Well, it's been a year....

Well, I've made it. It's been exactly one year since I sat in front of the consultant and she pointed to the mammogram on her screen and said 'this bit here - this is what they think is cancer.' I can remember my response quite clearly:

'Fuck'.

When I went to the hospital that morning I honestly did not believe that I would receive a cancer diagnosis. That's something that happens to other people, right? I trotted in to the breast clinic relatively carefree. Well, with the words of two GPs who I had seen previously echoing in my head - 'your age and lack of family history mean it's nothing to worry about'. I learnt the hard way that sadly this really is not the case.

The 22nd of July 2014 was when I was given my 'unofficial' cancer diagnosis. That is - it was very plain to see (at the least to the radiographers and consultant) that my boob was trying to kill me, but a biopsy was taken just to make sure. I left the clinic and the hospital that day with my life irreversibly altered forever. I left behind a piece of myself that day, which I have had to rebuild over the past year. My mother bundled me out of the hospital, back to my flat and then to her house. I regressed back to childhood over the next couple of days - all I wanted to do was cling to my mum and beg her to make it all go away.

I told very few people about my diagnosis before the official biopsy results were given two days later on the 24th of July. I think a very small part of me still held on to the hope that they were wrong, that the mass on the scan was just something simple and benign. Telling other people would have made it too real, too final. All my hope was dashed on my return to hospital on the 24th, when I was told that yes I did indeed have an invasive tumour in my right breast. This year on the 24th of July I intend to be on a train to Brighton to spend the weekend with some of my closest friends courtesy of the Willow Foundation - preferably half pissed.

The 24th of July 2014 saw the beginning of the complete whirlwind that is a cancer diagnosis and treatment. Since that day there has been:

3 biopsies 
4 mammograms
4 ultrasounds 
16 blood tests
2 radioactive injections
2 general anesthetics
2 lots of surgery
5 nights in hospital
2 head shaves
Multiple wig fittings
1 bone scan
6 toxic infusions 
12 oncologist appointments 
7 surgeon appointments
1 genetic testing appointment
3 late night visits to A and E
11 cannulas 
8 lots of test / scan results
1 chest x-ray
3 MRSA swabs
1 arm ultrasound
6 lots of steroids and anti sickness treatments
21 lots of self-injections
A truck load of other meds
1 flu jab
Several sore and collapsed veins
3 physio appointments
4 Zoladex injections
15 radiotherapy sessions

(Not an exhaustive list!)

There has been sleepless nights, bad dreams and tears. I've cried, I've sobbed, I've been utterly terrified. I've felt angry, frustrated and incredibly lonely. I've mourned the end of my life as I knew it. I've lost my hair, my eyebrows, my eyelashes and my identity. I've gained over a stone in weight. I've said goodbye to two close friends whose support and love helped me through the last year and who I still miss terribly. 

But I've also laughed more than I thought possible. There has been times when I have surprisingly felt happier than I have for years. I have felt loved and cared for. I have met some amazing people and made some of my closest friends. I have reevaluated my life and learnt more about my own strength and character and what I am actually capable of than I ever have before.

So I've done it. I've reached the one year mark. I've joined that statistic of the 96% of women who survive one year after their diagnosis. 

So how do I feel?  

Physically and mentally, I get tired very easily. I have learnt that my ability to nap is unparallelled. The medication I take to try and prevent the cancer returning brings with it tough menopausal side effects including hot flushes, weight gain and insomnia. I still suffer with total mind fuzz, otherwise known as chemo brain, which again isn't helped by my medication. I get frustrated because I find it difficult to find the right words to describe something or I lose my train of thought half way through a sentence. I quite often feel like I am thinking through custard. I have to write everything down otherwise I will forget important details and dates. I keep three diaries - not because I have the social life of the Duchess of Cambridge, but because without noting down every meeting and arrangement as soon as I make it I will inevitably forget it. I also find it very difficult to concentrate and have a terrible habit of zoning out during meetings or conversations. I have the concentration span of a flea on speed.....

Of course, my body doesn't look like it once did. It is fatter and softer with the addition of several scars and one fake body part. My risk reducing mastectomy has been agreed, which means at least two additional surgeries, the first probably being at the beginning of next year.

