Lisahammond

Dear Mum…

After my mum gave us the devastating news about her prognosis I wanted to say so much to her but I was so emotional I knew I would never be able to get all the words out. So I decided to put what I wanted to say in a card. I originally typed it out then copied it over to a card. I wasn’t sure if I would still have the original ‘Word’ document but I have always been rather fastidious with my organisation of computer files – photos, music, documents – and, not only are they very well organised on an external hard drive, I’m also a massive hoarder. Did you know that ‘hoarder disorder’ is an actual thing? Well it is!

NHS Definition:

“A hoarding disorder is where someone acquires an excessive number of items and stores them in a chaotic manner, usually resulting in unmanageable amounts of clutter. The items can be of little or no monetary value.”

[www.nhs.uk]

Fortunately that definition rules me out as my middle name is ‘organised’ and, in my humble opinion, my ‘clutter’ is completely manageable!

Consequently, I did still have a copy so I am able to share this with you. I realise this a very personal message but it really sums up the anguish and heartbreak I felt then and still do.

“Dear Mum,

The cards I’ve bought you in the past to let you know we’re all thinking of you have lovely words but this time I want to tell you in my own words how I feel. I hope you understand that it’s hard for me to tell you in person.

Mum, I’m truly devastated and heartbroken that we are going to lose you so soon. You are the most beautiful, strongest, bravest, kindest person I’ll ever know, the most wonderful Mum and Nan and, most importantly of all, the best friend I’ve ever had and always will be. You have been so amazing through your illness, never complaining or letting it stop you from enjoying life as much as you can. Your bravery has been remarkable and everyone I know is in awe of your courage and strength. I know you have had an amazing life and none of us would want to change any of it but that’s down to you. Life is what you make it and you have always made it fun, loving and extraordinary. It still doesn’t make it fair that you have had to endure so much and we are all being robbed of the most important andspecial person in our lives.

I know it’s hard for you to contemplate this but we are going to have to tell the children very soon. I know it will shatter their little worlds, as it has ours, but they deserve to know what’s going on and they will want to let you know how much they love you too.

I’m writing this because I was really worried that you would think I’m not upset. It’s getting harder and harder to put on my ‘brave face’ and at the moment all my thoughts are entirely selfish. All I can think about is that it’s not fair that I’m going to lose my mum. The truth is I’m in pieces and my heart is breaking. I can’t believe this is happening but I don’t want it to be about me. It’s about you and we all care so much about you and want to be there for you.

I know you must be very scared and I’ve got a really big favour to ask you. Please don’t think that it will be too upsetting to tell me how you’re feeling. I know it will be hard for you to talk to Dad sometimes because you’ll be worried about him but none of us want you to do this alone. We can only imagine how frightened and sad you must be and we would hate for you to feel you can’t tell us. Please please please talk to me when you need to, whatever it is. It will help us all to deal with it too if you share your worries and fears with us. If you couldn’t talk me, then what kind of daughter and best friend would that make me? I want to be there for you whatever Mum.

I know you worry about all of us but we will be okay. You have taught us so well the value of family and nothing will change that. We will all look after Dad and make sure he is always okay but Mum you know that we will look after each other.

Nothing will ever be the same but, because we know it’s what you would want, in time we will all do our very best to continue making sure that we embrace and enjoy life in the way that you have. It’s a legacy that you should be immensely proud of. Nothing will be able to replace the void of not having you here but I promise you I will be the best mum, daughter and sister I can be and hopefully one day a wonderful and precious Nan for my own family as you have been for us. If I can be even half the person you are I will know I have done you proud. You haven’t made it easy for me though Mum, you’re a hard act to follow. You’re a true inspiration and have touched the hearts of more people than you may ever know.

I love you so much.”

There are two things I want to say about the words in my card. Firstly mum sent me a text. In true character she remained composed and said that she was lucky to have had 64 wonderful years and wasn’t feeling afraid. I truly believe she was resigned to her fate and maybe in some way welcomed the final peace that awaited her. I can only imagine life had exhausted her and her true spirit. She said the only thing she was worried about was me. She said she knew my dad and everyone else would be okay as I would make sure of that. However, knew I’d be okay because she was the one who had taught me how to be tenacious and strong.

I should also mention the children. Mum was adamant throughout her illness that we shouldn’t tell them. She didn’t want them to treat her any differently or worry about her. They absolutely proved how children are so much more resilient than we often give them credit for and they didn’t once question the obvious changes in her appearance. They knew Nanny ‘wasn’t well’ and that seemed to be enough for them to make allowances for her seeming a bit different to usual. Even the changes to her face did not cause them to treat her any differently. They still snuggled up with her and gave her kisses. Also I realised that she didn’t need them to tell her they loved her, she could never have been in any doubt about that.

I completely understood why mum wanted it this way but I also struggled with keeping the truth from them. When we had the ultimate prognosis I felt they should know. However, we genuinely thought we had at least a more few months but everything escalated so fast that I literally didn’t get the chance to sit them down and break it to them gently. I didn’t consciously put it off but I was so busy concentrating on helping my dad, while still holding down a job, that it simply didn’t happen.

To this day I feel guilty for not preparing them. I feel like I neglected them and it still really upsets me. I think I will always regret it. I know I respected my mum’s wishes and I can definitely see that was essentially the right thing to do. It meant that the children’s blissful ignorance allowed them to enjoy their time with their beloved Nan without a care and their innocence was preserved. But they were in for a huge shock and that is something that will live with me forever.

I know this because, despite knowing exactly what was going to happen and having lived with the dread for so long, the shock of it actually happening was still completely overwhelming.

Appreciate what you have, before it turns into what you had.

