Kaye’s life … the heart-breaking and inspirational story of a true survivor

Over the next few weeks The Society is publishing the true story of a woman who went to hell and back because of breast cancer. This is Kaye Howarth’s story in her own words. Thank you for wanting to share with us and the world Kaye.

Biography … Bald Bird Surviving Breast Cancer

Part 2 Next Week

At the time of writing this I am thirty-three years young. Height 5.5ft, slimmish…was a Strawberry Blonde, do still have hazel eyes. Divorced for eleven years, and a single mum to my two gorgeous children Emily and George, both of whom are red heads! to my first husband.

I have recently remarried a Prison Officer at HMS The Weare (A prison ship) who has two young daughters who stay with us every other weekend. Our family also includes a toothless Tortoiseshell cat called Pickles, who dribbles incessantly (she’s fourteen now) two rabbits, and two guinea pigs.

I work part time as a “Speech and Language Therapy Assistant,” at Dorchester County Hospital, on the Adult Stroke unit, Hardy Ward.

 I love my job.

 Its only 15 hours a week spread over three days.

 My old reliable car bravely takes me from Portland to Dorchester, and back again occasionally breaking down on Ridgeway Hill, which isn’t fun. 

However, that’s the least of my worries.

I am at the moment on sick leave. At present a “Bald bird.”

 No hair. Just a good NHS wig style called Linda. I don’t wear this locally, just a woolly hat. On brave days I don’t bother to wear anything- my neighbours hail me in the street as “Sinead” that is as in O’Conner, the singer… I don’t mind…. I’m bald.

 Last year I found a Breast Lump, I have Cancer. I’m scared.

Cancer changed my life, actually for the better, never before have I appreciated so much, the sweet (sometimes not so sweet) smell of my children’s skin.

Relished and resented the kindness of my fellow human beings at the time of my incapacity.

 I have been given a lesson to appreciate the day I’m in; something I never really did before, usually planning years ahead.

  A letter for Bert.

I find I am beginning to have a relationship with my new lump. 

 My fingers have taken on an obsession.

Just like a jealous partner, they keep checking that your there.

 Of course, you ARE still there aren’t you, Bert?! 

One hopes that as with an old boyfriend who’s bugged the crap out of you, has hopefully picked up the vibes that he’s not wanted anymore. Has used incentive…and left, gone disappeared, just before the nasty, messy, screaming stage.

But you’re still here. 

I shall call you “Breast Lump” Bert, seeing we are now- so to speak attached through my left breast. Just you know this though Bert, I hate you, and I hate all you’ve put me through.

 In a weird way though Bert, you have made me pull my life together, I appreciate the new insight you have gained me into how precious my life is.

Never again will I take for granted the sweet smell of my children’s skin. 

 The warmth of a hug with my husband, laughing with my mother on the phone.

 chuckling at naughty jokes emails sent by my best friend Annie, or the human kindness of the people who surround me.

 So, Bert, it’s just you and me, let the battle begin….

A Definite Lump.

My heart begins to pump so fast; I think it will explode through my ribs. Whistling sounds ring in my ears, the bath I sit in has no warming me, the bathroom walls zoom in.

“No God Please…not me! “My hand moves around my left breast, I’m physically shaking. Breath leaves my body in rapid bursts, any second, I feel I will pass out. Stomach constricting, I mentally order myself to explore the outer perimeter of my left breast, once more.

There is definitely a pea size lump.

“You bastard, you bloody shitty bastard!” Life I meant. I had only just got mine, at the age of thirty-two, in order, and then bugger me if it doesn’t turn round and kick you in the teeth, just as you start to relax.

It’s funny, but at that moment my life flashes before my eyes, photographic form.

Snap! Me as a baby, lying in a huge pram, merrily sucking on my toes (no chance of that nowadays) oblivious to the surrounding wood pigeons cooing, and the glorious sunshine in the cloudless blue sky.

Snap! Mum and I, me as a gawky, skinny teenager, with stupid bunches sticking out of strawberry blonde hair, standing on top of a hill in Torquay, with a parrot (the photographers) glaring menacingly into my trusting eyes.

Snap! Karyn my best friend and I, both hormonally charged sixteen-year-olds at a local photo booth, pulling faces, rushing out after being momentarily blinded by the flash of bulb. The Unendurable three-minute wait for the four pictures to slide down the slot, self-conscious now, of the people guaranteed to turn up right behind you, as the photos slide down…. Snap! First love Barry, motorcyclist, who had a Moto Guzzi 50cc, later had a sporty three-wheeler car, orange and black, had to push start it one day…

Snap! First husband, Weymouth Registry Office, children later, Emily first, then George both inheriting my red hair. Photos post-divorce.

Me and the kids in our new house, new friends, the children’s, and mine. Parties, first days at school, crisp new uniforms…Christmases, learning the skills of balance on first bikes.

