I'm Back and Ready to Zap!

When I arrived at the hospital I was in search of laughter. Changing into my sexy hospital stockings I walked up and down doing a modelling type pose saying to myself this is the latest creation by The big E hospital. To me to beat this bastard I needed to laugh, not dwell, but none of the other patients were in a laughing mood. Finally my oncologist turns up to talk about what she wanted to do and to reassure me all would be fine..

My first stop off point was the ultra sound room to have one wire guided excisions fitted in each breast. I had a wire excision done in 2010 for my last lumpectomy on my right breast, so I was well prepared. To me having small breasts is a blessing when it comes to having these wires being fitted. Then the radiologist had to find the little 3mm area of cancer that was hidden 2cm into my armpit. This small lesion was between my LD recon and the top of my pectoral muscle. It was explained in detail by my oncologist who wanted to see it for herself. She so wanted to surgically remove it but to do so she could destroy blood vessels and nerves supplying the reconstructed breast.

The only choice we had was to wait and see if the chemotherapy would destroy it. If not then the recon would have to be taken apart which my oncologist is so desperate to avoid. In her eye she thinks it is a lymph node and the chemo will flush it out any rebel cancer cells.

Once all had been dissected and discussed between the radiologist and oncologist whilst I lay listening on quietly. I could honestly say this ride I was on will not be easy.

It was not long before I found myself laying on yet another theatre bed whilst people tried to find veins and rig me up the heart monitors etc. I have plenty fat juicy veins that never stay still, but the anaesthetist had come up against another dilemma both left and right breast were being operated on, so he wanted to fit a cannular into my foot. I instantly said but that’s near the bone and it will hurt, so expect some cussing. The anaesthetist tried to reassure me it would be fine, but I am not daft. Rat feet and needles minus pain does not happen. They decided after one attempt with me wincing and gritting my teeth with pain. The anaesthetist would fit that particular cannular once I had been put to sleep. It took two attempts to fit a cannular in the back of my hand, but I soon was in the land of nod...

It took me quite some time to wake from the anaesthetic, but all went well considering. Once wheeled up onto the ward and do the usual eat and drink pass urine etc. I was released to go home at 6.30pm with a bag of pain killers and follow up appointment. With a goodnights sleep I am ready to go.... 

Waking up to my young daughter blast out Cheryl Cole and singing ‘We are, who we are, we are’ and knowing that she has a memory of meeting her in person makes me smile. To me that is the best bit of therapy I could of created. Every time I see a movie I can say well yep she met that person and we can talk about it, not the cancer. Yes I may lose my hair and I will feel I’m going to the pits of hell and back, but I also know it will not just be me affected by the visual side of having cancer.

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W.E. Premiere and a Needle Aspiration OUCHHHH!

Yesterday I went to the premiere of W.E. and lucky to be given a ticket to go inside. To be perfectly honest I thought the movie was very, very, good. The hype that she was heckled by fans was utter crap. She was heckled by the dealers of autographs, and she was advised by security to keep a distant because of a possible crush on fans. The dealers were doing a run to try gain Madonna’s autograph. A run is when they dash the line at the back of people pushing forward to gain as many autographs as possible, but Madonna decided not to sign and they responded by heckling. The bit the media don’t tell you is the value of that particular signature which can be £300 plus. Not only that but you had the ‘Tin, Tin’ premiere on the same day. The autograph dealers were split between gaining Spielberg or Madonna. Spielberg did not turn up at his premiere so the spillage of dealers zoomed in on Madonna. I saw arguments and fans being driven away because they felt threatened by the dealers. I decided to not bring Sophia to this premiere because I knew it was going to turn nasty. It also gave me time just to relax before the hospital appointment the following day.

Q & A with Madonna W.E. Premiere 2011

My appointment at the hospital went really well and I’m just waiting on the results. I managed to grit my teeth through the mammogram and swear at a needle aspiration. My friendly lump was a cyst, but the little beggar is no more. They told me not to get excited and wait on the medical panel, but they feel the problem has been resolved.

So what next, well I have a modelling assignment for Friday for Breast Cancer Research and a demo for a TV show. Plus tomorrow I have a Premiere ‘Anonymous’ to attend with Sophia. I had to turn down a plane passenger advert down yesterday which miffed me off because cash is cash. Plus I have an art project for me and Sophia to attend on Saturday. So my week is full and hopefully next week will be just as busy.

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A Valid Point That Should Not Be Ignored!

7^th September 2009

Now I am really angry, why I hear you say?

Well I went to the hospital at 9.30am and I waited one hour before I was seen. Now I am not angry at that, but what happened later.

First warning sign, it had taken them thirty minutes to prep the room. Now that’s ok means they are being thorough. Then I enter the room they prep me up with a gown and I’m told to sit in a comfy chair that can be altered.

They place pillows at the back of me so I am jammed against the mammogram machine. Then the nurse alters the height of the machine and plate so my left breast can sit on it. She takes another plastic plate that slides on the top bit. Only to be confused into how it is attached. So I say hold on and I show her how it slides into place. Once this is done she positions my breast onto the lower plate and compresses my breast ready.

“Ok! What’s wrong?” she says and moves a plastic switch while my breast is still compressed in the plates and nothing happens. She presses a letter P on top no response. Then she turns to the other nurse in the room searching for answers.

“What do you think?” She asks the other nurse in the room.

They start to fiddle with the machine to see if they can get it working. Mean time I’m still sat in an uncomfortable position with my breast squashed. I look at them trying to wish they could read my thoughts somehow or the expression on my face.

“Look let me leave the room” I say calmly “I don’t mind.”

“Oh no you don’t need to do that” one of the nurses replies, “It is probably something simple.” And they continue to fiddle with the machines buttons.

