Author: Siri

Tits and wot? Giggles??? Cancer and laughs?

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If I had found that lump a few years ago, I would probably have still been waiting for my first mammogram and probably be freaking out right now, size and speed of increase considering. Instead I am amongst those lucky enough to be diagnosed with breast cancer in Norway, and therefore sent on the fast track of diagnosis, treatment and recovery.

December 21st, 2016 – the first sign

Whilst washing my hair in the shower, I bend over to rinse out the shampoo and notice a dimple in my right breast. It disappears as I stand up. Bending over, it’s quite visible. I didn’t know then that this is one of the first signs of breast cancer, just figured that it was weird, out of place, and that something was off. There are a number of different early warning signals that everyone (man or woman) should be aware of. In my case it started with a dimple and a slight asymmetry (the right breast was suddenly less droopy). I checked carefully for any kind of lump.

Not knowing what such a ‘lump’ feels like – when in doubt, compare your breasts. We have loads of glands around the nipple, but they should feel kinda symmetrical. My lump started off as a largeish mass and has only recently become a solid lump.

December 28th – so that’s what a lump feels like

Your mind will play tricks on you.

I first felt what I suspected was a lump a week after that first dimple. Not being sure of anything and realising the power of the mind, I still wasn’t certain. I did notice that my breasts were now visibly asymmetrical – the right one was regaining its firmness and posture. Not a good sign. If I had been in doubt, those thoughts were completely gone, and I knew exactly what it was.

The New Year 2017 – a time for reflection

I also decided to not call my GP in hysterics. I needed to figure out some stuff first. Mostly, how did I feel about this? A cancer diagnosis, chemo, radiation and most probably a mastectomy, how did I really feel about it all?

And I decided that this tumour was probably the best thing that could have happened to me.

I’ve been on partial disability for some years now. My contract was up for renewal on February 2nd and as I’d already been given an extra year, I was more than likely not going to get another renewal. However a cancer diagnosis would change all that and make a renewal more a formality than a major issue.

My body has been at war with me for the past 6 years. I am getting “better” in baby steps (meaning it will probably be fully functioning by 2525). It hasn’t been my body for many years. My body was muscular, strong, hard working, and could keep on going forever – never tiring, never in pain. This new one is fat with muscular pain, joints that sometimes malfunctioned, a back that could carry no weight and the complete opposite of my body. I didn’t need much thinking to know that a (double) mastectomy wouldn’t really bother me in the slightest. Not my body, not my problem.

Chemotherapy and radiation. They’re often made out to be the “bad guys”, bad for your health, leading to other medical issues. And although minor doses of radiation aren’t harmful, the kind that is used on cancer patients is harmful – otherwise it wouldn’t kill of cancerous cells.

But chemo – that’s quite a different matter. It’s been used as an experimental drug on patients with diagnoses such as CFS/ME and MS – with good results. As my symptoms don’t fit any known diagnosis and probably never will, I figured that chemo might just as well kill off the culprits who’ve hijacked my body.

And last but not least – seeing as I have no history of cancer on either side of the family, it was bound to be hormonal. My hormones have always given me hell, but in the last 8-9 years they’ve been worse than ever (and I do keep coming back to them as one of the main culprits). As cancer therapy against a hormone-induced tumour would necessitate killing off all pesky hormones involved, it seemed probable that it would also take care of some of the other pesky hormones, too.

All in all, it’s a win-win for me.

But laughter? And cancer?

I’ve never been one to lie down and cry when life hits me in the back of a head with a sharp shovel. It’s not as if I haven’t been through crap before. And every time I  ask myself: Is this the time I give up? Is this that infamous straw? Will it ever get any easier?

Then I think about all my reasons for not dying and know that the answer is, and will always be, a no-no-maybe.

So I’ve been laughing and smiling even if I have this huge secret, because I needed to own this before I could share it. I needed to have complete control and know that this is what I’ll be doing this year and know that I am ok with it. Last year it was a double neck prolapse, bronchitis and pneumonia. This year it’s cancer. This year will probably be a lot less painful and loads more fun.

And the reason I know this, is that I have a secret weapon. I have the most amazing tribe. Losing is not an issue. Giving up is not an issue. Being someone other than myself is not an issue, as they know who I am and what a hopelessly weird case of the human race that I am and they still love me.

Onwards we march – together we will overcome!

Who am I?

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I am Siri.

I am 44, engaged, and am the willing slave of several cats.

I live in a Little house on the prairie in Norway (it used to be Little house in the big woods, then the trees were felled).

In the end of December 2016 I noticed a dent in one of my breasts whilst showering. There was no lump at the time, but it appeared within a week – and it grew very quickly. I knew what it was yet my first reaction was relief and joy.

Two weeks after I found that lump, I had a mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy. The technician, a very competent doctor, told me it was 4 cm and that I would have surgery and radiation. My first reaction was “No! I want chemo!!!”.

January 30th, ten days later, I had a new ultrasound and the tumour had doubled in size. The doc didn’t want to say anything about the size (he didn’t have to).

The next day I had my first app’t with a breast doc. She said “It’s now over 5 cm, so we will have to do a mastectomy” and my response was “Could you please make it a double?”.

I have breast cancer. I have an aggressive, rapidly-growing tumour, and I am still delighted. I am happy. I feel blessed. This is such great news for me!

You’re probably thinking that I must be out of my mind to be happy for this diagnosis. 20% of those who receive the diagnosis will die of it. 30% of those who have my kind of breast cancer will relapse within 5 years. In 2015, 3,415 women and 24 men got the diagnosis and 669 people died from breast cancer in Norway (these include all breast cancer related deaths).

So why the joy?

For the last 6 years I have been fighting an invisible enemy, one that has taken over my body. Before that, I could easily walk for miles without getting tired, I could work a long day in the forest with my chain saw, I could carry 40 kg sacks of animal feed without problems.

And one day, practically overnight, my body stopped working. My hips, thighs, lumbar, back, shoulders and arms hurt at the slightest hint of use. I gained 40 kg in 5 years even with a healthy diet and physical work. I experienced a great deal of cognitive issues, including severe headaches, loss of short-term memory and concentration.

I am sad that my body has been fighting my soul for so many years that a diagnosis with horrendous treatment gives me joy. I am furious at my body for giving me so much hardship and hell over the last 6 years that I greet a potentially deadly diagnosis as a much welcomed and sorely missed friend. I am sorry that I look forward to chemo and all the other medicines I will be receiving, in the vain hope that they will fight off other problems as well.

I know that even if I am joyful and happy and glad and excited right now, the fight I have ahead of me will be gruelling and tough physically and mentally. I am lucky enough to have the best tribe supporting me through it all and (probably) the best cancer treatment in the world with the best team of doctors, nurses and engineers helping me through it all.

This isn’t my story. This is our journey. I hope you will walk with us!