That’s all folks ...

"Women are like teabags. We don't know our true strength until we are in hot water."

Eleanor Roosevelt

You know ... I used to say if only I had a pound for every time someone made a comment or complimented me on them little red shoes. These days I confess I would relish a quid for each occasion over the last few months that I have been told that this blog is really good ... and that I should write a book ...

And believe me, I am delighted. If only one person who reads my ramblings takes on board what I have explained ... and who appreciates that cancer can happen at any age ... that breast cancer can sadly appear in those who are in their 40s, 30s .... even 20s ... and encourages them to regularly ‘coppafeel’ ... it means I have achieved something extraordinary.

When I was little I loved books ... and was renowned for being a book worm. I wanted to be a writer or poet when I grew up. Either that or a travel agent or a librarian. Many years on, I am fortunate to have a job which involves writing ... and in hindsight I now realise that being a travel agent or librarian would be a nightmare. Assisting travellers to flit around the world, visiting exotic places whilst I was stuck in a shop ... or watching people walking off with all those books that I anxiously wanted to read. And besides ... I think those who know me would say I am not the shy, quiet retiring type suited to working in such a studious environment ...

If I was a writer then I would be the sort to desperately miss my characters once my tome was complete ... ‘cos I even do that when I am just reading a paperback. And it is not just books ... ‘cos this week I am mourning the loss of Alex ... and Ray ... and Chris ... and Shaz ... and of course ... the ‘Unt ...

For those of you who don’t have a clue as to what I am referring to, and didn’t watch Ashes to Ashes, then here is one of those infamous RSGP quickie summaries:

Ashes to Ashes was a fictional BBC series about Alex Drake, a female police officer in the Metropolitan Police, who is shot in 2008 and inexplicably regains consciousness in 1981 ... working for DI Gene Hunt ... a whiskey drinking, foul mouthed, totally politically incorrect, tangerine-coloured Quattro driver ... but who is totally loveable.  (Gosh ... did I really publically admit that ...)

Throughout the series, we didn’t know whether Alex was dead or alive in the present day, though in last week’s final episode it was revealed that the Ashes to Ashes world was a kind of limbo land for ‘restless dead’ police officers. That in fact Gene, Ray, Chris, and Shaz were all dead; and in fact that Alex herself has died. The programme ended with all of them, except Gene, all moving on to a new heavenly life ... via the local pub, the Railway Arms. I know ... if you didn’t watch it then it does sound a bit odd ... but it was really good ... honest ...

Over the last few weeks colleagues have been asking how it feels to be back at work. My response? Great ... but a bit weird. It is wonderful to have returned ... but it is still not quite the normality that I unexpectantly left behind last summer. Why? Well for starters I am only doing 15 hours a week ... rather than 37 ... over three short days where I start later and finish earlier. Then, on top of that, I am still a breast cancer patient. I have to be at the hospital for my daily zapping ... which once I have got there, waited and had my treatment is about an hour out.

I’ve often spoken of this weird parallel-malignant-universe ... where you live out a ‘normal’ existence ... even though you have this life threatening disease ... and are receiving this powerful cocktail of chemicals ... which make you poorly ... and as a consequence you lose your hair ... and are vulnerable to infection. Where your doctor’s surgery and the hospital become your second homes ... and your GP and consultants become your new best friends.

So as I watched Ashes to Ashes ... I felt an affinity with Alex. No, not because Keeley Hawes is nearly six foot ... with legs up to here. Nah ... but because her character Alex Drake found herself in an alien cosmos ... a world that wasn’t hers ... and she desperately wanted to return to the life she had suddenly and shockingly left behind ...

And ... like DCI Drake ... this Wednesday I will be leaving my weird and not so wonderful parallel universe ...when my breast cancer care pathway comes to an end. Yep ... after 9 months of treatment which has included 4 bouts of EC, and a further 3 doses of Taxotere ... surgery ... and 20 sessions of radiotherapy ... I am finally done. That is it. There are no meds for me as I am Triple Negative. I was told that “taking hormone tablets would be like eating Liquorice Allsorts” ... worthless ... especially as I don’t like the black stuff ...