It was right at the end of the summer holidays in August 2011 when Mum, Dad and I took my two youngest children to Legoland, Windsor. It was to be our last outing with the children and sadly the experience was bittersweet. The kids of course had a great time and were hopefully, due to being young and having an exciting day, were mostly unaffected by the events. Unfortunately mum had a funny ‘turn’ when she went to the toilet and Dad had to seek medical assistance. The episode eventually passed and we arranged to get her a wheelchair for the rest of her time there. I could sense an unspoken fear between me and Dad and most of that day is a blur, to be honest. The presence of children having fun forces you to carry on but in a rather robotic fashion. The part that makes me saddest is that my mum would have hated the indignity of it all. Even now it breaks my heart to think about that day.

The next few weeks changed our lives forever. I was sitting in the cinema one afternoon for a children’s film and I got a text from my mum. She’d had a hospital appointment and the only bit I can remember word for word on the message was “…..nothing more they can do for me”. The treatment hadn’t worked and the cancer had spread to her liver. I honestly don’t know how I sat through the rest of that film without breaking down. I kept my composure for the sake of my young son and, as if I was on auto-pilot, managed to get us both home without giving anything away.

My mind went into overdrive. How could this be true? “You won’t NECESSARILY die from the cancer”. That’s what the oncologist said. Now I understand the importance of that particular adverb. It was in that sentence for a reason. We were now faced with that ‘reason’.

There were so many things to feel sad about and our children were most prominent in my thoughts. Randomly one of my first thoughts was that Mum would never see our daughter in a prom dress (or wedding dress). She was only 12 at the time but girls start dreaming of their prom VERY prematurely! Not only was Mum one of her two Godmothers but she was also her biggest fan. I also couldn’t contemplate how my little boy would understand that he wouldn’t see his Nanny again. He was with her almost as much as he was with us and their relationship was incredibly special. The older two boys would be a worry in that they might find it harder to seek support and comfort. At 13 and 16 and particularly being boys, it could be more difficult for them to give way to their emotions. Mostly though, how was I going to manage without my best friend – the daily phone chats, mainly about quite trivial little things, the shopping sprees, coffees, lunches, talking about what books we were reading, laughing about nothing….the usual everyday stuff that we take for granted? We had this ability to hold several conversations at once and hop from one topic to another aimlessly while others around us were like “Huh?!” It’s a skill learned from a lifetime of practice!

The idea of this loss was simply inconceivable.

There was later talk of chemotherapy to prolong my mum’s life but she was simply too weak and it would likely have been hopeless anyway. She was prescribed steroids which I understand were to improve her appetite. She was worryingly thin by this stage and was already being encouraged to drink appetite stimulants as she wasn’t eating enough.

Even with this devastating news we assumed we had at least a few more months with mum. However, she went downhill rapidly from that point.

One Friday evening we attended a family quiz night to raise money for our daughter’s dance school. Mum and dad came but mum was very tired. She was also starting to look very yellow-skinned and I distinctly remember asking a close friend afterwards “Do you think my mum looked yellow last night?” and she agreed that she had. Dad had organised a wheelchair from the Red Cross so he could still get her out of the house. She had become too weak to walk far by then.

We had also planned to go to the local bonfire celebrations the following night with our neighbours and were hoping mum and dad could join us. Mum just couldn’t manage it though so they declined the invitation. It was all becoming very real and I knew in my heart of hearts that it was not going to get better. Still we tried to hang on to some hope….

Over the next couple of weeks when I wasn’t at work I spent as much time as I could at my parents’ house and picked up bits for mum while I was out. Dad asked me if I could get some new pyjamas for her as she wasn’t getting dressed much. I remember carefully selecting pretty ones as I knew she would still want to look nice. They had a lot of visitors to the house and I specifically remember one morning when the lounge was full of people and mum looked like a small child sitting on the big sofa. She was just under five foot and I wouldn’t even like to imagine what she weighed at that point. Her skin had become even more yellow, almost neon. She was still independent about taking herself to the bathroom but now she relied on a frame to walk. Although she was fully awake and aware of friends and family being around she wasn’t very chatty and she seemed distant and very lost. Maybe it was just all a bit too overwhelming but, despite everyone’s efforts to be ‘normal’, there was an underlying sense of desperation…..

Celebration, Deterioration and Mortification

So I got a call from Prince William to ask if I minded him getting married on my son’s 16th birthday – 29th April 2011 – and I said “why not? Double celebration!” Obviously that didn’t really happen but the big party certainly did! Did any of you believe me? Just a little bit? Ok, thought not….

We had a wonderful garden party at our house and the weather was exceptionally kind. Family and friends gathered, including a big group of teenagers. One thing I’ve always loved about our family, not just our little family but our relatives too, is that the kids always seem to be happy to celebrate with us oldies! I feel very privileged that they are happy spending time with us and value and appreciate having lots of aunts, uncles, cousins….

We didn’t start the party until the afternoon which gave us time to watch some of the Royal Wedding. Of course mum and I were mostly interested in Katherine’s dress and we weren’t disappointed. It was exquisite!

Mum had been waiting to hear about a dear friend of hers who was terminally ill with cancer. She’d had a roller coaster of a journey and fought hard but, sadly, mum got the call to say she had passed away that day. She was only in her fifties. Apparently she’d wanted to see the Royal Wedding. I really hope she got that last wish.

We also booked a family holiday that year. Originally we just looked at going with the children but ended up asking my parents to join us. We booked for a fortnight and they joined us for the second week. We stayed in a family hotel in Ibiza where we’d stayed before in 2002. Mum had lost a lot of weight by this time and looked tiny in her swimwear. She was able to enjoy the holiday though and we did quite a bit of sightseeing. We all had a great time and created some very special memories of what turned out to be our last ever holiday together.

