After a blissful two week holiday in Spain I returned to London to photograph my old friend Kerrry’s 65th birthday party at the Connaught Hotel, and, two days later, on September 6th, I dressed comfortably in dark blue stretch pants and navy tee shirt with “Domani” on it in white letters - the name of my late father’s boat. I had had this t-shirt for over 30 years – it having been made by Captain Watts in Albermarle Street and built to last, and I hadn’t worn it for several years, so it’s strange that I should have chosen that t- shirt, that morning, that had such a close link to my father as I was about to have an even closer one a couple of hours later.
I drove to the Royal Marsden Hospital, where I had an appointment at the Breast Unit, with a book and without anxiety. After all the pain in my right breast, “I knew”, was a cyst that had just got a bit bigger than usual and was taking its time to go down again.
I remember waving happily to Amica and baby Imogene in the pram (my beautiful new little goddaughter), as I drove out of Fulham Broadway applying my lipstick (without looking) as usual, en route. After all, I had had cysts in my boobs for years and had come to believe, after a few scares and check ups, that “If it hurts and is moveable it was most likely a cyst and nothing more sinister. Cancer is normally a hard unmoveable lump and painless. “I expect they will have to stick a needle in this one and draw off some liquid to reduce the pressure” I thought to myself.
After a short wait I was called for a mammogram. I told the nurse it would probably be a waste of time having this because as my breast tissue was so dense nothing was likely to show up on the x-ray and that an ultrasound would be of more use. I was hoping to get out of this undignified procedure. She said that they were going to do both anyway. I didn’t even bother to look at the X-ray as I was sure there would be nothing to see. Had I done so I would have seen a white blob with feathery edges in the top half of the right one. Blissfully unaware I settled down again with my book and waited to be called for the ultra sound.
The lady in charge of the ultrasound was brusk and rather dramatic. She showed me the “lump” on the ultrasound screen and I heard her say the word “abnormal”. At the same moment the nurse helping her took my hand and squeezed it and looked at me in a way that I now know is reserved for people with serious illnesses and which I have seen a lot of on a lot of different faces since, and I realised that they were trying to tell me something. Now I could see the mammogram X-rays on the screen across the room and yes there was a white lump on it. “It doesn’t mean its cancer or anything” does it?” I said, hopefully. “Well we won’t know until we have the results back from the biopsy we will give you, but it’s definitely not normal and there are three of them” she said
Having had a local injection to numb my frightened boob, she then proceeded to insert a long needle into the two smaller lumps and draw off some liquid (Needle aspiration) and I was told to go back to the waiting room and wait to be given a core biopsy of the larger lump. This involved another mammogram where I was again squashed completely flat, then a camera located the lump and a sort of gun was positioned accurately over the top of it. “You will hear a sound like a gunshot” the nurse informed me. Sure enough the gun went off loudly, a prong shot into me, and a thin sliver of cells and tissue was collected for analysis.
I was then sent back again to the waiting room to wait for an hour for the results of the needle aspiration. The core biopsy would take longer – about 10 days.
Reading was now out of the question and the hour passed very slowly.
“We have found cancerous cells in the two smaller lumps and we expect to find the same in the large one when the core biopsy comes back with more information about the nature of them” the doctor said matter-of-factly. “You will need a mastectomy” as the cancer is multi-focal and three lumpectomy’s are not feasible. I was then introduced to “Audrey” my breast nurse who gave me the same look as the nurse had in ultrasound. I was to call her about any concerns and she would phone me with the appointment details with my surgeon Mr Gui in 10 days time.
I found my way out of the hospital and back to the car in a daze. “I have cancer” “I have cancer” I said to myself disbelievingly. There was a missed call on my mobile from my recently widowed cousin Christopher who was over in Twickenham packing up his home and I returned it as I drove. “How did it go?” “Are you OK?” he said. “No I’m not” I said as the tears came. “I’ll come straight over” he said. “See you back at the house in half an hour”. Back at the house I sobbed in Christopher’s arms and the 10 day terror began.
I drove to the Royal Marsden Hospital, where I had an appointment at the Breast Unit, with a book and without anxiety. After all the pain in my right breast, “I knew”, was a cyst that had just got a bit bigger than usual and was taking its time to go down again.
I remember waving happily to Amica and baby Imogene in the pram (my beautiful new little goddaughter), as I drove out of Fulham Broadway applying my lipstick (without looking) as usual, en route. After all, I had had cysts in my boobs for years and had come to believe, after a few scares and check ups, that “If it hurts and is moveable it was most likely a cyst and nothing more sinister. Cancer is normally a hard unmoveable lump and painless. “I expect they will have to stick a needle in this one and draw off some liquid to reduce the pressure” I thought to myself.After a short wait I was called for a mammogram. I told the nurse it would probably be a waste of time having this because as my breast tissue was so dense nothing was likely to show up on the x-ray and that an ultrasound would be of more use. I was hoping to get out of this undignified procedure. She said that they were going to do both anyway. I didn’t even bother to look at the X-ray as I was sure there would be nothing to see. Had I done so I would have seen a white blob with feathery edges in the top half of the right one. Blissfully unaware I settled down again with my book and waited to be called for the ultra sound.
The lady in charge of the ultrasound was brusk and rather dramatic. She showed me the “lump” on the ultrasound screen and I heard her say the word “abnormal”. At the same moment the nurse helping her took my hand and squeezed it and looked at me in a way that I now know is reserved for people with serious illnesses and which I have seen a lot of on a lot of different faces since, and I realised that they were trying to tell me something. Now I could see the mammogram X-rays on the screen across the room and yes there was a white lump on it. “It doesn’t mean its cancer or anything” does it?” I said, hopefully. “Well we won’t know until we have the results back from the biopsy we will give you, but it’s definitely not normal and there are three of them” she said
Having had a local injection to numb my frightened boob, she then proceeded to insert a long needle into the two smaller lumps and draw off some liquid (Needle aspiration) and I was told to go back to the waiting room and wait to be given a core biopsy of the larger lump. This involved another mammogram where I was again squashed completely flat, then a camera located the lump and a sort of gun was positioned accurately over the top of it. “You will hear a sound like a gunshot” the nurse informed me. Sure enough the gun went off loudly, a prong shot into me, and a thin sliver of cells and tissue was collected for analysis.
I was then sent back again to the waiting room to wait for an hour for the results of the needle aspiration. The core biopsy would take longer – about 10 days.
Reading was now out of the question and the hour passed very slowly.
“We have found cancerous cells in the two smaller lumps and we expect to find the same in the large one when the core biopsy comes back with more information about the nature of them” the doctor said matter-of-factly. “You will need a mastectomy” as the cancer is multi-focal and three lumpectomy’s are not feasible. I was then introduced to “Audrey” my breast nurse who gave me the same look as the nurse had in ultrasound. I was to call her about any concerns and she would phone me with the appointment details with my surgeon Mr Gui in 10 days time.
I found my way out of the hospital and back to the car in a daze. “I have cancer” “I have cancer” I said to myself disbelievingly. There was a missed call on my mobile from my recently widowed cousin Christopher who was over in Twickenham packing up his home and I returned it as I drove. “How did it go?” “Are you OK?” he said. “No I’m not” I said as the tears came. “I’ll come straight over” he said. “See you back at the house in half an hour”. Back at the house I sobbed in Christopher’s arms and the 10 day terror began.
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