But ... unlike Alex ... I am not escaping my ‘other world’ by entering the Railway Arms ... though Mr Campbell has suggested a celebratory drink at our local ...  No, my transition is via a ferry ... to France. My first proper holiday for a year. And where am I going? Back to the idyllic La Palmyre of course ... the place I visited exactly 12 months ago ... just before my diagnosis. The last time that I can really remember feeling happy and relaxed ... doing the things that I like to do ... cycling ... swimming ... photography. Eating some locally caught seafood ... oh and yummy cheese ... all washed down with more than a little red wine ...

But unlike last time I won’t be coming home bronzed and bonnie ... as I am under strict instructions to keep out of the sun ... so I will be sitting under a brolly ... liberally lathered in factor 50. Bitter? Nope. At least it will drastically reduce my chances of skin cancer ...

So is the Big BC all over? No ... of course not ... I am not kidding myself. I know this isn’t it. That there are still many more issues ahead. Of course there are. For starters I have been told I could suffer the side effects from my tough chemo for at least 12 months ... and that the consequences of the powerful radiotherapy could appear in many years’ time. I know I am still to face little challenges... like going out for the first time without my cap ... and the cosmetic surgery that I am have in the autumn.

And then there are the bigger confrontations... like my regular trips to see Dr Oh-so-luv-ver-ly and Dr Jordan, my Oncology and Breast Cancer consultants ... that will take place over the next ten years ... and where they will continue to do tests to make sure the cancer has gone away ... and not returned. And trust me ... every one of those visits is going to be darn right nail biting and unbelievably stressful ...

But for now ... I am packing for that long-awaited holiday. My clothes ... and shoes ... and swim wear. And of course there will be my books ... some in my suitcase ... oh ... and the one in my mind ...

Yeah, perhaps I could .. and should ... write that book. Mmm ... I’m thinking it might be about a girl ... and her diary ... She has legs “only up to here” and will “always be a little bit fat”. She often says the wrong thing ... at the wrong time ... because her mouth goes into gear before her brain can stop it. She falls off her exercise bike ... and skis down mountains backwards. Mmm ... a bit like the endearing Bridget Jones ...

But ... unlike Bridget ... she unexpectantly gets told she has breast cancer. So she talks openly and frankly about the consequences of that. What it is like to hear the news ... how she cries hysterically when she goes for her first chemo ... how she talks about ‘Cogs’ over a pub lunch with her pal Bubbles ... and describes the afternoon she sits in My Little Friend’s garden as her hair falls out. She shares how she is the only patient her consultant has seen who is pleased to hear that she has a lump ... because it means a breast conserving procedure. Oh ... and how she manages to inadvertently flash her silky covered arse to more than twenty patients sitting in the waiting room just before surgery ...

And she also talks frankly about the trials and tribulations of her treatment.  That there are very bad times ... along with much better spells ... and the special people that help and support her through both. That she makes wonderful new friends ... but sadly loses comrades along the way ... and that all these things that give her the strength to get through the crap and think positively about the future ...

Anyway ... I am off now ... I am not saying I won’t be back ... but it will be a while.

Maybe time out to write that book ...

Storms and teabags in my D cup ...

I'm feeling hot ... hot ... hot ...

“I am thinking about buying this green top and matching shoes, what do you think?” asked Cornish Cous. “Very nice” I replied. “I don’t usually wear green ... do you think it will suit me?” she questioned. “Oh yes”, I assured her, “and green is very 'this season'. In fact I have never worn green before, but I have bought a few bits lately in various shades.” “Oh, perhaps I should go for them....” she trailed off. “Definitely”, I responded. “everybody needs a treat now and again ... and we have just been paid.” “You are right!” she exclaimed. “Will you be wearing green to our pub grub evening?” “I might”, I replied “but it is complicated .....”