Snap! Present. Getting Re-married at Thorn bury Castle 21.08.99 Bristol. George my son Best man, in top hat and tails. Emily my daughter, Chief Bridesmaid. in a golden off the shoulder gown. Our Stepdaughters their two little cousins and my niece blew across the resplendent lawns in white dresses, reminding me of Dandelions being blown gently in the warm summer breeze. Lastly but no means least our young Pageboy, who gave me my lucky horseshoe. My wonderful grandparents Betty and Lesley, celebrating also on that day their 45th Wedding Anniversary. Photo with my Bouquet! Sob!

I HOPE AND PREY THAT I WILL MAKE OUR FIRST! AM I GOING TO DIE?

Mum!

It’s at times like these that I thank god I have a fantastic relationship with my mum. Once the children were in bed, bribed with various goodies to help them on their way (as all good mothers know what to provide for a child free zone) I dial my mother’s phone number.

Now my mum is a real character, she is classy, funny and has an inner strength that I have never met before, or am likely to meet again, she raised me alone from a young and tender age, and it was a struggle for her, but she did it!

“Hello!” sang a happy female voice. “Hi mum…” sniff…sob

 “Okay hun…wots up then…?” her voice soft.

Sob. Sniff… “hi Mum, I’ve got another lump…!” (I had had a previous lump, which turned out to be a cyst, aspirated 12 months ago) Sniff…sob.

I then spent the next hour on the phone, with her telling me to make the Doctor’s appointment the following morning. I said I would, she said she would pay for me to go private if necessary.

We end the conversation with her making me laugh, can’t remember what she said, but it did the trick for the moment.

Mum says all will be ok.

 Like a good girl I believe her, mums don’t lie about such things, she says we had covered this ground before with the Cyst, and that was all ok. We say goodnight and after promising to phone her tomorrow evening. Having made the GP appointment, would see what the next steps would be.

I replace the receiver slowly. Look around to Hubby who stands behind me, and shrug.

The following morning, I give breakfast to bleary eyed children. Pack lunch boxes and fill juice bottles to the brim. Gym Kit retrieved from airing cupboard for George.

The children feed rabbits, guinea pigs, and toothless cat Pickles.

I wave goodbye to their burdened backpacks as they disappear slowly up the hill merging with other backpacks of assorted sizes and colours. It is 8.45am, I make coffee, and get pen and paper. Watch the News for ten minutes, then pick up the phone and call Doctors.

The Receptionist listens to me, and my symptoms. Seeing it is a Monday, and you normally have to wait for an appointment, unless your head is hanging of your shoulders, I am warmly surprised by the efficiency of the young Receptionist who tells me to come in today at the end of Surgery.”” Due to the circumstances Kaye, we would like to see you as soon as possible, so see you this evening.” This is a command I agree with.

The Appointment

“Kaye,” the Nurse Practitioner calls me to her surgery. I sit down; give previous medical history, including the Aspiration of the Cyst in the same breast, this time last year.

She smiles encouragingly, in doing so I relax…a bit. 

As requested, I now lie down on the examination couch, disrobed to my waist. (Once you have given birth this is a ride in the park.)

The doctor gently examines both my breasts and confirms there is indeed a lump apparent in my left breast. Referral is made for the Breast Clinic, which is held at Dorchester Hospital, Tuesdays, and Thursdays. It can be up to a Fourteen day wait at the most for my appointment.

 God bless the NHS. The Doctor lets me dress in privacy, and when leaving wishes me gently “Good luck!”

At home Husband is waiting for me; I tell him all that was said.

“The return of the Cyst!” He smiles cynically” Sounds like the title of a horror film,” We cuddle and laugh, sort of……

 Okay’, I’ll level with you. Inside my head at that moment I’m thinking, will I live to see my children grown? Have I got Cancer? Is it in my hips? Bones? Liver? Kidneys, how much of my organs can they remove before the consultant says,” That’s all we can do for you?”

How do I keep myself and my family going until I receive my appointment? Patience just isn’t my strong point, nor is relying on others for information, which now I have to do, and wait for.

Everyone sees me carrying on, whilst I write Christmas Cards, (Christmas 1999) send my children on various postage missions, and drink Whisky (in moderation) with my husband in the evenings when the babes are safe asleep. We play Chess to stop me thinking about “It”, we wrap Christmas pressies.

It’s funny, but as word spread around my street of my predicament (although I hasten to add, I do not even feel ill, just run down at this point) a support network begins to grow around me.

 Friends I had lost contact with get back in touch, telling me of various members who had pulled through…I drink in positivity.

 Neighbours who are nodding acquaintances (due to busy work schedules) pop in now with flowers, homemade biscuits for the kids, which are eaten rather quickly!” Homemade cakes, and Carol pops in from across the road for a coffee now and again.

 Offers of babysitting flood in, for as and when needed.

What do I tell the kids?

Throughout this emotional turbulent time, Ems and George are aware of my health; they are given minimal but honest bit of information, saying I had a lump in boob that needed checking out. Although at this point other family members stepped in giving them support.

Emily carries on being a teenager acting hormonally. She hasn’t quiet reached that point woman hood yet but likes to keep up appearances. 