Emotionally, it's very difficult to describe the maelstrom of feelings I am experiencing right now. I feel cheated and angry that this happened to me, but lucky I have made it this far. I feel guilty that I am here and that other beautiful, vibrant young women have been taken from their families and friends far too early. I feel blessed to have met some incredible people over the last year, and devastated to have lost some of them too. I feel grateful to have been given another chance, but confused as to how to use it to make a difference. 

I look back at the events of the last year and it seems difficult to believe that it actually happened to me. But I also I feel completely overwhelmed with the reality of the situation. If let myself dwell on it for too long, it almost feels just too hard to face. For all the scares and scans that turn out fine, there is the chance that one day, it might not. There is the very real possibility that I could fall in to the statistic of those women who don't make it to their 5th or their 10th year. And there is no way of knowing whether this is going to be the case. It's the complete uncertainty that I find incredibly hard to deal with. Walking around feeling like you have a ticking time bomb inside of you that may implode any minute does not for a peaceful mind make. It is, quite frankly, utterly terrifying. Yes, none of us know how long we've got. But when you have started your own mortality directly in the face this takes on a whole new meaning.

But I can't let the fear control me. I have to take control of it. I have to grab it by the neck and shove it back to the back of my mind where it belongs. I need to honour those women who have been taken by this disease by seizing my second chance and making the most of it whilst I am able to. By enjoying life and squeezing out every last drop. A day spent worrying about your future, is a day you have lost from your present. As my wonderful friend, the late, great JoJo Gingerhead said:

Concentrate on the present

Don’t dwell on the past

Don’t worry about the future

Live for the now

Live for the now 

Node Basher

About a week or so ago I found what felt like a swollen lymph node in my 'good' armpit. Between then and Thursday night this week I'd convinced myself it was cancer. That the recent mammogram had missed something in my good boob and that it had spread to my lymph nodes and that was what I was feeling. I'd prodded and poked the poor thing until it was sore, earning me the nickname 'node basher' by my friend Aimee.  As what normally happens when any of us are in a panic about anything cancer related, Sarah, Aimee and myself had been talking that evening about my node with them trying to calm me down as much as is possible over Facebook messenger. 

After a sleepless night I decided to rock up at the breast unit without an appointment on Friday morning first thing and beg them to take pity on me. Within half an hour I'd seen my surgeon and been sent for an ultrasound. Whilst waiting for the scan, my plastic surgeon's registrar walked past and stopped to talk to me at which I promptly burst in to tears. The last time I saw her I also cried - not anything to do with her I might add as she is incredibly lovely. 

The radiographer who carried out the ultrasound was the same one who also scanned another armpit node and my tumour in October. Poor woman must think I have an obsession with nodes. In the 30 seconds she was silent as she scanned my armpit, I'd imagined that I had cancer in my nodes, that I'd need a CT scan and I'd be told it had spread elsewhere in my body and I was going to die. However, she told me that there was nothing suspicious, just a normal innocent looking node just minding it's own business, hanging out being all lymphy. After asking her to check and check again, I could have cried with relief. 

I cannot fault the level of care I received yesterday. I turned up in a state without and appointment and they made time to see me, check me and reassure me and I was out within an hour and a half, albeit feeling like a bit of a wally. I can't help wondering where strong, together Rebecca has gone? I had it all worked out, I was dealing with this. Now I feel like I've regressed several months and am back to thinking every ache and pain, every lump and bump is cancer. I know it is a genuine and legitimate worry and one I will live with for the rest of my life (however long that will be) but I feel like I'm in a constant state of anxiety (or Canxiety) at present. I need to learn how to control it and get back to being the person I was a month ago before it takes over my life. As the great founder of the Younger Breast Cancer Network says, why borrow tomorrow's sorrow? 

A bit of a shite year

As it's New Year's Eve eve, I thought i would reflect a bit on the past year. I've just got out of bed. I've spent the majority of the Christmas break in bed, suffering from tax aches and pains but mostly from awful fatigue. I don't seem to have to do much at all to need to have two hour naps to recover. I'm quite useless and not good at much at the moment, but my ability to sleep is unparallelled. I've put on a stone in weight since my treatment began, partly due to steroids and other drugs, but mostly because I've not been able to exercise anywhere near as much as I was before my treatment started. I tried to run as much as I could during FEC, but once Docetaxel started it walloped me. Now I can only manage one to two mile runs, which then leave me needed to sleep for two hours and aching like I've been inside a washing machine.

