On the 28th July 2011, my life changed in one phone call with the simple words - 'yes - it's cancer'. I've created this blog, for the benefit of my wonderful close and extended family; and for my amazing friends around the globe, so I can keep you abreast (!) of my journey.

My diagnosis of 2 x grade 3 (fast growing) tumours - type - 'Triple-Negative' - so called
because it doesn’t
have receptors (proteins on the surface
of cells) for the hormones oestrogen and
progesterone, or a protein called HER2, was shocking. This rare aggressive sub-type of breast cancer, therefore, doesn't respond to common
hormonal treatments, such as tamoxifen or
anastrozole (Arimidex®
) or
trastuzumab (Herceptin®
). Survival rates are considerably lower, than for more common types of breast cancer, especially in years 0 - 5, but on a par 5+ years post treatment.

Fast forward to December 2020. Secondary cancer . Triple negative again but the tumour localised to the scar of the primary cancer. The prognosis is weaker. I am buying myself time - with chemo currency.

This will not be a sad tale - but I hope it will amuse you, inspire you, and most of all allow me to lean on you from afar, as you guide me through what looks like a rocky road ahead.

I can't guarantee a happy ending, but hope to make you laugh to the end.

Thursday, 18 August 2011

Nulear Medicine Tuesday 9th Aug

We arrive at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital in very good time. Good job really - since no normal person seems to know where this specialised department is. We (that's Mum & I - my constant companion) find it eventually and I'm reminded of that basement where Trevor Eve works in 'Waking the Dead'. The staff tho, are terribly nice, makes us a coffee (no charge) and ask us to wait. I'm called through while my coffee is still steaming, strip off my 'lucky' magenta bra - again! - and wait while a gowned-up lady nuclear radiologist proceeds to inject radioactive nuclear meds into my left nipple.
I expect it to hurt - A LOT - 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, I count out loud. 'That's it - all done' the gown announces. Oh...well that's not too bad actually. 'Now dear, go into the waiting room & rub your breast for 20 mins to get the liquid moving into your lymphatic system'
Have you ever sat in a hospital gown, in a waiting room of people, who are waiting for all kinds of radioactive procedures (not just of the boob) - rubbing your left breast? I cannot suppress my urge to giggle & Mum & I talk loudly - just to let folks know that what I'm doing is perfectly legit!
A scan follows & the sentinel node shines up brightly. In 24 hours, when I have surgery, all the lymph nodes will show up, giving the surgeon a clue what to take. The radioactive gunk doesn't show which nodes have cancer in them, the surgeon has to guess, but it does show where all the nodes are - so the surgeon guesses with clues!
Back to NDDH to meet My Surgeon.
Stop at Morrison's first for a quick bite to eat. Mum has salmon sandwiches - I opt for triple choc cheesecake...I need it!
We meet My Surgeon. As warned, he is a serious Australian who doesn't get my daft sense of humour. Because all this nonsense is very serious, I keep reverting to Victoria Wood/Julie Walters/Black Comedy. Some people who know me understand - others don't. I try my hardest to be serious with My Surgeon, I feel a bit like a naughty school girl in front of the headmaster. We go through everything...shake hands...& I'll see him tomorrow for the operation.
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