To Chemo or not to Chemo?
There are better ways to deliver news...
11:25am on 23rd November 2017 is another date and time that is forever etched in my brain. What started out as an ordinary day ended up being a wild emotional rollercoaster of a day.
As it was near to Christmas and I knew that the decision over chemotherapy was looming ever closer, I had decided to start buying Christmas presents so that if I did need chemo, then I would hopefully have all the present bought and wrapped before I started. You see, one thing about me that you will get to understand, if you haven't already, is that I am organised and I am a perfectionist to the point of me being quite anal about it all. Having said that, people around me seem to leave it up to me to organise things so maybe they don't mind me being that organised or perfectionist as it saves them a job!
Anyway, on this particular day I had decided to take a trip into my original hometown of Wakefield to do a little Christmas shopping and one of the things I wanted to sort out first was getting a large poster print collage of Gary and I on holiday in Zante and Greece, framed at a framers I have used many times in the past. They do a sterling job.
I was in the middle of discussing border colour and thickness and frame type and colour when my phone rang. Now ordinarily I wouldn't be that rude individual who answers their phone when in the middle of a conversation but the phone flashed up the hospital number and as I was due to meet with the Oncologist the following day for a scheduled appointment I thought I best answer it in case they were re-arranging it.
I answered the phone and it was my Breast Care Nurse (BCN), "Hi Joanne, we've got your Oncotype results back and you're in the higher risk category so you'll definitely be having chemotherapy."
And boom, in that sentence I felt like my life as I knew for the second time in a year had suddenly stopped and it felt like the air in the shop had become very thin. I remember just trying to let the word sink in "chemotherapy." It was in that moment that the real seriousness of the diagnosis hit me like a ton of bricks, it felt like "shit had finally got real".
I remember my BCN asking me if I was alright? I remember thinking - How the hell do you answer that kind of question? One minute I'm making a decision over what colour photo frame I want and the next I'm having the very real realisation that I was going to have chemotherapy and lose all my hair. Life really did change in an instant. It all just seemed so surreal.
My reply was something along the lines of "thanks for just blurting out that I need chemotherapy, I'm currently out and about on my own and I didn't expect this kind of news to be given to me over the phone when I'm in clinic tomorrow."
My BCN was instantly mortified and couldn't apologise enough to me over the phone saying she was sorry for giving me the news over the phone and couldn't understand why she had done it other than she knew that I would want to know as soon as possible the Oncotype results given the mess up with sending the wrong tumour sample off. In a way she was right I did want to know but for the sake of 24 hours, I wouldn't have been any the wiser! We conversed for a few more minutes, what about? I honestly couldn't tell you as my mind had spun off on the anxiety ether.
It was at this point that I looked at the framing guy and he was looking at me in a rather perplexed but with an expression on his face almost like "can we carry on with the frame choosing please." I ended the call with my BCN who was still apologising as I cut the phone call and looked at the framing guy and said "apologies for taking the phone call but I've just found out that I have to have chemotherapy for breast cancer. Now, where were we?" I swear I heard his open mouthed jaw hit the counter top.
In all honesty, I no longer gave a shit about the photo or the frame, it paled into insignificance given the news that I had to have chemotherapy as part of my treatment pathway. I was in a complete and utter daze as I went to exit the framing shop. I felt such a mixture of emotions - fear, anxiety, resentment, astonishment, apprehension - you name it, I was feeling it. The first thing I did was to ring Gary but he wasn't answering his phone (he was only allowed to take calls in his lunch break at 12pm) so I tried ringing the office number and for whatever reason they weren't answering either - it felt like fate, it felt like I was meant to be alone at that moment, that moment that I was given the news I needed to have chemotherapy. I wandered up through the quieter area of the town centre just feeling like I was in some kind of dreamlike state. Shock. Anxiety. Fear.