How can two nurses not know how to work a machine that they are supposed to be trained to use? Five minutes later they have not got it working and finally they release my breast from the plates to my relief.

“Let me leave the room” I request again. “Leave the both of you to fix the machine just call me when you are ready.”

I tie the surgical gown they gave me and wait on their reply.

They both finally agree that I should wait outside. I take a seat after all machines do play up it is not their fault. Five minutes later I am called back into the room to compress my left breast into the mammogram machine again. They take an x-ray and then take another. The radiologist is called in, which did my ultra sound biopsy two weeks ago. She checked the picture on the computer gave the thumbs up. Then she changed the type of picture taken so it is shows more detail by magnifying the area needed for the core biopsy needle.

Second warning sign they have a problem with the machine, again no-one can work it. They are playing guessing games including the radiologist on how to get the readings up to do the core biopsy needle position. Now I have a warped sense of humour and I am sarcastic when I am angry. Some people say I am bullish with my approach, but I don’t think the nurses noticed or the radiologist.

“Maybe I should try! It might have male components and needs putting in its place.” I sarcastically slip in. My breast is beginning to ache from the attention it is not receiving.

In the end there were three people in the room and the radiologist trying to work out how to work the machine.

They finally work it out after touching the computer screen several times.

Now I am an easy going patient, but this I find rather worrying. I could feel my stomach doing somersaults with the nerves.

The biopsy is done under local anaesthetic like the ultra sound, but the anaesthetic did not work straight away. The radiologist did the touch test and it felt numb, but when it came to making the incision for the core biopsy needle it stung.

Now I know my breast is still hyper sensitive from the last time and I’m due on my menstrual cycle so my breast is swollen. So I make excuses up for them so things remain calm and the radiologist quickly tops the injection up.

Besides they are feeling unprofessional the fact no-one could work the machine properly in front of me. But then I start to feel sick, which isn’t a good sign especially because I have a core biopsy needle in my breast. I’m thinking do not pass out and fit for gods’ sake. But I was feeling rather warm and sticky which is not a good sign.

Once I had vomited I felt much better, but the mess I made was not so good. Thankfully the nurse was fast to find a sick bowel. I did not fancy the bus ride home smelling of sick.

“Must have been the banana I had for breakfast.” I told the nurses to break the tension.

The room had filled with the odour of bananas. I could not believe the amount of blood that had come from such a small wound.

“Well at least I bleed well.” I said to the radiologist.

Third and final warning sign, one of the nurses replies was, “This is the first mammogram biopsy I’ve done in six months we don’t always do them.” Warning bells went up I felt angry as hell. My humour had kept me calm and now I hear something I wish I had not heard.

What am I a guinea pig? I do not mind students being present or nurses learning, but warn me first pleases!

My breast is just as important as anyone else’s.

I have just had a procedure done with staffs that have little knowledge of equipment and experience. I laugh at the governments’ way of making cut backs to the NHS.

I turned to the radiologist, “What next because I do not have another appointment?”

“Go to the breast clinic and request a follow up appointment.”

I gather my things together and head to the breast clinic feeling really upset and let down over the day’s events.

The breast clinic was closed and they send me to the patients’ services appointment desk downstairs. They said there is nothing until the 23^rdOctober 2009. So I go back upstairs and tell the breast clinic that I’ve just had a biopsy and I need an appointment sooner. The breast clinic receptionist does not have authority to make appointments and gives me a direct number to my oncologist consultants’ secretary because I should have an appointment within two weeks of procedure.

So I go home and ring the number only to be transferred to the same patient services receptionist desk down stairs in the hospital. I put the receiver down and think that’s it. Tears flood down my face with the frustration and the pain I am in. I ring Steve up to tell him what has happened and he agreed it was very unsatisfactory. I ring Sandra my friend up north, she tries to console me even makes the odd joke to break the stress of the situation.

“Can’t you get your hospital changed?” She asks.

8^th September 2009

It is 6am in the morning I have had less than four hours sleep because of the discomfort I’m feeling and thinking over yesterday’s events. How have we got to a situation where we are willing to except a second rate standard of care? I know I am not willing to except it, but there are those that are not equipped with the knowledge of what standard of care they should be receiving. Yes, we have to make room for human error, but this is my life and my breasts they are tampering with.

While I was sat in the corridor outside of the mammogram area a Portuguese old man with bowed legs and a walking stick struggled to walk by me. As he passed me the gown he was wearing was wide open and there was no nurse or member of staff to save this man’s dignity. Why not offer the man a wheel chair or a second gown? He was going in the X-ray room. Why allow him to struggle? Maybe it was by choice he chose to walk, but not the loss of dignity surely.

Why allow the public to see his frail bare legs? He had only his shirt barely covering his underwear from view.

Is this the standard of care we except?

We look at the expenses scandal of MP’s and complain, but that is not new it has been going on for years.

Would the public gain anything if we retrieve that money lost through greed? Would the NHS gain anything from that missing money or would it be swallowed into another greedy pocket just waiting for his or her opportunity.

Are we willing to complain and except that public money is being used incorrectly? Yes because it is now 2009 and it has always been in the media domain.

It is not the nurses’ fault that they do not have adequate time to train on vital equipment. When resources are over stretched and underfunded.

I have personally come to the conclusion I personally do not want to be treated at this hospital. Not that the staff are rubbish at their job, but because they do not have the experience to treat me. I have heard from local people that they would not like to be treated at this hospital either. So it is doing nothing for my confidence when staffs make silly errors.

Would the Prime Minister accept this standard of care for his wife? Would the staff be stupid enough to make any medical errors in front of the Prime Minister?

Hell no! There would be a major inquiry to why the incident took place.

His wages which comes from our pockets plus the perks with the title ensures she will get adequate care in a hospital of their choice. It certainly would not be a lower ranking hospital with stories of failures hanging round its head.

