You’re never the same after cancer…

I was diagnosed with breast cancer while living abroad. My parents (mum in particular) were not keen that anyone know that I have breast cancer. So we kept it from the extended family and didn’t even tell my grandmother. My mum definitely didn’t know how to deal with it. She was quite supportive over the phone, but would end up crying every time she saw me in person, which was tough on me. It didn’t help that she didn’t want to talk about it to her friends or anyone else, apart from my sister.

With me, not talking about cancer was not so much about the stigma. Maybe it was a bit of pride, but mainly I did not want to be pitied. That was my biggest fear—that people would look at me, see cancer and feel sorry for me; who I am would be lost. I informed the people I cared about, mainly close family and friends, that’s it! I wasn’t about to put it on Facebook to receive an outpouring of grief or to write a blog about how I “triumphed over cancer”. Everyone deals with it differently. I just wanted to get through it with as much dignity, sanity and courage as I could muster.

I first felt a lump in my left breast in the shower. It was completely accidental and not through a proactive self-examination. Strange that I hadn’t come across it before! I showed it to my husband who thought we should go to the doctor immediately. The next day, I met my GP who gave me a urgent referral to the breast cancer unit of a nearby hospital. The breast care surgeon there thought that given my age (33 years at the time), lack of family history, general good health etc, it was probably a harmless cyst. But he sent me for a biopsy to just be sure. Even the doctor doing the biopsy said the lump on the monitor looked like a cyst or a fibroadenoma (both harmless). I was to return after two days and meet the breast care surgeon for the results. Funnily enough, I was listening to a TED talk by Steve Jobs about his cancer, career et al on my way to the hospital from work. My husband and I met at the hospital and were making plans to go out for dinner later. It didn't cross our minds that it would be bad news.

The doctor looked a bit somber when he called me in and specifically asked my husband to join us. That got my antennae up. My feeling that something was wrong proved true when he said, “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news. You have cancer”. My world (and my husband’s) stopped for a second. He then said a few technical things about it being stage 1, grade 1, etc but I didn't register anything. I don’t think I heard much after the word “cancer”. He then sent me to the breast care nurse who kind of consoles you and calms you down. She explained that the first thing for me would be surgery, following which a decision about chemotherapy and radiotherapy would be made. She said that if chemotherapy was deemed necessary, it would have implications on my ability to conceive naturally. Our world had crashed in a matter of 15 minutes. I not only had to worry about cancer but also about the fact that we would probably not have children. I cried all the way from hospital to home; this was just the beginning!

Within a few weeks I was scheduled for surgery and they managed to get all of the cancer. I was lucky that I was what they call “cancer free” post surgery, last April. I met a lot of women who were not as lucky. The surgeon didn’t think chemo or radiotherapy would be necessary; the oncologist unfortunately didn’t share his view. Given my relatively young age, she was quite certain that I must undergo chemotherapy and radiotherapy to reduce the risk of recurrence and to kill rogue cancer cells that may still have been lurking in my liver, bones etc.

Once it was clear that I would undergo chemotherapy, I was advised to undergo embryo harvesting, so that, if chemo destroyed all my eggs, I would still be able to conceive through invitro fertilization (IVF) in the future. As I focused on getting better and just living, I came to terms with the possibility of not having a child (of my own). I focused on the big picture, as I knew there would be other options we could explore (IVF, surrogacy, adoption...)

The next step was chemotherapy–6 rounds with a 3-week interval between rounds (the final round happened last September). This was the toughest experience of my life! I kept feeling like the cancer didn’t kill me but the chemo just might. The nausea and vomiting after each cycle is horrendous and of course the hair loss is hard to deal with. I think it was only when I started losing my hair, it finally sunk in that I had cancer. I bought a wig and walked around in wigs for the rest of the year. The three weeks of radiotherapy that followed were the most harmless part of the treatment.

I think if it weren’t for my husband, the support of my sister and brother and my close friends, I would probably not have survived emotionally. My husband has been with me through it all—every appointment, wig fitting… I don’t think I could have gotten through it without him.

Dying is my worst fear. And no matter how much doctors tell you that you won’t, it still preys on your mind. The penultimate fear is recurrence. I fear it, but I don’t live in fear of it… that would be too much to take emotionally. I have developed a greater respect for life since cancer. I think you realize that life is too short and too unpredictable, so you have to seize the day (pardon the cliché).

You’re never the same after cancer. Your life gets divided–pre-cancer and post-cancer. It changes in ways both big and small. With the big things, for example, jobs, relationships etc, my new thinking is—if it doesn’t make you happy, you need to make a change and not waste any more time or energy on it. I changed my job after cancer as I thought I could do better. Also, if there is something you’ve always wanted to do—travel, read etc—then you should go ahead and do it, not wait for the perfect time.

When you’re young you think you’re invincible and probably immortal. The one thing about having cancer at a relatively young age is that it brings you face to face with mortality and makes you think about death. I feel like I am, for example more cautious while crossing the road than I was before—the thought in my head is, “I don’t want to die getting hit by a car after having survived cancer!”

Having children of my own was (and still is) important to me, though I am not (and have never been) one of those women who think of it as their life's calling. To me, it is one of life's fundamental experiences and I don't want to miss out on it, as far as possible. Even much before the cancer, I always thought that I would like one child of my own and one adopted. That hasn't changed yet. Though the path to having one of my own is slightly trickier now.

My cancer was progesterone and I estrogen sensitive, so the oncologist has put me on pills to regulate my hormone levels. This hormone therapy is prescribed for at least five years, during which you're asked not to conceive. In my case, the oncologist has agreed that we can stop the pills in another two years, so I can try to conceive. And once I do (if I do) we can resume the hormone therapy post delivery. So right now, it's just wait and watch.

As told to AverIl Nunes

Read more survivor stories... 
I'm a Survivor—The benifits of being positive—http://dnai.in/cpzs
Caregiver's Song—Cancer, from a sister's perspective—http://dnai.in/cpxq
Fruitful Living—Healing through diet—http://dnai.in/cpxt