob. I'd been pushing back the idea of having cancer again, and readily accepting their reassurances because that's what I wanted to hear. But I knew. Deep down, I knew. I regained enough composure for them to take another 2 biopsies (using a machine a bit like a giant finger-prick kit!). I sobbed again. The 3 ladies in the room held my arm to reassure me and told me to take my time. I gathered myself together again, got dressed and headed back to the clinic waiting room, where I'd been told to announce myself to the nurses. I had a little sob in the corner of the corridor on the way through.
In between all this, I was texting Greg and managed to take a sneaky picture of the mammogram room. Well, I knew I might end up with a new blog, didn't I....
Back in clinic, and instead of going back to see the Registrar (the lovely Salman), I was taken in to see Mr Kelvin Gomez. The Consultant. They confirmed what I already knew, in that there was Something, and it was Worrying. And they'd know more when the biopsy results came in.
We had a week to wait, so grabbed the caravan and went to the wonderful Wookey Farm for a couple of days relaxation. We both started with colds this weekend.
Biopsy results
Greg came with me to get the biopsy results on the 1st November. We were expecting the worst, but we were not expecting to hear what we did. The results were inconclusive. What? What does that actually mean? Well, on this occasion it meant that of the 3 pathologists who look at the biopsies, 2 of them thought it was clear, and one did not. Mr Gomez said that he had asked a 4th to take a look. If that one also thought it was clear, he would arrange for me to have some minor surgery to remove half of the lump for a more complete biopsy, in case the slivers taken had missed any cancerous cells. So I knew then that I would be having surgery of some kind. He sent me to get some bloods taken, as this would also provide extra information. We felt buoyed by this news, and left feeling quite positive. At this point, I phoned my parents and told them what was going on. Until then, the only people who knew were me, Greg, my boss and closest colleague at work (who needed to know to appreciate where I was disappearing to!). As ever, my parents are wonderful and focused on the positives.
After we got home, we fetched the dog and went to look for jodhpurs for Greg, and my cold - which I'd been trying to hold back - came on in full. I hadn't slept well the night before, and was exhausted from the adrenaline and emotions. I went back to bed for a while. The next day, my cold was fully in situ, and I took Thursday and Friday off work. Most unlike me, but I haven't had a cold that bad in a long time. I am still suffering now.
Second opinion
We went back to clinic again on Monday 6th November, yesterday. We'd been warned to bring a book, as waits could be long, but we were in and out within half an hour. Mr Gomez's first words? "Well, it is a Grade 3 invasive ductal carcinoma." Right. So I pulled out my notebook and started taking details.
11x7x7 mm small, Grade 3, oestrogen positive and the armpit (axillary) looks clear. Similar characteristics to last time, but they don't yet know if it is the same cancer come back, or a new one with the same features. I think - but I'm not sure - that it is a bigger issue if it is the same one come back, a recurrence. It means they last treatment didn't kill it. I think it make spread more likely. For now, he is treating it as if it is a new cancer.
They don't yet know enough to say if Herceptin will be needed, or if chemotherapy is required. I had more bloods taken, to help with the scans. Surgery will likely be a lumpectomy. Apparently a full mastectomy doesn't actually change your prognosis
I now have to have bone and CT scans, checking for liver and kidney functions and cancer spread. I am relieved and scared by this. Relieved, as I'd rather know. Scared, because the chances of spread feel high. Once those are done, I'll be back on 22nd November to discuss the treatment plan.
My bone scan is tomorrow. I'll update more then.
And why do I need such tenacity? Because I have been diagnosed with cancer once again. I can hardly believe it. It already feels like I can't be talking about myself. But here we are. And although I hate all that language about 'being strong' and 'fighting it', we can and do choose how we deal with things, and my way is to face it head on and get on with it. Nothing I do - unless I do nothing - will make a difference, but I have a host of NHS doctors, nurses, radiographers, pathologists and phlebotomists already working on my behalf. They and their medicines will do the work. I just have to keep on turning up. That, I can do.
The story so far
Back in September 2009, I found out I was pregnant. And then I found a lump in my right breast. The pregnancy (and a subsequent one) turned out to be an anembryonic pregnancy. I never considered these to be miscarriages, as an embryo never formed. However, the lump did turn out to be cancer. Grade 3, 5cm, 20 out of 23 lymph nodes affected. I had a mastectomy, 8 chemotherapy treatments, radiotherapy and a year of Herceptin. I'm still on Tamoxifen. I also had fertility treatment, but that didn't work. My periods have more or less stopped now - I get one or two a year. I was 36 then, and I'm 44 now. I have had 8 years clear of cancer, and have had a new boob reconstructed in that time, got married to my wonderful husband Greg (who has been with me through all of this) and life has gone back to normal, except for the annual mammograms on my left side.
All of this history is documented in my previous blog, A Year in My Life.
