My Road to Paris – a breast cancer journey
It was the year 2009, and I was living and loving life as usual, with my beautiful husband and two precious children. I was young, healthy, had a great job and not much to worry about. Then in March of that year, after doing a regular breast check, I felt something unusual in my right breast. So I made an appointment with a doctor, who sent me back home after assuring me, ”It’s nothing, you’re young, it’s just hormonal.” But she told me to come back in a couple of months if I was still worried.
Two months later, the lump was still there, so I did go back, but with my husband this time. The same doctor checked me more thoroughly than the first time, saying, “I still think it’s hormonal, but I’ll send you for an ultrasound to ease your mind.”
Before we walked out she said, “Don’t worry, it’s not cancer.”
I went for the ultrasound, which detected a lump in my right breast and another one under my right arm. From the technician’s face and questions, I thought there must be something wrong.
Soon, my doctor’s face when we arrived at his surgery confirmed my worst fear – the report he held in his hand said that it was thought I had breast cancer.
I felt like I was having an out of body experience. I thought, “This can’t be happening to me. I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I eat well, breast cancer’s not in my family…I’m too young.” I was 39 years old at the time.
But breast cancer didn’t care about all that. After a painful needle biopsy and mammogram, it was confirmed – I did have breast cancer.
I couldn’t believe it. I had cancer – I found it hard to even say the word aloud. My mind immediately focussed on my first challenge – how I was going to break the news to my kids, who were only 12 and 10 years old at the time. It was almost as though my heart was going to burst right out of my chest – the fear I felt, the love I had for my children and the mother’s instinct to protect them from any hurt. I remember pleading with God, “Please don’t let me die young.”
So many questions flooded my mind, but I had to try to block them out. Instead, I made a decision that I would fight for my life.
So the battle began.
First we had to break the news to the kids. I equated the word “cancer” with “death”, so why wouldn’t they? We all sat down in the lounge room and I can still picture their innocent little faces, so scared and looking to John and me to reassure them that everything was going to be okay.
We decided to be honest about how serious the situation was, but we also made sure they knew we were hopeful. We told them even though it would be hard for a while, I believed I was going to get better. We all had a cry and a group hug, and when I looked into their eyes I could see that they too believed I would get better. So I couldn’t let them down. I had to fight for my kids – I had to stay strong and positive. I had to beat cancer!
Over the coming weeks, there were doctor’s appointments, numerous surgeries, scans and tests to check for other cancers, blood tests, poking, prodding and the start of chemotherapy, radiation and other ongoing treatments. One night before the first surgery, I was lying in my husband’s arms and cried, “I don’t want to die.”
In amazing strength, he simply replied, ”You’re not going to die. We’re going to get through this.” And he actually made me believe it! He wasn’t willing to consider any other option, so I wasn’t either.
One time during chemo, when I was ‘fat and bald’ as I used to say, I felt so awful, and said to my husband John, “I feel so sick and so ugly. I just want to be normal again. I just want to feel beautiful again.”
And he answered, “You are beautiful. You will always be beautiful to me. My love for you is not about what you look like; it’s much deeper than that. It’s about who you are…and you’re beautiful inside and out.”
I will never forget those words.
After the surgeries to remove the lump and 29 lymph nodes, recovery was painful and seemed to take forever. My husband was a wonderful nurse, doing everything from dressing me, to cooking and washing…all without one complaint. He also came to every medical appointment. My mum and extended family were also there for me – a loving family is priceless at a time like this.
I remember the first day of chemotherapy. I walked into the hospital in a daze. The nurse sat me down and started telling me everything I should expect for the next few months – nausea, diarrhoea, vomiting, weight gain, loss of hair, lack of energy, and the list went on. The worst thing about it all though, was that my husband and kids had to watch me go through it. I hated seeing the worry and sadness in their eyes.
Before that first bit of poison was pumped into my body, I sat there holding John’s hand tight, tears streaming down my face, and the nurse asked for my name and date of birth. I nudged John as if to say “you tell her”, but she said “no, you have to tell me.” It was then I realised no one else could do this for me – they could love and support me, but I’m the one who had to be strong. I’m the one who had to stay positive. I’m the one who had to fight for my life!
I knew it was inevitable, but I was dreading losing my hair. I decided to get it cut short just after my first chemo treatment. My sister and niece took me shopping to buy some lovely hats and scarves, and I thought, “now I’m ready”. Every night I would hop in the shower, tug at my hair and think, “it’s not falling out…maybe it won’t after all”.
A couple of days later, I tugged on it again and a whole clump came out in my hand. I thought I was ready, but nothing could have prepared me for that. Devastated, I burst out crying, and rushed inside to phone my hairdresser friend. She came over to shave it all off, and once it was done, I actually felt relieved. I no longer had to worry about it falling out in clumps in public anymore. I started wearing my scarves and hats, trying to be as fashionable and creative with them as I could, which made me feel better.
My brave daughter wanted to be there when I got my head shaved. Afterwards, I checked that she was okay, and she said, “I’m fine, Mum, because I know you’re going to get better,” and she added, “you’ve got a nice shaped head by the way!”
My son, on the other hand, didn’t want to see my bald head at first. He said it made him feel sad. A few days later, he walked into my room to say goodbye for school and my night hat had fallen off. I quickly reached for it, but he said, “Don’t worry Mum, I’m used to it now.” He gently rubbed my head, kissed me on the cheek and said, “Bye, I love you.”
It didn’t matter what I looked like, my kids loved me anyway! The pain and suffering was worth it – I was doing it for my kids. Every day was one step closer to getting rid of the cancer – that was my focus.
My 78 year old mum was a great source of encouragement too. She would come stay with me while my hubby was at work. She would try to get me up to go for walks outside in the fresh air. She said it would do me good. Although she’s riddled with osteoporosis and uses a walking stick, she was willing to push through her pain to walk with me – the selfless love of a mother. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and feel sorry for myself, but I finally gave in. As soon as I walked outside, I saw how brightly the sun was shining and felt a lovely cool breeze on my face. Mum was right – it was good for me because it reminded me how beautiful the world is, and how much I wanted to stay in it.
Once the first round of chemo was over, it was time to be burned to a crisp by radiation treatment. If it wasn’t for a silly fall, which resulted in a broken ankle, the radiation probably would have been a breeze compared to the chemo. Although the broken ankle had the potential to really set me back, I had to keep my fighting spirit!
After the radiation, there was another 12 months of another chemotherapy treatment and I’m still on hormone therapy for the breast cancer for a total of 5 years. I consider it my ”insurance policy” to keep the dreaded cancer away! I’m well and truly on the road to recovery, and my aim is to do whatever I can to prevent breast cancer ever coming back to visit me. I read widely in order to educate myself on prevention, I eat mostly organic and natural foods whenever possible, and try to enjoy life to the full.
In April 2012, I will be embarking on an epic fundraising adventure –
participating in the Marathon de Paris. This challenge is on behalf of the National Breast Cancer Foundation, an organisation that works to raise funds for breast cancer research. It is research that gives me hope for the future, so I have an urge to do something to help. I have pledged to raise a minimum of $10,000.
I have so many things to be grateful for right now. Firstly, breast cancer didn’t beat me and I’m still here to tell my story. But I’m so grateful to be training for a marathon despite the fact that I’ve never been an athletic sort of person and was told that I would probably never be able to run, or even walk, long distances because of a permanent ankle and back injury, sustained during my chemotherapy treatment. But here I am, training for a marathon in Paris, no less! I am grateful beyond words to have this opportunity.
For information on how you can support my fundraising efforts, please visit my website at www.jenniferreid.com.au.
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