Just before I went on long term sick leave, a colleague of mine enquired “You have so many clothes and shoes, do you have a walk in wardrobe ...?” And I confirmed ... slightly tongue-in-cheek ... that in fact I do. “I knew it!” she said. And I laughed. “I have a walk in wardrobe but sadly not like the one that Mr Big built Carrie. I wish. No, my walk in wardrobe is the tiny nursery room which Little Tinker moved out of a few years ago and where the laundry basket and ironing board live ... along with my piles of clothes waiting to be pressed!”

So what issues can I possibly have when deciding what to wear ... when, I must admit, have such a vast choice?  Mmm ... there are three very good reasons actually ...

Well ... for starters I am still wearing my little caps and array of scarves. We have now moved from the thicker heavy cloths of the Autumn/Winter range ... to the lighter bright Spring/Summer numbers. My hair is growing ... but obviously not at the rate that I want it to ... a watched pot and all that. The good news is that it has returned dark ... in fact even darker than it was before. I was born a brunette and it is now bordering on black. It has a few sprinkles of grey ... but hey I had those before it fell out so I ain’t gonna grumble about those ... and, like them pit hairs, they will also magically disappear sometime soon.

So what do I look like?  Well for those of a similar age to me then think Lisa Stansfield ... you remember ... All around the world Lisa ... And for my younger readers you need to think of recent pics of the model Agyness Deyn  ... though I need to point out that although the party prom dress and Doc Martin boots would not be at all out of place in Funky Town ... I would really need to lose two decades and three stone to pull it off ...

Having said that, I guess I don’t look too bad ... I even got one of those infamous not-quite-compliments from My Little Friend a little earlier.  Yes .. My Little Friend, who I haven’t seen for nearly two months (partly because she unintentionally ended up in Florida for almost half of that time), so it was lovely to go and see her and The Silverback for a spot of Sunday lunch today.

“Oh my”, she exclaimed as I walked in the door and removed my hat, “I always thought you looked a bit French ... you certainly do today. In fact, you look almost chic.” Mmm ... what’s that saying ... who needs enemies ... bless her ...

And so what else do I need to consider on getting dressed each morning? Well ... there is something I haven’t mentioned before ... I wasn’t really sure whether I should talk about it ... whether it was too much info ... But then I thought before I finally wrap up my blog in a few weeks time that I should ... after all ... my mission over the last nine months has been to talk about cancer ... raise awareness ... talk about the trials and tribulations of treatments ... and their side effects ...

“Can I ask you to read this and sign under my signature at the bottom?” We have returned to last August and I am meeting my Oncologist, Dr Oh-so-luv-ver-ly, for the very first time. He has suggested that we go for neoadjuvant chemotherapy ... chemo before surgery ... and I have to sign a consent form to confirm that I understand what this entails ... and what side effects I could encounter.  Doing as I was asked, I signed on the line and put the pen down. “Oh no”, said Dr Oh. “Oh, I am sorry”, I said and glanced down at the form “have I signed in the wrong place?” “No, no. My fault I forgot to mention something”, he said apologetically. “I should have told you ...the chemo ... it might stop your periods.  Permanently.  Is that a problem?”

No, it wasn’t, and in fact I didn’t think much about it ... until the following month ... when I realised that he was right. Then ... in November ... out of the blue ... I experienced my first hot flush ... on the M6 ... in road works ... just outside Birmingham ... on the way back from Wales. Suddenly I had my head out of the window ... despite the noise ... and the dust ... like an over excited dog ...

So what did I do when I finally got home?  Switched on the PC ... and googled “Symptoms of menopause” ... obviously ... you really should know me by now. And this is what I found ....

