2. Cancer Diaries - The Initial Playback

I now knew that I had a form of breast cancer and it is also likely to be in my lymph nodes which meant that this alien was already on the move in my body. What I didn't know was how bad the situation was or the plan of action to tackle it. 

9 days is a long time to let this information roll around your head. I did my best to keep focussed on the present. The areas where the biopsies were taken were black with bruising and rather tender. The muscles under my lymph nodes had been cut and this meant my strength was lost in this area which surprisingly affected some day to day activities, for example, I couldn't pull a cork from a bottle of wine and I certainly couldn't drive. Clearly, there were crisis moments to negotiate. 

During that waiting period I didn't Google. I could have easily ended up in Cancer information hell, so instead just focussed on what I knew. I had negotiated with my head that I could cope with surgery and maybe some radiotherapy to fix this. I really didn't want Chemo. The prospect of Chemo really frightened me. It is a toxic substance that can make you very ill and I witnessed a good friend nearly die from it with every cycle she took. I'll take anything but Chemo.

The people that I had originally given the heads up to about my lump were then updated with the next tranche of information. It was had news to share and I knew that I would have to tell many more people over the coming days and weeks. 

Knowing that I had cancer did help to make some decisions though. We knew that I would be facing a tricky road ahead with some form of treatment needed and so we decided to get away for a weekend to France planning to travel the Friday morning after the appointment. 

That fateful Thursday arrived. We walked into the hospital and to the Macmillan Breast Clinic which was located at the end of the longest corridor ever in the building. We checked in and sat down. While waiting I people watched. There were other women there also waiting. I looked at their hair; some were short and with patchy covering, a very visual impact from Chemotherapy. 

I watched the medical team bobbing back and forth into rooms, preparing for the clinic to start, deciding who was going to take which patient. I saw one women, a nurse. She was older than the rest and dressed more traditionally, a bit like an old matron wearing black tights. She looked a bit scary and I pitied the person who would end up with her. It turned out to be me. 

We were called into the room and the scary looking nurse was, of course, very lovely and caring. She is a professional in her field and used to dealing with people who are having to process life changing news. The Doctor arrived. He was the same one I had seen last time. I was told again that cancer had been found in my left breast (a 14mm lesion) and then confirmed it was also found in my lymph nodes, possibly 3 of them. The treatment advised was to be Chemo, followed by surgery. 

Fuck! And yes, I said that out loud. Anything but Chemo. 

The notes in a letter from the hospital from that session stated that I took the news very calmly, if a bit teary. At the time, I was busy taking my own notes on my phone, knowing that I needed to concentrate, get the information down and allow myself to process this later. 

It was during this meeting that I decided to move my care to private. While I appreciate the NHS greatly, Private Health can provide a more personalised and efficient service. 

We left the clinic and walked back down the longest corridor ever. I don't really remember feeling my knees as I walked back to the car. We decided there and then to bring our trip to France earlier, to leave that evening. We got home and made a few calls to change the booking arrangements. I called my boss with the update. I also called my parents to share the news with them for the first time. More on that another time. 

We got in the car and drove away, arriving in Le Touquet just before midnight. We awoke the next morning with this view from the bed and I allowed myself 24 hours to forget about cancer and what lay ahead.