I'm snuggled up in bed after a lovely sunny Sunday. I went shopping by myself this morning (so nice to get out and buy things without company, I bought some new beanies to keep my head warm), and this afternoon we bought ice creams at Seaport and had a lovely walk along the river to Royal Park and back. I patted two puppies on the way, and confess to feeling a little clucky over puppies at the moment. I blame it on Rosie, the cocker spaniel pup down the road, who reminds me so much of Cindy in the way she acts and how it feels to touch her, it grabs at my heart whenever I reach over the fence to pat her, and I want to take her home with me. Our ancient Tibetan spaniel, Po-po, spends his days sleeping or walking in confused circles, and Ginny, our Tibetan mastiff, is only interested in us if a walk or food is involved - It would be nice to have a dog that acted happy to see me, but I don't want to get a pup just now, we have enough cleaning to do when Po evades our eagle eyes and toilets inside. I don't think I could handle house training a dog now, and we need to give Po all the love we can while he's with us. Lucky I can walk down the road and see Rosie...
I've been wondering how long it took for my breast cancer to develop, and if it could have been detected earlier. This link gives a detailed account of how breast cancer develops, http://envirocancer.cornell.edu/factsheet/general/fs5.biology.cfm
Other sources on the web also say it can take 8-10 years for a tumour to grow to 1-2cm... So my 7cm grade 2 whopper was probably growing for ten years or more. And I shouldn't have believed the doctor who told me that my breasts would be less dense after breastfeeding, and that my risk of breast cancer wasn't increased by having dense breasts and a history of a fibroadenoma at age 22. Subsequent reading tells me that's crap. Dense breasts become less dense for the mammogram after menopause, not after breastfeeding, and while breastfeeding can reduce the risk of breast cancer (because it makes the breast cells become mature), having dense breasts is associated with increased risk, as is having children later in life (I was 34 for David, 37 for Nathaniel), and hypothyroidism.
So yet again, I'm feeling incredibly lucky that my cancer didn't spread, that it was only grade two, that my lymph nodes were all negative. Given the size of the tumour, it's likely it was growing before I had David in 2002. Seven years of continuous lactation may have slowed it down, may have stopped the spread, but that breast was denser than the one on the right for years. I had my GP check it out each year, and each GP reassured me that they couldn't feel any lumps. But you know what? You don't need to have a lump to have breast cancer. Increased density, textural changes, dimpling, redness, or nipple changes can signify breast cancer. And my seven cm tumour could only be felt from underneath, once the surgeon had made the incision. It could not be felt through the dense tissue above, it could not be seen on mammography. Ultrasound suggested three abnormal areas this year, and multiple cysts and fribrocystic tissue last year. The NICE guidelines recommend MRI for premenopausal women with dense breasts, but they're not covered by Medicare, and there's only one radiologist in Launceston who does them, in Hobart. Until there's a change in the availability of breast MRIs for women like me, I wonder how many more young women will miss out on a diagnosis when the tumour is small and low grade?
Midnight. I really should sleep. The kids go back to school on Tuesday. I have to have a blood test and see the physio tomorrow. I don't want to have my port needled until Wednesday, I'm afraid something might go wrong with it (need some more lorazepam!!!). I haven't eaten much the last two days, my appetite seems to have deserted me, so I need to follow up about what might be going on. I see the oncologist on Tuesday, then get my first cycle of Taxotere on Wednesday. Ben is going to Melbourne on Friday for a directors' meeting, and comes back Saturday. Mum will come and stay with me and the boys on Friday night. I hope I cope better with this new treatment. I'll do my best.
Thanks for reading. Please feel free to email me at fiona.bardenhagen@gmail.com
I'd love to hear from you :)
A blog started in 2013 to inform family and friends about my treatment and progress for early breast cancer. Then I went and got two brain tumours,,both GBMs, completely unrelated to the breast cancer, so the blog continues.
Background and overview
I learnt more about the health system from being an inpatient than I had in 20 years of working as a neuropsychologist. I was unexpectedly diagnosed with two brain tumours on 4/9/13. They turned out to be grade IV Gliomas (glioblastoma multiforme (GBM)). After removal of the right parietal and left occipital tumours, I received the standard treatment under the Stupp protocol (combined Temozolamide (TMZ) and conformal radiotherapy 5 days/week for 6 weeks), but the TMZ had to be ceased after 5 weeks because I had started to develop pancytopenia, where more than one of my blood counts had begun to drop. By Christmas 2013, I had become anaemic and needed a couple of blood transfusions. I ended up in hospital for 3 weeks of the 2014 new year after experiencing my first seizure (suggestive of a right temporal lobe focus) on 31/12/13). They were so worried about my bone marrow, they did a biopsy. Luckily, it was all clear of any nasty disorders. It had just been suppressed by the TMZ My blood counts slowly returned to normal with daily injections of GCSF, which stimulate bone marrow function, for several months. For 17 months I was doing better each day, without any physical impairments or major cognitive problems A third brain tumour was found in the right temporal lobe on 2/1/15, and removed 6/1/15, only to reappear on 17/2/15 after I started to feel vague symptoms at the end of 2014. I had my 4th round of brain surgery on 1/3/15, followed by stereotaxic radio surgery of a residual, inoperable, tumour, on 17/4/15. I've been feeling like my old self again since that highly precise form of radiotherapy, and it feels fabulous.
My way of coping.
I choose to live in hope that everything will work out for the best. I've learnt that even though things are sometimes unpleasant, life and love go on forever. I put my faith in the life force that created and unites us all in love, across all time, space, and dimensions. I refuse to succumb to fear, which is an invention of our imaginations. There are an infinite number of things to fear, both in this world an in our imaginations, and most of them never eventuate. I choose not to dwell on them, and to focus instead on counting my many blessings, current and past, and to have faith and hope that if I look after the present moment, the future will look after itself.
If you're reading, and haven't been in touch, please don't be shy, send me a brief private message using the contact form on the right. It's nice to know who's out there. Blogging can leave me feeling a little isolated at times (I used to have recurrent dreams of being out on a limb over a canyon, or of starting to strip off in a crowded waiting room). Your emails are appreciated, although I can't necessarily answer all of them.
