‘HOW THE POSSIBILITY OF BEING FORGOTTEN HURTS SO MUCH…’
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 4 Next Week
Fifteen days later
We sit in the Breast Clinic. Dave reads a car mag, showing me various car models that take his fancy. I glance and make a derogatory comment about cars being phallic symbols…did he really want a Mini?!
Jan the Breast care Nurse, flits here and there, comes over eventually and gives me a warm hug. My name is called; we go to the Consultation room.
Mr Graham offers a seat after shaking our hands warmly, I’m slightly embarrassed as mine is damp and clammy…. again.
Mr Graham speaks. My heart pounds.
He’s sorry to tell me that my so called Cyst was Cancer a Malignant Tumour.
It was a Stage 3 Ductal C+ T2 C, 3 NI ER Neg. The tumour had been completely removed, however Mr Graham felt that the tumour was Margin line, and that for a better result, it would be wise to remove the surrounding tissue. Mr Graham spoke gently, and kindly. (The above paragraph does not portray his absolute professionalism, which is due to my poor memory, that of being in shock, limits my memory of all the conversation, I would like to stress that I couldn’t have been dealt with in a kinder way.)
Mr Graham explains gently my options- that I can have a larger tissue area removed, or that a Mastectomy followed by immediate reconstruction was also an option.
Also explained was that for them to fully diagnose me, Lymph nodes would be removed and sampled (tested), depending on how many nodes were affected would help plan further treatment. Such as Chemotherapy.
First, I want to know what a Stage three meant.
“If it were a dog, I ask, what breed would it be?”
“A Rottweiler, but although it is an aggressive Cancer, we have caught it early. When w has the results of your Lymph nodes that will give us the full picture.
I say that I would rather have a Mastectomy, have it all taken away, my inner thoughts thinking that this would give less chance of re occurrence. I realize that I have already chosen, before I had even walked through the door.
Mr Graham draws diagrams of different reconstruction techniques. I opt for the back Dorsal Muscle (the back muscle is brought round to the chest with its own blood supply and forms part of the breast) and Silicone implant. Later I have the option of a Nipple Tattoo.
25.
“Please take a few days to think about it. When we meet again, we can arrange the surgery date. I have free 15.12.99 and the 21.12.99”, Mr Graham looks at me to gage which date suits.
I say the 15.12.99.
“Well let’s meet in two days, and book.” Mr Graham stands as we say goodbye.
Jan gestures us to follow her, we go to her little room, and all others are occupied. I picture women wailing and crying, throwing themselves on the floor in despair.
I think I have been given a death sentence at this point, I actually haven’t but that is how I felt just at that moment. Jan asks us to sit.
We do, I cry, tears of sheer fear coarse down my face. Dave is also in tears; Jan gives us space. She then talks to us. Explaining the diagnosis, and that all was not doom or gloom. I was young and would recover quickly from the surgery. Jan thought I had made a good choice for surgery, and that she too would have taken that path.
Jan hands us leaflets that we can read later, about Breast cancer Diagnosis, in the back pages Support Addresses and phone numbers. Mastectomy information on Silicone
Breast Surgery, how safe Silicone is etc.
I am shaking, and feel that I’m now losing my grip, I tell Jan all my bottled up feelings and fears, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I’m so scared. Jan suggests that I visit my g.p, just for a short term measure, get some Anti depressants, just to take the pressure off a bit. (I do this, and it definitely got me through). I arrange an appointment time with Jan to see Mr Graham for two days time.
Two days later the date set for surgery is set for the 22.12.99, I do still plum for the Mastectomy.
I never in the world dreamed that my wish for the Millennium would be that I would live. I vowed that no lump (you Bert), would rob me of my life, I loved my life, my family, and besides we had a party to attend New Years Eve, at Sharon and Steve’s, we would be going! That I promised myself.
Breaking the bad news.
You know, sometimes the hardest thing in life, is telling the ones you love, in your life bad news, I was dreading it.
Having got the results of my Lumpectomy, left me in no doubt that I had a fight on my hands, a Mastectomy and then the possibility of Chemotherapy afterwards.
Mum opened the door, and just by looking at my face knew all in the garden wasn’t rosy. She bundled me in the door, and held me close, once seated on the settee, through wrenching sobs told her the results. Mum in her wisdom told me we weren’t beat yet, and that things, were luckily, so luckily at the treatable stage, we had a chance. Emotionally I’m shagged, knackered, my brain hurts, everything hurts.
The thought of dying, not seeing my children as adults hurts, my husband of only a few months remarrying some full busted blonde hurts, running off with my Life Insurance hurts (he wouldn’t, but you begin to think like this) being forgotten and replaced hurts.
Dave phones his parents with the results, Kathleen from next door pops in, to see how things went, I tell her, through sips of Whisky (a small plus in this situation) Oh dear!”
Kath looks weepy.
Dave tells her things aren’t bad, were being positive, he tells her, he thinks I don’t notice the look he gives her. Mike and Michelle, our mates from over the road, (number 24, were 27) come in, we all sit together, and I get hugged a lot. People glancing through the window probably think were having a wife swapping party.
Eventually people leave, Emily my daughter comes in complaining of hunger pangs, we all laugh thank god for children, whatever’s going on they keep normality.
Feed kids, and then chat about my decision on having Mastectomy, followed by immediate reconstruction. Mum says not to bother with the reconstruction as this a large operation in its own right. I say I’m only 32, I love the beach, and want to get back to normal as quickly as possible. I understand where mum was coming from, but I’m being offered a gift here, reconstruction surgery has quieted a long waiting list, plus when I had come round from surgery not that much would be different.
