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Excerpts "I hope you can offer me some peace of mind” was the first thing I said to my consultant, as Pete and I apprehensively took our seats in his office at 10am on Friday 25th August 2000. We were there to receive the results of a biopsy that had been performed on a lump in my left breast one week previously, and we had spent the past seven days anxiously waiting for this moment. Looking me straight in the eye, my open file on his desk, the consultant replied, “I’m afraid I cannot do that”. Clutching hands tightly, Pete and I were shaken to hear the words we had been dreading. I had already prepared myself psychologically and emotionally for this diagnosis, but the confirmation of it was frightening for us both. Our immediate concern was for each other. Pete held me closely and protectively as we absorbed the news that I had been diagnosed as having breast cancer.’ This is how it was for me and for Pete when my diagnosis was confirmed. The fear is indescribable. Those of you who have been here, and experienced this, will understand. But, as with many things, the fear can be challenged, and met with courage, once we fully understand what is happening to us and how it will be dealt with. (from Chapter 4) ‘I clung to Pete as the consultant’s words echoed and throbbed in my head, stunned to hear him say he was unable to give me the peace of mind I had hoped for. Instead, I had received the answer I’d been expecting and fearing. I was thankful that I’d had the strength to prepare myself for it, because although this in no way softened the blow, it undoubtedly helped us both to deal with what was nonetheless a terrible shock. “It’s all right, my love” Pete said gently, “let’s listen to what the doctor has to say.” My eyes filled with tears at that point and, as always, Pete delved into his trouser pocket and passed me his handkerchief. It’s a long-established fact that I never seem to have one on me and always have to borrow his. I felt comforted by it as I wiped away the tears. I looked at Pete’s face. His eyes were fixed intently on the consultant’s as he waited for the full explanation of the diagnosis, his fingers tightly clasped around my hand. I felt protected and safe with Pete beside me as I asked “Is it malignant, then?” “Yes, I’m afraid it is” came the reply, “but the good news is it isn’t as serious as it might be.” We listened attentively as the consultant went on to explain his findings. He told us that my cancer was of the lobular type, situated in the lobes of the breast tissue, but he went on to add that he felt it was unlikely to have spread into the lymph glands at this stage. He said that lobular breast cancer tends to be oestrogen receptor positive, (which means it is attracted to oestrogen within the oestrogen receptors in the breast, oestrogen being one of the female sex hormones), that it is less common and more difficult to find than many of the more usual forms of breast cancer but, once discovered, it is the most straightforward type to deal with. As the consultant explained it all to us we both began to feel hopeful and slightly less fearful. The more we listened to what he had to say, the more reassured we became.’ Obtain all the information relevant to your condition. Ask questions. Leave no question or concern unanswered. Forewarned is forearmed... ‘Turning then to the subject of treatment, he (the consultant) told us there were two options. Firstly, he would be able to remove just the lump. As he spoke I looked at Pete, whose doubtful expression told me he was thinking along the same lines as I was. The consultant went on; “But because of the very nature of these lobular tumours...” and here I interrupted him. “A mastectomy?” I asked. He replied that this was the preferable option, given that lobular breast cancer tends to be multi-focal and is known to proliferate throughout the breast tissue to the extent that tumours can be present in number. I could easily have others; the biopsy indicated that some cells were already showing signs of being likely to develop into malignancies in the future. A mastectomy to remove the whole breast would undoubtedly be the most sensible course of action, but the choice was mine. My mind, and our minds, had already been made up. We gave no thought whatsoever to the first option of having a lumpectomy. It made far more sense to be rid of the entire breast and hopefully the entire problem; we had no doubt about this. The consultant’s view was that a mastectomy would act as a kind of ‘insurance policy’ for the future, which would give us peace of mind, knowing that the cancer had been eradicated. A future was what we wanted more than anything. Nothing else mattered.’ Of what value is a couple of pounds of your flesh, compared to your life? Of course the thought of losing one, or both of your breasts is horrifying and terrifying. But let’s get this thing into the right perspective, and look at the priorities involved. Is there any real contest? I don’t think so... ‘He (the consultant) said we had time to fully consider what we wanted to do but that he wouldn’t be happy to leave things any longer than three weeks. He clearly approved when we asked him to arrange the mastectomy as soon as he could. For us to have been able to make this decision quickly and relatively easily was the direct result of the mental preparations I had already made during the past week, coupled with Pete’s support and full understanding of the situation we possibly might find ourselves in one day if we didn’t act upon the advice we were given now. At this point the conversation lightened, our tension eased, and the consultant’s secretary brought us all a cup of coffee. He told us that ideally he hoped to arrange for the operation to take place in a week’s time. It was then that I fully appreciated the seriousness of the situation. The mastectomy would probably save my life.’ Like I just said, there is no contest. (from Chapter 30) Concerning my need to be allowed to talk about my feelings and what I was going through: 'When people shun difficult issues this is a reflection of their own insecurities and fears.' '...as regards (some) who seemed unable, or unwilling to even mention what was happening to me and to us, I would much rather they had asked me if I wanted to talk about my cancer treatment than assume I didn't, or avoid the issue completely because they weren't able or brave enough to cope with the thought of it, or didn't know what to say to me. Whenever I was given the impression that what I was trying so hard to endure was being ignored, this both hurt and infuriated me. In situations like the one I was in, it is usually much better for someone who doesn't quite know what to say to admit to the fact, because this is nothing to be ashamed of. I needed good listeners, and it didn't matter to me if people knew what to say to me or not, as long as they were willing to allow me to express my feelings without fear of them dodging around the issue or swiftly changing the subject. I found the best listeners were those who had gone through similar experiences themselves. My advice to anyone with a friend or relative suffering from cancer and going through treatment is to ask them if they want or need to talk about it, and if they do, to give them your attention and listen. It makes a world of difference when we know people appreciate that we're having a hard time, and show an interest instead of behaving as though everything is normal. Things are never normal when someone is trying to get through chemotherapy, either for that person or their partner. We feel bad enough without having to put up with any extra tension, frustration or irritation. Speaking to other cancer patients I found that this was the view held by the majority. Of course, there will always be some folk who prefer not to discuss their cancer or treatment with anyone else, and their viewpoint should always be respected. But I am a great believer in talking about our feelings. This was a vital part of the healing process for Pete as well as for me.' All those out there who have to support someone close who is going through these devastating experiences, please note: Let the person talk! Talk to them, ask how they are, how the treatment is making them feel. Be a listener, rather than a speaker. They need you to acknowledge the fact that they are in a living hell, rather than to assume they will cope better if you play it all down. Only they know what they need. You have no idea, unless you ask, and listen. (from Chapter 29) 'The side effects of chemotherapy can be severe and disabling while they last, but the important thing to remember is that they do go off eventually.' 'Having this in mind gave me a goal, something to aim for. I enjoyed the thought of becoming active again, going for long walks with our dog through the woods that I love so much, cycling through the nearby country lanes, exercising and going to the gym again. It all lay ahead of me and I held onto the knowledge that this phase of my life, this ordeal I was going through, would one day be just a memory. But a memory about which, when I looked back on it, I would hopefully be able to proudly say, "I did that.' So you see, there is light at the end of that long, dark road. Stick firmly and resolutely to the path, guided along the way by your supporters; your loved-ones, friends, doctors and nurses who hold the torch to point the way forward for you. (from Chapter 29) More about Chemotherapy 'Chemotherapy treatment isn't something that can simply be ignored or put to the back of one's mind, because the fact of the matter is it governs one's life. An hour or two spent in the oncology department of any hospital, talking to people who are trying desperately hard to bear it, would be enough to convince anyone who believes otherwise that this treatment isn't something that a person can just happily forget about after they have been given their dose. Chemotherapy tears a whole year or more out of people's lives, given the length of the treatment period and the time needed to get back to normal afterwards, which in itself can take several months. Chemotherapy becomes a person's life, there is no other treatment like it and people who have never had it cannot even begin to imagine what it is like. Pete and I found it impossible to plan or organise anything whilst I was having chemo, because everything we did depended on how well I was feeling. We would decide to go shopping, or out for a drive, only to then find we had to stay at home because I felt too sick, tired or ill to go. Just living and coping with the treatment and its side effects was the most we could do, and at times this was so very, very hard.' 