Anyway, as the title of this post suggests, this year has been a bit of an arse. I split up with my long term boyfriend, my grandmother died and then I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Triple arse. It's hard to believe that my diagnosis was over five months ago. It seems such a long time ago, but at the same time only yesterday. I've almost forgotten what life was like BC (Before Cancer). I've been picked up and swept along on the cancer tsunami and have now been deposited on the beach picking over the remnants of my life. But although a large part of my treatment is over, there is still a long way to go. I've just been allowed a little respite before the second wave comes to give me a bashing. 

So much has happened in the last five months, it's difficult to quantify it all. But I will try. Here it is:

3 biopsies
3 mammograms
4 ultrasounds 
15 blood tests
1 clip fitting
2 radioactive injections
1 general anaesthetic
1 surgery
2 head shaves
Multiple wig fittings
1 bone scan
6 toxic infusions
7 oncologist appointments
3 surgeon appointments
1 genetic testing appointment
3 late night visits to A and E
1 overnight stay in hospital
8 cannulas
7 lots of test / scan results
1 chest x-ray
3 MRSA swabs
1 arm ultrasound
6 lots of steroids and anti sickness treatments
21 lots of injecting myself
A truck load of other meds
1 flu jab
Several sore and collapsed veins
1 large seroma
1 lot of painful under arm cording 

Plus lots of sleepless nights, bad dreams and tears. There's no wonder I'm knackered all the time! But I don't want to finish this post leaving you thinking its been all bad, because it hasn't. Amongst the tears and bad dreams, there has surprisingly been a lot of laughter too. I've reconnected with old friends and made some brilliant new ones through the Younger Breast Cancer Network. In fact, I'm spending tomorrow night with some of them and I can't think of a more fitting end to this year. I know we'll all be putting a massive two fingers up to the back of 2014!

Last chemo.....?

I had my last chemotherapy treatment on Tuesday last week (hopefully). I will go in to the hopefully bit shortly...

So many people have said to me 'Oh you must be so happy to have it out of the way'. Maybe I should be. I feel like I should be. But happy isn't how I've felt since Tuesday. I burst in to tears in the middle of town, cried all the way home, screamed and smashed some plates. Smashing plates is quite satisfying until you realise that you actually have nothing to eat off of and need to bugger about replacing them the next day. Since then, I've felt like a bloated, fat toad with horrid indigestion and heartburn and a massive round steroid face. I seem to have ballooned in weight over the last week or so and feel so puffy and uncomfortable I barely recognise myself in the mirror. I can cope with feeling ill, but looking ill and feeling fat, unfit and lethargic I really do no deal with very well.

I'm not sure Tuesday started out too well to be honest. I had to be at the hospital for 9.00am for an appointment for a scans on my bad and good boob, after finding an 'area of irregularity' in it. The letter sent to me was reminiscent of my first diagnosis and almost triggered some sort of flashback, so you can imagine my nerves were considerably on edge by the time I got to the hospital.

After an ultrasound and titty squash, good news was that the good boob was fine. Not so good news was that the tumour in my bad boob hadn't shrunk since October. After meeting with the surgeon once the scans were in, he told me that it is entirely possible that when the tumour is taken out, all they will find is dead tissue. Apparently, when cancer cells start to die, they form necrosis, or scar tissue and that's all that may be left of the bastard. However, there is no way of knowing until it's actually removed. The scans only show a mass and don't differentiate between alive or dead cells. Psychologically it's a bit of a blow - after months of feeling like absolute crap you expect to have some sort of result - indeed there still could be but once again I'm thrown in the pit of uncertainty.

After discussing the results with my oncologist, he told me that in the unlikely event of them removing the tumour and it not having responded as well as they would have liked, there may be the chance of more chemotherapy. Different drugs this time as no point giving stuff that hasn't worked already. Essentially, the chemo is to try and zap any random cancer cells that may have escaped to other areas of the body, such as the bone marrow or liver. Surgery can deal with what is in the breast - the chemo tries to destroy any floaters before they can settle and set up home.