So why should I?

After speaking to another friend she advised me to drop in at the Big C hospital in London. The nursing staff there could not do enough to calm me down. The happy go lucky breast cancer nurse I spoke to was really nice and listened to what I had to say. Smiling at Sophia every now and then especially when she requested loudly she wanted the toilet.

She said “Don’t worry we shall get you sorted it is obvious your confidence had been given a knock.” The nurse explained that sometimes these things happen and it is not nice when it does. That the consultant I have is a very good consultant and try not to worry.

I am actually scared now because I am uncertain of my treatment and the outcome.

But in general I am a positive person and for my confidence to be knocked takes a heck of a lot. At least I have the sense to ask and request. Some would just soldier on hoping the nightmare finishes soon.

On the way home I got a phone call from the breast care nurse from the bad hospital. I was right. It is DCIS and she requests I go to there tomorrow to see the oncologist consultant.

I did not know whether to laugh or cry. I felt proud I got the prognoses right, but now I had the treatment to face. All I knew for certain was I was not happy about being treated there. I don’t mind my consultant it is the rest of the hospital that worries me. I ring my husband up holding back the tears as I speak so Sophia cannot see. I was on the central line tube and a person next to me could hear my every word. When I had got off the phone she asks, “You alright love?”

I smile and nod my head whilst looking out the window opposite me searching for answers searching for a place to hide my tears.

This journey I am about to undertake I so wish would dissolve away. My life has had its good points, but I am tired of the knock backs. For once I feel I am in a comfortable spot and all I need is support. Then the word CANCER rears its ugly head to turn my life upside down again. Sometimes you want to become an ostrich and bury your head deep in the sand. The truth is far from what you would really want to accept. Ostriches don’t bury their heads in the sand and neither can I.

One minute you are watching television programs on breast cancer which does not mention DCIS. The next you are actually facing the dreaded diseases yourself. But it is not just the diseases it is your treatment that puts added pressure. The fear of chemotherapy and a mastectomy puts the fear of god into me. What is my life going to be like now? How will I cope? What is the end result?

My father had chemotherapy as part of his treatment. I never saw its affects on him, but Kayleigh has mentioned little details. I could not go up and see him. Something inside had already told me all them months ago I had issues. People did argue I should be at my fathers’ bedside, but understood the reasons why I could not. I know he had attempted to come see me before he passed. The fact my sisters stood in his way frustrated the situation. I could have arranged to meet up on our own, but he would not have been alone. He could never go anywhere without one of them. There was little room for privacy in his life, but he had chosen that life. That’s why I chose to move to London and start a new life. I wanted my privacy back with a fresh start. This meant for that to happen I had to turn my back on my old life.

Dad never knew I had breast cancer he passed away on the 16^th July 2009 just short of my thirty ninth birthday.

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The Waiting Game Starts

26^th August 2009

I wake-up with a sharp pain throbbing throw my left breast I look at it in a mirror thinking ok it is real it is not a dream, I’m in trouble. I and Steve have not spoken on my return home just a few phone calls briefly explaining why I was so long at the hospital. So I feel a little lonely, shut out even. Ok he cuddled me and he could see I was uncomfortable, but his solution is in a bottle of pain killers. After all what could he do only the professionals can sort this out?

Once Steve had left for work I decide the internet is my best option. So I type in ‘Calcification of breast tissue’ in the internet search bar and the Macmillan site came up. I look threw the information Macmillan have and start to see similarities to what I have. Ductual carcauma in situ or DCIS and Paget’s for my nipple.

The calcification is the first signs of the onset of DCIS. This is a pre-cancerous condition where cells start growing inside the duct tissue and normally remain within the ducts. It is not always recognised as a true breast cancer.

Paget’s is when the nipple develops lesions on the tip that weep. On first glance it looks like eczema. It is normally seen has a warning sign or an indication of something more sinister developing within the breast. It is a rare type of cancer that is sometimes overlooked and treated as an irritable nipple.

I treated my nipple for five months as an irritable nipple I say to myself. My left nipple is slightly inverted too, but the nipple has been like this since I stopped breast feeding. So I would not note this as a change in my breast.

The treatment for DCIS is a partial or full mastectomy depending on the amount of ductual tissue involved with chemotherapy or radiotherapy depending on the grade with possible hormonal therapy to follow after surgical treatment. Once they find out if your cancer has receptors for certain hormones.
I kit myself out with the information they provide and sign myself up into the Macmillan forums. The forum is really friendly and supportive. Yet the old argument is you do not know who these people are.
This is the internet not one on one with professionals in a room. Discussing personal information within a forum could cause more damage than good, but I am not giving out my personal detail just my diagnoses and treatment so far?
Some of these people are terminal with various types of cancer. They are looking for any bit of information that can aid treatment. It could be seen as desperation and easy pickings for those who want to mislead. You hear time and time again how certain individuals will sell any bit of hope. I can honestly see how easy that can be done when your back is against a wall. You could be sucked in easily when all hope of cure is gone, but I have not been diagnosed yet.
As I look through the forums and read blogs that others have written. The realisation of what I might have and the treatment bring tears to my eyes. Breast cancer has no cure just experimental possibilities. There is an advert wanting people to trail new experimental drugs depending on your cancer. I decide it is too much to absorb and leave the site until I know what I really have.

28^th August 2009

The waiting game is starting to miff me off to say the least. Why can’t they just phone you? Or something!