'I hated the constant weakness, and feeling generally unlike my normal self. It was disconcerting, and made me feel threatened. No matter how much strength a person has, chemotherapy can easily undermine it. But although my physical strength deteriorated rapidly as the treatment progressed, I retained my mental stamina, only giving way to tears on occasions when everything seemed too much to bear and got on top of me, which wasn't that often. At times it was good to cry, and the chemotherapy nurses told me it could only be beneficial to let it all out and have a sob sometimes, saying that people have to do this to help them release all the emotion. I realised that it was far better for me to have a good cry than to suppress my feelings, and always felt much better afterwards! I was sensible, resting whenever I felt exhausted, not even attempting to do anything when I felt ill because I found that any physical effort I made at those times rapidly used up what little energy I had in reserve. Too weak to even read books or watch TV for long, I slept and generally laid low for most of the time. As the treatment progressed I became weaker and weaker, with an awful pallor that I used to describe as "grey with yellow overtones." I invented my own little word to describe how I felt on bad days, which was 'chemoid'.' Please remember this is my story, and be aware that Chemotherapy does not affect everybody as severely, although most individuals do feel very unwell at times during their treatment. (from Chapter 26) Discussing the support I received from my husband Pete, and how what was happening to me affected him too. Plus a little bit of homespun philosophy! ' It hurt me to see the depth of his (Pete's) concern for me written all over his face, and I hated seeing him looking so anxious and troubled. One morning I got up and found Pete at the kitchen sink, washing up from the night before. Putting my arms around him I whispered, "I'm glad you're here with me. Silly, isn't it?" "No it isn't silly," he replied, almost indignantly. "It's twenty-seven years of being together. It's the needing to care, and to deal with our troubles together like we've always done." His words "the needing to care" summed up our feelings for each other. The need to care for someone we really do love deeply becomes a driving force when that person is in trouble. When their love for us has been selfless and unconditional, we will do anything to try to help them feel better and make their life easier, because all we want is to see them well and happy again. I have always believed in unconditional love. If we are made to feel we are loved and appreciated only when we are doing what other people expect of us, or being what they want us to be, the magic doesn't work because it doesn't exist. There is nothing positive on which to build any permanent foundation of commitment when love is conditional. When we are loved and respected simply for being the people we are, nothing becomes too much trouble. This is how it has always been between the two of us. Nothing is ever expected; everything is freely and willingly given. Demands are never made, and appreciation is always shown. We have reaped rich rewards from our ability, and readiness, to put each other first. There is nothing that Pete and I wouldn't do for each other. I was going to be in a vulnerable situation in the immediate future, and Pete wanted to be there for me. This want became his need, and that was all there was to it. I would have felt exactly the same if the situation had been reversed.' The rewards of unconditional love are immeasurable. (from Chapter 25) Discussing my dread of chemotherapy: 'The thing I really wanted to know was the answer to the sixty-four thousand dollar question that was screaming in my head. "Am I going to survive?" Steeling myself and looking the consultant directly in the eye, I demanded a straight answer to it. Her reply was that the chemotherapy I was going to receive was being given for that very reason, to give me the best chance of survival. She told us that according to statistics the incidence of recurrence of breast cancer in patients with the same type as I'd had is higher without chemotherapy and radiotherapy, but that with it this figure is greatly reduced. The more treatment I had, the less likely it would be for my cancer to recur. When we heard this, Pete and I realised how important it was for me to have the chemo, and from that moment my attitude towards it changed. I no longer regarded it as something to dread or feel scared of. Instead, I began to welcome it, feeling very grateful for being given as good a chance as I could possibly have of survival. The oncologist said that if any cancer cells had managed to migrate elsewhere in my body, without this treatment they could begin to grow into tumours in other sites. Oestrogen receptor positive breast cancer is known to recur not only in the other breast but also in sites such as bone, liver and brain. If it does recur elsewhere in the body, it is known as secondary breast cancer. She made it very clear that I was strongly advised to have the chemotherapy. I agreed to it, there seemed no point in refusing to have treatment that is known to be effective in dealing with the potential threat that I faced. The thought of having to have chemotherapy treatment is something that naturally frightens most people. This is probably because they understand little about the treatment, being familiar only with the more unpleasant side-effects which appear to be common knowledge. I describe in detail what it was like for me both to have the chemo administered, and how I coped with these soul-destroying