From that point on the deterioration had become very noticeable. I think even then though we thought she would just pick up again.

In late August 2011 we all went along to an anniversary celebration at the De La Warr Pavilion where they recreated a group photo from 75 years earlier taken on the terrace and lawns. There were chairs laid out for a stream of performances and of course everyone was prepared for the ‘big photo’. It was a fun day but sadly blighted by the fact that mum wasn’t feeling at all well. In the end, dad managed to get her home to be more comfortable. Later that evening dad called us to say he’d had to call an ambulance and they were waiting to see if she needed to be taken to hospital. After some time and I imagine deliberation they were satisfied that she could stay at home. I can hear her protests now, playing down how she was actually feeling. It was very unsettling for us all.

After that scare, she seemed to perk up a bit again although I’m never sure if she was just putting on a brave face.

There was a period of time a few months earlier when I began having mystery abdominal cramps. It must have been before all the vision problems because mum was still driving. They lasted a few days and were literally debilitating. I have a very high pain threshold so when I feel pain this bad it’s quite alien to me. This is where I’m like my mum, I had put off going to the doctor’s as I was convinced it was nothing to worry about. In the end I was able to speak to my GP on the phone and he provided a prescription and it was my mum who went down to the doctor’s surgery to pick it up for me! I didn’t know what he had prescribed but it turned out to be ‘Buscopan’ which provides relief for the symptoms of IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome). I had never been diagnosed with IBS but it made sense. I still haven’t been formerly diagnosed because it’s not an everyday thing for me. It’s much more sporadic and seems to only happen in times of extreme stress.

Working with children who have been affected by trauma I am only too aware how your gut is connected to your mind. That means your emotions can have an impact on your stomach and vice versa. The pain lasted a good few days though. The tablets didn’t work instantly but I think they helped.

That was one of a number of episodes of me being ‘out of sorts’. Sometimes I just felt a little ‘off’ and didn’t feel right, other times it was more worrying. One of those times was very embarrassing. Like most parents of younger children I used to queue up everyday at my children’s primary school at home time. There were two entrances into the school for parents, one at the front and one at the back. The back one was more like an alleyway and a very tight space. We would all have to wait for the gate to be opened before going to our appropriate pick-up points. I’d been out for the day with a friend. It was a hot September day and I was wearing a vest top, short skirt and sandals, so in no way overdressed for the heat. I had felt fine all day but I do remember suddenly feeling ever so slightly nauseous as I got out of the car. It seemed to pass briefly while I made the short walk from my car to the school. I remember standing in the queue and by this time my body was glistening all over with sweat and I felt really weird. One of the mums who I knew, but not well, asked me if I was ok and as I tried to answer her my speech slurred and I couldn’t form a sentence. The next thing I found myself on the ground. I had passed out. I was mortified! Parents were having to step over me to get to their kids (I totally understood this) while the kind mum who had spoken to me stayed with me and another went to get help. I was eventually able to walk slowly with support into the school with one of the learning support assistants. She arranged for my youngest son to be brought to us. My poor little boy (seven at the time) was totally bewildered by the whole situation, bless him. The LSA (who incidentally was also a ‘mum friend’ from my older children) found me a bowl because I still felt sick and I just sat quietly while they contacted my husband. He came to collect me and on the way to the car I vomited twice. Luckily I was still carrying the sick bowl. I’ve mentioned before I’m almost phobic about being sick and I’m pretty sure I had managed to delay the inevitable for fear of doing it in front of anyone. I was already embarrassed enough. We went straight home and I laid down for a couple of hours and slowly returned to feeling normal again. My husband then had to arrange to pick up my car which was still parked in the church car park near the school!

In hindsight, with everything that was going on with mum I’m pretty sure that particular incident had also been brought on by stress.

To be continued…..

If You Don’t Have a Smile, I’ll Give You One of Mine

Life went on and we continued to have some great times as a family, the usual celebrations and days out. To all intents and purposes, life carried on mostly as ‘normal’ aside of mum’s treatment of course. Once diagnosed she seemed to have a lot of her ‘bounce’ back. She was determined not to be deprived of any more of her day-to-day life than possible and remained positive.

In 2010 she began to have some issues with her right eye. Her vision had become very blurry and she had double vision. She ended up having to wear an eye patch. That must have really affected her confidence but she soldiered on in the best way she could. I remember over the Christmas and new year period of that year, my dad made her a sparkly patch covered in shiny glitter. I think it’s the most bling I’d ever seen her wear! She may have actually outdone Gabrielle’s collection of stylish patches on that occasion! We couldn’t decide whether to ask her to sing ‘Dreams’ or ‘Rise’ then we remembered she was tone deaf and we all valued our hearing too much to take the chance! She’d only have sung the wrong words anyway. I’ll always remember as a teenager listening to Wham and mum singing “Wake me up before you go Joe”! I mean surely they were the simplest lyrics you could ever learn….! Peter Kay should have consulted me over this when he did his stand-up about wrongly sung lyrics, I could have saved him so much time and research! Ultimately her vision improved and the eyepatches were no longer needed.

Unfortunately though, in March 2011, she had a new and different challenge to deal with. We had all been at a friend’s birthday party the night before and had a wonderful time. Mum was in good spirits and showed off her jiving skills which always made us all smile. She was like a little pocket rocket spinning around the dance floor at a rate of knots while my dad stood around coolly tapping his foot waiting for her to do a few revolutions, as she hurtled back to him before he set her off in another whirl! Anyone who has ever been at a party with my parents will know exactly what I’m talking about!

