Week 1

Well it's not really 'week 1'.

Technically it is about week 4 or even 5 now. In fact, who really knows 'when' the first week of this new world of mine really started?

Let me explain.

In the second week of February, I found a lump in my right breast. Wasn't really looking as such (I mean, who really checks their breasts as we are supposed to every month???). I was moisturising after my daily bath and 'felt' something. I wasn't even sure if I imagined it to be honest.

I knew enough from those Daily Mailesque female-interest articles on 'ladies, this is how to check your breasts for lumps' to lay on my back and have a self-grope. No, I didn't imagine it, there really was a lump.

I also knew enough at that point to know leaving it for a week or two would be a reasonable thing to do...lumps and bumps can come and go in women of a certain age....

...except I am a very pre-menopausal 40

Anyway, I was booked for a week trip to Morocco in the middle/last week of February for my 41st birthday.

I decided to leave it 'til I got back. Then I would take the breast by the lump and sort it out.

I went to Morroco, oddly enough with a good friend who just happens to be a nurse, and a nurse who works in a breast care unit.

I didn't tell her. I didn't tell anyone about the lump. Why ruin someone's day by telling them something which might not be a 'problem' and overly worry them?

By the way, I have named my lump 'Colin'. Apologies to anyone called Colin, or who has a good friend or family member with this name. I don't care much for the name and it seemed a good idea to call said lump 'Colin'...

Well, I went to souks, palaces, Richard Branson's Kasbah and climbed up part of the second highest mountain in Africa with my friend, the breast nurse and Colin.

I came back at the end of February and realised Colin was still firmly at home in my right breast. And I had to see a doctor to confirm I wasn't imagining Colin and, I suppose, to confirm it was anything more than a benign, unimportant bumpy bit of tissue.

I decided not to bother going to a GP. I don't hold much stead by general practioners...I have my reasons, and I might even get into why at some point down my blogroad. What is a GP bar a jack-of-all-trades and master-of-none? They are nothing more than a gateway to all the wonderful services available in the NHS...

I decided to go to a private clinic nearby and pay a rather hefty sum to a proper breast man (no private medical insurance here). A one-stop-shop where I could go through the process of being feeled up and perhaps irradiated with an x-ray mammogram machine....all in the quest for the words 'nothing to worry about'. If things escalated, I could get put back into the NHS.

I still hadn't told anyone at this point. Still felt best to hold on to it all until I had something to actually tell them....

I wasn't overly anxious or overly worried. 90% of women who find Colin's brother in their breast have not got anything more than a non-cancerous lump.

I am a realist. They are pretty good odds all in all. But I also realise someone has to be in the other 10% and it could be me. Why not me? Cancer happens to me, you, your auntie and the lady who does the dry cleaning, as well as Kylie Minogue. Cancer doesn't just happen to other people (although, in my life so far, it has).

OK. Cancer has happened to me. I have breast cancer. I say this to myself constantly, particularly when I wake up...you know when you wake up and you begin to focus? When everything is shady and you only really realise you are actually alive...and then you begin to think about living? When there is something bad in your life you get the feeling a straw has been pushed into your stomach and someone is sucking all the air out as the realisation something really shit is happening in your living life?

Well I refuse to feel this when I wake up. I say the mantra 'I have got breast cancer'.

I am not supposed to know at this stage that I have breast cancer. I haven't had my pathology and histology results back yet. I have that tomorrow. But I am an intelligent girl, I come across as articulate and oh-so level-headed. I also know doctors. I know how to speak to them and I know what questions to ask. Past primary level (GPs really aren't in my Top Ten of healthcare professionals), these consultants speak a different language and I know there language and how to talk to them...

I asked the right question and, more importantly, I didn't burst into tears as 5 needles were inserted into my breast and my armpit.

The radiologist, when asked, said 'you have breast cancer'.

Most women, after having a biopsy and waiting for the results, would be clinging to hope. I don't need to do that because I have already heard those words that the world and her husband dread.

You have cancer.

And I survived (on my own and I drove myself home).

Tomorrow I find out how naughty Colin has been...whether I don't just lose Colin, but my whole right breast...whether my lymphs are involved (if they are, the collective will be called 'Malcom') and what happens next.

Signing off now. I am going to write during my work break about how I told everyone about having cancer. I didn't tell a soul up to the words 'you have breast cancer'....