My name is Lizzie and I have breast cancer (primary invasive ductal carcinoma, for those who are down with the lingo). Well, I had breast cancer. I am now post-op (lumpectomy), had clear margins and clear lymph nodes, so basically, it's all out. But my cancer, it turned out, was an aggressive grade 3 and further testing shows that I have a very high chance of recurrence. So now the plan is to throw everything at it - at me - to try and stop that happening. So now, 2 months after spotting that innocuous little lump near my armpit, I am on the brink of the long slog that is chemotherapy, then radiotherapy, then 10 years of hormone treatment.
A cancer diagnosis is a weird beast. It's FAST. So fast you hardly have time to think. The speed is interspersed with periods of waiting - waiting for biopsy results, waiting for the operation, waiting for more biopsy results, waiting for oncotype test results. From point of finding the lump to today with all results in, it has been 2.5 months. And everyone is just so nice - friends and family rally, the breast cancer nurses are lovely, work have been incredibly understanding. But it's a strange feeling because I am not ill. I feel fine physically. I almost feel like a fraud with everyone sending me good wishes and get well soon. Maybe I should feel ill? Should I have been more affected by this diagnosis? More worried? I am fine, the lump is gone, I have no more cancer. It was all good news...until last week.
The final result I was waiting for was something called an oncotype test. This determines how the cancer cells operate and they can work out from that how likely a recurrence will be. Any score over 25 meant definite chemotherapy to increase chances of staying cancer free. Anything between 16-25 would mean a discussion with the health care team as there may still be some benefit to chemo for someone of my age. Below 16, no chemo. My score came in last week - a whopping 56. Suddenly, this diagnosis has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Chemotherapy, that most dreaded of treatments. The thing that suddenly makes you into a cancer patient. The treatment that makes you ill. I had said from the start 'I can cope with most things, but I don't think I can cope with chemotherapy'. And yet, here I am standing on the cliff edge of chemo, ready to throw myself off.
The reality has hit me like a ton of bricks. My relaxed attitude to cancer has changed overnight. The realisation that I have a disease which can come back for another go, and can kill me, is hitting hard. I was merrily swimming along having a lovely time but have suddenly been pulled into a rip-tide, dragging me uncontrollably somewhere I really don't want to go.
I am trying to establish if it is a good thing that I am fit and healthy and cancer-free, or whether it would feel easier going through chemo if I really needed to make a tumour smaller or zap my lymph nodes. Instead, I am due to offer up my healthy body to be poisoned. It is quite a hard situation to process. At the start of this I tried to be positive and thought ‘well if I have to lose my hair, at least I will get new hair’ – I’ve never particularly liked my hair. But now the thought of even having it cut short (a ‘pre-Chemo’ cut) is sending me into a panic. I am normally a positive person, I am strong. But right now I feel pretty down about what I am about to go through. Worried that it is going to be life-changing in a negative way. Worried about how I will look and feel. All the things many women before me and after me have felt and will feel. No matter how resilient I am, or people perceive me to be, the worries about the impact of this treatment are very real and all-consuming.
It has been so helpful to have the ladies of BRiC to lean on for advice and support. I am gathering tips to help me to prepare for what is to come, and hearing advice from those who have been there and done it is invaluable. All I can do now is trust in the science, be brave, do everything I can to minimise the impact and launch myself into this next gruelling few months of my life.
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