17. Midway - A Lump or Not A Lump Part II
After the third cycle of chemo, as this was midway in the treatment, I had a meeting with my consultant. As someone going through cancer every step is a landmark and something you work towards. The midway meeting was to be when I’d be told how I was responding to chemo. This was a big deal! I had an estimated date in my planner as to when I thought it might happen. Paschal had arranged his schedule around the date I thought it was likely to be. However, after my third cycle as I hadn’t received an appointment letter I phoned to ask about it and no-one seemed to know of such an appointment. I eventually got a phonecall from my breast care nurse (BCN) to tell me the appointment would happen on a day after my fourth cycle. This was later than I had thought! It seemed like a set back as I had been waiting and counting on this appointment for information about how I was doing. I became very emotional! This was important! Well to me at least. I know I’m only one person to have experienced cancer, but, for me, every step going through this was so important. After some discussion I was offered an appointment for the day before my fourth treatment. After talking to Paschal to make sure he could bring me, I was relieved I could make that appointment. It all worked out well as my sister had planned to take me to my fourth treatment, which meant Paschal didn’t have to come up two days in a row.
On the day of my midway review, myself and Paschal headed off as usual on the, now, well-known road to Altnagelvin. The appointment was in the Breast Screening Unit. We arrived and followed the now very familiar procedure of announcing at reception, taking a seat, being called, going to the changing room to put on the pink wrap around jacket and then meet Paschal in the waiting room. I felt nervous, but ok. Again, people of all ages sat in the waiting room, each person possibly at different stages.
Sitting there made me realise that cancer knows no bounds, there is no rhyme nor reason, why it happens to one person and not to another? Is it genetics? Is it something in the water? Is it something in food? Is it stress and environmental factors? Who knows? All I know is it’s shit! Does it ever end, always in our minds?! I was 49 years old when I was diagnosed, which I thought wasn’t the worst age to have it. I felt for younger girls diagnosed as they had the added decision, and reality to face, about their fertility; and for the older people who had to go through chemo and how difficult that would be. It’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but as a 49 year old I knew I was strong enough to get through it. As I said before, this waiting room I thought to be like purgatory, waiting to hear my fate, it forced me to see and think about life – the good, the bad, the indifferent!
I was called to speak to my consultant. We had a talk about where I was in the treatment and how it was going. He told me he would be going off on leave for a period of time which meant that I would be transferred to a new consultant. That was a bit of a blow because the consultant I had was the person who diagnosed my cancer and, although I didn’t see him often, he was a familiar face and the person I had built up a level of trust in. He presented as warm and caring, softly spoken and concerned. I was very disappointed by this news, but what could I do, as with everything else, I just had to get on with it.
After the chat with the consultant I had an ultrasound scan, where they could see the tumour and how it was responding to chemo. I undressed, upper half, and lay on the bed. It was a trainee consultant doing the scan, who was then joined by a senior person. They looked and looked and then I was asked ‘did you have a lump?’ I thought seriously? Is that an actual question? On the other hand, it was a good question as it meant if they couldn’t see a lump, then there was no lump at this stage, which meant the treatment was working.
After the ultrasound myself and Paschal were brought to a little side waiting room. A short time later my BCN and consultant came in. There seemed to be a bit of a buzz. The consultant remained standing and said after the ultrasound they couldn’t see the tumour. He said this was fantastic, and it was unusual to not be able to see anything at this stage. There was nothing there, I was responding well to the treatment. I was told in regard to the Phesgo (targeted treatment for HER2+ cancer) previously they started giving it to a patient after the third cycle of chemo, but for me they started it at the same time as I began chemo and the results were fantastic. I was delighted with this news, how good to hear there was such an excellent response to the treatment. I was told I would continue my treatment as planned and the next step, after chemo, would be surgery and we would have discussions about whether that would be a lumpectomy or mastectomy. For me there was something about being a cancer patient that didn’t allow me to feel the joy I should have felt. Maybe it was because in the back of my mind I knew I had three more chemo cycles to go through and I had surgery to consider. Would it be a lumpectomy, or would it be a mastectomy? I was then to have radiotherapy, Herceptin (targeted treatment) for a year and hormone treatment for a further 5 years. So yes, the hard part was nearly done, but this was not nearly over!
My BCN stayed with us for a short time after the consultant left and said it was unheard of to have such a response to treatment at this stage. I felt like I had achieved something in the cancer world, story of my life, competing with myself, pushing myself, wanting to achieve and here, in my head, I was doing it in the cancer world too! We left the breast screening unit and I did feel relieved that the results were better than could be expected, but holy sweet jesus there was still a long way to go!