To know there is something wrong is one thing, but to know you could be at the end of a surgical knife is frightening.
I want to know is it DCIS or is it just me going crazy over nothing. There are three grades of DCIS. Low, intimidate and high grade DCIS. The grading is given by how the cells look and if they will turn into invasive cancer. High grade means you carry the greatest risk of it returning. I am just hoping my results show low grade or nothing.
Yes too much information and no answers can lead to sleepless nights, but come on. I’ve decided to check the site out again after all whom else can I talk too. There is a chat room that runs on the site. They seem a nice bunch of people and very supportive. They ask if I’m a newbie and welcome me. I give them details of what is wrong and women replies in a private message. If you want any help just ask I’m here most nights. I went through a similar experience to yours and it can be lonely.
I don’t know this women from Adam she is just text on a screen, but hey, better than nothing and it is a distraction.

It is sad reading a lot of the blogs and your heart goes out to these people. Some relatives question how they should act. They feel more like a nuisance rather than help and nothing they say can console the person with this diseases. I am not looking for someone to console me personally. I just want to know why me?

My life style is a healthy one. I have never smoked and barely touch spirits because of the diabetes. The fact I like to walk everywhere and love my fruit, meat, fish and vegetables. Says really I should be as fit as a fiddle not even a diabetic, but realistically that advice is a bunch of rubbish. How can you advice your children this is how you should live when I am prime proof that’s wrong. Some would even say I am a classical example of why you should do as you please.

It is amazing how the internet has opened up a community that was not possible twenty years ago. The only way you could meet others was by travelling to a hospital, or talking face to face with a bunch of people at a community centre or GP’s surgery. This way you can remain anonymous to others and speak your mind.
One person said in the forum you can say things you cannot say to family and friends. The people here emphasize this with each story that is told, but at the same time give you the support and information needed to get through the bad times.
When speaking to consultants in a hospital you feel rushed to talk when really you need more time to absorb the whole situation.
The forums allow you to talk in your own time to nurses and they reply quickly. Not only that you can build friendships with others. Which some find a blessing because of their treatment is keeping them house bound. The internet gives them contact to others in a similar situation.
The forums give an avenue that is greatly appreciated amongst a community that feels isolated by fear of offence or worry pushed on family members.
Personally I can connect to what they are saying because I cannot talk to my husband about it. My eldest daughter well she has her university to think about. My mum is not well and does not need more worry. My friends are there, but where do you start without a thousand questions being asked. Without feeling stupid and considered a hypochondriac.
This online community has gone through it and the treatment. They understand the highs and lows you will face. Although it would seem sad to some people it is an outlet and it is needed especially through such a personal stressful period.

I watch on as the live chat scrolls up the screen. They discuss their treatment in detail and its side effects. Then the room goes quiet as a post is put up to inform people that one of its regular residents has passed away. I do not know this person, but tears trickle down my face as I realise the full impact of this diseases CANCER.

30^th August 2009

I had a phone call today asking if I could watch some children of a friend. I and Steve had told only a few people about my situation. So I bit my lip and said I can’t.

“It’s ok I understand.” She replies “You must be busy”
“No you don’t!” I reply annoyed that I feel I have to explain myself. “It’s not what you think.”
“Why what’s wrong?” she asks softening her tone of voice.
I hesitated for a moment and then blurted it out.
“I’m going through a breast cancer scare and I recently had a biopsy so I’m still sore.” I say.
“Oh I’m sorry to hear that.” She starts to ask questions which I cannot answer.
“Look I’m here for you keep me informed.”
The phone call ended. I guess she was in shock and did not really know what to say. Or I was not very forth coming on the phone.
Informed nice word I think like I’m gossip of the week. This is what I and Steve were trying to avoid. Yes I am stressed; yes I am pissed off, but informed. I’m not informed so how can I inform anyone.
People have a way of saying the wrong words at the wrong time even if it was meant in none malicious way. You personally feel every word is not from concern, but curiosity to generate gossip.
So is this how it is?
Do I have to pick up a phone and inform?
Now I know I could have just ended the conversation before it started, but you feel as if you must explain yourself.
Steve gets annoyed with me when I do this. To him it is no-one’s business but ours. We may be born on the same day, same year and it says we are totally compatible because we are both Leo’s, but we are total opposites of each other in every way.

I feel like the Metro paper being passed around the tube. I am there for one purpose to create gossip. It is finally out there amongst a community of people who do not care. Yet my journey has not even started yet, not that they are interested.

Like I said people thrive on sad stories it takes their minds off their own problems. I can understand why people become reclusive and withdrawn because of cancer. You don’t want peoples’ eyes dipping with that I’m so sorry look. Or let’s just cross the road she won’t notice then we don’t have to talk.

My husband avoids subjects that he finds are upsetting because it is negative not positive. The truth is I will be battling this disease on my own. Even if my friends say they are there for me.
I cuddle up to Steve searching for reassurance and we end up making love. As he caresses me I feel empty and sad. I want it to be like it was when I was living up north. Our relationship has faced a few glitches of late. The lack of privacy and intimacy a young relationship thrives on had been interrupted. Now I have cancer to think about and the psychological effects not just on me, but him too.

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The Beginning Of My Journey

25^th August 2009

I arrive at the hospital on my own just for a simple mammogram. The breast clinic is on the first floor only to be told I need to go to the x-ray department. Why they don’t say in the letter on arrival go straight to x-ray department I do not know! I navigate my way through the long corridors following the signs.

The smell of hospitals is not a new experience and you never adjust to that nervous feeling you get. It remains strong as ever each time you enter those automatic doors that greet you on arrival.

I wait in line to sign in so they know I have arrived only to take note of the word URGENT written in bold on my paperwork. It’s not on a list like everyone else, oh no it’s separate. My eyes say it all, Oh pooh! I’m in trouble yet again. Ok, so I have to remain calm so joke mode comes out.

(When I am nervous or in trouble I make fun of the situation.)

