Deal with it, stay positive, and get on with life.
When I heard that diagnosis from my family doctor in March 2015, I was not overly surprised. Ten years earlier a mammogram of lumps in my left breast proved negative, and after feeling lumps again, I’d convinced my doctor to order an ultrasound. After this, a biopsy was scheduled and I was subsequently deemed to have Invasive Ductal Carcinoma with dermal lymphatic invasion, Stage IIIb, Grade 3, ER+/PR+, HER2-. These statistics I used to thoroughly investigate my condition and survival chances as I busily searched the Internet for any information on my disease, and particularly in relation to males.
Because the breast became inflamed, the surgeon decided that she would send me to the oncologist, to start neo-adjuvant treatment, where chemo precedes surgery. The oncologist was keen to get chemotherapy started immediately. Chemo lasted 18 weeks, and was one day each three weeks. There were three lots of FEC (Fluorouracil, Ellence, and Cytoxan) and three of Docetaxol. I have to say, that chemo went very well for me and I tolerated the drugs without the various dreaded side effects. I understand that modern anti-nausea drugs have helped people cope and I felt grateful for that. I consciously decided to keep doing my work as though nothing was happening. While hair loss and a “chemo look” were the most obvious outward signs, inwardly I felt strong. I was determined to get the treatment behind me, and during this time I was well supported by may partner, Julie, and by a great network from the various cancer organizations.
The Surgery that followed was extensive, since 2/23 lymph nodes were tumorous, all those under my arm were removed along with the breast tissue. I was lucky to have a very skilful surgeon, and she was amused when I asked “is there was any reconstruction?”. While it is possible to rebuild a facsimile of a guy’s breast, she explained, the lack of extra material makes it harder and actually inhibits the surgeon who really has to work hard to round up the affected tissue, since cancer often travels further in male breasts.
Following chemo, I started 25 radiation treatments, five a week for five weeks. Again, this was more of an inconvenience than a bad experience, and I understood that this treatment was “insurance” in that it was aimed at rounding up cancer cells in my skin and in the chest wall.
Now, about to turn 65, and well settled on the recommended Tamoxifen regimen, fortunately with none of the listed side effects, I’m optimistic about my future. I feel that I have been lucky to have had such excellent treatment in my rural area without having to travel to a major center. Interestingly, all the doctors treating me were women, and I found this very reassuring. I’ve also discovered some great websites on male breast cancer and, while guys don’t talk about medical issues as intimately as women, there is plenty of chatter out there.
After genetic testing, I was found to have a variation of the BRCA1 gene which is, as yet, unmapped. My Mum died at 41 with breast cancer, and I have made my siblings, kids and other relatives breast aware, so that they know to screen themselves regularly. My daughter, who is 42, is in a breast screening program, although she hasn't had a gene test.
After treatment, I was invited by Cancer Council Queensland to become a Cancer Connect volunteer to help other men come to terms with their diagnosis and treatment. I attended a two-day training seminar in my nearest city, Brisbane, and have, to date, telephone counselled two men who requested support from a guy who had been through the medical system as a breast cancer patient.
I’m very relaxed about my future and keen to continue managing my Internet publishing business at Cooroy on the Sunshine Coast, working for a number of community organisations, and enjoying watching my grandkids grow up. Life with has never been better.
Rod Ritchie, August 2015