1. Hot flashes, flushes, night sweats and/or cold flashes, clammy feeling
2. Irregular heart beat
3. Irritability
4. Mood swings, sudden tears
5. Trouble sleeping through the night (with or without night sweats)
6. Irregular periods; shorter, lighter periods; heavier periods, flooding; phantom periods, shorter cycles, longer cycles
7. Loss of libido
8. Dry vagina
9. Crashing fatigue
10. Anxiety, feeling ill at ease
11. Feelings of dread, apprehension, doom
12. Difficulty concentrating, disorientation, mental confusion
13. Disturbing memory lapses
14. Incontinence, especially upon sneezing, laughing; urge incontinence
15. Itchy, crawly skin
16. Aching, sore joints, muscles and tendons
17. Increased tension in muscles
18. Breast tenderness
19. Headache change: increase or decrease
20. Gastrointestinal distress, indigestion, flatulence, gas pain, nausea
21. Sudden bouts of bloat
22. Depression
23. Exacerbation of existing conditions
24. Increase in allergies
25. Weight gain
26. Hair loss or thinning, head, pubic, or whole body; increase in facial hair
27. Dizziness, light-headedness, episodes of loss of balance
28. Changes in body odour
29. Electric shock sensation under the skin and in the head
30. Tingling in the extremities
31. Gum problems, increased bleeding
32. Burning tongue, burning roof of mouth, bad taste in mouth, change in breath odour
33. Osteoporosis (after several years)
34. Changes in fingernails: softer, crack or break easier
35. Tinnitus: ringing in ears, bells, 'whooshing,' buzzing etc.

Wow ... a list that made the cancer and chemo look like a breeze. I won’t go through them one by one and tell you which ones I have or have not experienced ... that really would be too much information ... but I can thankfully say that to date it isn’t many, and that other than saving at least 50 quid on monthly essentials ... the most obvious one is the hot flushes. Oh ... and the cold ones. I am not sure if mine are particularly nasty as my menopause is chemo induced ... and is not part of the natural aging process that most women experience... but it does mean that when I am considering what to wear that layers are good.

And thirdly ... the final impact on my wardrobe choice ... well, there is currently radiotherapy to consider too. Every day I have to go to the hospital at 1pm for my daily zap ... which, if I am truthful, I still don’t like. The actual treatment is literally two minutes ... but I usually have to wait for 20 minutes or so ... and then it takes I guess about ten minutes to carefully align me so the radiation is hitting the necessary area ... and not sensitive areas ... such as my lung.

My lovely new booby is currently standing up to the powerful treatment ... but is a little red and warm ... a bit like sunburn ... so I have been told to keep the aqueous cream in the fridge and slap it on at any opportunity ...

Rather than get changed on arrival for rads I usually wait until I am called to the treatment area and then quickly whip off my upper garments and slip on that fetching flowery gown, so I need to ensure I wear something that can be easily removed and put back on.  And, as I did on Friday, if I wear a dress I need to remember to take skirt with me so that I am not lying on the couch half naked. Once treatment is done I grab my bag and items of clothing and then pop back to the changing cubicle to put on my usual attire.

One of the positive aspects of radiotherapy is that you attend the same time each day ... which means other patients do too ... and you get to know others who are going through a similar care pathway as you. Bea, who comes along with her husband Jay, started her five week course of radiotherapy the same day as me. She is much older than me ... in fact her children are older than me ... but she too is very upbeat, open and frank about her illness, which is very different to mine. It has been interesting to learn about someone else’s treatment ... and lovely to be greeted by a pair of jovial faces each day.

On Friday, I walked into the waiting room, a little late as always and a little puffy from running down the corridor. “Hello Bea ... Jay ... how are you?” “Fine, fine” they grinned. “Ooh ... Bea ... you have had your haircut ... it looks very nice.” “Thank you”, she responded, and smiled broadly “it is lovely isn’t it?” “It is indeed” I replied. “I liked yours so much” she went on to say “that I asked my hairdresser to cut it the same”. I paused ... I was going to explain that I hadn’t actually had mine styled ... and that it wasn’t a cut that I had by choice ... but stopped ... and smiled back ... “great choice, suits you too.”