The next morning I got a call from my dad with some worrying news. My mum had experienced some paralysis in her face. She had gone to drink a glass of water and it had just ran down her face. She’d lost feeling in one side. They had it checked out and was told it was most likely a Transient ischaemic attack (TIA).

* “A transient ischaemic attack (TIA) or “mini stroke” is caused by a temporary disruption in the blood supply to part of the brain. The disruption in blood supply results in a lack of oxygen to the brain. This can cause sudden symptoms similar to a stroke such as speech and visual disturbance, and numbness or weakness in the face, arms and legs. But a TIA does not last as long as a stroke. The effects last a few minutes to a few hours and fully resolve within 24 hours”

*[www.nhs.uk/conditions/transient-ischaemic-attack-tia]

The first attack was very short lived and she had another similar one not long after that one. That seemed to be it for that period of time.

In April 2011 my husband took me away for a long weekend break to Lanzarote for my birthday. The day we travelled home was my actual birthday and I got a little taste of my own medicine on our return. We were due home early evening and were feeling hungry after landing. We did our usual procrastinating about whether to eat at Gatwick Airport or wait. In the end we had a meal at ‘Giraffe’ before catching the train home. Mum and dad had looked after the children while we were away but we went home first to drop off our luggage before casually sauntering up the road to pick them up. My parents lived less than ten minutes’ walk from our house.

Time was getting on by this point and my husband didn’t seem to be in any hurry. To be fair, he’s NEVER in a hurry! Let’s just say he’s not known for his good timekeeping! If they made them he’d own a watch that said “whatever!”

We eventually arrived and as we walked into my parents’ dining room there were loud cheers of “Happy Birthday!” My mum had got her own back! She had gathered a small group of my close friends and family and organised a surprise get-together in my honour! What a lovely welcome home! Inadvertently my mum had repeated the scenario of her birthday as they had all put on a magnificent buffet! I can’t remember what her reaction to my husband was to our eating a hearty meal only about two hours earlier but he clearly failed in his part of the mission! It was completely unexpected and I felt very special and loved. I will never forget the last ever birthday I spent with my lovely mum. In hindsight, I think she probably knew that….

Sadly, my mum had another attack of paralysis on her face and this one was much more severe and she never recovered from it. It was more like Bell’s Palsy.

Bell’s Palsy is a type of facial paralysis which results in a temporary inability to control the facial muscles on the affected side of the face, resulting from a dysfunction of the 7th cranial nerve. The condition normally affects one side of the face and can last from a number of weeks to a number of years in extreme cases. I have my own theory about this particular aspect of my mum’s condition but I will come back to that.

I just felt so desperately sad for her that, on top of everything else, this happened. The most heartbreaking part of it was that she literally couldn’t smile. Her smile had been beautiful and infectious and she warmed everyone’s hearts with it. Mum had always been stunning and never looked anywhere near her age. She took great pride in her appearance and went to great efforts to always look nice. She was naturally very pretty and wore very little make-up but she constantly experimented with hairstyles and colour. It must have been a devastating experience. If I could have taken one thing away for her then it would have been that.

To be continued….

“Never stop fighting til the fighting is done” (The Untouchables).

I’m not sure if I’d ever really given any thought to secondary cancer. As far as I was concerned my mum was a survivor. She’d kicked cancer in the ass and, somewhat naively, we had moved on.

I was wrong and we had another battle on our hands. I say that collectively because she was never going to be fighting this alone. We were all in it together, whatever ‘it’ was at any given time.

I could tell my mum was reluctant to involve me too much at the beginning. She thought I had enough on my plate but I had two reasons. One, to be completely selfish about it, I NEEDED to be involved. Secondly, it was a lot for my dad to take in and to manage so he needed us too.

Despite my mum’s protests I accompanied them both to the initial appointment with the oncologist. I took a notebook because I thought we’d all probably struggle to remember everything. Having said that, after ten years, the details are very fuzzy and I have no idea where those notes are now. It’s not really something you would ever really want to look back on although I guess it would have been handy now!

I will tell you what I do know though. The cancer had moved to three main areas of my mum’s body – the skull to shoulders, mid-region (pelvic area) and around the lower section of her legs.

Secondary cancer in the bone is the result of cancer cells spreading to the bone from a primary tumour somewhere else in the body.

Breast cancer is one of the most common types where this happens.

*Symptoms of secondary cancer are:

• “Bone pain – The most common symptom of secondary cancer in the bone is pain in the affected area. The pain may be a dull, persistent ache, which can occur during the day as well as at night. There may also be swelling and tenderness in the area. If you have this type of pain and it lasts for more than 1-2 weeks, let your doctor know as soon as possible. Although bone secondaries can occur in several different bones at the same time, usually only one or two areas are painful.

• Weakened bones – Sometimes if a bone is weakened by cancer it will break (fracture), even if you haven’t had an accident or fall. This is known as a pathological fracture.

• Raised calcium level – When bones are affected by secondary cancer cells, increased amounts of calcium (the substance that helps to build bones) may be released into the blood.

• Pressure on the spinal cord – If secondary bone cancer affects the bones of the spine, it can put pressure on the nerves of the spinal cord.”

*[christie.nhs.uk]

I just want to highlight that first bullet point. I’m sure you can now appreciate our frustration at the apparent nonchalance of the doctors my poor mum had put her faith in. A whole year was wasted and we will never know how much difference it would have made to her prognosis. It’s hard not to dwell on this but sadly there’s nothing we can do about it now. We had a right to be angry though. Reflecting on the points above, not only should the doctors have organised scans but, at the very least, they could have carried out some blood tests which may have revealed some abnormalities, such as raised calcium levels. It all seems so fundamental in hindsight.

