Alison's Breast Cancer Diary
Feelings after diagnosis, surgery, and chemo-therapy

5 December - Mammogram Day
I visited the specialist centre.  The first job was to have a Mammogram followed by another and another.  I wasn't a bit concerned about this because they were looking at my thickened tissue.  You know if you didn't have cancer prior to the Mammogram I reckon there's a good chance you could get it later with all that aggressive squashing.  Then I had an ultra sound and then I was escorted into the surgeons office. 

Prior to me coming into his office the surgeon had already looked at the X-rays and knew exactly what news he was going to break to me.  He began by asking if I was allergic to any medications and I explained nothing except for a blood pressure 'Ace' Inhibitor.  He asked the name of it and I said I didn't have a clue.  It was several years ago and I simply had something else prescribed.  Who remembers the names of drugs that didn't suit from years ago?  He seemed aggressive and told me that I should know and should carry this information around with me all the time.  Yeah right - just how much stuff can a woman fit in her handbag? Call the medical centre I would have thought.

O.K. You are going to be tough - I can be tough too.  He then showed me the X-ray.  There was my D cup voluptuous breast - good loyal friend in our marriage.  It was a dark breast in the X-ray and at the top was a bright white star.  A very large one.  The surgeon said he's been doing his work for many years and there was no question.  I had cancer.  I didn't even need a biopsy to prove it.  My friend Reena, Pathologist and cancer specialist, later looked at the X-ray and said my one was called a back room diagnosis in that one large white mass on a dark breast could only be one thing and you can diagnose the cancer by looking at the X-ray from the back of the room.

O.K.  I've got cancer - be tough Al.  Don't break in front of this man.  Then he measured the lesion on his ultra sound and said it had a diameter of 3.5 cms. That's bigger than a pea.  This is why I wasn't worried.  Cancer when identified is a little pea not a big thickening that feels like a pulled muscle. Isn't it? Really Dr Alison!!  Where did you get your medical degree from? University of optimism where nothing bad will happen to the patients who only visit for routine checkups to ensure they always remain healthy.

That day I learned several facts about cancer.  The tugging feeling I had was due to the cancer pulling on my breast tissue when I moved.  It wasn't a muscle being pulled.  Cancer can feel like thickened tissue and cancer can be much much bigger than a pea. Over the previous few months I had started getting out of bed differently so that I wouldn't have the strained muscle feeling. 

This is the trouble with being an optimist.  We do not think negatively.  I would never get cancer.  I am super woman.  I am strong and don't get stressed and all I had was a pulled muscle.  On 5 December I learned that optimism and self diagnosis can be fatal.

The surgeon then arranged for me to have blood tests, a biopsy the next day, and surgery the following week.  I walked out of the rooms in a trance.  Serious face.  This was not what I was expecting to hear that morning.  I expected him to say "Yes Mrs Renfrew, you do have thickened tissue but that's nothing to worry about.  It was good of you to get it checked out and make sure you keep having the Mammograms"...  Ha.

What do I do?  Have a blood test.  I drove to the medical laboratory and in the car phoned my dear friend Reena.  She's a pathologist and specialises in reading cancer slides.  Reena works in Auckland.  I told her my news and she immediately offered to fly down to Wellington.  I love Reena.  She was coming down the following week so we agreed to stay with that commitment.

I had my blood tests and went home.  How do I tell Richard?  This isn't what you say on the phone.  If I went into the office how could I stop from bursting into tears?  What would the staff think?  Good heavens,  how could I say with a straight face - come out for a coffee darling?  How to tell him.

Better solution; I went home and played some of Beethoven's piano Sonata's really loudly and terribly badly.  I always do.  My friend Brendon later said Beethoven is good to play when you are angry.  It certainly takes your mind off other issues.

Then while playing terribly badly Richard phoned.  "Why haven't you phoned?", he asked.  Silence. "Oh, how was the checkup this morning?"  Silence.  I 'm a stunned mullet.  Not only could I not tell him I don't remember what I said.  A day later I asked Richard what we said and he has no idea either.  Let's call that shock.  He drove home and we cried.  Later that day we told my daughter and we all cried. 

Why were we crying?  I don't know anything about cancer except that lot's of people get breast cancer and everyone I know who has suffered from it has an operation, has some chemo, and then gets on with life.  What's the fuss all about?

It all relates to ignorance really and I 'm the optimist.  The fuss is because we all know not everyone lives.... Oh.

Useful websites
www.cancerhelp.org.uk 

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