“So does that mean I’m first on the list?” I ask the nurse pointing to the urgent written on the paperwork and smiling. The receptionist frowned at me and requested I go sit on the long metal blue bench to the left near the corridor behind me. So I’m sat there all on my lonesome when another woman sits next to me. She pulls out a book from her bag and begins to read.

I’m thinking ok, she is not new to this. She had the sense to bring a book along. Then I change my mind because most Londoners carry books to eases the boredom of travelling on the tube or bus.

I am from up north originally, Scarborough to be precise. I always said I would never move to London, but the work I do opens more opportunities’ here.

I find London is a very intimidating place, but I put it down to the cultural clashes and manners or lack of. You barely hear the words thank you, and excuses me is none existent. No-one is leading by example it is just accepted amongst the various cultures that thrive here. I find people complain, but it is no good complaining if you don’t practice what you preach.

I was pre-warned before moving here that the NHS system and hospitals are over stretched and treatment is not as good as up north. It is a conveyer belt of paperwork and budgets that need to be met. Patient care is the least of their worries amongst the stressed out staff that run the various departments. So keep one step ahead and monitor closely so you get the right treatment.

Anyway the woman who was reading the book has her name called out and she vanish into a room across from me. Then two more women sit next to me. They were mum and daughter. I start a conversation with them and they look at me thinking this is one odd ball, but I’m a friendly northerner. It beats sitting there looking into an open space worrying about something that might not be there.

I tell them what brought me here and the daughter replies “Well it’s probably nothing.” The daughter turns to her mum with a confused look.

I smile and say “My life is not that easy, but we can live and hope.”

They look at me puzzled and I can understand why people find me odd, some replies you just don’t say out load. You are supposed to remain positive in times of stress or at least stay quiet. My hubbies’ mantra is exactly that. ‘No negativity only positivity can help you gain strength and move forward’.

Then the nurse calls my name and I enter a room opposite me. In the front of me are a mammogram machine and a grey chair for your clothes to be placed on. She requests my date of birth, full name and asks me some questions that are on a questionnaire.

One that I remember -:

Do you have a history of breast cancer in your family?

The answer is a positive No!

That question you do not forget easily at least not in a hurry. It sort of wakes you up to the reality why you are really there.

Then the nurse leaves me alone to remove my shirt and bra. Now I’m nervous as it is and my jaws had been going sixty to the dozen outside. But now my jaw was rattling sixty to the dozen because I was cold. I was not given a gown to keep my modesty intact or warm. I start to read the posters on the wall to distract me from how cold the room was, and the fact I was topless.

The nurse returned five minutes later apologizing for leaving me for so long and for leaving the air conditioning on. My reply to eases the nerves was, “I just thought the mammogram wanted my nipples to be erect not relaxed.”

The nurse smiled and said, “You must be nervous I do apologise again, but try to relax.”
I was going to explain to her that my humour is relaxing me, but I thought no she wants to see what she wants to see. A miserable nervous patient worried shitless about the outcome. Yes I am, but I know humour is one way of getting through a stressful situation.
Another nurse entered the room to help prepare the machine and set it up.
So I’m looking at my future a cold bold white machine. Thinking ok please be good to me or else I’ll disconnect your wires and make me a nice microwave out of your spare parts. The machine reminded me of Metal Mickey from the children’s program in 1980’s. You could actually see it doing a dance to the Metal Mickey theme tune. Don’t ask me why but I’m looking for a comparison and Metal Mickey could do X-rays.
The nurse that had entered the room last manoeuvres’ me closer to the machine so she can position it to my breast. The machine moves up and down so I can slap my poor breasts in or on. She gives the plates a quick wipe and dry and the fun begins.
I’m only a 34B so it’s a lean in, pull and squeeze. First the side clamp of my right breast leaning into the machine with my head turned to the left and my right arm holding a handle as this contraption slowly squeezes my breast into a pancake. With the nurse controlling it with foot pedals while manhandling my breast to stay put. My poor breast wants to slide out and do a Houdini.
My mum had explained to me how painful it can be. So I was preparing for the worst where pain was concerned. But I must admit the discomfort was not that bad it was bearable.
The nurse asks me to stay still while the x-ray is taken. She steps outside while the other nurse controls the machine from a small booth near the entrance of the door.
I had to hold my breath because every time I took a breath my breast was fighting the plates. The only way to explain this sensation is. Grasp your hands tightly so your palms act like plates onto your breast and pull. That’s what I had to contend with through the ordeal every time I took a breath.
Then they have to do the same again, but from the top of my chest down. The machine has a way of turning so the plates are up and below rather than on a side.
So to sum it up you have squeeze it in pancake, slap it on pancake. Odd way of describing the experience, but it is exact.
Again the nurse was good with the foot pedals and said, “Just say if it is too tight? But we need it to be tight as possible so the pictures are clear”. I look at the nurse thinking do you really like manhandling woman’s boobs?
Come off it we females ask that question every time we have an examination. The cervical smear is the best one. ‘They would recognise me by my bits rather than my face.” My friend would say, but she had given birth four times so what would she expect.

Part of me just wanted to ask a load of awkward questions to see what she would do, but I thought nah leave the poor women be. She probably wouldn’t be able to handle the broad sense of humour I have. She might have taken offence if I was too direct. After all I was in a serious situation and I was supposed to be concerned. Not only that but my breast was jammed in the plates and she and the other nurse were in control of the foot pedals. I would not want that foot pedal pressed for too long.

My husband would be less than impressed with the outcome.

The same procedure was repeated on my left breast, but I could see from the computer screen facing me the breast did not look right. The right breast picture was clear with a few lines here and there where veins were. The left looked like it had white bits showing and not so transparent.

The nurse turns to me and asks, “Are you sure you do not have a history of breast cancer in the family?”

I quickly reply, “No!”

