ONE YEAR AGO, from my diary.
That evening when I felt a lump... It was 8th March 2014. I was lying in bed and my husband was away for the night.
Is it a lump? That kind of lump? Breasts do get lumpy, don't they? Lumps wax and wane with the moon. Just ordinary thickening. It will pass.
Will it?
But the moon exerts little power over me these days. What about the other breast? Soft and fine. What about this one? I think it's a lump.
The following evening, to my husband: "I think I found a lump."
He, in a tone of voice I am unaccustomed to, taken aback and immediately concerned: "Oh dear."
Me: "I'm sure it's nothing, most lumps are nothing, but I suppose I'd better get it checked out."
It took four days before I ended up in my GP's consulting room (I didn't want any old GP. I wanted my own. That was her first available slot.) Each of those four days, my husband urged me to go.
I hadn't seen my GP since she came to my 50th birthday fundraising event. I never meet her outside the doctor's office (although we keep saying we must) and I go there so rarely, a couple of times a year at most. So we spent most of the time chatting, until we remembered I must be there for a reason, ah yes, a breast lump, let's have a look.
That's how unconcerned I was. I had even caught myself thinking beforehand: I hope this IS a lump, I don't want to be one of those people who bother their GP for nothing.
[Excuse me a minute, but let me just say, looking back through the dark tunnel of last year: HOW RIDICULOUS IS THAT?!]
My GP seemed unconcerned too. Yes, definitely there, I can feel it, but it's very clearly defined and movable, and that reassures me. Still, I'll send you to the one-stop-breast-clinic, all lumps must be checked within two weeks, national guidelines.
Have I ever had a mammogram? Yes, in fact I have, three years ago. I was part of a trial to see if it's worth to start the three-yearly mammogram screening at the age of 47 instead of the current starting age of 50. So I went along and it was fine. I'm probably due another one soon.
[I did indeed get called for another mammogram, halfway through my chemotherapy treatment. The leaflet explained that it was worth checking if I had breast cancer. It might save my life. That made me laugh. I was looking forward to explaining why I was cancelling the test (only one breast left to check! and that other one has been through various scanners already in recent months!) - but to my disappointment, the woman on the phone didn't ask why I was pulling out of the programme.]
I asked my GP to send me to St George's Hospital, thinking how handy it would be, I could just pop over to the clinic from my office. (And yes, that did turn out to be handy.)
My GP thought it was a cyst and so did I.
My appointment with the breast clinic was booked for 20th March. I postponed it because I didn't want to miss the conference I was going to attend that day. It didn't matter, did it? The next available appointment was a week later. I vaguely regretted this afterwards. What if...?
But by then I had made several phone calls to get the date changed and I didn't want to cause any more problems. I'd be the difficult patient before I had even turned up.
There were niggles, though. What if. What if.
Don't be ridiculous, of course it's fine. Our family doesn't do breast cancer. I don't know of any female relatives with that diagnosis. I have none of the risk factors and all of the protective ones. I eat well, I am fit and healthy, I breastfed my three babies for at least a year each. It will be fine.
But still: it's such a common illness, why shouldn't I get it?
I think about some people I know, who were given a cancer diagnosis at the age of 80 and raged against it: Why me? And I've always thought: Well, you are 80, why not? But perhaps I'd feel like that too, if it was me.
But I don't feel like that at all, even now. I am sitting here thinking: I am 50, women get cancer. They do.
Why not me?
To be continued...
That evening when I felt a lump... It was 8th March 2014. I was lying in bed and my husband was away for the night.
Is it a lump? That kind of lump? Breasts do get lumpy, don't they? Lumps wax and wane with the moon. Just ordinary thickening. It will pass.
Will it?
But the moon exerts little power over me these days. What about the other breast? Soft and fine. What about this one? I think it's a lump.
The following evening, to my husband: "I think I found a lump."
He, in a tone of voice I am unaccustomed to, taken aback and immediately concerned: "Oh dear."
Me: "I'm sure it's nothing, most lumps are nothing, but I suppose I'd better get it checked out."
It took four days before I ended up in my GP's consulting room (I didn't want any old GP. I wanted my own. That was her first available slot.) Each of those four days, my husband urged me to go.
I hadn't seen my GP since she came to my 50th birthday fundraising event. I never meet her outside the doctor's office (although we keep saying we must) and I go there so rarely, a couple of times a year at most. So we spent most of the time chatting, until we remembered I must be there for a reason, ah yes, a breast lump, let's have a look.
That's how unconcerned I was. I had even caught myself thinking beforehand: I hope this IS a lump, I don't want to be one of those people who bother their GP for nothing.
[Excuse me a minute, but let me just say, looking back through the dark tunnel of last year: HOW RIDICULOUS IS THAT?!]
My GP seemed unconcerned too. Yes, definitely there, I can feel it, but it's very clearly defined and movable, and that reassures me. Still, I'll send you to the one-stop-breast-clinic, all lumps must be checked within two weeks, national guidelines.
Have I ever had a mammogram? Yes, in fact I have, three years ago. I was part of a trial to see if it's worth to start the three-yearly mammogram screening at the age of 47 instead of the current starting age of 50. So I went along and it was fine. I'm probably due another one soon.
[I did indeed get called for another mammogram, halfway through my chemotherapy treatment. The leaflet explained that it was worth checking if I had breast cancer. It might save my life. That made me laugh. I was looking forward to explaining why I was cancelling the test (only one breast left to check! and that other one has been through various scanners already in recent months!) - but to my disappointment, the woman on the phone didn't ask why I was pulling out of the programme.]
I asked my GP to send me to St George's Hospital, thinking how handy it would be, I could just pop over to the clinic from my office. (And yes, that did turn out to be handy.)
My GP thought it was a cyst and so did I.
My appointment with the breast clinic was booked for 20th March. I postponed it because I didn't want to miss the conference I was going to attend that day. It didn't matter, did it? The next available appointment was a week later. I vaguely regretted this afterwards. What if...?
But by then I had made several phone calls to get the date changed and I didn't want to cause any more problems. I'd be the difficult patient before I had even turned up.
There were niggles, though. What if. What if.
Don't be ridiculous, of course it's fine. Our family doesn't do breast cancer. I don't know of any female relatives with that diagnosis. I have none of the risk factors and all of the protective ones. I eat well, I am fit and healthy, I breastfed my three babies for at least a year each. It will be fine.
But still: it's such a common illness, why shouldn't I get it?
I think about some people I know, who were given a cancer diagnosis at the age of 80 and raged against it: Why me? And I've always thought: Well, you are 80, why not? But perhaps I'd feel like that too, if it was me.
But I don't feel like that at all, even now. I am sitting here thinking: I am 50, women get cancer. They do.
Why not me?
To be continued...
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