My Story - The beginning
I felt the pain in my right breast at Easter. There was a lump too. I remembered that lump from when I breastfed my daughter 10 years before. That was the milk sac that got blocked all the time. Each day I would make sure it cleared in order to avoid the dreaded mastitis.
I waited a month to see if the lump would clear, but it didn't. So I went to my GP and got a referral to a clinic at POW Private. They would see me straight away and could probably drain the cyst on the spot.
There is no breast cancer in my family. So I was not frightened. There is stomach cancer and bowel cancer. My father had died two years earlier from multiple myeloma. I was not worried.
First I had the mammogram. Everyone complains about the pain of having their boobs squashed. I didn't think it was so bad. They took a first set of shots. Then I waited about ten minutes. Then the nurse returned and took some more. I thought nothing of it. In hindsight, after what I've been through, it is never good when they want more shots.
Next was a CT scan. Again in hindsight I am impressed at how well they handled the situation. There was a trainee in the room, as well as the CT technician. It must have been obvious to them that there was cancer. The distinctive calcifications were impossible to miss. But still I was oblivious. I was not worried. I had not even googled breast cancer beforehand, I had so little concern.
I must have missed the silent pointing and signalling that passed between the technician and trainee. There was talk, but at no point did he say: "Here. See. Here is the cancer".
He told me they needed to biopsy the "cyst". My GP had warned me of this. I had no fear. Perhaps they could drain it at the same time?
At this stage Luke entered the room to perform the biopsy. I don't know his official title. Luke was "the best aim in the business". That's what I knew. His job was to fire a needle at the lump only guided by the CT screen. That's right. "Fire" the needle. The needle would grab a sample of the lump and then be pulled out, all in a second. He did this three times. Telling me how brave I was.
I think I talked too much. I chatted away about God knows what. Distracting myself from being shot in the chest. Three times. The bruising was uncomfortable for days afterwards, but my ghoulish self loved the deep blackness of the bruise. I was tough.
Luke told me how brave I was. The biopsy was painful, but this was my first inkling that something might be wrong. His voice had a tone that warned me that there was something to be brave about. Something more than the stabbing pains of the biopsy.
The second clue was how they made sure I had a follow up appointment with my GP to get the results two days later. I now know it is a bad sign getting results this fast. Making you book the follow up before you leave is never good.
I had an inkling by then.
.
That day was Michael's birthday. Though the biopsy bruising was painful, so painful that I wasn't keen to walk far, we went out to dinner to celebrate. I look at that dinner now as our last "free" celebration. We went to Mr Wongs, and toasted Mike's 47th birthday with prosecco.
.
Two days later I went to my GPs for the results. There had been delays in the GPs office that morning, so the waiting room was full. Full it seemed with mothers with babies. I was happy that mine would be a quick appointment. Get the all clear and go. The pain from the cyst was gone. Often fine needle aspiration biopsies get rid of the lump they are aimed at. It seemed to have happened with me.
.
Finally it was my turn to see the GP. After much faffing about she found the results.
I don't remember exactly how she told me. I forget her exact words. I think she said: "This is not good. This is not good."
I felt my face blush. "What?", I asked incredulous.
"It's breast cancer", she said.
"Noo". You're kidding.
"Look I have goosebumps". My GPs goosebumps. I remember them.
She believed the news. She was upset and flustered.
Me? I was in disbelief. I couldn't make myself upset about it. I couldn't care about something so clearly not real.
So as she bumbled through the rest of the appointment, referring me to a surgeon, explaining the next step, I just sat there in disbelief. Proper disbelief. Feeling totally normal. It felt no different to discussing removal of an ugly mole.
She asked me if I wanted to call Michael, but I thought: "He's at work. He is busy."
I apologised multiple times for upsetting her. She had looked after me for the last 12 years, through my pregnancy and my bad back, dealing with ear infections and vaccinations.
Now this.