If the GP practice let my mum down, the intervention from diagnosis and beyond was exceptional. One of the things that amazed us at that initial consultation with the oncologist was that results and samples of my mum’s primary cancer had been stored in a laboratory in Wales for the past 15 years and could therefore be retrieved and checked to help decide on the treatment for the secondary cancer. We were fascinated by this fact. The outcome was that the type of breast cancer had been ER-positive. Breast cancer that has receptors for the hormone oestrogen is called oestrogen receptor-positive (ER-positive) breast cancer. About 70% of breast cancers are ER-positive. (The abbreviation came from the American spelling, hence ‘ER’ not ‘OR’).

A lengthy discussion followed regarding prognosis and treatment but the principal message was that it would not be possible to get rid of the cancer. I distinctly remember the oncologist stating to my mum “You will die WITH this but not necessarily FROM it”. My interpretation of this was that she would need treatment but the cancer itself was not going to end her life. The key bit being “not necessarily”. Of course there are no guarantees. Cancer is brutal and unpredictable and it seems everything is in some way a trial and error.

Mum was asked if she would be willing to take part in a clinical trial which consisted of an infusion. I genuinely cannot recall what this particular one was and wouldn’t like to misinform anyone but she agreed to be part of this research. All I remember is that she had ongoing regular treatment at the hospital. It was hard to tell what effect this treatment was having because she rarely complained. The main thing I do remember is her quite regularly rubbing and sometimes gently banging her left arm which suggested a pain or aching of some sort.

For the most part we carried on with our lives almost obliviously. It was all in hand, why should we have thought otherwise?

To quote the great and almighty Martin Luther King “Faith is taking the first step even when you don’t see the whole staircase”.

To be continued….

Fate or a Postcode Lottery?

I should start this part of my story by saying I’m probably going to struggle to include much, if any, humour but it is nevertheless a massive part of my memoirs.

From the moment we had our first child my mum was ‘there’. She was completely consumed with all four of our children. Until we had our last baby she worked full-time in insurance and hated missing out on school assemblies, performances and sports days. When our youngest son was a few months old she resigned from her job. She had been quite poorly with bronchitis which resulted in the long term collapse of her diaphragm and her lung capacity was reduced leaving her very breathless at times. She relied on an inhaler when she did anything with great exertion. She also had trouble bending forward, for example, when putting on socks or shoes because the abdominal contents are squished by bending and pushes over the diaphragm causing discomfort.

With considerably lower energy levels she reflected on her work life and made the decision to look for something with less pressure and hours that suited her. She printed off a few flyers and took up part-time cleaning, mostly for houses but also a fitness studio and offices. It was something she enjoyed and which gave her space to do more of the things she loved doing such as scrapbooking, lunches with friends, walking her two cherished Whippets and helping out with the grandchildren. By this time my parents had moved to Bexhill to a beautiful flat just a few minutes walk from the seafront and said it was the best move they could ever have made. They loved everything about Bexhill.

It was also perfect timing for my return to work after eight years of being a stay-at-home mum. She willingly helped out with childcare and school runs and always looked forward to her time with the children. It was just lovely to have more time to spend together.

From when the children were really small mum and dad almost always joined us on our family days out wherever they might be – zoos, theme parks, museums, cinema and theatre trips. In fact the majority of the children’s childhood memories include their grandparents. Mostly thanks to Tesco ‘Clubcard’ rewards we did more than our fair share of popular attractions. It wasn’t cheap being a family of six! Never mind the admission fees, there’s the train fares, lunches, snacks and souvenirs! Some days could feasibly have cost more than a whole weekend away if it hadn’t been for the vouchers!

One time we managed to book a Travelodge in the London Docklands over the Easter period for £26 per room per night! As always we had a great time. However, on the second day mum complained of pain in her hips and said she thought it must have been due to an uncomfortable hotel bed. Although we all sympathised with her we were not unduly worried at that time as her explanation seemed plausible.

Time passed but unfortunately Mum’s mystery pain didn’t. Our thinking was that even the worst mattress is unlikely to cause such prolonged anguish. A trip to the doctor was in order. At the first appointment her fears were quite nonchalantly dismissed. “It’s probably just your age” said the female GP and advised her to take Ibuprofen! Frustratingly she got a similar response in future consultations.

It got to the point where the pains were impacting hugely on her everyday life and it seemed absurd that there had been no attempts to investigate, not even routine blood tests. As a cancer survivor, you’d have thought that there would have been more vigilance of her care.

One of the doctors gave mum a bit more attention. He was a kind, gentle GP who was very close to retirement. He wondered if she had any old injuries that may have lain dormant as it is possible to start to experience pain years after an injury occurs. Mum was able to identify two such occasions which had both happened around ten years earlier. One was a fall from her horse which resulted in a lot of bruising, particularly around her pelvic area. The other was a freak accident when she was on the back of Dad’s Harvey Davidson. They were on a trip in France with a large convoy of Harley riders and they had pulled over into a lay-by. Before they’d had time to even get themselves off the bike one of the other riders ploughed straight into their stationary bike, throwing them off. It turns out the culprit had fallen asleep. Miraculously they were both very lucky to get away with mostly superficial injuries although they ached terribly. As an aside, I have to mention that this incident led to the first time I had EVER heard my mum drop the ‘F’ bomb – twice! When the story was being told sometime later she said “F******g XXXXXX! What a f*****g idiot!” My reaction was totally disproportionate – I laughed way too hard at that! It just sounded too funny coming out of my mum’s mouth!

