Looking back: one year into my breast cancer journey

 

I remember this day, one year ago, as if it happened yesterday. At 10 o'clock, I walked into the radiology practice for my second-ever routine mammogram. And at noon I left confused, and in tears, because the radiologist found a suspicious mass in my right breast. Four agonising weeks later, my general health practitioner confirmed that I have breast cancer.

Over the past 12 months, I have had six surgeries under general anaesthetic and 18 weeks of chemotherapy. I started an 18-month immune targeted therapy regime with an insanely expensive drug called Herceptin. My breast cancer is HER2 positive, which means that I have extra copies of the gene that makes the HER2 protein. The drug attaches itself to the cells and blocks the growth signal, which can slow or stop the spread of cancer significantly. My cancer also tested positive for hormone receptors which means that the estrogen produced by my body acts as food for cancer. As a result, part of my treatment includes blocking my body from producing estrogen (forcing me into early menopause) in an attempt to slow or stop the growth of cancer cells. For this, I have a daily tablet called Tamoxifen that I have to take for the next five to ten years. And next month I will start additional hormone-blocking treatment in the form of an injected patch called Zoladex every quarter until January 2022. I also have another three surgeries planned for between now and mid next year.

If I look back over the last year, I am grateful for many things. I have always appreciated my husband, Stéfan. But he took such good care of me that there are just not enough words in my vocabulary to say how much I value everything he has done for me since my diagnoses. My supportive friends: Ansie, who visited to plant a veggie garden for me. Chantal, Sue, and Tessa for visiting me in the hospital and sitting with me while I get chemotherapy. Carina and Hannes for always being there if I had questions about cancer treatment. Everyone on social media for their love and support. And everyone who has contributed to the fundraiser that Stéfan set up to help pay for my treatments.

But I also look back and remember all the difficult times. The days following the double mastectomy and direct-to-implant reconstruction was not trouble-free. During the procedure, the doctor detached my pec muscles. For about three weeks, I could not get out of bed unassisted. It took three months before I could lift my arms higher than my shoulders. The pain was minimal, but the disabling effects took its mental toll. I've experienced one post-surgery complication after the other. The surgeries that followed all had quick recovery times. Eventually, the surgeon removed the right implant. In May he started reconstructing the right breast again and the process should be completed by mid-2021.

Chemotherapy is the mother of all bitches. The fatigue caused by chemo is tough to describe. Some mornings, just walking from the bedroom to the bathroom, was exhausting. The drugs drain you physically and emotionally. I remember one of my appointments the doctor was running late. Three hours of waiting and I burst into tears because I was tired and just wanted to go home to sleep in my bed. The weekly intravenous drug also caused my left hand and forearm to swell up and become painful. Towards the end of the chemo and for a few weeks afterwards, it was one of the most frustrating side-effects. Along with water retention that made my feet look like small balloons.

One of the hardest things was (and still is) the financial impact of a cancer diagnosis. To date, my surgeries and treatment costs amount to almost R650,000. I do not have any life insurance or dread disease cover. As a freelancer, I do not have access to unemployment insurance. We made some bad choices when we were younger, so we are in our final year of debt administration, which means we have no access to loans or credit cards. No cash, no purchase. My medical aid covers my treatment partially - we are responsible for 20% of the cost. And then came COVID-19...

You can still donate into my crowdfunding campaign

Next month I will go for some screening tests to determine whether the treatment is working. I have not had any screening other than bloodwork during my treatment; only after my diagnoses in August last year. At the time, I had no cancer in my lymph, no cancer in my lungs, and no cancer in my abdomen. My right breast was the only site of cancer growth. And after the double mastectomy, the surgeon gave me surgical clearance on both sides. He removed all the breast tissue along with the malignant growths, and my treatment is purely preventative.

Physically I am healthy. I have no pre-existing illnesses. I have no diabetes, or high blood pressure, or cholesterol, or heart disease, or asthma, or allergies, or any of the every-day health issues so many other people suffer. But mentally, this past year changed me. The sword that is hanging over my head affects my energy levels and reduces my motivation to do anything. I try not to think about it. But for the first time in my life, I have to take drugs every morning and every evening. So I get reminded of the big-C twice a day.

The first year of this journey was not easy. My specific breast cancer (lobular pleomorphic carcinoma of the breast with HER2+ and hormone receptor +) is aggressive with a poorer prognosis, and there is no quick treatment. It will be five to ten years before I can safely say that I am in remission. Why? Because of the HER2 protein and the hormones that feed my specific type of cancer. There is always a risk of cancer flaring up again with this type of cancer. But I am going to try my best to put this year behind me. I am going to try and find the real eM as I go into the second year of my treatment cycle. She is still in there, somewhere.