Three years.
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| New York City |
A lot has transpired in three years. We've had two
trips to the United States, visiting places that I had only dreamed of. My all
time favourite was New York City, and laying back on the grass in Central Park,
I remember feeling ever so thankful to be able to enjoy such an adventure. How
fortunate was I!
As I am ever so grateful, for so many other memories
I have made over the past three years.
My son is now 23, living independently and enjoying
life as only he can.
My stepchildren, now 28, 25 and 17 respectively,
have each developed their own charismatic ways, and as hard as it was to begin
with, I am now a big part of their lives.
Our baby for sixteen years, Roy the big, boofy
sausage dog, passed away. He had been a big part of our family for so long,
that it was like losing a child in the end.
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| Roy x |
My husband's love of cooking continues, and now I
dread eating out, because honestly, he cooks so much better than any
restaurant!
Oh, and I've reached that enchanting age of 50. Phew!
But the most significant thing that has shifted in
the past three years is my own acceptance of the choice I made. I still to this
day, remember vividly the phone call I received around 5 pm on Friday 6th July
2012. Marie at Dr De Viana's office, patiently explaining to me, that after the
biopsy that had been performed two days earlier, the resulting tests had
concluded that I did indeed have breast cancer. The roaring in my ears, as I
struggled to pay attention to what she was saying to me, and my husband who
stood nearby, could tell the news was not good. I had to ignore him at the time
or I would have broken down. She told me to visit the doctor in a week time,
and he would discuss treatment options, thank you I said and hung up.
I wept as Rob held me, I still didn't really accept
the diagnosis until the next morning, when I decided I should tell my family.
They cried, as anticipated, it isn't something that anyone takes easily I
suppose. That terrible C word always conjures up connotations of the worst
outcomes. And so, I trudged through my week, before visiting the doctor again.
Of course, during that time Dr Google became my best friend, or my worst enemy,
depending on which way you looked at it.
Ductal carcinoma in situ was what I had been
diagnosed with. Essentially, cancer had developed within my milk duct, and my
body had informed me, by giving me a leaky, bleeding nipple. The first time I
noticed the discharge was on a holiday in Bali, when someone saw blood on my
clothing, a bit frightful, but I thought maybe I had scratched myself, so I
didn't really worry too much. Then, I noticed drops of blood on the bed sheets,
and more over time in my bra at the end of the day. By the time I got home, I
was slightly concerned, my own G.P said not to worry its just an infection,
probably the heat. Mmm, not sure about that, however, I took the
antibiotics prescribed, and revisited him after two weeks when it continued.
This was in March by the way.
Yes, I merrily went along with my life, probably
prioritising things the wrong way. I travel for work, so being away meant I
couldn't do anything about it, in hindsight maybe I did that on purpose, so I
didn't have to face anything ugly. I managed a visit in April, let's see you in
a few weeks, they tested some of the mucous, it was inconclusive. A mammogram,
which made a huge blob of gunk ooze out. But no, still not sure. Let's do an
ultrasound, a widened milk duct was apparent. Still, we're not certain. This is
usually nothing, but let's do a biopsy, just in case.
Thank God for the just in case.
It's breast cancer.
So, the following Friday, we were there again. Rob
with me, clutching my hand, the appointment delayed, it's 6.30pm by the time we
are called in. The doctor is surprised by the outcome, well no shit, so was I. He
explains what he had cut out, the size of it, 2.5cm apparently. That's a fair
chunk of my boob, no wonder the scar looked like it did. He explained on the
diagram in front of me, it looked like a whole bunch of cauliflower. Even Rob
was mesmerized. I just wanted him to cut to the chase, and tell me what would
happen next. Now, I knew what it was.
You have two alternatives. Radiation. Visit the
clinic daily for eight weeks. Get the side of my boob blasted and burnt, did
I want my body exposed to that type of therapy? At the end of it all, if my
margins weren't clear after the treatment, then I would have to proceed with a
mastectomy anyhow. And so, a mastectomy was the way that I was veering towards.
I had Googled it. I understood what was involved. The offending breast would be
gone, chopped off.
Mastectomy - apparently originated from the Greek
language - "breast" and "cutting out". Yep, that defined it. Oh, and since the nipple has been bleeding,
that would have to go as well. And can I have both done? That's a big
decision, think about it. I'd thought about it. I was 47 years old. I wanted
them to look the same, vain maybe, particularly since it was only Rob and me
who would see them. Yet, it was what I wanted. I wanted the cancer gone.
On the way home, I craved Red Rooster, a Hawaiian
pack. I got it. It was terrible. I answered all my phone calls, revealed what I
was doing, in one weeks time. More tears, from everyone. Once home, three
strong Bacardi and cokes settled me down. I didn't sleep very much all week; I
caught up with family, some not understanding why I was doing what I was doing.
