One woman breaks the news about breast cancer to her husband

Who will go with me? My question was answered for me by my eldest son, who was 18 at the time. He came round to see me and I blurted everything out, cried like a baby, although where that had come from I still don't know till this day. As he hugged me, I asked if he would come to with me.

On the day of the appointment, after waiting in a large room laid out with what appeared to be school desks and chairs, I went for my mammogram. Wow! How uncomfortable is that! I never thought such a large piece of flesh could be squashed and contorted to that degree. Afterwards, I had the scan. That was a breeze though, a bit like an ultrasound. But still I can't leave; I am told I will have at least an hour wait for the results. After a discussion with my son, we decide he can leave for football training. I have had the worst and I am now happy and confident to sit and read a magazine. It was getting late though, Pete would now be in from work, so we concocted a story about my son getting a checkup on his ear (a problem he had when he was younger) to avoid unwanted questions. Not a total lie, just wrong area of the anatomy and wrong person.

The moment of truth I watched patiently as every woman was called, and watched as they left saying, 'just another cyst', 'nothing to worry about', all smiles and hugs, all of a sudden I felt very alone. Eventually I was in the room on my own and still waiting. After studying everything from a loose thread on my trousers to the scuff on my shoe to my less-than-perfect nail varnish, I was called. 'Mrs Wall, could you come this way please?' My heart leapt so hard I think it gave me concussion. I walked behind the nurse to the doctors office, as I sat there playing with the handle of my bag. I suddenly realised this was real, I heard the word 'inconclusive' and the words 'possible cancer,' but smiled and hid my terror. I would have to go back and have more tests, a fine needle aspiration. Ok, so inconclusive, that could be nothing, oh hang on, I need the fine needle aspiration now. Back to the main department chart in hand, into the room, up on the bed, local anaesthetic, in goes the needle, over and out, back to main area, another wait, still can't leave, no one there but me, finally I get called in again: 'inconclusive.' They will have to do a core biopsy in a few days.

I went alone for the biopsy, sat in the now familiar surroundings watching people on their first visit. Today was different though. I had noticed sadness and tears, a lady being comforted by her partner and saying 'Why me?'. The look on people's faces were different - strained and eager. Was this the way last time or had I just been closed to it? I went in for the biopsy, which was performed by a lovely gentleman. He was very professional, as he scanned the area and explained what he was going to do. I felt totally at ease. It sounded worse than it felt. As I was getting dressed the doctor was surveying the scan of my breasts, and aloud said, 'You have very big ones.' I looked at the nurse to my left who smirked, and I replied 'Thank you very much.' The nurse retorted with an uneasy "Pardon". The doctor then explained, 'Your milk ducts, Mrs Wall. I do apologise, I was thinking aloud.' 'They should be,' I said, 'they fed five children.'

I have to tell Pete
I would receive my appointment for the results in a week or so. In the meantime, off I went home. This time I would have to tell Pete. The dressing on my boob wasn't small and had to stay there for a couple of days. Now was the time. Unfortunately his mum was down visiting, so as we sat round the table eating our fish and chips, I tried to decide when the appropriate time would be.

Pete had said on more than one occasion something was going on with me. I hadn't realised I was quite so transparent. My act was slipping daily, being worn down by the thoughts fighting to get out of my head. The evening passed and we went to bed. As we cuddled up, I blurted out the last few weeks' antics, the cover-ups, the sneaking around, my lack of attention span - there, it was done. I had confessed all and for the first time actually said the words 'I might have breast cancer'. It was like floating above myself watching. No words came. I waited. I was being hugged as if my life depended on it. Then the tears came - I didn't expect that. In fact, over the next few days, Pete would barely leave my side. He had taken it badly. The strange thing is, I drew strength from that. The worse he felt, the better and more confident I did. Crazy world.

The results from Sue Wall's initial tests showed that her lump was benign and she had a lumpectomy. In August of 2004 she began to experience swelling and pain in one of her breasts, which was diagnosed as infection. Over the following months she repeatedly had the breast drained and was eventually diagnosed with cancer and began treatment, which is continuing as of October 2005.