Anyway, back to the point of this anecdote. Mum had told me what the doctor had said and one morning when I was driving to my office she called me to say he had just phoned and said to her “Sally, I’ve been thinking, it does seem like your pain could be due to your old injuries”. She was so relieved to hear this and was on a real high. I responded appropriately and said hopefully that’s the case. However, when I got off the phone I felt quite annoyed with the doctor. He had not carried out any tests to come to this conclusion so I couldn’t understand why he had planted that seed of hope in my mum’s mind. If nothing else I felt it was a dangerous thing to have done, not to mention unprofessional. Most times in life I am the eternal optimist, looking for the positives rather than the negatives, but I can’t deny that this had really unsettled me. I just thought ‘what if he’s wrong’ and my mum has already made her mind up that he had identified the cause of all that pain? The irony of this is that at no point (it seemed) had any of the doctors she consulted with looked at her records and considered her previous cancer diagnosis! This would seem to me to be so fundamental in their investigation yet it was totally missed. My parents had of course moved to a local practice after they moved house but what’s the point of having medical records if they are not checked for prior history. If my parents hadn’t moved to a different town would their previous GP, who had instigated her primary diagnosis and supported her through her treatment, have been more mindful at this point? I guess we will never know the answer to that.

Sadly the pain continued to engulf my poor mum and she began to look more and more worn out and had really lost her ‘mojo’. Eventually, at the end of her tether, she made another GP appointment and practically begged to be sent for a hip x-ray. Her pleas were finally heard and a referral was made. By this time she had been suffering for the best part of a year.

The x-ray was carried out and instantly highlighted some concerns, not regarding her hip but the images had provoked a particular interest in the presentation of her bones. Consequently she was referred for a bone density scan (DEXA or DXA which stands for dual energy x-ray absorptiometry). It’s also called a bone densitometry scan. It uses low dose x-rays to take measurements to work out the strength (density) of your bones.

Some cancer treatments can cause your bones to get thinner and less dense. This can also be a symptom or result of a cancer returning.

Sadly for my mum, the diagnosis was secondary bone cancer. This is when a cancer that started somewhere else in the body has spread to the bones. Where a cancer starts it is called the primary cancer. If some cancer cells break away from the primary cancer they can move through the bloodstream or lymphatic system to another part of the body, where they can form a new tumour. Secondary cancers are also called metastases.

We finally had an answer but it was the one that we were all secretly dreading.

To be continued…

Surprise!

Stepping back a little to Spring 2007, my dad and I organised a surprise party for my mum’s 60th birthday. This was no mean feat! My mum has always said no-one could ever throw her a surprise party because she always organises all the celebrations herself. Well, that was enough for me to rise to the challenge! There were many….my mum rarely missed a trick so we had to be super vigilant. One little slip-up and we could be busted!

There were many after work clandestine meetings in lay-bys to discuss our plans. My dad did pretty well considering he was with my mum far more than anyone else but there were times when we were all together and I couldn’t look at him because he literally does not possess a ‘poker face’. At times he actually winked at me and I don’t mean in any way subtly across the dinner table! Really Dad?!

Despite saying she always organised the parties my mum was adamant she didn’t want to have one for that particular special occasion which was most unusual. That did mean the way was clear for us to do whatever we wanted. Or so we thought….

We arranged to have the party at my house and managed to let everyone know the arrangements. We thought we had it totally in the bag until….she decided at a considerably late stage that she would like a party after all! ‘Just a barbecue’ in her garden. Bugger Bugger Bugger! We had to really think on our feet at that point. I can’t say I’m renowned for my acting skills, in fact I may have inherited my poker face, or lack of, from my dad! A social worker once said to me after a meeting with some particularly tricky participants “I can’t look at you in those meetings Lisa, your face says it all!” Oops! I must have been rolling my eyes out loud again! So I was pretty damned proud of myself when I announced “Dad, have you forgotten already that I’m taking mum out on the Saturday?” cue a look of sheer perplexity on his face at that one, as at this point we had not even discussed our cover story. Not risking allowing him to demonstrate his ability or inability to improvise I proceeded to invent a diversion on the spot! I didn’t have to give any details because of course it was a surprise treat. The surprise being that it didn’t exist! We had however managed to get over our first hiccup. Just….

Then again, she would not let that whole barbecue idea go. “Let’s do it on the Friday then”…..oh dear Lord, as if it wasn’t hard enough organising food for one party, we were heading towards a two-day event! Eventually we talked her round to doing it on the Sunday with frankly quite pathetic reasons – more people will be able to make it, we can have it during the day on a Sunday, Sundays are a better day to have a barbecue….what?! I cringed every time I opened my mouth. I don’t think I was even sure I knew what was going to come out of it.

I also hadn’t prepared myself for all the questions about her ‘surprise’ like what should I wear, do I need to bring my glasses, should I eat before we go? I said yes to the eating one! Doh, what was I thinking? We had organised enough food to feed the whole town and I told her to eat first! (Bangs head against wall).

If we thought that was our only problem we were very much mistaken. The other big challenge was to try to keep her at home as much as possible in the lead up to the big day. Relatives and friends from far and wide would be arriving in town, some very close to their home, and we couldn’t afford the risk of her spotting any of them. Even bringing her to the house for her fake surprise could prove difficult as she could potentially spot familiar cars parked in the street so we had to ask everyone to park far enough away to avoid suspicion.

During the day of the actual party, she was a total nightmare, insisting that she wanted to pop in to ours for a cuppa. I can’t remember what we were doing out but at one point we spotted them both out in their car and ended up stopping to chat to them. We had no choice, mum had spotted us immediately. It’s not often I struggle to talk to anyone and I was certainly never lost for words when it came to my mum but, in that moment, normal conversation (and behaviour) completely eluded me. Amazingly her normally sleuth-like skills for sniffing out a rat must have been having a day off because we only blooming got away with it! Phew!

