As most of you know, just two weeks ago, I went to my doctor because I thought I had found a lump in my breast. It was scary enough, at the time.
I was reassured that it was almost certainly nothing to worry about, but I would have to have it checked out, just in case. Somewhere along the way, I managed to convince myself that it would turn out to be a false alarm, something simple, like a cyst, or even my imagination.
Only it wasn’t any of these things.
They discovered that not only did I have a lump; it was the worst kind of lump. Suddenly everything changed and became very serious. What was originally planned as a simple outpatient procedure had turned into major surgery, including radiotherapy, or worse, if they found anything else.
I would also have to have medication to control the oestrogen in my body, and although I joked about growing a beard, inside, I wasn’t laughing.
Even though it was the worst possible news, the surgical registrar insisted that I would be eventually be fine. The cancer had been caught early and would be removed efficiently.
They seemed so sure of the outcome, but deep down inside I was having trouble believing them. My medical history suggested otherwise, for the words complications and trouble must be written on my birth certificate somewhere.
I came home from the hospital, stunned into silence. No humour or smart remarks that day. My family tried hard not to get upset, but I witnessed first- hand how much I was loved by every single one of them and that was the saddest part of all.
My lump (I refuse to call it by its proper name) will be removed just after Christmas. I am trying to keep a brave face, but inside I am angry, not scared and cannot wait to get it out of my body. My instincts tell me that I probably will be all right eventually.
However, it is a hell of a way to start the New Year!
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