side-effects. I also discuss the relevance of blood counts, and what it means to a cancer patient when their white blood count is too low for them to receive their chemo on schedule. The description of all aspects of chemotherapy is covered in a way that is easily readable and comprehensible. (from Chapter 25) On going for the post-operative results of tests on my tumour: 'I desperately needed to know how serious my cancer had been, and I had no time for small talk because the only thing that interested me was hearing the facts from the consultant. He sensed my agitation, and after asking how I was he came straight to the point. He had found a second tumour during the operation. Unknown to me, he told Pete about it before I came round from the anaesthetic. He said that in view of this, our decision to have the mastectomy had been very wise. The other, smaller tumour was growing behind the original one, closer to my chest wall. Pete hadn't said anything about this to me, because he thought it would be best if I heard it from the surgeon. I was shocked to hear that more than one tumour had been present, and so glad I'd opted for the mastectomy. The consultant went on to explain that other cells had been found to be undergoing changes that would probably lead to further malignancies in the future. Such is the nature of lobular breast cancer.' Thank God I had the mastectomy, otherwise it could have been a very different story. (from Chapter 31) Talking about the fitting for my permanent breast form (prosthesis): 'Everything seemed so natural, as if this was simply an everyday thing I was doing, with no sense of despair, loss, or any other negative feeling that I might easily have experienced, now that I was about to be given a permanent false breast. I gave no thought to the fact that the prosthesis was a replacement for the natural breast I no longer had. Instead, I regarded it as a kind of early Christmas present, because I knew it would enhance my life. The 'softie' was very difficult to keep in place, and once when we were out having a meal together it popped out of the neck of my top! Feigning nonchalance I'd shoved it quickly back down again, hoping nobody had noticed, and from then on I secured it with a safety pin. It was good to know that after today I wouldn't have to worry about that sort of thing happening any more!' 'I couldn't believe how I looked when I stood in front of the full-length mirror. I appeared to have a better figure than I'd had before the mastectomy! I put on the sweater I'd been wearing. The contour of my bust was perfect. I was overjoyed, hugging the nurse and thanking her for giving me this lovely shape. I felt proud and happy to be looking like this for the first time ever. I was like a little child who'd gone to see Santa Claus and been given a really nice present! The nurse was as pleased for me as I was for myself, and gave me a special box to keep my prosthesis in, together with a cotton cover for it, to protect it from damage by perspiration. The box had a moulded space inside, into which the prosthesis fitted so that its shape would be retained. The nurse told me to wash it after each wearing, and to treat it just like any other part of my body. I'd have to avoid sharp objects, animal claws and the like, but apart from this I could wear it with confidence, enjoying the natural feel and appearance of it. It felt so much like a real breast that it was impossible to tell the two apart. I couldn't wait to show Pete, and when I left the hospital I felt so excited I thought I would burst.' ' I'd never expected to look like this after my mastectomy, and my self-esteem soared sky high.' 'My dignity was important to me, it had never been taken away from me just because I'd had a mastectomy, but today the new breast I'd received gave my self-respect a real boost.' 'It had been a perfect day in all ways. I loved the entire world as I re-lived the happenings in sequence.' 'I couldn't have asked for a more satisfying or rewarding day, and gave many thanks as I sat in the firelight. The next day was the eve of the Midwinter Solstice. The time to put chaos and darkness behind us and, with the return of the Sun, to emerge from that darkness energised and purified by the coming of the light. Life would soon be stirring in the earth again as the days began to lengthen. Life was certainly stirring in me! I knew that the approaching solstice would hold great meaning and significance for us; that its promise of hope and new awakenings would encourage and inspire us. I went to bed that night with thankfulness in my heart, and joy and serenity in my spirit.' When I was given my permanent breast form I realised that I now had a choice, of whether to be just as I was or to have a 'full bosom', for outward appearances. I do not wear my prosthesis very often because I'm comfortable with myself. I have no problem with my shape, neither has my husband. The important thing for both of us is that I am still here, to enjoy living and loving. Pete has never wanted me to have breast reconstruction, and consequently I'm very happy to remain just as I am. Reconstruction can be difficult, there is far more to it than merely having a new breast created. I have explored this issue further on in the book, for those who are interested or curious to know what is involved. (from Chapter 33) On the importance of maintaining a sense of humour: 'Throughout my treatment we never lost our sense of humour. It