Rubber Bands and Chewing Gum

It’s been a while since I’ve blogged. It’s not that I don’t want to write – I do – but I have been stuck in what feels like anxiety concrete for the last month or so. I’ve spent a LOT of time in freeze and it’s been all I have got to take care of my day-to-day responsibilities and not collapse. To say it’s been hard would be the biggest understatement, but I feel a little more optimistic today and have a day off, so here I am trying to catch up bit by bit.

I don’t really know how/where to begin. I imagine the next few posts might jump around a bit because there’s all sorts of stuff that’s happened and I think it’s all a bit much for a single post…but you know what I am like, this could end up at 5000 words and have it all! We’ll see.

After my lovely letter from love I felt quite settled for a little while. It was so nice to be able to tap into that voice and know that no matter what- it’s with me, even despite my panics and anxiety and self-doubt…*all the things*… I will do another one soon, but I am not sure I am quite ready to ask it the question I have inside. I know it will respond kindly, but I also know deep down what it has to say – and I am not sure I am ready to really hear it. That’s not meant to be cryptic – it’s just as I head into a year anniversary of Anita’s bombshell end but ‘not an end’ I’m trying to do some work to help me move on seeing as she refuses to participate or hold up on her end of the bargain.

March was hard for lots of reasons. Health being one of them. I recently got called for a ‘routine’ MRI and mammogram. After my cancer treatment in 2015 I was told that due to the amount of radiation I’d had to my chest/neck for the tumour there, I’d be at a higher risk of other cancers: lung, thyroid, and breast –  and would be put on the regular high risk breast screening programme once I hit forty in addition to my regular cancer follow up care. So, when the letter came a few weeks before my forty first birthday I took myself off to the appointments and braved my way through the triggering MRI scan which brought back so many memories of CT and PET scans…

It shocked me how instantly and fully I was thrown back into those traumatising body memories whilst in the scanner. Well, not shocked – this is classic PTSD after all – but I try so hard to put the health anxiety out of mind to be able to function that I thought I was more over cancer than I am.

Here I was in 2024 and instantly back in chemo and treatment regime – the dread, panic, and fear was unreal. Since the MRI scan I have had ‘chemo mouth’ which is a really awful metal taste you get when having chemotherapy- it’s nauseating. I know it’s completely psychosomatic because I haven’t had anything other than contrast imaging dye put in my veins – but there we are, the legacy of trauma and a wonky brain.

The mammogram process was fine. I’ve never had one of those before and so it was just a bit of an inconvenience rather than triggering a scary memory. The worst of it was that I couldn’t find the venue on an industrial estate and was almost late driving round and round in the rain!

The nurse that did the mammogram was nice enough and after so much treatment over the years I am not really bothered about having my body exposed like that. It’s just my body. Having said that, I’ve just been called for my smear and honestly, when time stands still in most areas of my life, the three years between smear tests feels like a blink of an eye!! I’m certainly getting a good deal out of the NHS right now!

Anyway, health wise I’ve felt ok enough…I mean I’m perpetually exhausted and bleurgh but I have taken that to be part and parcel of adult life in my forties with kids and peri-menopause … plus mental health cack…but bodily… I’ve been same same for a long time. So, imagine my surprise when I got called back to the breast clinic two days after my mammogram.

I tried not to stress too much. I imagined it would probably be because the mammogram wasn’t a good enough image and they’d need another. I was warned it was quite common for women to get recalled after their first mammogram for this reason and it’s nothing to worry about. However, the letter I received said to leave 2-4 hours for the appointment… I emailed Elle and let her know what was happening and she responded with a soothing message. I’ll write about therapy with her soon because there’s a lot to say there.

My wife was out the country for a couple of weeks, so I went alone to the appointment – because – it’s only a retake image, right?

Wrong.

I arrived at the venue (at least I knew where I was going this time!) and was quickly ushered into a small consultation room with a morose-looking breast care nurse who thrust a leaflet about breast cancer into my hand and began with, “I am so sorry you’re here. I can see from your records that you have already been through such a lot. I suppose you’re used to it by now.”

She must have clocked the confusion on my face.

What was she telling me?

“Your MRI results are back and I’m sorry to say that your right breast has lit up with activity.”

…

…

…

“We’re going to get another mammogram done and then you’ll go and see the consultant who will ultrasound you and possibly take a biopsy…”

I was floating ten feet above my body at this point.

I had not for one minute considered this would be anything to do with the MRI. You know, those highly detailed scans.

Yikes.

I now seriously regretted turning down the offers from friends to come to the appointment with me. This was not a day to be alone, afterall.

So off I went, stripped off my top and stood numb having image after image taken of that right breast. There was lot more squishing and sandwiching and then once that was over, I was told to wait in a small room and the consultant would be with me soon.

Ninety minutes in a room with no windows, a flickering neon strip light overhead, and importantly no phone or wifi signal…perfect.

I can honestly say, those ninety minutes floored me. One of my best friends died from breast cancer recently and another is currently on palliative care as it’s metastasised into her lungs… it’s a very real and present threat to younger women but we often believe it’s something for your fifties and beyond. It just isn’t.

I’ve been in this place before. You never forget getting delivered this sort of information and the face of the person telling you it. Everything stops. All the things you worry about day-to-day: bills, work, getting through the day in one piece whilst juggling a million things, none of it matters. All of a sudden, it’s ALL about the kids. The kids being left with no parent. Treatment. Survival.

When I was sitting waiting for the consultant I could hear a voice inside saying, “I just cannot do this again” because the strength it takes to go through treatment is…a lot. When I got diagnosed with Lymphoma I threw everything at it. Yet that day pondering the news, all I could hear was the very weary voice saying, “I haven’t got it in me to do this again”.

It’s hard to explain what this time was like in this room. In that moment all I wanted was to be able to reach out to Anita and feel safe for a second. Whilst I have been made very aware what my future will likely hold with regard to health, I just wasn’t ready for this. And even though I have undergone a fuck tonne of treatment in the past – the idea of being back under oncology services is not something you ever get used to.

Eventually, I got called into the consultant and she was very cheery. Odd, I thought. She quickly proceeded to tell me that all the mammogram images were clear and that MRI is notorious for flagging up in breast tissue because the nature of the tissue is so granular. She said she was going to thoroughly ultrasound my breast to get a really good look but that she didn’t think there was anything to worry about.  So, after ten minutes of being scanned she said she was confident there was nothing to see and that she’d see me in a year.

I mean THANK FUCK! But what on earth was that meeting with the breast care nurse all about?

I went to my car and just collapsed in a heap of relief.

I didn’t text Anita. There’s no point. She’s not my therapist. (More on that shitshow next post!)

But I did email Elle and told her what had happened. She responded almost immediately with a lovely message and that was that. I took myself off for a revolting McDonalds drive thru and resumed my mum duties and normal life… I am back to worrying about money, and everyday stuff…and relationships and therapy again!

The hangover from all this health stuff has been quite massive. And then there was Mother’s Day and my birthday within a week of all this and honestly, I just didn’t do very well with any of it – it’s a lot of firsts without Anita and I felt it so acutely. My anxiety has been off the chart and I have been circling the drain in one way or another. I’ll leave that here – and get back to therapy again next post because that, at least, is interesting.

The good news is, I think, after 8 months I might now have reached a place where Elle and I can do the work which is really nice…it’s literally happened in the last couple of weeks and seems to have gone from me being largely in hiding to the doors being blown off and the vulnerable and intense stuff getting taken to her…this is good, but also fucking terrifying and has largely come about because she’s on a break next week…so you know, trigger the door handle type revelations!