Not the best news, but in one way a bit reassuring that they won't just cast me afloat and there is more they can do. Again, it just adds to the total uncertainty, which gradually I'm learning to deal with. I've accepted I'm never going to know when this whole process will be 'over'. It is impossible to give timescales. I don't know when I will be back at work properly or when I can have a holiday. No - I don't know when I will be 'cured'. I'll never know whether if I go in to remission, whether or not it will come back. I'll never be entirely done with treatment. I'm not sure when I will get some semblance of my former life back, if ever. But enough  - I've purged now. I feel slightly better. Maybe. I just need to avoid mirrors for the moment!

Younger women with breast cancer - Sarah M's story

The last featured story on my blog as part of this year's Breast Cancer Awareness month is from Sarah M, aged 38:

'On 20th May, aged 38 I found a lump in my left breast , felt by my inner arm, through a padded bra as I was getting into the car.  I straight away touched it with my hand and knew this was something serious that required immediate attention. I panicked realising that since the beginning of 2014, possibly longer I had unintentionally ignored all the signs that this could indeed be breast cancer.

The first sign I had was tenderness in the breast. I had been cupping my breast as I ran up and down the stairs because the movement was making it hurt ( they are only small too, a humble 34B at a push ). I was also aware that for a long time I was repeatedly saying "mind my boobs " to my little boy as we cuddled up. With him on my left side, when he leant into it there was more tenderness than usual. I subconsciously put this down to hormonal changes in my menstrual cycle. I suffered intense itching  around my nipple on and off for ages , possibly as early as mid 2013. Having suffered with itchy skin all over my body since I was a teenager I thought no more of it other than itchy skin.

I had a dull ache for a few months in my left armpit. I put this down to the physical side of my job moving and positioning vulnerable (some very heavy) adults and assumed it was muscle strain.

In Nov. 2013 I completed a course with South Central Ambulance, part of which was using heart monitors. We measured our own heart rates and mine was particularly high. The paramedic training me advised I get this checked which I did. I was tested for diabetes , thyroid problems , blood pressure and a couple of other illnesses that I fail to remember. All tests came back clear, although I just felt something wasn't right with my body . I ached more than usual and tired a lot more easily than I ever had.

Mentally I found I was becoming increasingly short tempered, emotional and anxious ( this could explain the rapid heart rate). I felt something wasn't right, that a change was needed and the fact that my periods were becoming irregular I began to think, and even said to my husband Paul, that I was having an early menopause .

Then a couple of months before finding the lump , Paul came home and gave me a copy of The Sun Newspapers Check 'Em Tuesday guide. He asked me if I checked my boobs to which I flippantly replied " No, I am too scared too in case I find a lump", what a ridiculous comment to have made.  It did however prompt me to check and when I checked properly I did feel the lump there. Yet again I ignored it , comparing to my other breast I just put it down to hormones, how stupid am I.

The final sign, I will always believe was a sign from a higher state of consciousness telling me to sort myself out.  In the space of ten seconds I had three short sharp stabbing pains which I can only describe as somebody ramming a knitting needle down into my breast , behind the nipple and pointing straight to where the lump was.  ( Ladies reading, this is a sign of some types of breast cancer but not the cancer I had or so I am told ). It only happened in those 10 seconds, on that day and never happened again neither had it happened before. Two days later I found the lump.

I didn't phone the doctor straight away as I knew I would be seen the next day and I had an event at the children's school to attend. I wanted to be there for them both and certainly didn't want to have to explain my absence to them or anyone else for that matter.

Two days later I was seen by a female GP who confirmed there was a definite lump , that had been there sometime, which she thought was a cyst. She said she had known of hard cysts before and if it was cancer I would of been seriously ill by now. Rubbish!!!!   I don't know who she was trying to convince, me or herself but I knew this was not presenting as a cyst.  I was referred there and then to Wycombe Breast Clinic.

I went home and Googled every single benign breast condition and their symptoms, resulting in yet more self diagnosis that what I had was serious. I just knew it was cancer.