Now when they ask once it is ok, it is routine. When they ask twice you begin to let your mind run away with you. My heart begins to race a little as I focus on the image. So I say to myself ok you daft cow you know too much so calm down!

I had visited too many hospitals to know when you’re in trouble. I could see by the urgency of the nurse who was examining the pictures this was going to be a long day. The nurse asks me to put my bra and shirt back on and to wait outside. The mum and daughter were still there and looked on with the same worry I had written on my face. They had seen the activity going back and forth from the room. So I took a rocky pose, “Hey it isn’t going to beat me!” I say shadow boxing. “Piece of cake” I say.

They give me a half hearted smile over my predicament while others looked on with curiosity at my behaviour. I calm down and rest my head against the wall looking to the ceiling analysing its shade. Then the nurse vanishes to the next room across the corridor from the mammogram room.

People are always drawn to someone worse off than they are. It helps to come to terms with their own predicaments in life. That’s why we have forums online we can compare stories and find comfort. My bruise is bigger than yours syndrome I call it. Poor comparison, but we all think our problems are more important than others. Until we actually meet a person or read about a person in more distress than ourselves. It makes people sort fiction from non-fiction. Maybe that is why I am writing this diary. So my two daughters can look back and say, “Ah so that is what happened.”

The mother and daughter were next ushered into the room. Returning within fifteen minutes with that just isn’t normal look as the mother rubs her chest. But I did say it was a piece of cake.
The daughter asked, “So what happened?”
I sit down next to her.
“I don’t know but the picture did not look clear on my left breast. They asked me to wait here until someone has examined the x-rays.”
“It will be ok”. She replied.
“Of course I’m in hospital best place really”. I smile not so convincingly to hide the nerves.
“You could see it like that”, said the daughter as she shrugged. She finally starts to relax in my company knowing I’m no head banger and my situation is serious.
“My mum is here because of a small lump found on a routine examination by her doctor. They say it probably is nothing to worry about, but she missed her mammogram and she’s sixty”.
Her mum looks away as we chat, but I can understand why she did not go for her mammograms. My mum had ducked an appointment because of the discomfort she experienced the first time round. Plus they hear horror stories from others who did not have a wonderful experience at their mammogram appointments. This convinces them they made the right decision. Why face discomfort for five minutes?

People will put their head in the sand rather than face the word CANCER.

We continue to chat about the whole experience. Holding out hope the results are clear and we can return to a normal uneventful life.

Then a woman in her 50’s comes along. I stood up so she could have my seat. I asked if she was ok and she explained what they had done to her. She was shivering with pain and no-one had put a cover on her back the ties that kept her gown together were loose. So I went over to the pile of gowns on a shelf and took one. The nurse followed me as I returned to the clearly distressed women. I thought please don’t say anything because being flippant is in my nature.
The nurse had watched poor women walk over to the seating and had not gone to her aid. Her excuse could have been she was busy, but the nurse was stood gossiping. I placed the gown on the metal back of the chair so the cold did not hit her back. She started to cry I reassured her as best I could, but hospitals are not always compassionate places to be in. You’re a list of names and numbers not even faces at times your easily forgotten. At least that’s my experience of hospitals both north and now south.

The only time they can remember you are when you spend a lot of time in one department. Then they know you by your first name and you get offered a drink sometimes. Even your partner if he holds doors open often enough and gives small chat to the nurses so they remember his face.

I decide to ring my husband and tell him what is happening so far. He said, “Don’t worry they are probably trying to be thorough.” Thorough my arse I say to myself, they have found something.

If Steve knocks his toes he questions do you think I have broken it? He gets a bit of cramp in his leg it is a major disaster. The fact that I could actually be really ill is out of the question. It would ruin his plans for the week or even future. I know he is trying to reassure me, but it seems empty in some way.

Ten minutes goes by and I’m called back into the room they say they want to magnify my right breast. So I’m thinking well maybe I read that mammogram wrong. But this time there are three nurses, not two checking the screen. So more squeezing and pulling and leaning.

“We have seen an area on your right breast and we want a clearer image.” said the nurse. Then she asked, “Are you sure there is no breast cancer in your family?”

So this is the third time I am asked and the humour is dissolving. Right now if my darling husband was in this room I would thump him.

She shows me on the screen a tiny speck. Part of me wants to shout, but what about the left one? That was no small lump, but most my breast effected. I take hold of myself and think, Ok I can do this.

I take my shirt and bra off so they can take more X-ray pictures. They alter the plates on the machine so it magnifies the area. The X-rays instantly flash up on the screen and they closely examine them chatting amongst themselves. At times like this you become invisible and you’re searching for the slightest bit of info.

Again they released me from the plates and I was asked to dress. After waiting outside for further five more minutes I was told to return to the breast clinic.

I say goodbye to the mother and daughter still waiting outside they wished me luck. Part of me feels I need more than luck to get out of this mess, but I nod and smile.

I walked into the clinic and the receptionists said, “Are you Mrs Mendoza?”
I nodded with confusion I had not met this women before, but she knew my name.

Had my X-rays been the gossip of the clinic?

Another ten minutes of nurses whispering and looking in my direction hearing my name mentioned quietly. I was called into the room of the oncologist consultant and now I am worried.

The consultant requests I take a seat while he starts taking notes and marks areas on a diagram. Then the consultant explains that he had seen something on both breasts there is a tiny lump on the right, but to him it was not an issue and could be investigated later. The other has what looks like calcification which needs further urgent examination done.
I look at the consultant but I am not listening, its switch off mode. Apparently this is a common thing to happen when you’re in shock. Your mind runs wild with thoughts of what ifs. The word calcification I could hear rattling around my skull whatever else he said did not mean a thing. I had never heard of calcification in breast tissue before.