The Recall
So usually, each September I go back to hospital for an annual mammogram. The first few years, I'd go to clinic for the results, and they were always clear. Eventually, they said "we'll write to let you know the results" and I didn't have to take half a day off work for a 5 minute appointment. However, after this years' mammogram on 14th September, I didn't get a letter. Instead, I got a text message on 6th October to say I had an appointment at the clinic. Why, I wondered? Have they changed the system? Is this a mistake? I phoned the enquiry line and the appointments lady said to call the consultants secretary or the breast cancer nurses. I called the secretary and left a message. The nurses called me back. Gulp. But we played phone tag on that Friday and didn't get to speak until the following Monday.
Don't worry, she said. Sometimes the mammogram pictures aren't clear enough and they want to take another set. Riiiiight. Ok. I'll try not to worry then. And promptly set about worrying, intermittently.
My appointment was on 25th October, and although Greg knew about it, I went alone as I took what they'd said at face value. Just a few more mammogram images. Firstly, I saw the registrar who said the same thing again, and did a quick physical exam. I would get the results today, I was told. I toddled off to x-ray, and had my mammogram. I was asked to stay in their waiting area, and thought they'd be checking the images to ensure they'd got what they needed this time. Then a lady came out, and said I'd be going in for an ultrasound in a moment. Umm, OK. Found something they want to take a closer look at, then.
As for the first time, with the ultrasound you lie on your side and can see the screen. I asked her to explain what she was looking for, and she showed me the dark patch that was some kind of lump. She'd like to take some biopsies. Of course. She took the first, and then I started to sob. I'd been pushing back the idea of having cancer again, and readily accepting their reassurances because that's what I wanted to hear. But I knew. Deep down, I knew. I regained enough composure for them to take another 2 biopsies (using a machine a bit like a giant finger-prick kit!). I sobbed again. The 3 ladies in the room held my arm to reassure me and told me to take my time. I gathered myself together again, got dressed and headed back to the clinic waiting room, where I'd been told to announce myself to the nurses. I had a little sob in the corner of the corridor on the way through.
 |
| Mammogram unit at Nevill Hall, Abergavenny. |
Back in clinic, and instead of going back to see the Registrar (the lovely Salman), I was taken in to see Mr Kelvin Gomez. The Consultant. They confirmed what I already knew, in that there was Something, and it was Worrying. And they'd know more when the biopsy results came in.
We had a week to wait, so grabbed the caravan and went to the wonderful Wookey Farm for a couple of days relaxation. We both started with colds this weekend.
Biopsy results
Greg came with me to get the biopsy results on the 1st November. We were expecting the worst, but we were not expecting to hear what we did. The results were inconclusive. What? What does that actually mean? Well, on this occasion it meant that of the 3 pathologists who look at the biopsies, 2 of them thought it was clear, and one did not. Mr Gomez said that he had asked a 4th to take a look. If that one also thought it was clear, he would arrange for me to have some minor surgery to remove half of the lump for a more complete biopsy, in case the slivers taken had missed any cancerous cells. So I knew then that I would be having surgery of some kind. He sent me to get some bloods taken, as this would also provide extra information. We felt buoyed by this news, and left feeling quite positive. At this point, I phoned my parents and told them what was going on. Until then, the only people who knew were me, Greg, my boss and closest colleague at work (who needed to know to appreciate where I was disappearing to!). As ever, my parents are wonderful and focused on the positives.
After we got home, we fetched the dog and went to look for jodhpurs for Greg, and my cold - which I'd been trying to hold back - came on in full. I hadn't slept well the night before, and was exhausted from the adrenaline and emotions. I went back to bed for a while. The next day, my cold was fully in situ, and I took Thursday and Friday off work. Most unlike me, but I haven't had a cold that bad in a long time. I am still suffering now.
Second opinion
We went back to clinic again on Monday 6th November, yesterday. We'd been warned to bring a book, as waits could be long, but we were in and out within half an hour. Mr Gomez's first words? "Well, it is a Grade 3 invasive ductal carcinoma." Right. So I pulled out my notebook and started taking details.
11x7x7 mm small, Grade 3, oestrogen positive and the armpit (axillary) looks clear. Similar characteristics to last time, but they don't yet know if it is the same cancer come back, or a new one with the same features. I think - but I'm not sure - that it is a bigger issue if it is the same one come back, a recurrence. It means they last treatment didn't kill it. I think it make spread more likely. For now, he is treating it as if it is a new cancer.
They don't yet know enough to say if Herceptin will be needed, or if chemotherapy is required. I had more bloods taken, to help with the scans. Surgery will likely be a lumpectomy. Apparently a full mastectomy doesn't actually change your prognosis
I now have to have bone and CT scans, checking for liver and kidney functions and cancer spread. I am relieved and scared by this. Relieved, as I'd rather know. Scared, because the chances of spread feel high. Once those are done, I'll be back on 22nd November to discuss the treatment plan.
My bone scan is tomorrow. I'll update more then.
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