by Helen Rollason

Created on: February 13, 2011

Eight years ago I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I found a lump, my daughter could feel it, my husband did not want to and my then Doctor could not! Deep Joy! It was almost like a Brian Rix farce, a letter came from the hospital inviting me for a Mammogram, problem was the letter arrived two weeks AFTER the appointment. My doctor promised to write to the hospital for an appointment and forgot. So two months after I had originally felt the lump I decided to phone the hospital myself. The phone call was short and to the point I was to go AT ONCE, NOW, IMMEDIATELY, I nearly added “Do not pass go do not collect £200. “to the Breast Care Section. So I did.

You can always tell when you are getting old when the policemen and the Doctors look young. This 12year old examined me, humphed and left the room. On his return I asked him if he could feel a lump or was I going crazy. He informed me I was not going crazy and he could feel two, whereupon I informed him one was quite enough, thank you! He then sent me to have the worst torture man can inflict legally, the breast press, euphemistically known as the mammogram.

You know there is something wrong when the Auxiliary  is all smiley one minute and then is patting you on the shoulder the next. I was then ushered into another room for a scan, more patting, then whisked back to the 12yr old Doctor. “Have you brought anyone with you?” Why do they always ask you that? Straight away you know something is wrong. I had not and told him to stop pussy footing around and tell me. “You’ve got cancer, least I’m pretty sure, I’ve got to send those samples off for testing but..” I had forgotten that part when he had come at me with me with something that sounded like a staple gun. I asked him what he planned to do and was informed he had already booked me in for surgery a week on Monday. At this point I was curious as to how my GP had missed it, and apparently the tumour was so big it was virtually my whole breast and he probably was not used to that sort of size. I did not like to point out that my daughter and I managed in our unqualified way to spot it.

Anyway to cut a very long story short it had gone into my lymph nodes and I was given 30% chance of surviving. Well I am not a gambling woman and I was not ready to throw in the towel just yet. So I joined a trial for all the latest drugs, had chemo, radiotherapy, lost my hair, had one of my veins die and ended up with ‘ET’ my pet name for my line. BUT I would have Chemo in the morning and go to work in the afternoon, Radiotherapy in the morning and go to work in the afternoon. Only a select few knew I was ill and I made sure that I always had a smile on my face and a prayer on my lips.

The doctors said I survived because of my attitude, I reckon it was because God did not want me back ………yet!

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