March 2009 - Back to the beginning

Early 2009 was an exciting time for us. We had made the big decision to embark on some major building and improvement work on our house. Months of consultations with the architect and the builder, the kitchen suppliers and not least the unbelievably difficult electricity supply people has culminated in a start date of 12 January. It was a cold winter and we were having to camp in the hall and the downstairs cloakroom for 6 to 8 weeks without a kitchen or cooking facilities so there was something of the blitz spirit about the place as the builders swung into action and covered our three story house with a thick layer of dust. The tale of the building works can be left for another time because it was during the first couple of weeks that I received a routine letter telling me I had a mammogram booked for 19 February. I go to these religiously every three years. In fact I had been on a national trial between the ages of 40 and 50 to go every year to see if this would increase early detection and cure rates for breast cancer. During that trial I had a couple of recalls, which turned out to be nothing so when I had a recall letter this time I wasn’t unduly worried.

I went to the breast clinic on 6 March and it was off with the top and bra as I had another mammogram done before meeting with a doctor. I had met her before during the earlier trial so was comfortable that she knew what she was about. Her opening words were carefully phrased. “ Mrs Staples, we have spotted a change in the tissue of your left breast since your last mammogram which we need to explore a little more closely. It isn’t a lump as such, but more a drawing together of the tissue in a way that may indicate a problem.” She proceeded to show me the x-rays and pointed out the area of concern. I have to admit my mind was racing and I was having trouble grasping what she was saying so it was a bit difficult to see what she was showing me. I’ve never been very good at reading x-rays. She went on. “I’d like to do an ultrasound check and see if we can pin this down as the x-ray isn’t giving us sufficient information.” I try to look composed and nod my consent. Off with the top and bra again and a nurse comes in as well. The doctor is quick and efficient with the ultrasound and hovers over a small dark mark on the screen clicking the computer mouse. She takes pictures, which are printed out immediately. Back on with the bra and the top.

“Well,” she says, “there is definitely something there. She shows me the pictures with the dark mark and a small white line indicating the size of the ‘problem’. “It is tiny, what ever it is. I have it measured as only 7mm, which is why it isn’t showing up very clearly on the mammograms. But I’d like another mammogram done. This one will be a little more uncomfortable than usual, as we will just squeeze the area around the end of the breast quite tightly to see if we can get a better picture.”
Back to the radiographers and off with the top and bra again. The doctor was right. This was eye-watering stuff. But all things pass. Another 20 minutes in the waiting room and I am called back.“The mammogram hasn’t given us any more information I’m afraid. However, there is definitely something there and it will have to come out, what ever it is.”
I gulp. This is getting serious. I have a horrible feeling in my stomach which it takes me a few moments to recognise as fear.
The doctor is very experienced at having this conversation. She moves into what is obviously a well-rehearsed explanation of what happens now and requests my consent to carry out a core needle biopsy under local anaesthetic. I ask when. She says now.
The nurse is called back. Off comes the top and bra again and I lie down on the couch. The ultrasound is pressed back into service. Latex gloves are snapped on. The local is administered and the doctor goes through a demonstration of the core biopsy need and warns me about the noise it makes. Off we go. The process isn’t that bad. A bit uncomfortable with some shoving and pushing and the nasty little snapping sounds but is over quite quickly. The nurse put pressure on the wound to ‘prevent bruising’. She asks if I am allergic to plasters. Not as far as I am aware I respond so it is on with some steri-stips. Some last words from the doctor. “Mrs Staples, I would be giving you false hope if I didn’t say that I think this could be a very small cancer. It may not be and the biopsy will confirm this. In any event you will need to see a breast surgeon to have it removed so we will make an appointment for you before you go. You need to sit for about 20 minutes and have a cup of tea or coffee and we will sort the appointment out for you. You may have a bit of bruising from the biopsy for a few days. I will see you in a week’s time for the biopsy results. The nurse will make that appointment for you. Please try not to worry too much and I caution against getting on the Internet and reading too much about breast cancer at this stage. It will only make you more worried.” Cobblers – it is the first thing I will do. I come from the school of thought that say the less you know the more you fear – the more you understand the less you fear and the better you can deal with it.

All in all my top and bra have been on and off four times in this visit.

Twenty minutes later I’m walking back to my car. In my bag I have an appointment with the doctor for the following Friday for the biopsy results – Friday 13th – great!
I also have an appointment at a nearby NHS hospital to see a breast surgeon on Monday 16th. As I get to the car I feel that horrible gut-wrenching stab of fear again. It is not that this can’t be happening to me, or even ‘why me?’ – it is the certainty that the biopsy will prove positive. The nurse’s parting words to me were. “Obviously we have to wait for the results but please be prepared. You might want to bring someone with you next Friday. The doctor is very good at diagnosis and she is pretty sure that this is a cancer.”

I sit in the car for a while before driving back home. I am actually working from home this day so spend the drive trying to get my head back around what I have to do for the rest of the day but I can’t do it. I keep replaying the conversation over and over in my head trying to see if I can put another meaning to the words.

Back home I call my partner and tell him what has happened. He is very quiet and shocked and he finds it hard to take in as well. I call the office and explain to my boss that I am bit shaken up and while I will be on line this afternoon I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer.
During the next 24 hours I discover I am allergic to steri-strips as I come out in blisters wherever one has touched my skin. And in terms of a small amount of bruising, I also have a left boob that could be used as the colour palate for the sky at Golgotha.