So we went down to the Breast Care unit at the local hospital, getting there early... I went to the loo, and naturally that was the time they called my name. Hubby laughed as I emerged, and then I turned around and knew the worst was true. The bloke in the office doorway wasn't the nice registrar I had seen before - this was the consultant, and they weren't going to wheel him in to give me good news, were they?
They hadn't, and he didn't.
The lump is malignant, a grade three primary aggressive lobular carcinoma.
He told me that there would be chemotherapy, then surgery to remove whatever was left, then some radiotherapy to clean up anything lurking... and that, as Brucie used to say, is all there is to it. As long as the CT scan, bone scan and MRI scan didn't reveal anything else to suggest this wasn't a primary cancer, then it is all manageable.
Manageable? does that mean it's curable, that I am not doomed? I won't know until the scans are done for sure, but on the face of it, yes, it should all be fixable. All things being equal, if everything goes as expected, E&OE...
So I rang the boss, and the finance director and told them that I have been diagnosed with cancer.
Eight hours later they emailed me my redundancy letter.
