I’ve never been a fan of mammograms since the first breast surgery. They frankly are bloody painful and once I blacked out briefly, only to find myself stuck between metal plates, dangling, surrounded by 6 staff, none of whom thought to release me might help. Medical science remains a male-dominated domain. If they had to routinely have their testicles squeezed ruthlessly between metal plates, they\d have come up with a better alternative by now. But hey, it’s just women, just breasts... So, to my embarrassment (by now I’d moved from History teacher to PSHE and taught older pupils about the importance of examining their breasts while failing to admit all I did was a cursory swipe in the shower), I’ve been known to skip my 3-yearly mammogram. This year I didn’t. This year in January I got a clear result. Yay!!
How come 8 months later, I find myself with aggressive breast cancer, two tumours and more...?? Apparently, mammograms aren’t infallible. They also depend on the radiologist’s observation and interpretation. Maybe I was unlucky. It’s something I’ll fret more about once I’m through the crap of right now: how safe are we, relying on mammograms?
Slipping on my bra one morning (actually Wednesday 12 September), I glimpsed two small ‘lumps’ on my left areola. I stared. They were raised, pale, soft, nothing special but I’d not seen them before. I glared at them balefully and through the morning kept checking. Yep, still there. Now, I’m the first to admit I’m a coward - I even have to have dental sedation for a filling - but Mum had breast cancer twice and I’m not stupid so I rang and arranged to see a GP Friday.
Dr Wong (I’ll use her identity as I owe her so much) wasn’t too concerned but she examined my breasts (ouch) and asked if I was aware of a lump between my ribs. Of course I wasn’t. As it was so close to my smiley scar, we decided it was probably scar tissue. However, she thought it best to get a specialist to have a look and made a referral. Thank you, Dr Wong. That saved my life.
I went home and broke the news to my husband and his face told me that waiting for the NHS was waiting too long for him so I arranged to go privately. After a couple of cock-ups, I got an appointment at a fairly local private hospital breast clinic and saw my consultant, Mr B. Like Dr Wong, he wasn’t unduly concerned. He examined my breast thoroughly but much more gently and sent me off for an ultrasound, a very comfortable experience (I should have known better) which led to the radiologist announcing he could see nothing untoward. I remember saying ‘I love you, Dr B’ and wondering if it was inappropriate but I was so pleased I didn’t care that much.
Back to the consultant, who decided the lumps needed biopsies. Not given to wasting time, he didn’t give the local anaesthetic much time to work but I soon pointed out his error and in went some more anaesthetic. I should never have driven myself. I drove home with a touch of shock but uplifted by the positive response from Mr B and the clear ultrasound.
The worst thing to happen that week was an allergic reaction to the dressing - red itchy weals - which meant I loosened the waterproof dressing and my final shower led to a good soaking of the dressing. I returned to the hospital with a horrid brown soggy mess over my nipple, dreading what was underneath.
My news
This time I arranged to leave my car at a friend’s house close to the hospital and Marilyn drove me. The nurse asked if she was coming in with me (warning sign!) and I blithely said no. Mr B explained he’d had to ring for the histology report and then his voice dropped. Much to his shock (his word) both were positive for cancer. I said ‘fuck.’ I then apologised but he assured me he was used to much worse! I tried to listen as he explained the probable options: either a partial mastectomy and radiotherapy or a full mastectomy. I’m 67 with a breast I loathe. A no-brainer. Full mastectomy please. But first more tests. I came out, shook my head mournfully at Marilyn who gave me a hug and sat with me in a private room to wait. Everyone needs a Marilyn.
Mammogram and another ultrasound. Knowing you have cancer seems to change your perspective - I faced that mammogram like a warrior and the results were good. I had a different radiologist (Dr T, who I was warned was young and very thorough). Thorough he was. It was painful and horrible and he gave a self-directed running commentary that did nothing to ease my mind. He then did three lymph biopsies (rather jumpy but not painful). The bills were adding up!
Home to break the news to Dennis. Oddly, I felt no fear and had to assure him it was only breast cancer, was completely treatable and the worst thing for me was going to to be my mental health.
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