So today I had my 4 year mammogram, it was definitely a case of history repeating itself. Basically a copy paste of my last mammogram....., apart from swap Michelle for Rob. Other than that, same feelings, same scanxiety. Everything the same.
A few of my BC buddies question why I have my mammogram now, given that 2017 is actually 5 years since I was diagnosed, people that were diagnosed in the same month as me, have it from diagnosis. My trust have just always done it this way, so it's from when I finished treatment (other than rads), basically from when they told me all the f*cker was out of me. Hopefully this one will be okay, then I'm one year closer to the magic 5 year mark.
Showing posts with label self-examination. Show all posts
Showing posts with label self-examination. Show all posts
Thursday, 26 January 2017
Thursday, 13 November 2014
Not Again....
*Spoiler Alert*
When I was younger, I used to have something called Trichotillomania. Basically, when I got anxious, nervous or worried, I used to twist my hair round and round my finger and pull it out at my crown. It led to me having a big bald spot in the centre of my head which I covered by brushing my hair over it. I eventually grew out of it, but I've noticed that now when I'm in the same anxious state, I continually touch my bad boob. Not in a sexual way but in a squeeze it, feel it, search it, sort of way.
About a fortnight ago, I found out that the company I work for is merging (in truth it's an acquisition) with another company, and as a result my job is at risk. SBG (Self-Boob-Groping) goes into overdrive. And then I find it. A lump. No no no. Oh please no. Shit. My already stressed out brain goes into meltdown. How in the heck am I supposed to process this much stress. We have just moved house (said to be one of the biggest life stressors), I am potentially losing my job (another stressor) and now another lump. The trouble was, as soon as I found the lump/ridge/oddness, I couldn't leave it alone. Which made it swell. Which made me feel even worse. Which made me touch it more. Complete vicious cycle.
As it was my time of the month, I decided to leave it a week before calling the doctor. During your period, hormonal changes and fluctuations can cause your breasts to feel lumpy. I put a massive plaster over it to stop me touching it, and hoped against hope that it would disappear.
I desperately tried to put it out of my mind over that week but I couldn't. I didn't tell many people about it (I had to tell HR at work because of the impending job loss), because admitting I'd found something and saying it out loud somehow made it more real.
A week passed and I peeled the plaster off. It was still there. Felt myself about to break, but managed to centre myself and use some of the calming breathing techniques I learnt on my Cancer Survivorship Course last year. I waited until 8am when the doctor's surgery opened and made the call. I had to call 24 times as it was permanently engaged, when I finally got through I was given an appointment for that afternoon.
I went to the doctor's and was sat in the waiting room for about 15 minutes. I could feel my heart rate rising with every minute sat there. I was eventually called through, and as it was a new doctor's surgery (as we have moved house, I also moved doctor) they didn't know any of my medical history. The male doctor took notes and then called in a chaperone. He gave my boobs and armpit a good feel and confirmed he could feel what I was talking about. He said to me that he didn't think it was anything significant, but as it was definitely *something* and given my medical history, he had to refer me.
When a doctor suspects a Breast Cancer, you have to be referred under the 2 week emergency referral period. I was called the very next day (Wednesday) and was given an appointment at the breast clinic for the following Thursday.
The next day a letter arrived in the post, the NHS stamp in the right hand corner, familiar and sinister, instantly recognisable. I open the letter and it tells me everything I already know. I have an appointment at Mr Ball's One Stop Clinic at 10h20 on Thursday next week and it details all the procedures I *could* go through. I read the letter. A One Stop Clinic does mean you get the results on the same day which is something at least. I digest all the info. But I know all of this already. Which is what makes it worse. Last time I thought it wasn't anything. What if it is again....
What followed was the longest week ever. It made me remember the wait I had before. Not only did I have this to contend with, but in the middle of the wait, we also found out more about the new work structure and my role as it is now doesn't exist. How much stress is one person supposed to cope with :(
I don't know how I got through it, but Thursday eventually arrived. I spent the morning feeling sick, being sick and crying, as I was very much aware that within a few hours, my world could be right back in 2012 again, but this time with the threat of not having a job. Rob drove me to Crawley hospital and we were told that the oncologist was running half an hour late. It's always the way but it does absolutely nothing for your nerves.
Eventually I was seen by Mr Ball. He ran through my medical history and then felt my boobs and my armpits. I just about held it together, lip quivering and a few tears falling. He then said to me that he thought it was scar tissue but to be 100% he wanted me to have a Mammogram and Ultrasound. He said that if the radiologists thought it was serious, then I would need an MRI as well which would involve another weeks' wait for results. I knew this was coming, but I feel horribly sick. There's a term called Scanxiety, it's the fear cancer patients face when they know scans are approaching and would 100% say I suffer from it.
