As one door closes – another one opens
Part 1 – Part 2 – Part 3 – Part 4
Having finished radiotherapy, I moved on to the final part of my treatment, which was to last a few years,
As I explained earlier, my cancer was estrogen based and part of the treatment meant doctors needed to stop my body from producing estrogen. That meant only one thing, your body will only produce less estrogen is when you are going through the menopause – so that was the next bombshell. After everything that had happened over the last few months, I was now going to be menopausal.
I suppose it wasn’t much of a surprise – I was 49, so that was bound to have come sooner rather than later, however I just wasn’t ready for that on top of everything else.
I had my final appointment with the doctor, and left with my medication in hand, and this was it – I was done.
It was the craziest of feeling walking out that door, because all of a sudden, I was all on my own.
On my own, but not feeling safe
I wasn’t ready to walk away, of course I was glad my surgery and Radiotherapy was over, but I wasn’t quite ready to be on my own, and after months of navigating a set pathway, I didn’t know what I was supposed to do next.
Get on with life I suppose, but I felt lost and alone, at least when I was under the doctor, I felt protected, now I just felt empty. I was expecting to find a sense of elation, happiness and joy after completing treatment, but I didn’t feel any of those. In fact I felt extremely depressed, and to this day I am not convinced even I knew why.
Over the next few months I really struggled, it was like being thrown into the deep end of a pool, and told to swim, but the ocean was so big, which way did I swim, how long would I need to swim for, and when would I finally reach the shore? These were answers nobody could give me.
It was now that I started wondering, should I have read some of the books, I’d had at my first appointment. Should I have seen a counsellor?
I didn’t want to do any of this during my treatment.
Like I said before the easiest way to deal with it was to pretend it wasn’t happening – but I couldn’t do that anymore, because it did happen, and I had to admit to myself it had happened, and find a way to move on. I knew I was out of the other side now – but that meant I also had to admit to myself that I had fought BREAST CANCER. Would this now be my label – would this disease be what would now define me, would I always be remembered as someone that has had cancer?
Then my mind played tricks on me too. I bombarded myself with other questions, what if it came back, when would it come back, and the what would happen if it came back, My mind was in absolute turmoil, were these questions I could have asked, questions I didn’t want to ask at the time? Either way, it felt too late now – because now I was all alone.
Slowly my life has adjusted and I’ve learned to move on in my own way, but like anyone, it’s not a linear process.
The yearly check ups
It has been 6 years now since I was first diagnosed, and nothing gets easier, For the first 5 years I had to have yearly mammograms, and prior to those mammograms life just stopped. I couldn’t plan anything, no holidays no days out, nothing I would spend at least 6 months of the year worrying about what they would find at the next one. I had my surgery in May, so you could guarantee that by the time February came around the fear would grow, the build up to the letter through the post, it was like life each year didn’t exist past May.
And as the appointments would come around the fear would take over, and I would be back to where i was at the very beginning. I do remember a time I think it was around the 2nd mammogram post operation, waiting at home for my results, but this day I wasn’t at home I was in work, I remember phoning my daughter to see if the results had come through the post that day, No she said.
The wait was horrendous it was never ending and then, my phone rung, I was allowed to answer it, it was the hospital, my results were inconclusive. I needed to go the next day for another scan.
My initial thought was ‘its back they hadn’t got it all’. I started crying, I couldn’t stay in work I had to go home, The first thing I did was phone my breast nurse, I wanted to know if she had heard anything, she hadn’t – she tried to tell me not to worry, but that was impossible, I asked her what would happen if the cancer had come back in the same place. She told me this time they would have to take the breast off, they wouldn’t risk it coming back again.
This time we didn’t say anything to the kids, or anyone else for that matter, there was no point in worrying anyone until we knew what it was. We went into Port Talbot hospital the next morning, and sat waiting until I had my scan. After having the scan I was then told I needed to go back for a mammogram, and of course by this point I was really starting to think it had come back, why else would I be having all these tests again? Again, I went back into the waiting room, and sat with Richard until I was called to see the consultant.
In fairness to the consultant her first words were, ‘there is nothing to worry about’. I looked at Richard, he looked at me, and the relief just hit us both. I asked the doctor if she had found anything, she told me no, they had initially had concerns that they had seem a density, in normal people a density can mean nothing at all, but with someone that has had breast cancer this could mean the cancer is hiding underneath that density, so they had to make sure.
I came to realise very early on that this was never going to end, the worry, the fear of a return, this was going to be with me forever. Any new pain, any bit of discomfort, was always going to set alarm bells ringing and it was never going to get any easier. It’s still on my mind sometimes.
Five years on – the end of my treatment
August of 2022 was my last yearly mammogram, and the end of my tamoxifen, so that really was the end of my treatment but another experience that was surprisingly hard to deal with.
Taking the Tamoxifen had given some reassurance and made me feel safe, the risk of the cancer coming back was less whilst taking these tablets. I asked the doctor why they ended after 5 years, and she told me that those tablets only worked for 5 years, so even if I had taken them longer it wouldn’t have made any difference.
So, all treatment over, my family warily threw me a party, I initially didn’t want to celebrate. I thought if I celebrated the end of five years of fear, I was willing it to come back – my friend pointed out I’m no longer a cancer sufferer, I am a cancer survivor and could celebrate that – and if the cancer came back, it certainly wouldn’t be because I threw a party to celebrate the end of my treatment.
However, I can’t say I am not affected. For me. the future feels very unknown, I look at things in life totally differently to how I did 5 years ago, I try to take one day at a time, and enjoy being with my family and friends.
We all walk the path
I’m sharing my journey, but the sad thing is that while we each walk this path alone, sadly, it’s a well trodden path.
Cancer will effect most people in a life time, whether that’s personally, a relative or a friend. Approximately 39.5% of men and women will be diagnosed with cancer at some point during their lifetimes, so I am one of the 39% and so far, one of the lucky ones to come through the other side – although I am still not quite ready to trust that and relax.
It’s hard for everyone, but from my experience, if you have a friend or family member who suffers with this disease, it’s easier for the patient if you need to let that person dictate what he or she does, and just be there when they need you, not the other way around. They are already struggling with their own journey and their own emotions, just as loved ones will also struggle with their journey – and while it’s an allied journey, the paths you walk are different.
My hope is that this story has helped one person – or even given one person the ability to see things differently for the sake of a family member. If I have done that, then this was worth writing.
I wont lie – writing about my breast cancer experience has been the most challenging thing I have ever done, and there is no doubt it has brought back memories I wanted to bury forever. thank you to those that have spent the time reading my story, and I hope you all keep good health and well being.
….and of course, a huge thank you to my family for loving me and supporting me throughout my journey.
Jane x
