5) Living in Limbo...The prize for the biggest mind rape of your life would have to go to the week you are first diagnosed with cancer. The very same day my illness was distinguished, I caught the first train back to my hometown in a 'headdy daze', I spent the rest of the day and the next morning breaking the depressing news to my nearest and dearest and feeling somewhat oddly embarrassed by my illness, I asked politely for them all to keep it quiet... At least until I knew what it was, I was supposed to be fighting. Thats the thing, how do you tell people when you don't really know yourself? The same day, I got a phone call inviting me for a benefits meeting, counselling and an appointment at the fertility clinic for the following week to discuss freezing my eggs. Appointments were coming out of my ears! Not 28 hours after being diagnosed I found myself back in work, taking a cocktail masterclass for a Hen party of eleven. This was purely my choice and in hindsight just goes to show to me the state of shock I was living in at the time. I progressed back over to the main bar where the tail end of 'Happy Hour' ment the pace of cocktail making had picked up considerably and this is where I found myself beginning to slip into a unfocused, perplexed state of 'autopilot', resulting in me getting very annoyed over my (unachievable) less than perfect standard I set myself for this time. I was on the bar for about no longer than an hour and a half, when I asked a small brunette woman standing alone, near my station, how she was doing today. She barely looked over her shoulder towards my direction before huffing out the words "I am just having the worst day", all I could usher in reply "thats too bad". I hurriedly excused myself and asked my manager if I could leave then and there. I was at the station looking for the next train back to my hometown within 10 minutes. Standing on my own, in the middle of the spacious yet cramped train station, I wondered for a second if I was being too overdramatic and playing the 'victim'. If there is one thing cancer can teach you, it is the fact you can recognise your self importance very quickly, but must avoid being the 'victim' at all costs. On the whole, it is not an easy balance to negotiate. Cardiff train station. Didn't know if I was coming or going on March 5 2016. By the Monday, all logical reason had escaped form mine and Nick's conscience minds and I convinced Nick to ring Julie the cancer nurse, to try and push my MRI scan forward and press for more information. In my current state of logic, 2+2=8 and Julie's dark blue nurses uniform complete with a daffodil pin started to resemble Marie Curie's terminal cancer uniform and I was starting to believe slowly, the real gravity of my situation in-between pulling myself out of these silly thoughts. The phone call was not fruitless. After hanging up the phone, Nick shared with me, in his usual troubled manner the information, that I was dealing with Grade 3, Invasive Ductal Cancer. He then went on to elaborate that Grade 3 meant the most aggressive and fastest rate that cancer can grow. I didn't like the sound of Invasive either... But learning from previous mistakes I fought the urge to 'Google' what this meant for me. Julie mentioned there was a chance the receptors would be oestrogen fuelled, but we had to wait until the next Friday to find out. The next day at the fertility clinic I was fast tracked in to see the head consultant of the unit. I was given a stack of paperwork to make my way through before proceeding and looking at all the other women in the bland waiting room, I wondered how long their IVF journeys had taken them and thought briefly to myself infertility is the least of my worries right now. Although, being pushed to the front of the cue made me feel somewhat special, I uttered the joke "No one screws with Cancer, they don't know how long I have got, so I get to be here in a matter of days from what it takes a normal IVF patient a couple of years". Looking up from my stacks of forms I caught Nick's slightly awkward, worried expression. "To early for jokes like that? is it?", and left it there. I was not that long with the consultant, It turned out, to have the procedure done would mean delaying chemo for more surgery to my uterus (No thanks) and to induce the eggs to grow I would need to be pumped with a surge of oestrogen. 2+2=4 again. and I recalled what Julie mentioned about the cancer being fed by this hormone. So within a few minutes I left the room pretty much settled with my decision that I may never be a biological mum... Oh well.. At least I have my... health? After the appointment, we went to our favourite little cafe tucked away in the northern part of the Cardiff Arcades. Whilst waiting eagerly for my breakfast I caught sight of Nicks red face opposite me as he tried to control his tears from rolling into his beard and onto the table. "I can't believe how strong you are being", he whispered across the dark oak table. It was only until then I realised I was completely 'with it' and very matter of fact, I had comprehended the possibility of death, life, cancer, chemo and fertility all within 4 days but alas I was still in shock and was not aware. Until the next night. When the shock hit me very hard. Nick and I were back at my mums house, in my hometown watching your typical Netflix fodder until I started experiencing a very tight sensation around my heart. I noticed the pain increasing and speculated with my new 'grade 3 knowledge' that the cancer could be spreading to other tissue already... but, of course this was not the case. The last thing I remember was telling my fiancée I didn't feel very well as I got out of bed, I walked to my mum downstairs and repeated this statement before slipping into what I can only describe as the most dramatic panic attack I have ever experienced. My mum later told me I had gone pale and started shivering, I had severe chest pains and my finger tips were tingling. This is it... I am having a heart attack, I thought to myself, whilst fighting my mother off with her eagerness to throw a brown paper bag over my mouth, she was the only one who knew what was actually happening. Nick rang the emergency dept and the next thing I can remember, It was 3am and I was on yet another cold, hard hospital recliner being asked to stay very still as I was being hooked up to a heart monitoring machine.
Everything turned out fine the next day. My brain kindly decided it would be for the best not to detach from my body in such an aggressive manner again and slowly but surely I began to come to terms with my 'condition'. A few days later the consultant from the breast centre confirmed my cancer was indeed oestrogen fed and I was going to undergo 6 sessions of chemo, surgery and radium all within the next coming months. Plenty to look forward to there. |
A ' no holds' page about my life with incurable advanced Breast Cancer, in the hope it will give a realistic, detailed account to other young women going through the unfortunate illness.
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