Two weeks later ( the governments policy for being seen after visiting the GP ) myself and Paul attended the clinic where I was given an ultra sound scan to both breasts , followed immediately by a core needle biopsy, (possibly the second worst experience of my life, chemotherapy coming first by miles!!). I was then seen by one of the doctors in the consultants team. She confirmed that the lump was indeed suspicious and regardless of the outcome from the biopsy I would require an operation to have it removed.

One week later, Thursday 12th June ,another trip to the clinic for the results. After a two and a half hour wait ( these places are pushed to the limit ) a breast care nurse  called us through to see the main man, the consultant heading the clinic, Mr Cunnick. I knew straight away that the top breast surgeon in South Bucks NHS trust ( yep I Googled him too ) was not about to tell me I had a cyst  or anything else benign.  I wasn't even sat down as I was more concerned for Paul, when Mr Cunnick bluntly informed me what I already knew. I had Breast Cancer, no sorry or unfortunately, just, it's cancer,  invasive ductal carcinoma, 8/8 oestrogen positive and receptive to Herceptin. He briefly examined me then explained he would be carrying out my operation. I asked  him to remove both breasts, in fact what I said was " just take the whole boob off and whilst you are at it take the other one as well" but he said it was totally unnecessary and that a lumpectomy would be ample and he would hopefully save my nipple as well. He told me it was not genetic although this is a test I will be fighting for as it must start somewhere.  I then had a mammogram to both breasts and underarm and Mr Cunnick gave the results straight away.  The right breast was clear and as far as he could see there was no lymph node involvement. He explained this was the best type of breast cancer I could have if there ever was a best type and that it was all fully treatable. He told me I would more than likely have chemotherapy, radiotherapy , Herceptin and ten years of Tamoxifen pills . Despite his bluntness and the fact he was telling me I had cancer I really liked him, I trusted him and loved how he knew his job so well.

Five weeks later I had my lumpectomy and a sentinel lymph node biopsy where radioactive dye is injected into the breast and travels to the lymph nodes showing any cancer cells present.  Unfortunately there was metastatic cancer cells in the first  lymph node which was removed along with the second.

After a further two week wait it was back to the clinic for my results. This time the wait was four hours. So at 7:30pm we were informed  all the tumour had been removed with clear margins and the next step would be to see an oncologist who would explain the further treatment required. I thought he could have saved a lot of time by telephoning me with the results.

 

I am now two weeks past my second lot of  FEC chemotherapy. I have a further four to endure. I will then have a month off and start radiotherapy every weekday for 4four and a half weeks at a hospital a fifty mile round trek from where I live. I will have Herceptin by infusion every three weeks at the chemo unit and Tamoxifen pills for 10 years.  It is the worst time of my life right now, but I have to stay positive and strong for my husband, children, family and friends, I am very aware that it is not just me this has affected . I feel lucky a lot of the time that it is not a whole lot worse. I feel sad that so many women a lot younger than me are suffering this .

My tumour had been there for six months.

Had I not ignored all the early signs or been more informed as to what they indicated maybe life would be different now and I would not be dealing with chemotherapy. Consequently had the lump not physically presented itself or indeed grown inward ..................well, I dread to think. That is why it is so important to check yourself regularly and act quickly if you notice any changes. Remember that no one is too young to get breast cancer.'

Younger women with breast cancer - Andrea's story

Today's featured story about diagnosis, treatment and being breast aware is from Andrea, aged 39. Andrea is a make up artist undergoing chemotherapy for breast cancer and has created a you Tube channel called Baldy Beautiful, full of make tutorials to help us chemo baldy birds feel better about ourselves! Oh, and they are also good for non baldy ones too ;-) You can find Angela's channel here .


Andrea also has a Facebook page which you can find here . You can also follow her on Twitter  - @Baldlybeautiful.


'Straight after Christmas 2013 I decided that after being a lazy bitch for a year and letting myself go a bit - after a car accident which kinda left me a bit scared to exercise in case I hurt my back more - enough was enough and that in one years time (Jan 2015) I would be 40 and there was only one way I intended to be for my fabulous party - fit and frickin fabulous. I got straight back into an exercise and healthy eating routine and the weight dropped off and I was back to my slinky self by May/June, as well wanting to super slinky I decided i wanted hair as long as possible for my party and had successfully got it to half way down my back. I was very pleased with myself!

