2005 is Breast Cancer Year. Splendid, dedicated people are doing all sorts of crazy things
to raise money for research. How many of them know what it’s like? Quite a few, I think.
Finding that lump is something that happens to other people – until you find one. Then the
dread you’ve always had in the back of your mind dissolves into the reality. It’s happened
to you! You feel different, set apart from those who haven’t been there, detached, even
from your family. The first objective is the series of tests designed to find out how large
it is and whether it has spread elsewhere. All those hospital appointments, waiting around,
being x-rayed, pricked, examined are a strain. But though they are disagreeable they are
not actually painful and the staff are incredibly kind and understanding (at least at St
Albans Hospital). When the crunch comes and surgery is discussed, it’s a relief.
If you are prescribed a course of therapy after the operation it drags on for months and
takes a toll of your stamina. Try to keep life as normal as you can. Kind people will want
to help you, but only accept the help you need. If you feel like driving yourself to the
hospital, cooking, weeding, going shopping or to the theatre – do it (only remembering to
stop in time!). If people give you advice (and they will!) only follow what is relevant to
you and your own feelings. Everyone is different. Listen to your body and your instincts.
Don’t necessarily rush to tell the family as soon as you find the lump. It’s no help to you
to see worried faces tacitly planning your funeral over the turkey, when it might just be a
cyst and you are trying to concentrate on the cooking. (My GP said on Christmas Eve: ‘Try
to put it out of your mind. There’s bugger-all you can do about it until after the New
Year’). Only tell friends when you want to and don’t worry if some are hurt that you
haven’t told them; it is you who matter. This does not always come easily to women who are
accustomed to putting other people first, either in their families or their work, but it’s
like being pregnant; during this period you are special and entitled to be selfish. The
best survival technique is to be yourself.
Your cancer is not in a vital organ and all may be well, indefinitely, but that is not in
your hands. This crisis may well change your outlook on life for good, leaving you feeling
more contented, and possibly even deepening your appreciation of the good things and people
in your life. Count your blessings! Anon.
(Details available to anyone wanting to talk seriously to the author
about this subject. Please contact the Editor on 01923 267947)

My Dear Friend