helped to make the situation more bearable, and we always tried to see the funny side of things. For example, just after we'd reached the halfway point in my treatment Pete hurt his back, and had to use a walking stick because of the pain he was in. I was feeling particularly bad at this time, relying on Pete to help me stagger around the house. On one occasion we were on our way to the bathroom when we caught site of ourselves in the hall mirror. There we stood, Pete bent double with his stick in one hand, me dangling limply under his other arm, looking as if I'd been made up to play a role in a horror movie! We looked at each other and just creased up with laughter at ourselves. It was laughter and absolute daftness at times that got us through this difficult period. Without humour, neither of us would have been able to withstand it as well as we did. Together we laughed and smiled our way through it, whenever we could. And of course, there were those times when, together, we cried.' (from Chapter 34) Getting towards the end of the chemotherapy treatment: 'For me, as for most people, chemotherapy was neither easy nor pleasant. The way it depleted my energy, making me feel good for nothing for days or weeks after, didn't do much to make me feel too thrilled about going for (my eighth dose) on 1st February, although after I'd had it I felt great, knowing there were only four more doses left for me to have. The vein in my wrist was becoming tender and I felt queasy each time I thought of the needle going in, wondering if I'd be able to stand up to the rest of my treatment or whether I would completely crack under the strain of it before I reached the end.' The further into the chemo many people get, the more they dread having the next dose. In no way do we 'get used to it' enough to make things easier for us. The converse is, more often than not, the case. 'Morning and night I looked up at the sky to watch the pink-footed geese as they flew overhead, in the mornings to their feeding grounds on nearby fields away from the coast, and back again in the evenings to the shore. The sight and sound of those birds really inspired me because their determination was so strong. Instinctively they flew hundreds of miles, year after year. I would watch the scores of V-formations in sheer wonder, telling myself that if these creatures could accomplish so much, enduring such harsh extremes of weather as they travelled the vast distances, I too could put up a good fight and bear the remainder of my treatment. I looked forward to seeing the geese every day, because of the courage they inspired in me. It later struck me that my chemotherapy was due to finish just as they would be departing for northern lands in the early spring, ready to breed again, and I interpreted this as an omen, that I would get through it all with their help, and that when this was accomplished I would bid them farewell with gratitude for their strengthening presence throughout that long, dark time, when their welcome appearance in the winter skies, always heralded by their unmistakable honking calls, was my sign that the future held promise of much brighter days to come.' I derived so much help, comfort and hope from the wonders of the world around me. (from Chapter 37) From the man's perspective. Pete's feelings on being told I had breast cancer: "I was never afraid, really, of what it (the cancer) was, because the consultant instilled confidence in me. I felt confident because of the way he'd put it across to us, and in what he'd told us. That's why I wanted to hear everything he had to say, so that I clearly understood it all. I understood that it had been found early, and fundamentally I put all my faith in him because of the way he acted over it. My main upset was for you, how I thought it was going to make you feel. My real concern was how you were going to cope with it. I'd seen you get so upset about things in the past, and this worried me more than anything." Some things are just not worth the energy we use in worrying about them. Why give our power away to something that really doesn't matter, when we need to hang onto as much of it as we can so that when a real crisis happens, we have enough to see us through? (from Chapter 37) How I felt on having my last dose of chemo: ' I sat down in the chair with a huge lump in my throat. I had made it! After today I would have to endure this treatment no longer. It was difficult for me to believe that this really was the end. Was I at last going to be able to look forward to feeling well again? Was there really to be no more horrible nausea, weakness, absolute exhaustion and sheer inability to even enjoy drawing breath? Nothing in my entire life could ever compare with this, nothing I'd ever experienced before was as hard, as draining and as daunting as the chemotherapy had been, for me. Yet here I was, seven months down that long and arduous road, at the finishing post. It all felt like a dream, unreal and almost imaginary. As the nurse wiped my wrist over the place where she was to insert the cannula I returned abruptly to reality. Despite my earlier excitement I was now calm and relaxed, because I knew I had to be. The needle went in painlessly, and the treatment was given. As the contents of the third syringe flowed into my vein, it all became too much for me and I gave in to the emotion. The nurse hugged me, understanding how I was feeling.' ' Reaching the entrance to the stairway that led down to the ground floor I gave one final look back. The nurses had disappeared into the room, to continue their work with another patient. Someone who was about to have their first dose of chemo, who was feeling just like I did all those months ago; apprehensive, uncertain of what to expect, anxious and insecure. Like me, she would come to the end of it one day, and my wish for her was that when she reached that point she would feel as full of hope and optimism as I did now.' The sheer joy I, and we, felt when the chemo was complete, was something we will never forget. The relief was beyond words. The man's perspective continued... 