I walk round to the x-ray department and am told where the mammogram waiting room is. I know already. I've done this before. Rob and I walk there in a sort of brain fog. And we sit for another 40 minutes. The wait is excruciating. I'm the youngest person there by a country mile (what is a country mile anyway?!) I'm called into the mammogram side room to confirm my details and I burst into tears. The lady doing the mammogram is lovely. She tells me she remembers me from before. I suppose you would do seeing that I was 28 at diagnosis and everyone else in the waiting room looks over 50. She also tells me that as my annual mammogram was due in December/January, this one would be replacing it. I sit in the side room for 5 minutes and then I'm called through to the room. It's hideously familiar. My boobs are scanned and squashed, it hurts but I know it's what's needed. I try and read her face but she gives nothing away. She must have her game face completely perfected as she does this every day.
I then have to wait another 30 minutes for the ultrasound. I am called to the room. I take off my top and lie on the bed. Tears fall again. The doctor doing the ultrasound walks in and tells me that the mammogram looked clear. A little bubble of hope rises in my chest. He then spends a good 10 minutes performing an ultrasound on the area I have found the lump in. He is very kind in the way he talks to me. He has a soothing voice which calms me a little. He then turns to me and smiles. "It's scar tissue Joanna" he says. I fully burst into tears. Overwhelm. Happiness. Relief.
They want me to keep an eye on it anyway, just in case. I have my follow-up appointment in 3 months that I had booked in anyway (it was due to follow my January mammogram), and they will no doubt check in on it again then. But for now, I have one less life stressor to worry about.
Panic over.
When I was younger, I used to have something called Trichotillomania. Basically, when I got anxious, nervous or worried, I used to twist my hair round and round my finger and pull it out at my crown. It led to me having a big bald spot in the centre of my head which I covered by brushing my hair over it. I eventually grew out of it, but I've noticed that now when I'm in the same anxious state, I continually touch my bad boob. Not in a sexual way but in a squeeze it, feel it, search it, sort of way.
About a fortnight ago, I found out that the company I work for is merging (in truth it's an acquisition) with another company, and as a result my job is at risk. SBG (Self-Boob-Groping) goes into overdrive. And then I find it. A lump. No no no. Oh please no. Shit. My already stressed out brain goes into meltdown. How in the heck am I supposed to process this much stress. We have just moved house (said to be one of the biggest life stressors), I am potentially losing my job (another stressor) and now another lump. The trouble was, as soon as I found the lump/ridge/oddness, I couldn't leave it alone. Which made it swell. Which made me feel even worse. Which made me touch it more. Complete vicious cycle.
As it was my time of the month, I decided to leave it a week before calling the doctor. During your period, hormonal changes and fluctuations can cause your breasts to feel lumpy. I put a massive plaster over it to stop me touching it, and hoped against hope that it would disappear.
I desperately tried to put it out of my mind over that week but I couldn't. I didn't tell many people about it (I had to tell HR at work because of the impending job loss), because admitting I'd found something and saying it out loud somehow made it more real.
A week passed and I peeled the plaster off. It was still there. Felt myself about to break, but managed to centre myself and use some of the calming breathing techniques I learnt on my Cancer Survivorship Course last year. I waited until 8am when the doctor's surgery opened and made the call. I had to call 24 times as it was permanently engaged, when I finally got through I was given an appointment for that afternoon.
I went to the doctor's and was sat in the waiting room for about 15 minutes. I could feel my heart rate rising with every minute sat there. I was eventually called through, and as it was a new doctor's surgery (as we have moved house, I also moved doctor) they didn't know any of my medical history. The male doctor took notes and then called in a chaperone. He gave my boobs and armpit a good feel and confirmed he could feel what I was talking about. He said to me that he didn't think it was anything significant, but as it was definitely *something* and given my medical history, he had to refer me.
When a doctor suspects a Breast Cancer, you have to be referred under the 2 week emergency referral period. I was called the very next day (Wednesday) and was given an appointment at the breast clinic for the following Thursday.
The next day a letter arrived in the post, the NHS stamp in the right hand corner, familiar and sinister, instantly recognisable. I open the letter and it tells me everything I already know. I have an appointment at Mr Ball's One Stop Clinic at 10h20 on Thursday next week and it details all the procedures I *could* go through. I read the letter. A One Stop Clinic does mean you get the results on the same day which is something at least. I digest all the info. But I know all of this already. Which is what makes it worse. Last time I thought it wasn't anything. What if it is again....
What followed was the longest week ever. It made me remember the wait I had before. Not only did I have this to contend with, but in the middle of the wait, we also found out more about the new work structure and my role as it is now doesn't exist. How much stress is one person supposed to cope with :(
I don't know how I got through it, but Thursday eventually arrived. I spent the morning feeling sick, being sick and crying, as I was very much aware that within a few hours, my world could be right back in 2012 again, but this time with the threat of not having a job. Rob drove me to Crawley hospital and we were told that the oncologist was running half an hour late. It's always the way but it does absolutely nothing for your nerves.
