Tuesday 8th October.

I am thinking that I might need to change the name of this blog to ‘Boxing with the Breast Cancer Beast’ because it feels as though it keeps delivering a blow that knocks me off my feet, I get up again, fight back mentally and physically and then it delivers another blow and I’m floored again.

That’s what it did to us today.

It’s exactly two weeks since my operation and I’m recovering but still very sore. I feel as though I have something permanently embedded under the skin in my arm pits and my arms are sore to touch. I probably only have about 30% of the range of movement I had previously although I’m confident this will return in time and through diligently doing the physio exercises. (If you saw me doing them you’d probably laugh as they seem so simple yet my face is contorted with discomfort throughout.)

We had a 10am appointment with the surgeon today so that she could take me through the results from pathology of all the bits they’d removed during the operation. There were 5 of us in the room, Dave, myself, the surgeon, the breast care nurses and a student nurse. The surgeon took me slowly and carefully through each breast and the findings. Good news on the right side, the tumour was exactly the size (15mm) and grade (2) they thought it was. She got clear margins around the tumour indicating she got it all out. She took out 19 lymph nodes and only 1 was positive for cancer. This is good news as it means it is less likely to have spread beyond the lymph nodes.

The left breast was a similar good news story, the tumour was the size (10mm) and grade (1) they thought it was and again she achieved clear margins. She removed 20 lymph nodes on the left and again only 1 was cancerous. So far so good (in cancer terms anyway).

Then came the blow.

‘There was one thing we weren’t expecting’ she said to me ‘The cyst we removed actually wasn’t a cyst but a third cancerous tumour’.

WTAF?

As Dave said I’ve managed to achieve a hat trick – 3 cancers in 2 breasts – what are the bloody chances? At least you can’t say I do things by halves.

Nobody thought the cyst was a tumour so when the surgeon removed it she was not thinking about getting clear margins which means I need further surgery to ensure that all of the cancerous cells have been removed. As the cyst was on the edge of my nipple she will need to remove half of the nipple in order to get clear margins. What’s the point of half a bloody nipple? Now that will look odd so basically we agreed it would need to go, at least I’ll be symmetrical now.

The second (but expected) blow of the morning is that I’ll need to have chemotherapy and as I am young it is likely they will give me between 6-8 sessions that will take around 6 months. Dave did make us laugh later on when we were with the breast nurses discussing the chemo and the time frames and realising that it is likely to start before Christmas. ‘Chemo is not just for Christmas’ he piped up, we both fell about laughing and the breast nurses said ‘I really want to laugh but it feels inappropriate’. ‘Laugh’ I said, sometimes it’s all you’ve got.

The third blow was linked to the gene testing they have talked about before. Due to my age, background, current health and the fact that I have 3 cancers present they suggest that I get tested for the BRCA gene. This testing will probably happen as I am going through the chemo. If the result shows that I do carry the gene it is likely they will recommend a double mastectomy and a bilateral oophorectomy (removal of both ovaries). Hideous as this sounds Dave and I could not stop laughing at the term ‘oophorectomy’. I think by this stage it was all so surreal we were like two kids laughing at something totally inappropriate. This surgery would involve more bloody drains which are my nemesis (although by that time they will probably be a walk in the park).

Lastly, at the end of all this palava they will give me drugs to send me into the menopause (my cancer is hormone receptive meaning hormones can make it spread) just to add insult to injury. ‘Will the symptoms be similar to a natural menopause or worse?’ I asked. ‘Probably worse’ she replied, of course she did today was clearly not going to be a day for good news.

The breast nurses are wonderful and spend as much time as you need going back over anything you may have questions on. To be honest I think we had so much information given to us that we didn’t know what we didn’t know, or what we wanted to ask.

I left the unit with another raft of information on chemotherapy, radiotherapy, gene testing, pathology and a whole pack on hair loss along with a prescription for a wig! Hard to believe that my life was totally normal only 3 weeks ago.

Talking about this later in the day with a friend, there is one thing I’ve realised from today that is making me really sad. It isn’t the loss of my nipples, my hair or even my boobs or ovaries, I can deal with all of that. What I am really struggling to come to terms with is that aged 48 the healthiest years of my life are behind me.

I will recover from cancer.

I will live life to the full again.

But I also know deep down that my health will be changed irrecoverably.