Here’s hoping for a long warm sunny summer ...  'cos us gals in the know are aware what is hot ... and what is not ... and will be looking and feeling pretty cool ...

I am sure Agyness would agree that short is pretty damn sweet ...

Can’t be ...

“A woman can’t be too rich or too thin”

Wallis Simpson, Duchess of Windsor

Well ... it has been a pretty momentous week ...

Tuesday ... and for the first time in nearly nine months I returned to work. It was lovely ... back at my old desk ... working on my computer ... answering the phone ... and best of all seeing my wonderful friends and colleagues. Honestly ... it felt as if I had never been away ...

Wednesday ... my first session of radiotherapy. It was OK ... it doesn’t hurt ... but it is daunting. You lie there in a darkened room ... alone ... with the red “Radiation on” sign flashing ... and the machinery clunking around you. I will admit that on that first day I got a bit low ... there on my back ... knowing that this was the inaugural session of 20. It has been two months since surgery ... where did that time go ... and four months since my last chemo ... and there I am ... back to being a patient again. But ... as always ... I turned my situation around ... remembered that the consent form that Dr Oh-so-luv-ver-ly had asked me to sign had said “precautionary treatment”. That he thinks the Yukky Lump has gone away and that this is a belt and braces job ... to make sure it doesn’t come back ... and I need to be grateful for that.

Then on Thursday I jumped on the scales and was delighted to see I had shed the final couple of pounds to get me back to my pre-chemo weight. OK ... I am not suggesting that I don’t need to shed some more ... ‘cos I do ... but at least the scales are saying the same as they were last August before I went off work ... and I can now comfortably fit into my clothes.

And finally ... Friday. I popped into Marksies to buy some sausages for the boys ... yep my life has returned to that level of normality ... and I bought .... mmm .... a copy of Hello magazine.

Now ... I have never purchased a copy of Hello before ... though I am not saying I have never read it ... if it is loitering on top of the coffee table in the hospital waiting room then I will take peek and flick ... but it is not something that I actually buy. Why? Because it is usually full of slim and bronzed young soap actors and actresses ... that I don’t even recognise ... let alone name ... and who generally make me feel very old and frumpy ... heck I don’t need to pay for that privilege ... so what swung it on this occasion ...

Last weekend I was really quite shocked to read a small newspaper article which reported that the actress Sally Whittaker, who plays the character of Sally Webster in the TV soap, Coronation Street, had been diagnosed with breast cancer back in October ... a case of life imitating art when she discovered she had the disease after a plotline in which her character underwent treatment for breast cancer. So when I caught sight of her picture on the front of Hello ... with the subtitle “My battle to beat breast cancer” ... my curiosity got the better of me.

Now ... I have mentioned Kylie before.  Yes, that Kylie. Cute, sweet, girl-next-door Australian Kylie with the gold lycra hotpants ... who was diagnosed with breast cancer back in 2005. And I have admitted that the announcement and media coverage floated past me ... not really hitting my radar ... even though we are exactly the same age. Probably because I didn’t think it would ever happen to me.

Well ... over the last nine months I have thought about Kylie quite a lot. Mostly during the dire time of chemo ... when I felt really rough ... and looked really ill. As I lay in bed ... contemplating whether I had been transported to a living hell ... I would think of Kylie ... reminding myself that although she was rich ... famous ... pretty ... with a hot-totty-botty ... that she had to endure exactly the same as me. Similar treatment ... comparable sickness ... the loss of hair ... and eyebrows ... and eyelashes ...

Some years on Kylie described her treatment. “It’s like a prison sentence. I can’t quite articulate it. It’s a bit like being in an atomic explosion and people asking you to describe it: ‘ So, exactly how big is the hole?’ I don’t think anyone who hasn’t had it can understand it.”

