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.

Monday, 1 February 2021

Dodging a bullet

 A week after surgery and it's time to go back to the hospital. The first challenge was washing my hair. With the instruction to keep my dressing dry, I'd been having a weird half shower (bottom half) and a wash in the sink for the top half. My hair had to make do with dry shampoo and wearing in a pony tail. The advantage of this Covid lockdown number 3 of course, is that we can't go out and we can't have any visitors - so who's going to see me? So I lean tentatively over the bath with the shower in hand and give my locks a well deserved wash. Bliss.

With my hair washed and dried; make-up on and a falsie in, I feel almost human again. We (Gary and I) arrive at the hospital, temperature checked and wait in the waiting room. We do have to wait a good 45 minutes which is not great. I'm very nervous. If there's cancer in my lymph nodes, I know that my future is very uncertain. I have a raft of questions ready to ask. We're called in and Mrs Conway is waiting. As we sit, she speaks immediately. There are no nasties. There is no cancer in the lymph nodes. I repeat. No cancer in the lymph nodes. I am so relieved, I can't tell you. The rest is a blur. She wants to see her handy work, remove the dressings. She's pleased by what she sees. I daren't look. She tells me I'll be passed to the oncology team and the next treatment will be 4 - 6 months of chemotherapy.  We leave the room and there's a spring in my step. 

I've dodged that bullet. And I'm smiling. Glad to be alive.

Oncologist 11th February.

 


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