Two days later I confirm this with Mr Graham, he explains clearly the surgical procedure; he draws diagrams, explaining the use of my back muscle to be brought round to my chest, plus silicone implant. Ten days in hospital.
My mum has decided to take off work, to be my and my children’s carer, I tell Mr Graham. Surgery is set for 22.12.99 over the Christmas period; it hits me that this is not what I planned for the Millennium.
I have a party to go to, maybe god willing I could still make it, id hate for us to miss Steve and Sharon’s party, there parties were legendary.
Ten days before the operation date, I pop into Dorchester Hospital to give medical background etc.
Everyone mentally prepares for the upcoming date of the Op. Dave returns to Bristol every other weekend, maintaining contact with Rosie and Katie. I see that he feels
guilty at leaving us, me. I encourage him to go but miss him so much.
Me and the kids carry on going to mums across the road for healthy meals, and
Scrum teas, long walks. Life carries on.
I phone Debbie; Monday is (my boss) and tell her the results.
Debbie then phones Manager Hilary Jarvis. This is extremely helpful, takes a load off my shoulders, as don’t think I could get through the whole explanation without bursting into tears. Pip phones me that evening, giving me love from everyone at Bald Bird
work. I receive cards from them in the following days.
30.
I find that emotionally I’m really struggling, feel really down, I visit my gp again, who suggests a short course of Antidepressants, just to see me through the next few weeks, month or so. I agree.
The next few weeks drags by. Antidepressants kick in, which make me feel a bit spacey, removed from reality. Without the tablets I become very down. I believe that my diagnosis can only lead to one outcome, cheerful or what?
All I can think about is “Cancer”. I read all leaflets concerning this subject, front and back, I even have a secret stash in the bathroom, in case I need a quick top up of knowledge, my family pretend they don’t know about my secret hoard. They watch sadly at my obsessive behaviour.
The Millennium is fast approaching, we wrap Christmas pressies, put up the decorations. Emily and George bicker, I burst into tears. I don’t want my children arguing on what could be my last Christmas.
I carry on going to work; we have the Christmas lunch combined Beckie’s leaving bash, the hospital canteen is transformed to a sparkling grotto. We toast Becky, wish her all the best in her new life in Australia complete with Doctor Boyfriend Matt.
I will miss her; we have become close. I wonder as I hug my colleagues wishing Merry Christmas, when will I return?” Happy Christmas, cracking New Year everyone!
31.
Becky and I leave together, in the car park give each other a big hug, a skinny builder walks by puffing on a rollie, gives us a “raving lesbians”, glare. We both laugh and go our separate ways.
At home we celebrate Christmas one week early, due to the fact I will be ensconced in a hospital bed on the real day. We hug, kiss and thank for our wonderful pressies, my chest holds in the hot anger that I feel a this very moment, fear, jealousy, that if I might not be here for the next Christmas how long would it be before another woman takes my place in their hearts, of those I love. Irrational fear, but that is what I think.
That weekend we go to Dave’s parents, I, Emily and George. (Bett and Norman).
We have a wonderful pre Christmas again! Katie and Rosie are also with us. We open pressies, have a great Christmas dinner, and lazy after noon, snowflakes start to fall, and thicken. As we look out later the snow has settled so we all tog up and go for a walk. The local playing field looks beautiful with the freshly laid snow; we all do snow angels and build a snow man.
A wonderful weekend, all too soon its time to go home.
32.
22.12.99
I pack once again. Mum looks after the children, on my leaving gives me a big hug. The kids believe this to be the beginning of a rugby scrum, and pile on in.
Extricate myself, Dave and I bolt for the car, we listen to the Mavericks at full volume. Ironically stopping at the local garage for a pack of flags for Dave.
Arrive, check in, named and numbered in the form of a wrist band. I Am given a rather swish electrical bed that apparently could get into all sorts of positions.
Mr Graham arrives, greeting me warmly, then asks me to undo my garments (curtains are drawn) draws with black marker intended surgical arrears. Once happy with this, says I can get dressed again now. Asks if I have any concerns, surgical or other wise. I ask him to just check under my armpit, I think I’m getting a swelling there (Paranoid) …all is fine.
(Have you ever become obsessive, you know like that disorder where you keep checking if you’ve left the gas on, or having got into bed, think did I lock the door? Well, you bloody well know you have locked the door, but you still haul yourself out of that lovely warm bed, go down the cold stairs, and check. Well, every nodule, tiny resin or lump that lies under my skin gets checked and checked again. I find new lumps that definitely weren’t there yesterday, were they?!?)
33.
Australian Anaesthetist arrives, explains he will be monitoring me during op, and post operative for pain control. Will be managed by Morphine injections. Great I say, there is an upside to all this! We both laugh. He leaves.
The Florist arrives at the same time as Karyn (S.A.L.T), Karyn leaves a Christmas Cacti and card at reception as doesn’t want to disturb me. The florist bares a bunch of the most beautiful white roses, courtesy of my man. I hug Dave. Dave is asked not to stay to long to let me get settled in, we have a huge cuddle, I’m frightened I cry, I put my head down, squeeze him and ask him to go. Dave tells me he will stay in Dorchester town centre all day; he will come back when I come out of theatre.
I will now use a diary to track my wandering thoughts, will write when next able.
ISBN:9798662933149
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