I hope you’ve enjoyed my little window into the shenanigans of a Breast Cancer patient.  Of course everyone’s journey is different, and we all handle it in our own way.  I just wanted to share how I got through it.

 

I know I am very fortunate to have a loving family, network of wonderful friends and a supportive employer.  I appreciate that it makes the world of difference and had I not had those things, I don’t think my sense of humour would have endured.

 

So, life after The Cancer?

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I tried not to dwell on what I’d been through.  I didn’t want to be defined as someone who’s had cancer.  It was a part of my life, and I was lucky enough to get to the other side.

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It would be a lie to say it doesn’t always sit on your shoulder though.  Every time you go for a mammogram or a blood test, the anxiety comes right back and sits in your throat until you get your results.

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Breast Cancer is one of the “good” cancers, and most people make a full recovery, and go on to live full and happy lives.

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But, apparently I was so good at having The Cancer, the bastard made an unwelcome re-appearance in the Autumn of 2023.

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I had been to the gym (fat busting!).  Nothing over strenuous.  Just a light walk and jog on the treadmill.  A couple of days later I was unable to get up out of bed as I had excruciating pain in my hip.

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After a week or so, I went to the GP and was told it was probably tendinitis due to the treadmill folly.

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The pain got worse.  I was having to get around with the aid of a walking stick, and had to take the stairs on all fours.

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After a couple more fruitless visits to the GP, I asked if, given my history, I could have a scan.

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The GP dismissed it as said it was too long since my primary cancer, and he couldn’t justify sending me for an MRI.  He did reluctantly concede in the end and sent me for an ultrasound scan in the December of 2023.

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Before I got back home after the ultrasound, he was on the phone, saying there was a large mass on each of my ovaries.  He said “It’s probably nothing to worry about” but I could hear the nervousness in his voice.  He probably through “FUUUUUCK!!  She’s gonna sue me for medical negligence!” (I didn’t.  However, he can no longer look me in the eye when I go into the GP surgery).

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Anyway, I was then sent for an MRI in early January 2024.  A couple of days after the MRI, I was sitting at my desk at home and I got a call from the Breast Unit at my local hospital.

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“Hello Mrs Holland, this is the Breast Unit.  Are you able to come in straight away, and can you bring someone with you?”

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I’m no Mystic Meg, but there is no way a message like that is going to have a happy ending.

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On the way to the hospital I said to my husband “The Cancer is back”.  And I was right.  The pain in my hip was due to a fracture which was caused by a tumour.  No wonder it fucking hurt!

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When we were given the diagnosis (Stage 4 metastatic secondary breast cancer) I said to the doctor “am I right in saying this is not curable?” at which stage my husband burst into tears, as about 20 minutes ago he hadn’t even heard of secondary breast cancer, let alone know that it’s incurable.

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There was a lot of faffing after that.  CT scans, MRI scans, PET scans, blood tests, blood transfusions, biopsies… and after a gruelling 3 months, I was given a final diagnosis of Triple Negative Secondary Breast Cancer, and started on a course of oral chemotherapy in April 2024.

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I was offered immunotherapy, paired with weekly IV chemo.  But, fuck that!  The list of side effects was as long as your arm (including ulceration of the digestive system from the mouth to the anus, multiple organ failure, and of course all of the lovely side effects that come with IV chemo.)

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It would mean that on a Monday, I’d have a blood test.  Chemo on Tuesday.  Feel OK on Wednesday (although won’t have slept due to the steroid wasps in my head), Thursday and Friday crash.  Saturday and Sunday, starting to feel human again.  Monday, repeat.

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If my kids were younger, I would have done it.  Even a bald, zombie chemo mum is better than no mum.  But they are all grown, and independent.  I told them about my decision to turn down the immunotherapy, and they and my husband all support me in this.

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And, I seem to be doing OK on the oral chemo.  Gives me much more freedom, and apart from feeling tired and sometimes nauseas, I reckon I’m running on about 80% of my pre-cancer self.  Not bad for an old bird.

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I am quite angry about the long delay between first presenting with symptoms and starting treatment (6 months).  And I wonder if my prognosis would have been any different if it had been caught earlier?  I reckon it would have spared me a broken pelvis??

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As a result, I have been in touch with my local MP and asked that he lobby for ALL cancer survivors to have a head to toe MRI scan approximately every 2 years, after the end of their treatment.  The trouble with bloody cancer is it is sneaky, and you don’t know it’s there until it’s got a firm hold of you.  Early detection of metastatic cancer must improve your chances??

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There were a lot of tears again after this second diagnosis, and a lot of uncertainty around the future.

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BUT, it has made me more determined than ever to live every day to the full.  Dance like no one is watching and all that shit.  Travel.  Spend time with the people I love.  Laugh.  Stop worrying about how huge my arse is becoming.  Don’t sweat the small stuff.  Live.

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Because if one thing is certain, none of us are getting out of here alive.  Life is a gift, what ever shit Mother Nature, circumstance and fate decides to throw at you.  Get up in the morning, put one foot in front of the other, and live another day.