So what did Sally Whittaker have to say in Hello? Well ... she explains that she discovered the cancerous lump in her breast herself, prompted by her storyline. "If I had not been researching this storyline, I may not have discovered the lump in my breast and had it looked at so quickly. I had never properly checked my breast before because I thought this wasn’t going to happen to me. It’s a stupid thing to think, but I think a lot of women are like that.”

Sally was diagnosed with a 1.8cm grade 1 tumour. "We got into the car and I cried like I’d never cried before in my life. It was uncontrollable sobbing. I didn’t want to die. I said to Tim, ‘I’ve got three children, I can’t die’. I would hate to be sat on a fluffy cloud looking down on them. I couldn’t cope with that. I had to be there to see them grow-up."

Despite the coincidence Sally agreed to continue filming her soap scenes in a bid to raise awareness about the condition. “Those were the hardest scenes I’ve ever had to film,” she explains. She undertook her cancer plotline scenes in a month’s block then took a break to undergo surgery, chemo and radiotherapy.

Sally says she now has a new outlook on life. "It’s made my appreciate life more and I feel humbled. Everybody I love, I love a million times more."

The photos of Sally in the mag are great ... but as someone who has been there ... the first things I notice are the painted eyebrows and false eyelashes ... And although she is pictured with her little blonde prickles she admits “I would love to go around with a bald head, but sometimes I wear headscarves because I don’t want to draw attention to myself and I don’t want pitying looks.”

She received no payment for her interview and instead asked that a donation be made to The Genesis Breast Cancer Appeal and The Christie Hospital Appeal, the hospital where she has been receiving treatment.

And that is the first article that I read this week and I wanted to tell you about ... the second ... was the announcement by her publicist, that actress Lynn Redgrave had this week “passed away peacefully after a seven-year journey with breast cancer.”

After she was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2002, Lynn asked her daughter Annabel Clark, then a photography student at Parsons School of Design, if she would photograph the course of treatment and recovery.  Following her death, at the age of 67, these intimate and emotive photos are now displayed on the New York Times website.

I must admit that I find some of them difficult to look at ... especially the post-operative ones ... particularly the one with the drains ... perhaps it doesn’t feel like such a short time since my own surgery ...

And then, under the picture of Lynn doing her recuperation exercises, there is an inscription taken from her diary which rings so true.  It says: “I have my moments of such sadness. They hit me quite suddenly. My loss of innocence. The innocence that made me feel that cancer couldn't happen to me.”

There are a number of events taking place over the next few weeks ... including the many Run for Life races, organised by Cancer Research UK, as well as the Playtex Moonwalk in London, which a number of my friends and colleagues are participating in. I would like to wish all those that I know, as well as those I don’t, the best of luck with raising awareness and attracting funds to improve the treatment of cancer. Sadly it is too late for the likes of Kylie ... and Sally ... and Lynn... and me ... and the many millions of people who have already been diagnosed with cancer ... and who have already had to endure the horrid side effects of chemotherapy ... and radiotherapy ... and surgery ...

But we don’t know who will be next ... you ... a family member ... or a friend ... or a colleague ... or a neighbour ...

You can’t be too rich or too thin ... or too old ... or too young.  You can't be too famous ... or too pretty ... or too popular ... or too talented ...

Cancer ... it doesn’t discriminate ... so never think “It couldn’t happen to me”.

One small step ... one giant leap ...

Work like you don’t need the money
Love like you’ve never been hurt
Dance like no one’s watching
Sing like no one’s listening
Live like there is no tomorrow

Mark Twain

Friday ... and the Sloane Ranger came over to Funky Town and we strolled into the high street. After a spot of lunch (thank you Hun) we had a bit of a wander around the market and the cute little shops. It was in one that I pointed out a little plaque, you know the sort, brightly coloured, a bit kitsch, the type that people hang in their kitchen. The verse on it was the one above. “I think I should buy that and hang it on my desk at work” I joked with the Sloane. “Oh yes ...” she laughed appreciatively.  I am sure she feels some camaraderie with my current colleagues ... and empathy ... and sympathy ... after all she spent a number of years listening to my 'beautiful' dulcet tones ...

