October 25, 2008
I’ve found a lump in my left breast. Its big – about 4cm in diameter, larger than a grape, so I can’t ignore it. But it can’t be anything too serious – I ran a half marathon a fortnight ago. At first, I dismissed it a cyst, but then I went to the doctor to have it checked anyway, just to be on the safe side. The doctor agreed it was probably nothing. After all, I’m 35, fit and healthy and breastfed both my children Izzie, three, and 18-month-old Lukas. I’m the last person on earth I would imagine to have cancer.
November 4, 2008
It’s been a week and the lump is still there and beginning to hurt, so I went back to the doctor. I was referred for a mammogram. I nipped to the hospital during my lunch break from my job in HR, confident I’d be straight in and out. But as I lay being examined, I heard the consultant say, ‘Yes, it’s cancer’. I blinked, shocked, convinced I’d misheard. It was only when I was led into a private room for the results that I knew it was serious. I phoned my husband, Markus, who works as a quality assurance manager, desperate for him to be with me. ‘They’re telling me I’ve got cancer,’ I whispered. He promised to come straight over. As I waited I dialled my boss Tracy’s number. ‘You’ll be fine,’ she told me. ‘You’ll beat this.’ Her calm voice stopped me from panicking. Instead of shaking, I was hit by a wave of positivity. I won’t let cancer win, I decided. I have two young children and I need to be okay for them.
I’ve decided I don’t want Izzie and Lukas to know anything about my cancer. They’re too young to understand and I don’t want to frighten them, but it means I’ll have to bottle up my emotions and hide what’s happening. It’s going to be stressful.
Now, I’m on an emotional roller coaster riding waves of denial and positive highs. I’m not going to cry in front of Izzie, as I don’t want to upset her. Instead, whenever I feel the tears welling up, I run into a different room. It’s scary when I let myself go.
There are moments when I think I won’t be able to ever stop sobbing. But despite all this, I know that my life after cancer will taste a lot sweeter. The highs will be higher after these lows and I will enjoy things more. I will not live my life in fear of cancer when it has gone. I am going to enjoy every single moment. Maybe I needed this to happen to me. Maybe I was taking too many things in my life for granted. The oncology nurse has suggested I start a diary as some people find it really therapeutic to write about their feelings. I keep a diary already, but now I’m going to keep a special one about the hardest battle of my life.
November 6, 2008
My boss Tracy bought me a beautiful hardback notebook with brightly coloured stripes. It has a matching pen and I’ve decided to carry it everywhere with me, jotting down feelings and thoughts. I’ve decided I’ll give it to Izzie when the time’s right. I want her to read it when she’s old enough – maybe 12 or 13 – and to know that what happened to me wasn’t as scary as she might think. If she ever has to face cancer – and I really hope she doesn’t – I want her to see that I fought it with a positive attitude, taking strength from the people around me.
November 18, 2008
I had a full mastectomy just ten days after I was diagnosed and in six weeks time I’ll begin my chemotherapy. Each time I have a session of chemo I’m going to send the children to stay with their grandma, my mother-in-law, Ruth. My cancer is beginning to affect Izzie, even though I’m trying to shield her from it. On the day of my operation, she took a pair of scissors and cut off her hair. The next day when she came to visit me she admitted she was scared the doctor wouldn’t let me come home. She cuddled me and told me she loved me.
The relief when she saw me after my surgery was evident on her face. She’s so little but she understood something serious was going on. She is the reason that I am writing this diary, so she can understand my situation and not be scared. Maybe other people might read this and it might help them too.
January 9, 2009
It’s my first chemo session and I’m glad the children are with my mother-in-law. I was wiped out from the medication and ill for ten hours afterwards. I’m not mummy when I’m like this. I can’t act. I’m raw and using every ounce of my strength to take on cancer and try to win. It’s hard for Markus to see me in such a state. He feels so helpless as all I want is to be left alone, scribbling into my notebook.
As I write, I’m beginning to view cancer as a positive thing. I’m realising that I’m not
defined by my career any longer. I’ve always focused on my job and didn’t really look at the other aspects of my life with the importance they deserved. I’m a mother, a wife, a daughter, a friend and a colleague. I’m many different things to so many different people, not just someone in HR. Realising this makes me feel stronger and believe in myself. The cancer and my diary are giving me the strength to
be the real me.
February 2, 2009
The treatment is hard and I have my down days. I’ve started wearing a hat as my hair is beginning to fall out in clumps. I’ve had a few tears feeling sad and sorry for myself. My blonde hair, which is cut in a sleek bob just above my shoulders, gives me so much confidence and that will be taken away from me for a while. I can’t risk using a hair dryer. Even when the wind blows, I think it will make more fall out. Lumps of hair come out in the shower and today when I looked at the top of my head there was a bald patch. I’ve had enough now. I’ll just have to wear a wig, I suppose. I’m really surprised that Izzie has hardly noticed. She’s just happy to have her mummy by her side. I’ve been hesitating to tell her about my hair falling out. She took the mastectomy well, so maybe I am underestimating her.
May 29, 2009
The last few chemotherapy sessions are definitely taking their toll. Trying to carry on as normal is proving hard. My energy levels are not what they were before and I’m struggling to get up in the morning. The nurse said I should talk to the doctor about stopping after six or seven treatments and not finish all eight.
Last night, I looked at Izzie lying in bed, waiting for her bedtime story, and imagined her in the years to come saying to me, “Mummy, why didn’t you do them all?” But I’ve decided to stop after seven sessions. Today’s my last one.
I’m more nervous this time and have mixed emotions of relief and happiness. I’m glad it’s almost over but hope I’ve done enough. My mother-in-law came to pick up the kids so I could go into hospital and Izzie mouthed ‘I love you Mummy’ from the back of her car. It was almost like she knew.
February 18, 2010
Today’s my reconstruction. After six weeks of radiotherapy I had it done because I just wanted to be normal and wear some of my old clothes.
I had the op at the same hospital where I had my mastectomy. Walking in was strange. Seeing the staff, even the smell of the hospital brought it all back. I wasn’t scared about the operation though. I wanted to feel whole again.
I woke up in absolute agony. It was the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my life, and yes I have had two children! But it’s the final piece in the puzzle. I’m back to being me again.
March 20, 2010
I’m not very balanced at the moment. One day I am feeling low and the next I am giddily high. I heard a Nickelback song on the radio with the words, ‘It is time like these you learn to live again’.
After cancer that is what you have to do. There’s a new set of rules to life, ones that you have not come across before. You know you have to seize the day and not take life for granted as you did before. You have a different set of standards and boundaries for yourself. Instead of worrying about it ever coming back, you have to let it go. There are certain things in my life that I have no control over, so there is no point worrying about them. I will just have to wait and see what happens.
Now
I’m still on Tamoxifen and have a mammogram every year. I can’t believe four years have gone since my initial diagnosis. When I read my diary it doesn’t seem real that I’ve had cancer. Izzie is seven now and has started reading really well.
I know the diary will help her when she starts to ask questions about what happened.
I’m so proud I managed to get through everything with positivity and strength. Since
I started writing my diary I can’t stop scribbling or typing away. I now have a blog and have also written three – as yet unpublished – novels. I hope that everyone, not just Izzie, will draw strength from my experiences and see that cancer is something to be fought and not to be afraid of.
Visit Tracey's websites: www.tracey-confessionsofamother.blogspot.com and
www.breakthrough.org.uk
