196. Happy Anniversary?

A few weeks back, a woman asked on one of the Breast Cancer Now forums when was she entitled to celebrate her anniversary - did she date it from her mastectomy, or the end of chemo, or the end of radiotherapy? When could she say she was free of breast cancer? I kind of got the impression she was desperate to find something positive to hold onto. I remember a few of the comments I made in my reply 

• I was told (so Dennis says) that I was cancer-free by my breast surgeon when he visited me after surgery. It had all been removed by the surgery and what followed would be to make sure it didn’t come back. That was October 2018.
• I was told by T, my adjuvant oncology nurse, at our first appointment that my bone scan had confirmed that I was officially No Evidence of Disease ie. cancer-free. This would have been January 2019.
• That when I finished radiotherapy, I didn't have the slightest inclination to Ring The Bell because I knew hormone or endocrine therapy was to follow, as well as five zometa treatments over the coming three years. How could I ring the bell to celebrate the end of treatment?
• That I felt inclined to look at the day I noticed my bumps on my nipple and knew I should make an appointment with my GP as a lifesaving day. The sunlight caught the bumps which caught my eye. In the days of Covid, I fear a GP would be likely to say over the phone that it doesn’t sound like anything to worry about and get back in touch if anything changed - after all, both my GP and my breast surgeon reacted the same way: some interest/intrigue but no concern - till the biopsy results. I decided as I wrote that post that I would celebrate 12 September as my Lifesaving Decision Day, something truly positive.

So what has gone wrong? I’m not sure but I spent yesterday and today, my anniversary, in a ball of misery. Mostly it’s bitterness at the constant pain and the utter fatigue that sweeps through me. Bitterness is not a great feeling; it can eat away at you, as I found during the years I found it impossible to accept my infertility. I prefer the anger I felt last week but Dr U defused that. 

An ill-chosen comment hasn’t helped. I wouldn’t repeat it but the effect has been that some of that ‘what if’ feeling that every cancer patient has to live with but which I’ve successfully processed and tucked away safely somewhere in my head has seeped out and suddenly I don’t feel as safe as I did. That’ll teach me to be so smug that I had that bit sorted!

So today is my breast cancer anniversary and it feels horrible. A touch of what if the cancer comes back almost smothered by what if this damage is permanent and I’m condemned to a life of pain, misbehaving joints, slumped walking and generally not being myself. I know I’m getting on a bit now (sorry, girls) but I didn’t expect on the gloriously sunny September day two years ago to be so rapidly reduced to a self-pitying pessimist. I don’t think anyone expected it, certainly not the oncologists (though they knew I was in for a tough time). Have I been unlucky, more unlucky than most of the tens of thousands of women who face the shock and horror of this diagnosis every year in the UK? I don’t think so. I think everyone has their own issues in the aftermath. I wonder at Mum. Part of me is in awe at how she just got on with things, each time. But another part of me wonders - did she have that gnawing fear that it might come back a third time, always there like a Jiminy Cricket whispering on her ear?

What now? There are a few anniversaries coming up that I have no plans to mark, thank you very much. Should I celebrate surgery day - all cut away, all cancer removed along with a whole breast and one of the lymph clusters? Feels hard to think about that, apart from it being a bit of a blank. Anything after that, no matter how good the news, is tinged by the fact that I felt like shit. Maybe I’ll have to wait to my 5 year anniversary, after which my odds against a recurrence improve considerably. It’s a long wait. Oh shut up Jan. You’re here. Be grateful. Without those freckles, you would still be happily going your own way, carrying a stage 4, probably terminal cancer bomb ready to be dropped on you at any moment. Yes, today was worth celebrating even if I can only do it by toasting myself now with cold water, some crushed Tuc crackers and a few grapes!

And an outdated discount code :)