Later that evening, tucked up in bed, I was reading a magazine which featured an interview with Joseph Fiennes ... the actor ... best known for wearing breeches and doublets ... When asked “What do you think is the most important lesson that life that has taught you?” He quoted the exact same poem ... surely someone somewhere is trying to tell me something ...

It has been a busy week ... my diary has been so full even Bridget J would be envious. On Monday I met with Mr Campbell to discuss my return to work ... before meeting up with over a dozen of my girlie friends from work for a pub grub evening (thank you Lindyloo for organising). It was great fun ... lots of giggles and raucous laughter, in fact as if we could neither be seen ... nor heard. No, Cornish Cous, I am not going to repeat what happened at that Divorce Party you attended and what you actually did to those vodka jellies! Then on Thursday I had lunch with Hoops and Margarine ... before attending the staff awards ceremony ... where I boogied for hours ... like no one was watching.

Wednesday was the day that I went into work ... to discuss my return with HR. My half hour meeting was followed by cruisin' around the office getting up to speed with my friends and colleagues ... which took four hours. Yeah ... I know ... four hours ... but I had a lot of catching up to do!

Whilst meandering around the building I bumped into PG, a colleague who I haven’t seen since I was at work back in August. We started chatting and she asked after my health, what treatment I had received (chemo and surgery) and what further treatment I am to receive (radiotherapy). She went on to say that a friend of hers had been diagnosed at a similar time as me, but that the chemo had no impact on her tumour so they terminated that treatment and undertook radical surgery instead. I said that I empathised ... that I know of women who had received chemo and that their tumour hadn’t shrunk ... or even continued to grow. I explained that I appreciate that the treatment worked for me ... that initially things were definitely not looking good ... a 6cm grade 3 stage 3 tumour ... but thankfully the chemo had reduced Yukky Lump to less than half its original size ... and fortunately it appears it has been caught before it ventured any further.

PG said that her friend had not felt a lump but had made an appointment to see her GP after seeing a dent in her breast ... and that she didn’t realise that this was something to look out for ... that when she checks her own breasts she is only looking for a pea-sized lump. Which, of course, was an opportunity for me to give my little spiel ... so I explained ...

You need to feel your breasts for changes... any lumps ... small or significant. Look in the mirror ... for any dimpling ... puckering ... or indents. Inspect the nipple for discharge. Some women do experience tenderness and soreness ... either immediately before their period ... or during the middle of the month ... and this is sometimes accompanied by ‘lumpy breasts’. Breast cancer doesn’t usually hurt ... though I should point out that mine did as the Yukky Lump was so large it was pressing on a nerve. And ... at the end of the day ... anything that does not go away after a week or so should be followed up.

Thanks to my friend MackieC who has recommended the Embarrassing Bodies website where there is a great video demo on the best way of examining your breasts. Sermon over.

After I had finished my health promotion talk PG leant forward and whispered “Can I ask you a personal question?” Now, as I am sure you appreciate, I am a pretty upfront kinda girl ... yeah, in more ways than one ... but that request does unnerve me slightly. “Go ahead”, I responded, wondering what she was going to ask. “Well ... having said all that ... how come your lump was so big by the time you found it?” And that is a very good (personal) question.

Right, for those of you that have just joined me this is a potted history on how the Yukky Lump and I became reluctantly acquainted. I woke one Saturday last summer ... and as I lay in bed ... I could feel a funny tingling in my breast ... like one of the first signs of pregnancy. I knew that definitely wasn’t the case ... so wasn’t too concerned. However, a few days later my breast felt solid ... and then a few days after that I started experience some pain ... so I called my GP. To be truthful I wasn’t too worried to start with ... because the mass was so large ... sitting right along the cup of my breast ... I didn’t think anything so big could be that suspicious. I too, at that stage, naively thought that nasty lumps were petit pois sized. Sadly ... I was proved wrong. Very wrong. And for a long time I kept kicking myself ... beating myself up for not seeing it ... nor feeling it ... much earlier. How could someone who is usually pretty in tune with their body allow a lump to grow to 6cm before spotting it?

