I haven’t posted in a while.
Life takes over, and even things I’ve thought about sharing got pushed to the background in favour of other shittier things. I felt too exposed with certain people using my story against me, so I decided to keep within.
But even amongst the murky underbelly of Mum life, I never expected a third cancer diagnosis.
And no, that is not a joke. Not even a bad one.
On this particular occasion, the words “third time lucky” fill me with dread, desperately hoping it appliesto me and not the big C.
Once again, no normal diagnosis for me – where’s the fun in that!
The Mysterious Lump
About 3 months ago, I thought I found a small lump in Ernie. But then it disappeared. Okay.
And then about 2 months ago, there it was again. After a few more minutes of groping, I realised I could only feel it if I was standing or sitting with my arms down: lying down or standing in the shower with my arm over my head, there was nothing. Nada. Zilch. But it was enough to cause concern.
Because I was now under the NHS and my next routine mammogram wasn’t due until 2027, I went to the GP.
I saw a lovely lady doctor I’d seen before, who examined me and said she could not find any discrete hard lumps or masses, which she felt was reassuring. I was, therefore, reassured. But she referred me for the 2-week breast cancer check because of my history, and I was okay with that.
So off I trot a week or so later to the local NHS one stop clinic. A new experience for me as all other appointments etc where through private health insurance. I did try to continue it but they wanted nearly £2k. Per month. Hard no.
I had a chat with an Advanced Care Practitioner who examined me and again, could not find any lumps or masses. Because my last mammogram was over 12 months ago, this meant that I could have one. Yipee. Boob squashing time. Interestingly, if my last mammogram had been less than 12 months, I wouldn’t have been able to have one. Perhaps that’s why my lump disappeared for a while…
Actually, the mammogram wasn’t too bad, and I also had an ultrasound. Neither revealed any lumps or masses. Good right? I thought so until the radiographer said that there was an area on the mammogram that was “denser” than last time. It was near the previous clip (when a tumour is found for surgery, they inject a clip so it can be found again), so it was probably just scar tissue, but we need to check. Nothing showed on the ultrasound.
I then had to have a TOMO mammogram. A new one on me. Same positioning for me, but it takes 9 “slices” of the breast rather than one picture, a bit like a meat slice on the deli counter. Yum.
But of course, it still wasn’t clear, so I had another mammogram with a smaller plate so that the image is more magnified. My case would then be discussed with the team the following week, and the next steps will follow.
More Tests? Of course....
I received a call a few days later and was told I needed to have a breast MRI. Of course I do.
I HATE MRIs generally. Feel like I’m in a coffin and I can’t get out. They always look like there is so much more space on TV, but if I had a bigger nose, it would be touching the top.
Now I’ve had a breast MRI before, and my memory of it was that it wasn’t too bad, a bit like lying face down on a sunbed, listening to music so that I could handle it until a colleague pointed out that she found the noise of MRIs to be the worst thing. The noise? Jeez, I’d completely blocked out the horrendous noise! But that’s okay, you get headphones and music, so I’ll be fine.
So I pop off to the hospital and eventually get called into a short appointment to complete a questionnaire.
In the laundry cupboard
At this point, I’m regretting not giving my whole salary to private health insurance.
The MRI room was freezing. See comment above.
I lay down, my arms at my sides, as I need contrast dye injected that makes me feel like I’m about to wet myself. Where are the headphones, the music? No. No music. No headphones. Just some squishy things to put in my ears designed to block out snoring.
See comment above again re salary…
I was thankfully covered with a blanket, and I was moved inside.
Wait, all the way? Can’t I just go in a little? It’s just my boobs. And as the machine gets to my arms, I feel tight; it’s scraping my arms. I am never going to get out of here by myself if there is an apocalypse.
So I did what any grown arse professional woman would do. I screamed and pressed the alarm button.
I’d clearly manifested a rose-tinted version of my last MRI. Lying on your front instead of your back, boobs hanging down a hole, comfy pillow, pina colada, Caribbean music….
This was not what Watford offered. The fact that my arms barely fit freaked me. I’d lost 4 stone. How would I have fit had I not?
Where’s the goddam music!!!!!!!!
Needless to say, I regained my composure and went for it, coming out with one of the worst headaches ever, along with marks on my face where I had had to lie on the weird thing that could not have resembled a pillow less.
And Relax - oh wait..
I then went on a much-needed break with an appointment made for when we came back for the MRI results. This suited me as I’d otherwise be waiting for a phone call and wouldn’t have been able to relax at all.
Famous last words…. 3 days in I received a call from the ultrasound department telling me I needed to book in for an ultrasound, when I asked why she was surprised I didn’t know what she was talking about and her explanation was, well you’ve had an MRI haven’t you? Yes, yes I have. Well then, she said as if that explained all.
Unfortunately for me it did. Something had obviously shown on the MRI, and I was now having to have biopsies under an ultrasound. Bollocks.
I crashed for a few days. Very low. Really couldn’t believe there was a possibility of a third cancer. I bucked up a bit towards the end but it wasn’t the holiday I had hoped for or wanted or needed.
So once back, I had the ultrasound, three core biopsies that are just like coring an apple, and a clip put in so that they could find the mysterious disappearing lump again and went back the following week for the results.
As we walked in, I recognised one of the breast care nurses sitting in the room with the consultant, and I just knew: she would not be there for scar tissue.
She was there for Grade 3 Invasive Ductal Fricking Carcinoma.
We still await histology and a CT scan, but my mind has already run every scenario under the sun. Three times. Is it three times lucky for Cancer, my nemesis? Who has cancer three times and lives?
Actually, it’s more common than I thought, so fuck you, cancer. I’m taking the “third times the charm” view in my favour. I will beat this again, and it will never ever come back.
That’s my current plan, and I’ll do everything I can to stick to it. Unlike diets and going to the gym.
Bert and Ernie ride again.
Maybe I’ll short it to Bernie…