George continues with his Play station Games, climbing and moving up Levels with his lifelong friend, occasionally they can be seen on frequent fridge raids raiding the kitchen for sustenance.

We spend the majority of the weekend with mum, who truly brilliant, she’s so scatty and makes me and the children laugh, eat loads, lay by her fire. Kids bicker and argue…normality, I had almost forgotten. Mum has offered the children to spend the night with her. A wonderful treat that usually happens every other weekend.

  As I can only sleep properly in my own bed I go home. 

Knackered and home. The phone rings, it’s my Uncle Danny, quells my ensuing fears of up and coming appointment, we say goodbye.

 Husband phones that evening. He is having his children at his mums in Evesham. We play on the phone arguing about who loves who the most. I let him win, cos he’s better at arguing than me, the conversation ends.

 I place down the receiver.

             The house at this moment feels very, very empty.

Working week and Supportive work colleagues

It is Monday, I go to work at Dorchester Hospital, and I have spoken with my boss (and friend) the Speech Therapy Team Leader. (I’m lucky in working in the caring profession,).

She makes me a coffee; I gather my thoughts.

We sit down for a coffee with another Speech therapist in the office.

I tell them all that has happened.

 They are supportive, suggesting it would be an idea for someone to accompany me to appointment; I am relieved, truthfully…because…

1. Husband travels to Bristol every other weekend to maintain contact with his girls.

2. It would take the pressure off him.

3. The Someone has breasts.

4. I can talk openly without fear of frightening her, and others at work.

5. I can tell them how shit-scared I am really.

Yes Please! they give me a hug.

Together we go to the Adult Stroke Unit to begin our day’s work.

As a word of advice to anyone who can manage this, work is a great distraction and anchorage.

 Intermittently thoughts wormed their way my head, but I concentrated hard on my patients.  I wondered what they would think if they knew what was going on in my life.  Looking at the other staff, questioning myself, as to who else could possibly be going through an illness I didn’t know about?

Boss keeps in close contact with me, telling me she had informed the Head of the Department of my condition. Thanks Nat you’re a star, because sometimes just having to tell one more person can really do you in, especially at work.

Days tick away, work, children, washing, cooking.

I find through the ensuing days that I am beginning to have a relationship with my new lump, my fingers begin to take on an obsession, just like a jealous partner, I keep checking that you’re there…of course you still there aren’t you, Bert!

Seems like a lifetime!

Two weeks isn’t really a long time, but it’s like anything.  Waiting for exam results, waiting for a reunion, it seems a lifetime. Husband does his best in being positive; he spoils me and tries to take my mind of things.

Emily and George continue in their childhood.

People continue with their everyday life, normality.

I’m jealous of their uncomplicated lives, don’t they know I could be dying? Don’t they know Emily and George could be without a mother???

I’m so angry at this blow life has given me.

I hate this life.

 I hate this Cancer.

 I love life and want to live forever.

 I want to see my children grow into adulthood.

 I want to see Emily and George graduate, go to the Prom, college, get married.

 I want to have Grandchildren sit on my knee. 

I bargain with God, “Please God just give me ten years to see my children safely grown.”

I look down at the kitchen floor. Pickles our cat is meowing pitifully at my feet, looking up at me lovingly possibly picking up on my emotional state, I then notice the cat flap has been shut.

I want the cat not to have peed on the kitchen floor.

Watching the letter box

I am not sleeping at all.

 I’m getting grumpy with the children, and the entire universe. Busying myself over the next few days with all the household jobs. Trying hard to remain normal.

I go out and clean the rabbits in the howling, windy rain, and look up at the sky and shout… “Why me. What the hell have I done!” my words are dragged out of my mouth and thrown away to the grey skies.

Two sets of eyes look at me, with soft twitching noses.

Molly a grey long haired bunny turns to Toby, a pure white (I rescued him from the local pet shop as no one wanted him, he sways like a head banger, (some neurological problem) with pink eyes, and ignore me.  The Guinea pigs squeak, and huddle in their straw refusing to even acknowledge the strange noisy human (would of course be different if a carrot were involved,) outside their warm domestic hutch.

I slop about with clean straw and hay, making them comfortable they do not want to come out today, although they have total freedom to run in the garden.

My hands are numb as I change the water feeders. So is my brain from thinking about it. “Cancer, the IT in my TIT,” I think this and laugh to myself.

Kath my elderly next-door neighbour is emptying her bins, shakes her head sadly. Kath must think I’ve finally lost it, I say this to Pickles our toothless tortoise shell cat who has jumped into the rabbit hutch with Molly and Toby, who grumble, hiss and cuddled up anyway.

I go inside to the kitchen. I need hot coffee to warm my frozen hands. 

Turning after flicking the kettle on, a large white letter drops through our letter box, silently landing on our” WELCOME” doormat. 

This is the referral, I know it…It is, I’m right. Opening the letter with shaky hands read I have an appointment in two weeks’ time…and My Consultant will be the same one who aspirated my Cyst last year. I am lucky, he is brill.

I stand motionless letter in hands, in my green wellies, straw in hair, and cry.

ISBN:9798662933149

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