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!