Ripping Off the Bandaid

So where do I start? I suppose I should just start with the news that will change everything for me…

I have breast cancer.

There. Not exactly the sort of sentence you expect to hear about yourself at 38 - especially sitting in a small consultation room under fluorescent lights, with a box of tissues that suddenly felt perfectly placed.

---

How did I get here?

On Monday, 23 February, I went for imaging to check a new lump. I say new because I have fibrocystic breasts - basically a permanently lumpy landscape. Every time I find a lump, I go for imaging just to be safe. My last scans, nine months ago, were clear.

I also have extremely dense breasts (BIRADS D) - which means the deluxe imaging package every time: mammogram and ultrasound.

Within an hour, my wonderful GP called.

"Have I caught you at a good time…?"

That's never a sentence that ends well.

The report showed suspicious findings. This incredible GP had however already called ahead to a specialist breast clinic, who arranged to see me that Wednesday.

---

Things moved quickly from there

The specialist reconfirmed the suspicious findings and sent me downstairs for biopsies on two lumps and a swollen lymph node.

By that Friday, as the boys were about to go off to baseball camp for the long weekend, we were told that the preliminary results came back showing suspicious cells - the medical way of saying: shit.

A follow-up meeting was scheduled.

Last Wednesday, 4 March at 11:45am, sitting in that small office with Tim by my side, we learned all three were malignant.

Translation: fuck. 😳

---

Meet the Globalists 😉

They're apparently aggressive little invaders too. So naturally, I've named them Donald, Vladimir, and Benjamin.

Collectively, the Globalists.

---

War on War ⚔️

Before I'd even grabbed my second tissue from the box that now appeared closer, the plan was already clear - we'd be fighting back just as aggressively.

That means chemotherapy kicks off next week and will run until the beginning of July, along with targeted HER2+ therapy. After that comes surgery - sadly, probably to say goodbye to both of my greatest assets (yes, I’ve won arguments with these puppies) - followed by whatever treatment comes next, depending on the outcomes.

Assuming all goes well, I’ll also start a ten-year course of hormone suppressors, aimed at preventing any new lumps from forming. The trade-off? Potentially being thrown into chemically induced menopause and all the fun that comes with it.

Thankfully, I gifted Tim with the snip for our anniversary many years ago, so plans for more children weren’t really part of the picture anyway. Though looking back, I suspect he would have preferred a motorcycle...

It was a lot to take in - honestly, overwhelming. The rest of the week was spent just beginning to process that our little lives had shifted, and that the next year would have plans of its own.

I still have further scans over the coming week to see whether it's spread beyond the lymph nodes and to properly stage it, as well as blood tests, injections to put my ovaries to sleep, heart scans and genetic testing - all results still TBD.

---

Why am I sharing this?

Partly so if you see me over the coming months without hair, you won't assume I've finally torn it all out after raising a teenager.

Or if I can't make or participate in things, even though I will likely still apologise profusely, you'll know why without needing to ask. (Or for Tim and Harry, if they decide to keep me company when I'm feeling rough.)

Also, if hearing this story prompts you to give your boobs - or your partner's - a quick once-over tonight, even better. You don't have to make it weird… but if you do, hey, good for you. Just maybe make it a habit to get to know your lemons. 👀

Because if it can happen to me, someone apparently too young to have breast cancer, it can happen to you too.

And frankly, if I'm honest, because retelling the story is hard and hopefully, if I do it right, I'll only have to do it every so often.

---

I've got this 💛

So anyway, that’s where I’m at. Three weeks on from the start of this process, I’ve just met my lovely oncologist this evening and scheduled in the first of six chemotherapy cycles - one every three weeks over the next 18 weeks - starting next Friday.

But don't worry about me. I've got this. I have the most incredible village around me and am surrounded by so much love.

While it's going to be a really shitty year ahead (as reiterated by my specialist - thanks), I also have my boys: two of the strongest, most loving, caring, and hilariously funny humans keeping me supplied with the best medicine of all.

Much love to you all.

And, in case it wasn't already clear — fuck cancer.

---

This blog is to allow me to write a little more about it along the way. Partly to keep friends and family updated, and partly because writing has always been how I make sense of things.

Pour yourself a cuppa and read more...