Because I couldn't get hold of Gary, I sent him a Whats App message asking him to ring me urgently. Next I rang my auntie, I needed to tell someone of the devastating news that I needed to have chemotherapy. How I got through that phone call without crying I have no idea, it was hard but I managed to hold them back. I didn't want to be stood in the doorway of an office block crying. My auntie was very calm and reassuring on the end of the phone when I asked if I could go to their house because I didn't want to be alone. They only lived 2 miles out of the city centre but that was the next thing I would have to do - drive, whilst in a shocked state.
Next I rang Gary's mum to tell her, I don't know why in all honesty, but I felt like I needed to tell her. She too was very supportive and said to pop round to see them when I got home (they live in the same village as us).
As I finished the phone call with Gary's mum, Gary rang me back. I didn't want to tell him over the phone that I needed to have chemotherapy, that news should've been delivered to us both, together, at the scheduled clinic appointment. But, there was no way around it. "I've got to have chemo, the Oncotype results say I'm in a higher risk band for recurrence?" I could tell in the tone of Gary's voice that he was just as shell shocked as I had been. By this point I had ended up stood in the doorway of a snooker hall as it was out of the main throng of the shopping precinct and I could at least have a phone call out of earshot of people happily shopping away around me. I remember that I did let some of the emotion flow, I did let out some tears stood in the doorway, I couldn't help it, with Gary, I always feel safe, he always know the right thing to say, he knows how to comfort me.
Gary was concerned at me driving my car, given the state my head was in and told me to have some time in the town centre before getting in my car, just to clear some of the racing anxious thoughts mixed in with what felt like a thick, foggy head. I agreed, so after our phone call I wandered off for a Chai Latte from Caffe Nero before attempting to drive to my aunt and uncle's house.
Life from this point on I knew was going to change forever. Chemotherapy. Just how was I going to deal with that? How was I going to cope with losing my hair?
As it was near to Christmas and I knew that the decision over chemotherapy was looming ever closer, I had decided to start buying Christmas presents so that if I did need chemo, then I would hopefully have all the present bought and wrapped before I started. You see, one thing about me that you will get to understand, if you haven't already, is that I am organised and I am a perfectionist to the point of me being quite anal about it all. Having said that, people around me seem to leave it up to me to organise things so maybe they don't mind me being that organised or perfectionist as it saves them a job!
Anyway, on this particular day I had decided to take a trip into my original hometown of Wakefield to do a little Christmas shopping and one of the things I wanted to sort out first was getting a large poster print collage of Gary and I on holiday in Zante and Greece, framed at a framers I have used many times in the past. They do a sterling job.
I was in the middle of discussing border colour and thickness and frame type and colour when my phone rang. Now ordinarily I wouldn't be that rude individual who answers their phone when in the middle of a conversation but the phone flashed up the hospital number and as I was due to meet with the Oncologist the following day for a scheduled appointment I thought I best answer it in case they were re-arranging it.
I answered the phone and it was my Breast Care Nurse (BCN), "Hi Joanne, we've got your Oncotype results back and you're in the higher risk category so you'll definitely be having chemotherapy."
And boom, in that sentence I felt like my life as I knew for the second time in a year had suddenly stopped and it felt like the air in the shop had become very thin. I remember just trying to let the word sink in "chemotherapy." It was in that moment that the real seriousness of the diagnosis hit me like a ton of bricks, it felt like "shit had finally got real".
I remember my BCN asking me if I was alright? I remember thinking - How the hell do you answer that kind of question? One minute I'm making a decision over what colour photo frame I want and the next I'm having the very real realisation that I was going to have chemotherapy and lose all my hair. Life really did change in an instant. It all just seemed so surreal.
My reply was something along the lines of "thanks for just blurting out that I need chemotherapy, I'm currently out and about on my own and I didn't expect this kind of news to be given to me over the phone when I'm in clinic tomorrow."