Now they do advice you take a pad and pen to ask questions, but I expected nothing to come of this. It would turn out to be a serious case of mastitis and more anti-biotic. There was no lump surely if it was cancer there would be a lump. All the information I knew on breast cancer and what to look for was lumps and nipple distortion. After all he did not say cancer which is good, but calcification.

He asks me to go to the room next door so he can examine me more closely. Again I am asked, “Do you have breast cancer in the family?”

Again I shake my head and say, “No history”.

Now I want to ring my husband again because four times they have asked. So there must be something there to causes concern.

I remove my shirt and bra with the nurse placing them on a chair. I sit on the edge of the examination bed. The room goes quiet as he asks me to raise my arms placing my hands on the back of my head one at a time.

I apologised for my sweaty arm pits and the fact I had no deodorant on even though it was requested no deodorant in the appointment letter. He asks me to relax both my arms to the side of me and prods my chest further. Then he steps back making a mental note of the left nipple being scabbed over and sore. He squeezes it to see if any discharge is coming out. He asks me if it has been weeping I show him my make shift pad made of gauze. The pad was soiled where the nipple had wept onto it.

Then he asks me to lie on the bed and to raise my arms again. Then the consultant checks me with my arms relaxed to my side. The consultant digs his hand into my arm pits checking my lymph nodes.

“Do you have any pain in your breast?” pointing to my left breast.

“Yes my left breast had swelled up on the side and I was on a course of anti-biotic for it”. I explained to the consultant.

“I can confirm there is a lump on the right breast I can feel that, but small. I am more concerned with your left breast. I want you to go for an ultra sound core biopsy to be done today. I am marking this as urgently needed.” He asks me to dress again and come back into the other room.

I am handed a slip of white paper to go to the ultra sound receptionist with. I am totally numb by what the consultant has said. It feels like one big bad dream that I am surely going to wake up from.

I return back down stairs, but I’m stopped by a nurse who tells me you will have a long wait so get yourself a drink and a bite to eat first.

I’m thinking if I don’t go now I’ll be in this hospital forever besides my husband had to take my youngest to work with him and he was in a meeting.
Yet again I’m thinking about everyone else but me, but hey I’m a mum first.
I step outside the hospital to phone my husband to tell him it will take a little longer than expected. He told me to take my time and phone him once I was done. Then I work my way through the corridors to the ultra sound department. I give my bit of paper over to the receptionist to see a message written on a board in pen.

‘We apologise for any inconvenience.

There is a waiting time

Due to one of the ultra sound machines being maintained.’

All the seats were full of people waiting to be seen. At that moment the mother and daughter from the mammogram walk into the ultra sound department. I smile and offer my seat to her mum and go sit on a table. The daughter stands next to me she said “You have come here too?”

“Of course”, I reply. “They like me too much to let me leave”. I smile. “We have got a long wait”. I point to the board and the daughter looks at her mum shaking her head.

Then I look over to a Chinese couple sat in the far corner. She is in a wheel chair and is in pain the husband goes over to the receptionist and asks how much longer. You could see the frustration and concern written on his face. She looks at the list and apologises for the wait and says it should be not much longer now. He returns to his wives side touching her hand reassuringly.

Part of me wishes Steve was here to comfort me, but how was he supposed to know this would happen. I am certain he would have taken the day of work if he had known.

Then the receptionist calls out some names and says you can go home and we shall send you a letter to come back. The mums name was called out and I say, “Hey you got a lucky escape”.

The mum gives me a cuddle and says, “I hope everything goes well for you”.

“So do I, but who knows”. I reply.

 Five minutes goes by and the woman sat next to my right asks. “What are you here for?”

“Breast cancer scare you know how it is”. I look around nervously.
That was the first time I had dared mention the word cancer.
I can hear my husband saying, “I’m wishing it on myself. I am not being positive about the situation I have submitted to defeat”, but I did say the word scare too at the end.
“I don’t half love”, she replied. “My husband has testicular cancer we have been waiting a good half hour, but you know how men are they hate waiting”. I smile at her husband. He gets up and heads for the corridor where the ultra sound rooms are. “Look at him he is so nervous”, she says, “All he wants is to leave and forget what’s happening, but he can’t”.

I look at him thinking he is the same age as my dad. The fact he could walk by you and not think he had anything wrong. It is the same for me people keep saying nothing is wrong. I am an energetic healthy individual that does not let anything get in her way. This whole day has opened my eyes to things we have a way of ignoring.

I turn to the women not really knowing how to reply. Because what she has just said I honestly feel like doing myself.

“I know what you mean”, I reply “Looking at the clock it has been a long day for me”. I resort to placing my head into my hands.
“What time did you arrive here?” The woman looks on fishing for information to pass time.
“9.30am and it is now 11am. So much to a simple mammogram”, I say lifting my head up to the woman and smiling.
“You have had a mammogram too today?” she widens her eyes. “They are not very nice.” she shakes her head.
“It was not bad really.” I reply
“Well at least they are dealing with you quickly.” she looks at her husband tilting her head. That pity this poor girl tilt that friends give one another acknowledging someone’s distress.
Then I hear my name called out and a nurse waiting takes me into the ultra sound room. The woman wishes me luck and her husband looks on and manages a smile.

Again I’m asked to repeat my name and date of birth before being asked to remove my shirt and bra. I lay on the bed reminiscing about my ultra sound scans I had for my daughters.

When I conceived Kayleigh the doctor at hospital swore it was my kidneys. Then I saw this baby doing a hip wiggle on the screen. I was twelve weeks pregnant and I was amazed with the detail. I smile thinking about it, but then I feel a tear welling in my eye. I quickly gather my thoughts together and control my emotions quick smart. Time has flown by, and now I’m having the same procedure for possible cancer. She quickly gets the gel on me and glides it across my left breast looking at every detail. “Ok” says the radiologist, “I can do a core biopsy now using the ultra sound or you can wait three days and have it done by mammogram?”

