KAYE’S LIFE … THE POWERFUL STORY OF A BREAST CANCER SURVIVOR

‘I finish my shift and now the work begins … time for my referral. My heart is pounding‘

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 3 Next Week

The Referral

Having finished my work shift, I clamber down the hospital stairs, my energy level right now feels strangely low, and I feel totally drained. To keep my energy level up I have to eat every two hours, eating makes my jaw ache, and I seem to be finishing my meals long after everyone else.

I meet with my Support Colleague in our office; we discuss patient notes, and ideas in helping patients, relevant information. Then we discuss what we did at the weekend, and various middle of the range chit chat.

The time has arrived for my appointment at the Breast Clinic. We gather ourselves, my heart begins to speed up.

“Are you sure you don’t mind coming?” I’m now feeling apprehensive to say the least; I know Claire won’t let me down though I ask any way.

“Come on sweetie,” Claire takes charge, and leads me to the door, downstairs across the passage, through another door. We have arrived; we turn right into the Breast Clinic.

The receptionist smiles warmly acknowledges my name firstly verbally, then checks out my NHS id badge, which after sitting down I remove swiftly and put in bag.

The Breast Clinic is fairly quiet, then it is early-1.45pm. Come 2.00pm the clinic   swells with woman of all age’s partners, and children, men patients, this is not just a female disease I remind myself. Claire squeezes my hand reassuringly. I’m embarrassed .as my palms are now damp and clammy; Claire doesn’t seem to have noticed.

My name, called by a cuddly Blonde Nurse, Support Colleague releases my hand, gives me a “keep your pecker up,” wink.

I follow cuddly blonde Nurse lady through to an Apricot room (meant to make the experience more relaxing), with a chair and examination couch, I am asked to strip to the waist and put on a bat man like cape, I feel a bit of a prat, but do so.

My Consultant, mine in the loosest connotation, but he does make you feel like his only patient ignoring the swelling of patents outside my room. Mr Consultant introduces me to Jean the Breast Care Nurse. We nod a friendly hello. He goes through my Case File and previous notes of Cyst.

The examination of “Bert” is very professional. Both breasts are checked, normal healthy side first to get general map of how tissue felt below, then the other, signs of dimpling, puckering, discharge looked for and not found, however “Bert” did me proud showing his full figure.

Fluid Aspirated (Syringe used to draw fluid from my lump). I don’t feel a thing, surprisingly. This will be sent to the lab for tests I am told.

The Nurse smiles at me reassuringly throughout the process.

I can dress now.

Once clad, Mr Consultant explains this sample will be sent to the lab, results will be back in three weeks’ time. I should make an appointment to return then. I am given a card to tell the receptionist this.

I say “Thank you! “And that I will see him then.

Claire stands up on seeing me, I’m still, slightly red in the face. Make the afore said appointment, leave the ward, discussing what had happened.

I tell Claire “I wish they could just give me the results now; I would give them every penny I had.”

Three weeks is a long time to wait.

It’s getting bigger

Things calm down during the next couple of days; I continue working, execute being a wife and mother.

Husband and I lay in bed one evening; I run my hand over Bert…my stomach lunges.

 “It’s getting bigger!” 

He laughs, thinking I’m referring to his nether regions.

“No, my lump! “I tell him He feels, agrees, suggests I go back to the GP.

 My regular GP is unavailable. I see another.

 This GP offers to try and Aspirate-inserts fine needle, to drain lump, take and use for lab sample, he tries twice to no avail.

I say that’s enough, the GP’s face echoes my realisation, Inform GP I will make an appointment with Breast Clinic. Should have gone back there in hindsight.

 Leave the surgery with inner sense of foreboding.

Husbands home I tell him. He tells me I should leave the thing alone, remind him that it was upon his insistence that I skedaddled to the GP in panic (not true but that was my take on it at that moment).

Anyway, that night after tucking up the cherubs, my breast begins to throb like hell.

 Sit quietly, don’t tell Mick. 

Hit the kitchen for Paracetamol. Take every four hours.

Burn burns go away; come again another day.

 Its midnight, sleeping beauty snores contentedly by my side. I phone the Emergency Doctors number, as pain is horrendous. Doctor calmly tells me to continue with pain killers; however, I am taking too many he tells me. Asks me if my stomach feels sore, it does, tells me the correct dosage I should now take, advises me to phone the Breast Clinic first thing.

Today is now Monday, Mr Consultant isn’t in Clinic, so make an appointment for tomorrow.

The next day, Claire once again accompanies me to the Clinic. Jean the Breast Nurse calls me into the side room, examines breast, that now holds a lump the size of an entrenched ping pong ball. 

I give Jean an update, she gets a colleague Consultant, he advises I attend a Mammogram, for this Thursday, also Mr Consultant will be able to see me after., Jean confirms this. 

I dress. tears of fright, tensed up emotion, wave up through me. I ask what the lump could be; the Consultant tells me gently that he wouldn’t hazard a guess, not without the lab report and Mammogram. 

Tears pour uncontrollably down my face; Jean asks if I’m ok, the Consultant replies, sardonically “obviously not!” Jean offers me a hanky, goes and books appointment with Mr Consultant’s secretary, to coincide with Mammogram appointment. I take the card and leave.

I join Claire. “They don’t know what it is! I have to wait for the lab report.”

Claire diplomatically takes charge, leads me to our office, and gives me hot coffee and chocolate biscuits. I emerge 1 hour later, still a tearful sobbing wreck. Claire had been a star; she has my eternal gratitude. 

I reach the car, get in somehow. Phone Mick on my mobile, can’t talk for crying,

“Meet you at home,” I say.

Drive home, imagining my funeral, my kids! Nearly ram a shitty coloured Metro up the arse, woman glares through her rear-view mirror, she mouths obscenities.

I give her the two-finger salute, life is too short, and I laugh despite myself.

Make the rest of the journey home safely, fall into husband’s arms, gabble out that they don’t know what it is. Our Childminder gives me a hug. Diplomatically leaves.

Evening. Mum phones. Be positive she says.

“It’s that naughty Cyst again,” she wishes I had let her pay for me to go privately, like last time. I say that the treatment I am getting with the NHS is superb, that the time difference would be no different. We continue discussing her move into the house opposite us, the Holiday House we fondly call it. I clean there on a regular basis during the summer.

Mums house currently being a health risk, due to a cracked, broken drain somewhere in the bowels of her house. Which when sitting in her sitting room, having a cup of tea, is similar to sitting in the public lav. I’m sure you can imagine. Mum will live opposite of us for about two weeks; actually, it turned out to be three months in all. The kids were ecstatic at having “Little Nanny” so close.

We said “goodbyes, I love you.” Funny how that has crept in, ending our phone conversations recently. 

Mick takes me to the hospital for my Mammogram. 

I have now found the loneliest place on the planet, a small cubicle, awaiting the Mammogram machine.

I wear a cape round my shoulders like a superhero, just wish I had the Super Chest to go with the image. My boobs get their mug shots.

 I then go for an Ultrasound, Hubby is invited to join me for support. They pour gel over my breast, just like a Pregnancy Scan.

 I now see my baby.

The Doctor puts her hand reassuringly on mine. 

Mr Consultant sees the results.

I’m booked in for a “Lumpectomy” in three days’ time.

 That will be the end of “Bert” I think to myself.

“Hahaha” giggles fate. That’s what you think.

My journey and all the people in my life were about to ride an emotional roller coaster, which would cover the next year.

I know where, and what I’ll be doing the New Year’s Eve for the year 2000, it won’t be going to Bristol like Last year.

ISBN:9798662933149

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