My BCN was instantly mortified and couldn't apologise enough to me over the phone saying she was sorry for giving me the news over the phone and couldn't understand why she had done it other than she knew that I would want to know as soon as possible the Oncotype results given the mess up with sending the wrong tumour sample off. In a way she was right I did want to know but for the sake of 24 hours, I wouldn't have been any the wiser! We conversed for a few more minutes, what about? I honestly couldn't tell you as my mind had spun off on the anxiety ether.
It was at this point that I looked at the framing guy and he was looking at me in a rather perplexed but with an expression on his face almost like "can we carry on with the frame choosing please." I ended the call with my BCN who was still apologising as I cut the phone call and looked at the framing guy and said "apologies for taking the phone call but I've just found out that I have to have chemotherapy for breast cancer. Now, where were we?" I swear I heard his open mouthed jaw hit the counter top.
In all honesty, I no longer gave a shit about the photo or the frame, it paled into insignificance given the news that I had to have chemotherapy as part of my treatment pathway. I was in a complete and utter daze as I went to exit the framing shop. I felt such a mixture of emotions - fear, anxiety, resentment, astonishment, apprehension - you name it, I was feeling it. The first thing I did was to ring Gary but he wasn't answering his phone (he was only allowed to take calls in his lunch break at 12pm) so I tried ringing the office number and for whatever reason they weren't answering either - it felt like fate, it felt like I was meant to be alone at that moment, that moment that I was given the news I needed to have chemotherapy. I wandered up through the quieter area of the town centre just feeling like I was in some kind of dreamlike state. Shock. Anxiety. Fear.
Because I couldn't get hold of Gary, I sent him a Whats App message asking him to ring me urgently. Next I rang my auntie, I needed to tell someone of the devastating news that I needed to have chemotherapy. How I got through that phone call without crying I have no idea, it was hard but I managed to hold them back. I didn't want to be stood in the doorway of an office block crying. My auntie was very calm and reassuring on the end of the phone when I asked if I could go to their house because I didn't want to be alone. They only lived 2 miles out of the city centre but that was the next thing I would have to do - drive, whilst in a shocked state.
Next I rang Gary's mum to tell her, I don't know why in all honesty, but I felt like I needed to tell her. She too was very supportive and said to pop round to see them when I got home (they live in the same village as us).
As I finished the phone call with Gary's mum, Gary rang me back. I didn't want to tell him over the phone that I needed to have chemotherapy, that news should've been delivered to us both, together, at the scheduled clinic appointment. But, there was no way around it. "I've got to have chemo, the Oncotype results say I'm in a higher risk band for recurrence?" I could tell in the tone of Gary's voice that he was just as shell shocked as I had been. By this point I had ended up stood in the doorway of a snooker hall as it was out of the main throng of the shopping precinct and I could at least have a phone call out of earshot of people happily shopping away around me. I remember that I did let some of the emotion flow, I did let out some tears stood in the doorway, I couldn't help it, with Gary, I always feel safe, he always know the right thing to say, he knows how to comfort me.
Gary was concerned at me driving my car, given the state my head was in and told me to have some time in the town centre before getting in my car, just to clear some of the racing anxious thoughts mixed in with what felt like a thick, foggy head. I agreed, so after our phone call I wandered off for a Chai Latte from Caffe Nero before attempting to drive to my aunt and uncle's house.
Life from this point on I knew was going to change forever. Chemotherapy. Just how was I going to deal with that? How was I going to cope with losing my hair?
I wish it had been handled more sensitively for your sake - though I know it wouldn't have changed the news. I hope if I'd been the framer I would have sat you down with a cuppa at least!
ReplyDeleteI remember the wait for the test results and the sickness and fear thinking about chemo. Nothing made chemo acceptable to me. It was a traumatising time and the long wait for results and radiation too were agony when I just wanted to get it over with. I didn’t need chemo but that brief time
ReplyDeleteI thought I might made me the most scared I had ever been.