Now, I have told you about them infamous red shoes. Yeah the ones I used to wear to work and that everyone loved. “They are chilli red, with peep toes, a Cuban heel and shiny buttons. A bit sexy, a bit cute but def not OTT. When I wear them I get at least half a dozen comments. I often say that if I had a pound for every compliment that I have received then I could have bought another three pairs ... or more”. But what about their less glamorous and more practical cousins ... my little pink crocs?

Just before I found the lump, and whilst I was still at work, I had one of those late Friday afternoon chin wags with The Poet. We were talking about our plans for the weekend. “You know if people could see me at the weekends they would be horrified” I confided in her. “I don’t wear a scrap of make up ... I just wear something that is comfy ... no heels ... just my crocs.” “Don’t worry” she said “I am just the same.”

And that is how I was ... that afternoon in June. Saturday ... the day I spend most of my time doing household chores ... cleaning ... tidying ... washing. On that oparticular day the weather was warmish ... with a breeze ... a great opportunity to empty the laundry basket and peg everything up outside ... which is what I had done. It was about 5 or 6 o’clock and I had just started cooking supper, when I heard a tapping on the window. I turned around to see it had started raining. “Oh no, my washing!” I exclaimed. So I grabbed the wash basket, ran out into the garden and up the steps. But I didn’t make it ... just as I got to the top step my croc hit the damp surface ... and I slipped. But, because I had the basket in my hands I couldn’t put them down to protect myself, and instead I fell, very heavily, onto my chest. No kidding, it was full pelt. I lay there for a few seconds ... shocked ... and in pain. It is probably the closest, as a female, that I will get to understand what it is like for a guy to be kicked in the b...s

I thought such a heavy impact would, after a day or so, leave me with multi-coloured bruising ... but it didn’t. And in fact I didn’t think much about the incident until I was referred to the Breast Care Unit. It was only at that point that I thought that maybe the thickening in my boob was in fact internal swelling as a consequence of the battering ... but of course it wasn’t.

However ... it may still be relevant as I have since learnt that cancer can feed on inflammation ... inflammation that is fuelled by our environment. This maybe what we eat, drink or smoke. The amount of exercise we take and the amount of stress we endure. It is also believed that a number of cancers that develop are directly linked to a chronic inflammatory state ... for example cancer of the colon and rectum is linked to inflammatory bowel disease ... ovarian cancer is linked to pelvic inflammatory disease. Not only that, but studies undertaken as far back as 1863 showed that patients developed cancer where a shoe or tool had rubbed repeatedly, or at the exact spot on their body where they had received some kind of trauma, such as a blow.

Now I am not saying that my fall was the cause of my breast cancer – but what I believe may have happened is that the inflammation, which was a result of my fall against the step, fuelled a small but malignant tumour that was already there. A tumour which otherwise may have grown at a slower pace, which would have been less noticeable, and so possibly a greater opportunity to roam to more vulnerable places. Mmm ... perhaps I have a lot to thank those practical but unflattering little pink crocs for.

So what is in my diary for this week? Well ... Tuesday 4th May says ... “Return to work”. Yes! After nearly nine months of horrid gruelling treatment and its nasty side effects ... the nail-biting angst ... and lonely solitude ... I am about to take a significant step to resuming normality.

Live like there is no tomorrow.

I did.

But I sincerely hope there is a tomorrow ... ‘cos my red shoes are sitting here ... polished and shiny ... ready to dance around the office ... whilst I sing a little song ...

It really has been far too quiet there ... for far too long ...