'I never took anything Pete did for granted, reminding myself at all times that however bad I was feeling, he was suffering with me. I often wonder if I would have been able to be as strong as he was if the situation had been reversed, and I'd been the one looking on, trying to remain cheerful and positive for his sake, knowing he was being treated for a potentially fatal disease, at times unable to do anything except just be there for him.' 'Mayday 2002 brought with it the first anniversary of the end of my chemotherapy, and we talked about our memories of that unforgettable day. I asked Pete how he felt about my cancer and the chemotherapy, now that we were one year on: 'Pete has always been mentally strong, able to deal with any crisis no matter how serious, and throughout our ordeal he never cracked. But now he says he finds it difficult, if not impossible, to be concerned with things that pale into insignificance and are trivial by comparison. His level of stress tolerance is nowhere near as high as it used to be. Things are by no means over for us yet, because I still have to pass the five-year survival threshold, although it is well over two years since I went for my first scans, and this is a positive sign. But for Pete, the stress of the uncertainty is more than enough to have to deal with. We cope with this together, just as we did when we were going through the 'cancer experience.' For the majority of the time we are very happy and content, but there are times when we need to talk about our anxieties and share our residual pain. As Pete rightly observed, these things don't go away for a very long time. Maybe they never will. I don't believe it is possible for anyone who has battled against cancer, or for their partner, to ever completely forget what it was like for them.' For the husband/partner, it is far from easy to watch his beloved woman going through what has to be borne by way of treatment. It is far too easy for people to forget this important fact, in their concern for the sufferer herself. Always ask how the man is faring as well, because this really does bolster the couple and lend more meaning to your support. (from Chapter 39) Discussing preventative medication - Tamoxifen: 'My treatment didn't end with the radiotherapy. The type of breast cancer I had often has to be treated with long-term medication, and the drug most commonly prescribed is called Tamoxifen. This is a hormone, and it is used to treat women whose breast cancer is oestrogen-dependent (oestrogen receptor positive). Tamoxifen blocks the oestrogen receptors in the body, so that cancer cells cannot lock onto the oestrogen that is in the receptors and grow into tumours. It is chiefly used in treating women who have passed their menopause, and its effectiveness in the prevention of secondary breast cancer is well established. It is taken as one daily tablet, usually for five years although sometimes people take it for longer or shorter periods of time. Many women can tolerate this drug well enough to be able to take it for the prescribed period with few or no problems. But for a small minority (and it is a minority) the side effects can become too disabling to cope with, and I was one of these.' Here, I explore the possible side-effects of Tamoxifen in depth, explaining fully how seriously I was affected by them. 'I wanted to discontinue taking the Tamoxifen, but the oncologist strongly advised against this, saying that I really needed to take it to prevent future recurrence of my breast cancer. I persevered for a while longer but in the end I just couldn't cope because my symptoms were intolerable.' My Oncologist came to my rescue with Arimidex (Anastrozole), which suits me 'Eventually the oncologist put me on an alternative breast cancer preventative drug, and I soon began to feel much better. The number of daily sweats diminished and life became bearable again. The flashes and sweats still trouble me, but not to the extent that they did before. Certain things will trigger a severe sweating reaction, such as emotional stress, hot food or drinks, warm environments and overly vigorous physical exercise. I have learned to pace myself, and I avoid situations and things that I know will bring on an attack, although sometimes one will happen for no apparent reason. But I only have four more years to wait before I am able to stop taking the preventative medication, and this thought spurs me on. It is still 'countdown time'.' When I wrote the book I had four years to wait before coming off the preventative medication. Now there are only just over two. How time flies when you're having fun!! A discussion concerning breast reconstruction follows, after which: 'Every woman has the right to make her own choices, and after the consultation I was in no doubt that my decision not to have breast reconstruction