Again I want to state that my reason for publishing my story is to help others understand the importance of continuing to have mammograms as we age, regardless of what the medical ‘experts’ advise.
If you missed the first chapter, please scroll down and read it, to make better sense of this one.
I hope that by going public with my breast cancer journey I will help others who might also be somewhere on this journey.
15th November 2018
WASO (West Australian Symphony Orchestra) were holding a special dinner with instrumental accompaniments at Frazer’s Restaurant in King’s Park that evening. As donors to the charity, we were invited to attend and were looking forward to an enjoyable meal and performance.
I had driven from Glen Forrest to Scarborough and was feeling a little tired, so I lay down on the bed for a rest at about two o’clock. My right hand was under my left breast as I rolled over.
That doesn’t feel right, I thought. It was a firm lump right under my nipple. Having had lumpy breasts for most of my adult life, I was used to checking them and having regular mammograms from the age of about forty. At seventy five, when I asked my GP for a referral for the private clinic I had used for many years, I was told, ‘You’re past the dangerous age. The government health department advises that you don’t need them anymore.’
All those mammograms had not revealed anything worth worrying about, so I accepted the expert’s assessment and did nothing more.
I’m now seventy eight. That lump told me that the medicos were wrong, but my emotions wrestled with the idea. I’m too healthy to have cancer, I thought, while rolling over onto my back to examine the area in detail. The lump was about 3 cms across and no matter how I tried to squish it, it remained hard.
I raced out to find my partner. ‘I’ve got a lump in my breast,’ I announced ‘and I’m sure it wasn’t there a couple of weeks ago.’
Poor man struggled out of his chair, physically, and the book he was engrossed in, mentally. ‘What? Are you sure?’
After careful examination, he agreed with me that it was a large lump and he hadn’t noticed it before either.
It was one occasion when I would have been very happy if told that I was imagining things.
I had raised funds for breast cancer research from about 1994 – 1997. With a group of like-minded women we held fashion parades, cocktail parties, an art auction and established the FAB (Fashion – a – Breast) campaign. By bringing in businesses associated with fashion and beauty, we developed a large network of supporters, who then did their own fundraising on our behalf. In the process I learnt a lot about breast cancer and what it could do to women (and a lesser number of men) and their families.
I knew that a lump this size, growing so rapidly, was TROUBLE. I was shaken and scared but of course, without tests to confirm my suspicions, I might be wrong. Hopefully.
By four o’clock that afternoon I had made an appointment for 3.30pm the next day with the Women’s and Breast Imaging Service in Cottesloe, which I had use for many years. I would need to see a GP for a referral before they could do the mammogram and ultrasound. As we were staying at Scarborough for the night, getting the referral from my usual GP in Glen Forrest would have meant two hours of driving the following morning. The receptionist at Cottesloe gave me the phone number for a local medical practice and I made the booking to see her at 2.15 on Friday afternoon.
Then I had a shower and got dressed in my finery. Between us, we even managed to take a few photos before
Dressed in my finery for the WASO dinner
leaving at 6. Cocktails were served on the lawn, the four course meal was delicious and we met interesting people who also loved attending classical concerts. For a few hours I forgot about my scary lump and enjoyed the evening.
The next morning is something of a blur. I think I was operating on auto that day. The only thing I remember about the Breast clinic, apart from having my flesh squashed as usual for the mammogram, is the cost of the treatments. I had expected it to be covered by my private health fund, but found that although Medicare repaid about half of the account, HBF paid nothing.
By 9am on Monday I was back at the Breast Clinic for a core sample biopsy. A large needle was inserted into the lump to remove three samples, each about 1 cm long. The doctor used ultrasound to see exactly what she was doing and offered for me to watch as well. Being very short sighted was a good excuse to not bother. I was busy putting my deep breathing/ relaxation technique to work so as to not scream out in pain. I had absolutely no desire to look at that big needle going in and out of me. Boy, did it hurt!
Medicare paid for about a third of that bill and again, HBF nothing.
I was told that the results might take all week so I should make an appointment with my own GP for the Friday afternoon.
Apart from the last few minutes before going into the operating theatre, waiting through that week was the most frightening time of this journey so far. Not knowing if I had cancer, I thought of all possible results and complications. Would I need a full mastectomy? It seemed too big for a lumpectomy. Had the cancer gone to the lymph nodes under my arm? I knew that lymphoedema could result from having those nodes removed, causing pain and swelling in the arm and it could last forever. Would I need chemotherapy and/or radiation? Having watched others going through both of those procedures, I feared the sickness, pain, and debilitating effects of both. Had any cells escaped to other parts of my body? That was the worst fear. I had seen what happens then. My first and second husbands had both died of secondary cancers.
The possibility of dying was not part of my fear. I’ve had a good life, meeting my lovely partner was a miracle and we’ve had almost six wonderful years together. I have a loving family and lots of good friends. I’ve done most of the travelling I wanted to (although there are a few more places on my bucket list). I’ve had some tough times, but with a comfortable home, a garden that I love, and enough money for my needs and wants, I am extremely blessed. I also believe in a better after life and have tried to lead a good life for this one, so death doesn’t frighten me. It’s all the nasty things that can go wrong on the way that terrify me.
On Thursday morning, just a week after I discovered the lump, I had a phone call from the Cottesloe GP who had given me the referral. ‘It’s not good news,’ she said. ‘Are you okay?’
I mumbled, ‘Um, I guess so,’ and gripped the phone tightly.
‘You do have breast cancer. You need to ring Dr Law and see her today.’
My response was a very loud, ‘SHIT.’
My partner heard me and quickly came to give me a big hug.
Having suffered through watching his late wife battle with cancer for five years, his initial reaction was to try to shut out that memory while trying to support me. I saw the pain in his eyes, the fear that he would lose me too.
I shook off my immediate emotional responses – fear, anxiety, feeling pissed off –and got on the phone to the local medical centre. The ladies on reception know me, so getting an appointment was easy. I would see Dr Law at 1pm.
‘But you’re so healthy Vicki. I expect you to live to ninety,’ was her shocked response to the news. ‘We’ll just get this out of the way and you’ll be fine.’
Between the call from the Cottesloe GP at about 10am and my appointment with Dr Law, I had phoned friends and family who had dealt with this problem or who had knowledge of the breast surgeons and oncologists in Perth. With three recommendations for Peter Wilsher as surgeon and Arlene Chan (his wife and medical partner) as oncologist, I was very pleased when my GP said, ‘I’m sending you to Peter Wilsher, he’s the best.’
I laughed, which puzzled her until I explained my earlier investigations. Dr Wilsher was away for a few days, but I could see him on Tuesday, the 27th November.