Not even understanding that it was my decision in the end. I organised work,
faced many questions, and answered them as best I could. Christmas in July on
Saturday night with friends. Friends who understood and were there for me. For
us. The night before my surgery, I don't think I slept at all. I tossed and
turned, and questioned if I was making a rational decision. By morning, the
answer was yes.
B - day arrived.
Monday 23rd July - Boobie day. Forms,
questions, further scans, more tests. And when the time actually came, more
tears. My breasts were drawn over, and once again he explained that my breasts
would be cut away, and reconstruction would begin. This was it, once I was
given something to relax me, I sailed off to la-la land. Waking much later, I
don't remember too much. I was in pain, and there was a button I could press
for pain relief. I didn't like it though it made me too woozy. I touched
myself. I was flat. My chest was nothing, no curves, no nipples, just flat. I
cried. Why me? It was a question I would ask again, several times over
the months ahead. With no reply. No answer.
I recovered slowly. I questioned my decision many
times, notably as the first infills happened and the pain of stretching skin
hit me. Wow, I just didn't expect that. It was during this time when I
recognised, how many people truly cared, the well wishes flooded in, and the
flower deliveries were overwhelming. I certainly felt the love. My scars were
red, then faded to pink. I rubbed oil in to help them heal. I had lumps now,
not breasts. There were no nipples, they really were just two lumps filled with
saline. Hard to touch no warmth and no sensation. Three months later, we
embarked on our first U.S holiday, beginning it in Fiji so we could wind down.
Let's try something adventurous Rob said, I agreed.
Well, I couldn't get us into the parasailing, but
we are doing a 40km Jet Ski ride tomorrow. Holy shit.
As we
launched, I held on for dear life. Three months ago I would never have done
anything like this. My fears wouldn't have let me, I was adventurous when I was
younger, but nowadays I even had developed a fear of heights.
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| YAHOOOOO! |
Now, as the Jet
Ski bumped over the waves, all I could think was that I was going to die.
Surely, there were sharks out here; we're travelling from the resort at Nadi to
Beachcomber Island and back. Then a thought set in. Three months ago, I'd had
surgery, I'd had a mastectomy. In some way, someone or something had notified
me of the cancer that existed in my body. It could have sat unnoticed for
months, or years, until it was too late. I was lucky. I was alive. Be damned if
I wasn't going to enjoy this ride. I yahooed so loud, that Rob just laughed,
then told me to hang on as he drove that Jet Ski fast. It was a fabulous day.
Now, three years later, I am the ripe old age of
50, the new 40 they say! I don't know how to explain that as soon as my
birthday clicked over, my outlook on life changed. I had survived all these
years, half of my life, or more, was over. It was time to ground myself, know
what I desired and chase those goals. Know whom I needed in my life and keep
them. Start living for me. I shrug my shoulders now, at matters that once would
have caused me grief. It is such a great feeling to be able to do that. My
breasts now are what they are. They are lumps still, maybe a bit more movement
than before, softer to touch. The scars have faded, almost-white lines now,
around and across the middle. The nipples Dr De Viana formed are amazing, skin
puckered and sewn just right. The areola tattoos have faded, and there is no
way I am touching them up because that pain was the worst of all. They are
boobs, well, my version of boobs, they still have no feeling. No sensation.
They are mine though.
Best of all, they are cancer free.
My body is my body. There are elements of it that I
can do something about, and I have to. Too much frivolity and cheer have caused
the kilos to pile on, I can work on that. I can live with my wrinkles, that are
now starting to appear, and I can sort of live with the grey hairs that now
seem to have taken over. I'm a bit slower than I used to be, but I can become
fitter. I need to keep my mind active, I must drink a little less and I need to
eat a little healthier. I now make time for the people that want me in their
life, and I don't worry so much about those that choose not to. I am me, and
will no longer fit into anyone else's rules. I am there for all our kids,
whenever they need me, but their independence also makes me proud.
As I grow older, death becomes more of a part of my
life. Saying goodbye to people is difficult, a few get to live a long and
fruitful life, some get taken from us much too early.
It's hard to comprehend.
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| Mothers Day Classic |
So here I am today, three surgeries later and three
years later. I am thankful, for the life I have, the incredible husband who
calls me his wife, and walks me every Mothers Day in his pink tutu.
The children we have raised and I am excited for the future that lays ahead
for us. I will remain vocal about what I went through, it might not have been
as hard for me as it has been for some other women, but I did deal with cancer,
and I did lose my breasts. My choice to have a mastectomy is not for everyone,
but it was my choice.
I am pleased. I am proud of me.
Ladies, check your boobies all the time, any slight
change could mean anything. Don't hesitate to have it checked out. And all you
men, if you feel something unusual, then say so.
Life is good, and if by speaking out, I can support
just one person out there, I am happy.
Live,
laugh, love and treasure every moment.
Jo. Join me on my Facebook page. www.facebook.com/josephinebrierleyauthor