was, for me, the right one. I was happy and content to remain just as I was, and all I wanted was to get on with my life, as before. I had only recently begun to feel that I was starting to recuperate after all the treatment I'd gone through, and didn't relish the thought of having to spend yet further months, possibly another year, recovering from surgery which, frankly, I knew I didn't really need. ' 'I am thankful that I was able to make that decision with such conviction. I want to wear my 'medal', the mastectomy scar, proudly for the rest of my life. I cherish my relationship with the Amazons, because this taught me to think and fight like a warrior, and gave me the power over my enemy that enabled me to defy and defeat it. Now I have taken my place, to stand alongside countless thousands of other women as a fully qualified, lifelong member of the worldwide Amazon Sisterhood. I salute them all, trusting in my steadfast belief that I will be walking among them in the far distant future, as a battle-scarred, very old soldier.' (from 'Conclusion') 'My breast cancer happened to both of us. Although the disease attacked only one of our physical bodies, mentally and emotionally it struck both our hearts, both our minds and both our spirits. Pete and I each suffered it all; the shock of the diagnosis, the fear, the uncertainty and the treatment, and both of us were in need of healing. We helped ourselves to heal by understanding and accepting one another's pain. Instead of feeling sorry for ourselves we felt sorry for each other, and through our mutual sympathy we were able to understand exactly how the other person was thinking and feeling.' 'As I write these words I look back and ask myself the questions "Have I really had breast cancer and survived to tell the tale? Did it really happen to me?" ' 'All I can do is accept the fact that I have survived, and to do so with humility and infinite gratitude. But to be able to completely accept my fortuity is neither as easy nor as straightforward as might be imagined by someone who has never experienced cancer on a personal level, or seen the suffering.' 'Throughout my treatment I strove to maintain a positive mind-set, repeatedly telling myself "I will get better, I am getting better, I am better." This was helpful not only to me but also to Pete, for it enabled us both to still enjoy life, rather than allowing that natural fear which we all possess to take over and make life far more difficult than it needed to be. After my treatment was all over, Pete told me he would have found it much harder to cope with the situation we'd been in if I'd gone to pieces, because then he too would have been full of despair. He said he felt torn apart when he thought about me losing my breast, and more so when I was going through the chemotherapy, but that it was my strength that sustained him and enabled him to support me in the best ways he could. By facing my fear head-on, and challenging it, I was able to help us both. I refused to allow fear to dominate me by giving it the power to do so, just as I refused to dwell on the fact that I had breast cancer. Naturally the thought was often in my mind, but I learned to dismiss it almost as instantaneously as it arose, and to replace it with visualised images of myself as the fit and healthy woman I hoped to be in the fullness of time. My fight was a psychological one as well as a physical battle.' On discussing my spiritual beliefs and how, in addition to Pete's unfailing support, these helped to sustain me as I fought the cancer: 'Aided by the stabilising, inspirational, purifying and regenerative qualities of the elements, plus my own inner strength that has upheld me as I have progressed through my turbulent life, I have survived breast cancer and intend to continue to do so. Daily I give thanks for my many blessings, most especially for the love of my husband and for my recovery from the cancer. The answer to my prayer of gratitude may come in the rustle of the leaves of a tree as a sudden movement of breeze disturbs the stillness, or in the unexpected alighting of a bird upon the stump in the centre of the stone circle in our garden, or as a droplet of rain upon my brow. It may come as a sudden feeling of warmth on my face as the sun emerges unexpectedly from behind a cloud. Or in the flicker of a candle flame, casting its gentle glow around my room, its light reflected in the mirror on the wall behind it. I marvel at these things, consumed with awe at the magic of the inspiration they offer, glad that I can see their beauty, and that I am able to appreciate the value of their preciousness.' That's all, folks, no more excerpts, but if you feel you'd like to order a copy of my book, and support Breast Cancer Care in so-doing, that would be wonderful. To anyone who has bought the book for themselves, to help them through the Be strong and believe in your ability to get through this. If I have written anything that helped you on the way, I'd really like to hear from you. To anyone who has read my book out of interest or curiosity, thank you for this, and I hope breast cancer is something you never, ever, have to deal with. Stay informed, be aware, and alert to any changes in your body that are new/unusual for you. Go to a doctor immediately if you notice anything out of the ordinary. Early detection of breast cancer is vital, so never delay seeking advice if you are concerned. |
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