It’s funny but when you are planning a secret like this there’s always a moment or two when you feel guilty and sorry for the recipient of the surprise. For us this was when mum tried to invite friends and family to her birthday barbecue and ABSOLUTELY NO-ONE was available. Even her beloved sisters. Spookily they all had other ‘plans’. I felt so bad seeing her disappointment and feelings of rejection. Didn’t anyone care that she had a ‘big birthday’ to celebrate? How could they ALL be busy? Little did she know that I had even managed to invite long lost cousins who she hadn’t set eyes on in 25 years! I mean, she was literally about to become the star of her own episode of ‘Surprise Surprise’.

However, this was all beginning to look a bit suspicious so we asked a few people to accept the Sunday barbecue invitation and this seemed to appease her. Unfortunately it didn’t alter the fact that we had to also cater for party number two. Thank goodness for Iceland. The shop that is! We simply didn’t have any energy left to organise a trip away as well…..that would almost certainly have been the straw that broke the camel (and his daughter’s) back!

With our nerves virtually torn to shreds we pulled it off! Her arrival was comedy itself. At the time we regularly had the big gates of our drive locked as the children were young and we don’t have a front or back garden. The whole garden wraps round the house and includes the drive so it was the only way to keep them completely safe when they were playing outside. When the gates are closed our property is completely encased by two metre fence panels, a wall and double gates so it is impossible to see in at pavement level. Everyone was instructed to gather at the far end of the drive and stay quiet. There was one very funny moment when my husband popped his head over the fence, like a meerkat, and came perilously close to being spotted by my mum. He retreated back so fast we all had to stifle our laughter. It was a ‘you had to be there moment’ but, trust me, it was hilarious!

Now, just remember, my fully-fed mum was expecting to be going for a fairly quiet girls night out so we were all a bit apprehensive about her reaction, suddenly being faced with a huge crowd whooping and cheering the moment she poked her head round that gate. I am happy to say she was genuinely surprised and, once over the shock, absolutely delighted. You never know which guests the ‘surprisee’ (made up word but I think it should be made official) is going to spot first. In this case it was a fellow caravanning enthusiast who had travelled down from Milton Keynes with his partner. On seeing him, mum exclaimed “What are you doing here? You said you were busy!” As she soon found out, he wasn’t the only one to be called out on that little white lie!

Dad and I were both pleasantly surprised and in total disbelief when mum told us that she hadn’t suspected a thing! How we did that I’ll never know! Move over Ant and Dec, you’ve got competition!

Suffice it to say, a very good time was had by all. By Jove, I think we did it Daddy!

Back then I said “never again” but now what I’d give to just be able to do it again and again and again. I’ve learned that there’s no such thing as a special birthday because they are all special, simply for the fact that they have happened. So instead of bemoaning the fact that we are a year older on each birthday, let’s celebrate the fact that we are around to commemorate the privilege of being alive and have reached that particular age. It doesn’t have to be a ‘milestone’ age and we don’t need big parties to mark the occasion although I personally don’t think you can beat the buzz of having all your beloved family and friends in one place at the same time and if it takes a party to do it, then hell yeah, let’s partaaaay!!!

In the words of the Romans and their sundials, or if you are more into your music than your ancient history like me, Jools Holland….

“Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think

Enjoy yourself, while you’re still in the pink

The years go by as quickly as you wink

Enjoy yourself, enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think!”

A Good Sleep

Fast forwarding to 2008 when my children were aged 4, 9, 10 and 13. I was back at work and their needs were constantly changing as they were fast growing up (too fast). The pain of sore breasts and sleepless nights long forgotten but I sometimes found myself mourning the loss of the babies they once were. Some people can’t wait to get the ‘baby’ bit out of the way. Not me, it was worth every second of lost sleep. I don’t however miss either potty training or toddler tantrums! Oh wait…..I think these morphed into very bad aims (boys and toilets) and teenage attitude in spades. It’s a close contest actually….

I’ll be completely honest, I can’t remember the details very clearly but I was getting undressed one day and noticed a blood stain in my bra. I wasn’t overly alarmed at first. I just thought I must have accidentally scratched my nipple. I couldn’t see any further evidence of that scenario but dismissed it at that point. However, it happened again and this time, on the opposite side of where my nipple would be in the bra but from the same breast (right side this time) there was also a sign of some kind of discharge. At this point I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy and did what people always tell you not to do….I googled it! There’s so much danger in self diagnosing. You either decide it’s not worth investigating or you convince yourself you’re dying. I’m usually the former but on this occasion and, with my mum’s history, decided to make a doctor’s appointment.

I was seen by a very nice female GP who I’d never met before. I don’t think she was unduly concerned but empathised about my fears around family history and referred me to the hospital.

At the hospital I had my very first mammogram. At 40 I was not yet eligible for regular screening. If you have not yet had a mammogram, I feel compelled to tell you all that it is not a horrendous experience which is something I had been told on more than one occasion. Why do people feel the need to do that? It’s such an important examination to have and even if it was particularly unpleasant (it’s not), it’s neither helpful nor necessary to share negative narratives about something you know could (and does) save women’s lives. It’s surely better to not comment and keep your horror stories to yourselves. Rant over…..

The mammogram was the first part of the investigation and as it turned out, the only screening I needed that day. In some cases it is necessary to follow this with an ultrasound but they needed no further information.

The breast consultant was lovely. She took her time to talk me through the findings. Normally they would just remove the affected milk duct but because there was more than one affected area she felt it would be sensible to remove all of the milk ducts from my right breast. She proceeded to recommend an operation called a total duct excision to find out the cause of the nipple discharge. This involves removing the end of all the milk ducts. The tissue that is removed during the operation is examined under a microscope. Fortunately my breast feeding days were well and truly over so I had no qualms about taking this advice.