One morning after one of my 'Hannah Waterman DVD' workouts - which are quite tough I might add, lots of jumping jacks/burpees/pushups and planks, I jumped in the shower and was planning on taking my daughter up to oxford street to forever 21 as she was desperate to see what it was all about (all the teen bloggers she follows on youtube shop in forever 21 don't' you know!) So I'm in the shower just soaping up to wash under my arms and boobs and I felt a bone sticking out, literally it was so big it felt like a bone, I was confused, had I injured myself whilst doing all those burpees? had I broken something, I felt it again, no it wasn't a bone, what was it? a lump? but it cant be, I would have felt it before, it certainly wasn't there yesterday or the day before. Panic started to rise and I felt the tears streaming down my face under the water of the hot shower. It just couldn't be, I would check again once I was out of the shower and dry. So I dried myself off and felt again, there it was, still there. I phoned the doctors surgery straight away and burst out crying on the phone to the receptionist! She told me to calm down and that it was probably fine but I got booked in for the next morning with a female doctor. Unfortunately I couldn't go in straight away because the only female doctors in that day were locums and they didn't want me to see a locum, fair enough but the stress of having to wait a day was awful. I debated on whether to tell my husband or not and for a while I really thought I would just go on my own so as not to worry him but in the end I burst out crying and told him I had found a lump. He thought I had probably just pulled something whilst exercising considering I hadn't felt it before and I started to think he was probably right.

Next day the GP examined me and said she could feel the lump and that it was 'fully mobile' which is a good sign but said she would hate to miss anything (funny enough two nurses and a receptionist at the surgery have all recently had breast cancer) so booked me an appointment for the breast clinic at the hospital the following week. Another agonising week of waiting until the appointment.

At the hospital  I was examined by one of the breast doctors, an old American guy who looked like 'face' from the A-team! He sent me down to have an ultrasound. The ultrasound ladies told me that it was a fatty lump of tissue but to be on the safe side wanted to do a biopsy, they called a doctor in to do it who from her actions was quite reluctant and even question the ultrasound lady, this doctor assured me it was a fatty lump, told me the name of it and told me to Google it and what it meant! Meanwhile the ultrasound lady was insistent they do the biopsy just to rule anything out and so they did and off i went in pain from the biopsy but extremely hopeful that it was just a fatty lump, after all the doctor was quite sure that it was so it must be mustn't it?

Finally the 2 week 4 day wait for the results of the biopsy was over and sitting in the waiting room waiting for my turn I felt very sick. Ladies going in coming out smiling, ladies going in coming out looking shell shocked. Ladies who obviously had cancer, with wigs and scarfs on....I wanted to be anywhere but there. I turned to my husband after an hour of waiting (they were running late....all that bad news I expect) and told him I felt sick. Why? he says, whilst playing on his phone, totally oblivious to what was going on around him and that fact that the results could ever be anything other than negative.

So i get called in, sit down, doctor shuffles about with her papers......'so' she says....'your here for the results of the biopsy you had two and a bit weeks ago, and the results of the biopsy show that the lump is cancerous........and she just carried on talking and talking.............I felt my mouth open, you know in cartoons when the dogs jaw opens and hits the ground and its tongue falls out? well that's how I felt, like my tongue was hanging out of my mouth and my head was saying 'say what?' For a few seconds I couldn't look at my hubby and then I looked at him and he was looking at me with the same expression on his face and I knew this was real. All I could hear was Robodoc (that's what we later named her) going on about how great it was that I was her2 positive - what the hell? positive what? because I was going to get herceptin!!! She told me this like i had won the lottery...the next bit II heard was chemo....hair going to fall out....but you will get a wig...... my head was spinning, what the hell was this doctor telling me? I have breast cancer, I am her2 positive, I am having chemo, a drug called herceptin and the hair I have grown all year for my party is going to fall out??!!!! WTF?!!!!!

Next thing I know I am off to get mammograms done to recheck the lumpy breast and check the 'good' breast, 9 mammograms on the bad breast and 2 on the good breast later I am out of there and back in Robodocs office with Anna the breast care nurse. I then get told I am going for MRIs as something else has shown up in the 'bad' breast, this turned out to be 4mm DCIS and booking my appointment with the oncologist. I left there with my head spinning and piece of paper with my diagnosis which I didn't fully understand at the time and just knowing that in a week and a half I would be seeing my oncologist - I didn't even know what that was but I was guessing it was the doctor in charge of looking after me.

