I don’t think I will ever forget those words or the impact they had on me. They came out of my consultant‘s mouth like a punch to the face from left field before Dan and I had even sat down. At least there was no stringing out of the bad news, or dressing it up which I suspect would have been more painful and, to be honest, I had prepared myself this would be the likely outcome.

I found the lump whilst taking a shower on holiday in the Cotswolds. A week away with friends in August 2020 after months of COVID induced lock down, separation and no socialising. We were so relieved and excited to just be somewhere other than home, enjoying the company of friends.

To be honest, finding the lump didn’t cause me that much alarm. During a routine ‘Well Woman’ check in 2015, I was told that my breast tissue was “extremely lumpy.” Apparently this is not uncommon. I was referred to a breast specialist at London Bridge hospital who examined and scanned me within an inch of my life. His conclusion was that I had “extremely lumpy” breast tissue. Whilst this was “nothing to be concerned about,” he advised that I would need to be exceptionally vigilant when checking myself and also warned me that, because of the lumpy nature of my breast tissue, I may not be able to detect changes as easily as other women. As a result I have always checked myself regularly.

I presented myself again in 2018 with what I though might be a lump. Again the conclusion was that it was just lumpy tissue and nothing to be concerned about.

In March 2019 I was called in for a routine mammogram when my local health authority conducted a trial screening of 50% of the women in my area aged between 47 and 50, the three years before the NHS regular screening programme begins. I was given a clean bill of health as a result of that screen.

So when I felt a really quite sizeable lump in that shower in the Cotswold I didn’t panic, I didn’t tell Dan or the girlfriend we were away with that I was worried, because I wasn’t. I just quietly told myself it would be another false alarm and diarised to ring my doctors as soon as we got home, which I duly did. I carried on with our holiday oblivious of the outcome and challenges to come and enjoyed every special minute of it.

The nurse at my doctors practice saw me the same day I contacted them immediately on my return from holiday. She referred me to the Breast Clinic at my local hospital without question. “You have a lump and it needs to be investigated, you have done the right thing by coming in”. I felt a bit embarrassed, ‘here she is again with her lumpy breast tissue and her over active imagination, wasting our time during very challenging times.’

I arrived for my mammogram at the breast clinic in my local hospital on the afternoon of 9 September, a strange experience during COVID times. Face masks and social distancing were compulsory. I had to attend alone which was no problem as in my mind I would be in and out, another quick check and confirmation I have the worlds lumpiest breasts and then home to pick Max up from school and cook the kids tea. I had barely discussed it with Dan, just another one of ‘those’ checks, it would all be fine, another thing to tick off the never ending to do list. I was more focused on what I would cook for tea. Months of lock down and eating every meal together had led to major appetite apathy in our house.

The consultant was upbeat as he perused my notes commenting on my previous referrals and their outcomes. I was almost apologising for being there as I climbed onto his examination couch. He examined me and immediately concluded that he thought it was a cyst and nothing to worry about but as it was quite nodular he would get the radiographer to have a look at me after the mammogram as an extra precaution.

Whilst waiting for my ultrasound I receive a WhatsApp from one of my closest friends who I am going away with in a couple of weeks. A rearranged girlie weekend to Bath. I message back telling her that I am at the breast clinic with “another” lump, “just a cyst”, “fingers crossed”. We then confirm arrangements for our weekend away.

The mammogram was the usual comedy situation, me with my fairly ample bosoms trying to get into the most awkward positions whilst a nurse half my height tried to manoeuvre me and my ample bosoms into even more more ridiculous positions whilst clamping each breast between two flat Perspex plates and, once in them, squeezing the Perspex plates as tight as humanely possible in order to get an acceptable image. Surely there is an easier way? I made my usual comments about how I can’t imagine how they screen more flat chested women and we both have a laugh in order to fill the awkward time. Once the mammogram is done I am given my belongings back and sent on my way to the ultrasound waiting room.

The ultrasound was a scarily familiar experience. Unfortunately I already had a fear of them. I suffered 3 miscarriages whilst trying to have children and 2 of those miscarriages were ‘missed’ and discovered during scans at 12 and 9 weeks. So I am no stranger to bad news at an ultrasound appointment. In fact, I associate ultrasounds with bad news and never enjoyed a single one throughout my two successful pregnancies. But this time was different, It was far harder, I was in there on my own.

I recognised the intense quiet of the radiographer as she scrutinised the image on her screen. The quiet seemed never ending, her repeated examination of my lump and armpit didn’t feel normal. I knew that something wasn’t right. I recognised the hushed discussion with the nurse present in the room, originally there to take notes but suddenly her role took on a new importance. She was needed to go and get stuff, to find things with urgency in drawers behind my head where I couldn’t see. I desperately wanted to shout out “ Hey, what are you seeing there? Anything I should be worried about?” What stuff are you looking for in those drawers? But I knew that isn’t the way things are done at ultrasounds. Their job is not to give news, its to examine and take images of things that don’t look right. You have to let them get on with that without the interference of emotion, questions and feelings.

So I just stayed quiet and accepted what was happening around me whilst the dread and the recollection of my previous experiences during pregnancies started to slowly seep back in.

The radiographer eventually told me that she needed to perform a couple of biopsies, she had concerns about the lump and was also unhappy about the look of one of my lymph nodes. No problem I said, do I need to book a separate appointment for the biopsies? It was almost 4pm and I assumed everyone needed to get home and there would be a special clinic for biopsies. No, we will do them now she said. Bloody hell!! You mean take samples from the inside of my body now? How will that happen? will it hurt? do I need an anaesthetic? will I be ok? Can I drive home? Should I have someone here? The questions suddenly came tumbling out. She answered them all except whether I would be ok.

The biopsies were taken. I tried my hardest to read the face of the radiographer but she wasn’t giving anything away. I suspect an art learned from years of practice. She told me lots of things that went completely over my head, something about putting a metal clip in my breast and warning me of loud clicks as they took samples of tissue from my breast and arm pit. Once they were finished I got dressed and was sent back to the waiting room. When I got there it was empty, everyone else had gone home, clinics were finished. I was eventually called in by a lovely breast care nurse who apologised that the consultant had left already but said that she could see me. She took me into a room filled with cancer information leaflets, calming art and comfy chairs. She sat me down and told me that the radiographer was “suspicious” of what she had seen, both the lump and one of my lymph nodes. She couldn’t say any more than that but advised me not to go home and start searching the internet. I don’t know what it was but I knew at that moment, I had cancer. They see patients every day, they know what they are looking at, they know why things look “suspicious.”

So cancer it is and not just any old cancer, a grade 2/3 invasive cancerous lump in my right breast and just for good measure a metastatic carcinoma in at least one of the lymph nodes in my right armpit. Bugger!!! As the husband said “you’ve done it properly” I haven’t just had a ‘brush with’ or ‘flirted with’ the idea of cancer, I went for broke. I had leapt in with my (not so massive) size 5 1/2‘s, and all of this in 17 months since my last mammogram.