by Jane Inman

iVillager Jane Inman describes how cancer treatment can work on even the most positive of people

• A granddaughter's discovery
• 'Is Clare with you?'
• Trying to laugh
• An unwelcome surprise
• New developments

A granddaughter's discovery
I was diagnosed with breast cancer in July 1002 and life has been a roller coaster ever since - one minute up and the next down.

I have a history of benign breast lumps and therefore was quite sure that the lump I could feel now was not going to be anything different.

My three-year-old granddaughter had been sitting on my lap and as she got off she dug her elbow in my right breast. I exclaimed that it hurt and gave it a rub - that's when I felt 'the lump'! Quick phone call to my local surgery and amazingly got an appointment straight away, a Friday afternoon. They said they didn't think it was anything sinister but they would just fax the local breast cancer unit to get in touch with me, probably on Monday.

From Monday it was all systems go - a mammogram arranged for Thursday, results clinic, the following Wednesday, then the suggestion of a needle biopsy of the right breast after an ultrasound was done. They also discovered something suspicious in the left breast also, so they did a biopsy of that too.

'Is Clare with you?'
A week later, I was still breezing along quite happily as I had had a biopsy 5 years earlier and that had been nothing sinister. I took along my daughter, who is a theatre staff nurse and who knew the surgeon I was seeing, for the results. I told her I didn't need her to come in to see the consultant with me, but his first words were, 'Is Clare with you?' I should have realised then that he was not going to give me good news.

I was diagnosed with tumours in both breasts that appeared to have spread. He told me that I needed a bilateral mastectomy. What happened to the bright and breezy woman then? Gobsmacked!

Surgery was arranged for the following week. After the mastectomy I was told that there had been two tumours in the right breast - one Grade 2 and one Grade 3 that had spread to the lymph nodes. The left breast had a Grade 2 tumour that had also spread.

Next step: to Oncology to be told I would have six months' of chemo. Everything now was a blur - in July I had gone to my GP with a lump and here I was in September with no boobs and just about to lose all my hair - not just on my head, but everywhere. I had six months of being sick to look forward to.

Trying to laugh
Throughout the early stages of treatment I tried to remain positive and upbeat, laughing at myself and comparing my head to a boiled egg once I took of my wig. But it was hard remaining smiley all the time. I missed having cuddles in the middle of the night when the miseries really hit me (I am divorced and live on my own with 2 cats). The sickness was hard to manage even with all the anti-sickness medication they could give me.

Then two weeks before Christmas I developed viral meningitis and was in hospital until Christmas Eve - just wishing that I could die. I was miserable, had a thumping headache plus aches and pains from the drugs. If this was what it was all about then I didn't really want to play any more.

An unwelcome surprise
February, just before my last chemo: I had a perforated bowel and went back into hospital again but then?it was finished, apart from 6 weeks radiotherapy. I could look forward to some life again, I thought.

But no. The bloody disease decided to give me another little surprise in June, almost a year later. There was bone spread in my shoulder and ribcage - so more radiotherapy for the pain and on with life again. This time I wasn't the happy-go-lucky person I had once been. I was getting fed up when yet another person said, 'But you look so well' when I felt like I-don't-know-what.

Even the treatment, which is supposed to help, makes you sick. I sustained heart damage, possibly chemo or radiotherapy induced but whatever - it just meant more tablets. By then I was up to 18 per day. I also developed diabetes two years afterwards; we will never know whether that was due to the treatment either. The drugs makes me sick and some are talked about as being possibly dangerous. But I suppose that all in all they are what keep me relatively pain-free and alive.

New developments
Now, this year I have developed yet more bone spread - I had my reconstruction in February and that hasn't done for me what I thought it would. My new breasts are not me and the right one is giving me problems.

And to cap it all, I've just had a chest xray and am getting a CT scan as there is something else not right.

I am not going to say that it is all roses and how well I have coped because I haven't. I have been down and really depressed and still get periods when every little ache and pain is yet another wandering tumour, but I am still alive to tell the tale.

Jane Inman's treatment continues