So off we went home, crying our eyes out at the news in disbelief that I a 39 year old mother of two aged 9 and 13 (now 14) who was super fit and healthy and just about to book a summer holiday without a care in the world looking forward to being super sexy at her 40th birthday party in January had cancer.

My poor hubby had to make the calls to my mum and dad, brother and auntie to let them know as I hadn't told them - didn't see the point -  I was told it was a fatty lump! what's the point in worrying everyone???? I had to call my two best friends as they knew something was wrong when I took time off work (boob really hurt after biopsy) as I never have time off and I didn't look ill to them so they managed to get it out of me. I had about ten missed calls and messages from each of them so had to make those calls and well, they ended up hysterical and crying and I had to tell them to calm down!

The week that followed was a blur, the family and my two besties Anna and Emma round almost every day, a lot of crying and a lot of laughing once we'd got our heads round it - still it didn't seem real and to be honest it still doesn't. I still don't believe that I have cancer, and when I catch my reflection in the mirror and see that bald head sometimes i forget and get a shock...

The few weeks that followed until chemo started were full of hospitals and tests, mri's, ct scans, oncologist appointments - who I might add is amazing and one of the leading breast cancer specialists in the country so I am very lucky to be under his care. more ultrasounds, biopsies, blood tests, picc line fitted, tour of the chemo unit.....and it just goes on...for someone that has never been in hospital other than tonsils out and giving birth twice all this hospitals and being sick malarkey was all new to me and i hated it and still do.

I am now half way through chemo and not doing too bad, I have high energy days and very low energy days, days of feeling happy and okay and days of feeling like the most miserable bitch in the whole world and days when I look at myself and think who is this alien, this bland looking person, this head, this thing that has taken over Andrea. And other days I slap my warpaint on and become Baldly Beautiful the image I have created to keep me going. When I was first diagnosed my husband said I should put my makeup skills (I am a fully qualified makeup artist) to good use and help other ladies like me going through chemo feel better about themselves, I poo pooed the idea but once treatment started I realised that he was right, I could help so many ladies and if I could help just one or two people feel good it would be worth it, so I decided to set up my own youtube channel and  do makeup tutorials for ladies going through chemo or finished chemo that were having to deal with the same beauty problems I would be and they could follow me on my journey. So far the response has been more than I could hope for especially from all the girls on the YBCN! I have received so many messages from people and not just from the UK from across the world saying how my tutorials have really helped and inspired them, which makes it so worth while, so at least while I am off work and going through the worst time of my life I know I am helping others feel good about themselves which makes me feel a tiny bit better.

At the end of the day this shit can happen to anyone, nobody is immune, nobody is too young or too old and it can happen when you least expect it. The moral of story is check your boobs, know what feels right and what doesn't, My lump seemed to appear out of nowhere, I did ask the doctors how did this happen? it wasn't there the day before or the day before that, did I strain something whilst exercising is that what made it pop out? is it because I lost weight and my boobs got smaller? They said the lump had been there a while as it was grade 2 but still caught quite early and was probably pushed to the surface when I came on and my boobs became lumpier and more tender than normal (I did come on a week after finding the lump) who knows how or why I just know that I was lucky that it did pop out from where it was hiding and I felt it and it was obviously there, had it not I probably would never have found it as I was guilty of not checking my boobs regularly at all and when I did it was just a quick what I would call 'rummage around'. At the end of the day no matter how young or old you are, check those boobies and check them regularly, it could save your life!

Oh and in case you are wondering, the 40th birthday party has been postponed to the summer when I will have a joint one with my hubby, I wont have hair half way down my back but at least I will have a bit of hair by then hopefully, be cancer free and looking and feeling fabulous. Not looking how I expected or would have wanted to look with short hair and maybe minus a boob but at least I will be here and be alive and that's all I can hope for and at this moment in time its something I can look forward to, reaching a goal in my life that I just assumed would happen, now its something I am fighting to achieve, for me, my kids, my husband and my family.'