Eventually I was seen by Mr Ball. He ran through my medical history and then felt my boobs and my armpits. I just about held it together, lip quivering and a few tears falling. He then said to me that he thought it was scar tissue but to be 100% he wanted me to have a Mammogram and Ultrasound. He said that if the radiologists thought it was serious, then I would need an MRI as well which would involve another weeks' wait for results. I knew this was coming, but I feel horribly sick. There's a term called Scanxiety, it's the fear cancer patients face when they know scans are approaching and would 100% say I suffer from it.
I walk round to the x-ray department and am told where the mammogram waiting room is. I know already. I've done this before. Rob and I walk there in a sort of brain fog. And we sit for another 40 minutes. The wait is excruciating. I'm the youngest person there by a country mile (what is a country mile anyway?!) I'm called into the mammogram side room to confirm my details and I burst into tears. The lady doing the mammogram is lovely. She tells me she remembers me from before. I suppose you would do seeing that I was 28 at diagnosis and everyone else in the waiting room looks over 50. She also tells me that as my annual mammogram was due in December/January, this one would be replacing it. I sit in the side room for 5 minutes and then I'm called through to the room. It's hideously familiar. My boobs are scanned and squashed, it hurts but I know it's what's needed. I try and read her face but she gives nothing away. She must have her game face completely perfected as she does this every day.
I then have to wait another 30 minutes for the ultrasound. I am called to the room. I take off my top and lie on the bed. Tears fall again. The doctor doing the ultrasound walks in and tells me that the mammogram looked clear. A little bubble of hope rises in my chest. He then spends a good 10 minutes performing an ultrasound on the area I have found the lump in. He is very kind in the way he talks to me. He has a soothing voice which calms me a little. He then turns to me and smiles. "It's scar tissue Joanna" he says. I fully burst into tears. Overwhelm. Happiness. Relief.
They want me to keep an eye on it anyway, just in case. I have my follow-up appointment in 3 months that I had booked in anyway (it was due to follow my January mammogram), and they will no doubt check in on it again then. But for now, I have one less life stressor to worry about.
Panic over.
Tuesday, 3 June 2014
White Coat Syndrome
What is it about hospital appointments that fill you with dread? On the day the NHS stamped letter arrives in my postbox detailing my latest appointment, that familiar feeling: racing pulse, sweating, shaking and that dull, nauseating stomach sensation takes over. I'm starting to move on, to adjust to a 'new normal' and this just jumps in the way of my pathway.
There are days when sometimes I don't think about the cancer, when I don't constantly touch my 'bad' boob, and when I don't convince myself that every last ache and pain, cough and cold is the bastard rearing its ugly head again. But there are also days when I do.
I got my latest appointment letter for my June check-up in January. I dutifully wrote in my diary when it was, asked the hubby to diarise it as well, and filed the letter away in my cancer folder. Oh yes, the world is such a fun place when you have a 'cancer folder'.... Last week they phoned up to tell me that the location of my appointment had moved from Crawley to East Surrey. You would think by the way my body reacted that I had just been told some awful news, I felt ridiculously sick. I'm such a planner that changes in general make me a bit nervous, so I think when it comes to oncological ones I'll always be even worse. Plus East Surrey is the place where I was told I had cancer, and where I had my two operations. It doesn't really hold good memories for me you could say. But, thinking about it, it was also the place where my surgeon told me that he had cut every trace of the fecker out of me. So I should turn it on its head and make it a positive.
This morning was my 6-monthly check-up. Had been feeling okay since the 'location blip' but as soon as I woke up this morning, I felt the nausea, the heart rate and the pulse rising. I've been feeling very well in myself and noticed no changes other than the rib swelling. But still. I tried to centre myself with some of the CSP techniques and controlled my breathing as much as I could. This calmed me a little.
Rob drove us to the hospital, we checked in, waited and were seen (on time!) by a super helpful member of Dr Houston's team. I'd never met him before but he was great. Answered all my questions, talked me through the 'proper way' to self-examine and just really put me at ease. In the appointment we mentioned my various medical pre-history like neurofibromatosis and increased blood iron. He didn't seem concerned but sent me for a blood test anyway. It was good to have someone that actually listened, and that I felt cared, unlike previous 6 month check-ups where I've just felt like a tick on a list.
Anyway, all signed off now until next mammogram in January. It was due in December but they moved it for me as I mentioned the last one being in December had really put a dampener on Christmas. It's definitely the little things that people in the medical industry do which make a massive difference.
Heart rate and pulse are slowly returning to normal now! Back to reality, on a train off to the busiest part of the wine trade calendar, London Wine Trade Fair. Then this weekend it's time for one of my bestie Amy's hen party, mega excited.
New normal, over and out.
P.S. It's actually got a name and everything so guess it's not too strange I feel that way...
P.S. It's actually got a name and everything so guess it's not too strange I feel that way...
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