I look at her and say, “Look, let’s get this out of the way besides I have a habit of fainting”. I say without any thought.

The radiologist looked on with alarm written on her face.
“Do you?”
I reassure her that it is nothing it’s just needles and I don’t agree with each other.
“Have you ever been tested for epilepsy?” She asks.
“Yes and nothing was found”. I reply.
“Do you have a phobia of needles?” She looks on analyzing my replies with a curious eye.
“No!” I continue “I just faint for no reason and shake. They did checks when it first happened and recently when having a vaccine for some reason it happened again. So I would sooner lie down and have the procedure done.”
“Do you have any warning signs before it happens?” asks the nurse.
“Just a sweet smell or a warm sensation, but sometimes I’m able to control it before it gets out of hand.” I turn to the radiologist. “It is nothing really I just have to tell you just in case it happens. I don’t want anyone panicking for no reason that’s all”
“Well if you had it done by the mammogram you would be sat in a chair and you will see it the procedure being done.” says the radiologist.
“Let’s just get it over with.” I reply trying to get off the subject.
“Well if you feel it coming on I want you to tell Me.” replies the radiologist with concern in her voice.

The nurse that had taken me into the ultra sound room vanishes to get a trolley with all the items needed for the operation. While the radiologist prepared the machine with a clear plastic bag put over the head of the device that sweeps across your skin.

I hear the nurse saying “Do we need litmus paper?”
The radiologist agrees so the nurse vanishes and brings back a piece of paper which she added chemicals to create litmus paper. Apparently they had run out of the paper so they made some in front of me. I found this alarming, but amazing at the same time. We had done this as kids in physics lab so I brushed it off. The nurse pushes the trolley into the room to the side so I cannot see what is happening. I’m asked to lean to my right slightly so she can sterilise the area with antiseptic. Then a square piece of surgical paper is draped over my left breast.
The radiologist said “This will sting a little, but I’m giving you an injection to numb the area of your left breast”.
The nurse encourages me to talk to her while this is done.
“Don’t go quiet on me?” the nurse said.
“You must be the first person all day who has asked me to talk. I think the rest wanted just peace and quiet.”
I feel a sharp pain as the local aesthetic is injected into my breast in several areas.
Then after a few minutes the area becomes numb
“Can you feel this?” the radiologist scratches my breast with something blunt.
“No.” I reply calmly.
“Ok then we can start, but just tell me if there is any pain you should just feel some pulling.”

She glides the head of the ultra sound across my breast searching for good areas to take samples from. I try to focus in on the ultra sound monitor to see what she is seeing, but I could not make it out. It is not as clear as the x-rays because everything is moving.

Then I see what looks like a rather large knitting needle out the corner of my eye.
“This is a core biopsy needle and she shows me. You will hear a loud snap noise when the sample is being taken, but don’t be scared. If you feel uncomfortable at anytime just say and we will stop.”

An incision is made into my breast just down from my arm pit. Then the nurse holds my hand as the radiologist inserts the core biopsy needle into the incision. I could feel pulling, but no pain so I relax into talking to the nurse again.

“So do you have children?” the nurse asks.
“I have two daughters nineteen, and four years old.” I reply trying not to watch what is happening.
“Large gap!” she says as I hear the first snap.
“Do you have children?” I ask.
“Yes two daughters and a son,” the nurse replies.
Then I hear a second snap this procedure went on for several minutes and don’t know how many samples she took I lost count after the second snap. I could see the ultra sound screen and the needle moving around the breast tissue searching for the best areas for samples. The nurses was observing it too and reassuring me every time I heard the snap.
“All done now, let’s get you cleaned up”. She put some sterile-strips over the wound and a mepore plaster to stop infection getting in.
“Now keep the area dry so infection can’t get in. Leave it three days before you shower. You can take paracetmol as instructed on the packet. You will find you will experience some pain. The bruising will take some time to settle. Do not take ibuprofen or aspirin. Are there any other questions you would like to ask?”
“No.” I reply.
Then she hands me some pieces of paper telling me about the procedure I had done.
“Do not do any heavy lifting it explains it all with the information we have given you”

Now we all know as mothers that is an impossibility to do. Personally I do all the shopping, cleaning and taking care of my four year old. My husband has the tendency to take short cuts to save time. So personally there will be no break for me in my home.

She goes on to tell me “Well hopefully we have caught this in time.”

Part of me wanted to say, caught what? But I knew what she was saying.
I put my bra and shirt back on full of questions, but feeling completely blank and I return to the breast clinic upstairs to see the oncologist consultant again.

The consultant is stood in reception and greets me with a firm hand shake.

“Right it is clearly a waiting game now and I know this is the worst possible time because we do not have any answers for you yet. Now I want you to return to my clinic on Wednesday next week.”
He ticked a box on the piece of paper in front of him saying urgent one week.
“The results need to go in front of a panel of consultants (MDT) and we shall decide what we shall do from there. Are you going to be ok? I know it has been a long stressful day with a lot to take on board. Has anyone come with you?”
“No.” I reply “I’ll be ok.”

I leave the breast care department trying to keep the tears under control. As I enter the foyer to leave the hospital. The gentleman with testicular cancer who was in the ultra sound department earlier is stood there. He beckons me to come over and gives me a cuddle.

“Everything will be alright love.” He says.

It is strange how two strangers with one disease in common can find comfort in each other’s words.

My mind starts to drift again ok there is something there but what and then I remember the word CALCIFICATION.

The minute I left hospital I started to inform the few friends and family I had told. They all had their fingers crossed it were nothing to worry about, but deep down I already knew it was not going to be as easy as that.

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