In the majority of cases the cause is non-cancerous and is due to widening of the milk ducts (duct ectasia) which can occur with age, or a wart-like growth in the milk duct (intraduct papilloma). In around 14 in 100 cases, early cancer cells may be found. In this situation, it is likely further treatment would be recommended.

I was a day surgery patient and arrived bright and early. I have a few prominent memories of that day. The first was when I was taken into a room to be given an explanation of the procedure before signing consent forms. The first thing I remember was being told the risks of any surgery, of which there were many, but these were apparently uncommon – phew! I was then informed of the risks of my specific procedure – there may be a total collapse of the structure of my breast after the removal of the ducts, of which there are 12 to 15. It gets worse though – partial or complete loss of sensation in the nipple or, worst case scenario, due to a lack of blood supply to the nipple “ it may turn black and die”! Gulp! It’s just as well this information was imparted to me at a very late stage!

If that was an “oh my god!” moment, the next was a total “ground please swallow me up” one! Anyone who knows me well tends to associate me with the prolific wearing of flip flops. The beach is my second home in the Spring and Summer months and I have a considerable collection of suitable beach footwear. However, I do not restrict the wearing of said flip flops to beach trips. I basically live in them! More recently I have made the move to sliders but the toe-post style flip flops have previously been my preferred choice. So, when the list of items to bring to hospital said ‘slippers’ I thought nothing of packing my beloved flip flops as they basically double up as slippers when I’m at home. Having not had an operation for 20 years I had not anticipated the wearing of surgical stockings to prevent Deep Vein Thrombosis during and after surgery. Imagine my embarrassment when I tried to put my flip flops on over those attractive stockings. I’m sure no further description is needed of that particular challenge!

I also quite clearly remember being prepared for theatre. The anaesthetist was very jovial and asked me what my tipple was so he could add some to his concoction of drugs! I think I said Bacardi and coke because it seemed so lame to say tea! In those days you were still asked to count backwards from ten. I may have been too drunk….!

With a limited history of surgery and certainly nothing recent I had no idea how I would react to a general anaesthetic so it was a complete surprise to me that I in fact didn’t have a good reaction. I was first on the surgery list that day and the last to be discharged. At 8.30 pm (approximately 11 hours after surgery) they were still debating whether I should be allowed to go home. Not only was I unbelievably drowsy for literally hours, every time I tried to sit up the wave of nausea that came over me was like being on a ship in the eye of a storm. I’ve never been a ‘sicky’ person and can count on two hands (one would be unrealistic) the number of times I’ve actually vomited. So this intense nausea was quite incongruous with me.

My mum told me later that she had called the ward several times to check on me through the day and one of the nurses had said “this often happens with mothers of several children, they probably just need a good sleep!” Exhaustion is one thing but I am almost phobic about throwing up. I seem to recall them plying me with numerous anti-sickness drugs throughout the afternoon and maybe they eventually kicked in because it was finally agreed to discharge me. It was last chance saloon! To qualify to go home I had to eat, drink and do a wee without being sick, fainting or falling over. Thankfully I managed all three and was given my freedom!

The operation required me to have a ‘drain’ inserted. It is a device which helps to speed up your recovery, fight infection and to reduce post-surgery pain by collecting (draining) fluids away and out of the body. It feels quite strange but not painful. You have to make sure it doesn’t dangle freely. That’s probably the worst part, protecting it from getting pulled away accidentally. I only had mine for a couple of days then it was removed without incident by a nurse.

As for my wound, on this occasion the access was through my nipple. It’s all very clever. The scar is barely visible because it merely follows the line of the areola. There was a small darker red area for a while but it followed the curve of my nipple. Nowadays you’d have to look very hard to find it. So much care is taken to ensure that the end result is aesthetically pleasing and as unspoiled as possible. There is always something to be grateful for.

Again, on this occasion, I ultimately had confirmation that the areas of concern were benign. Another ‘high five’ moment…..

Breasts, Tents & Cabbages

In 1995 I gave birth to our first son. I was very keen on breast feeding but none of the women in my close family had gone down this route so I just had to give it my best shot and see how it went. Because of the whole ‘breast is best’ attitude from the medical professional there is a certain amount of pressure and you are encouraged to persevere but, let me tell you, it can come with its own idea of hell at times.

I have never been particularly well endowed nor would I really describe myself as ‘flat chested’ but I would say “more than a handful is a waste” could well have applied to me in my youth! In my teens and early twenties I owned very few bras! I waltzed through my days in silky little camisoles and crop tops with my pert little ‘B’ cups ‘hanging’ loose (well actually, I don’t think they ever ‘hung’ or ‘swung’ if I’m honest) or braved backless tops with no extra support at all! It was a certain kind of freedom that I didn’t appreciate enough. Little did I know that my longing for a ‘bit more’ would mean uncomfortable bras that I couldn’t wait to remove at the end of the day.

The first time I suspected I might be pregnant I was at the theatre! I can’t remember the show but I do remember having to restrict my applause at the end of the show because clapping was a killer! I’d never known such discomfort in my boobs. My suspicions were confirmed that week. After nine months of trying, my dream to have my first baby was in sight. For the first time in my life I actually NEEDED a bra!

If I thought my boobs were at maximum during pregnancy I was in for a shock! After the birth of my beautiful son I had to stay in hospital for an extra night as he was jaundiced. The labour was short but traumatic with concerns about pre-eclampsia when my blood pressure shot through the roof. He was born using the Ventouse along with an episiotomy. Basically cuts and stitches in the most intimate region of my body. This all happened in the middle of the night and he was born in the early hours. I’m not telling you this to highlight a horror story of labour (because it was just one of those things and if it was that bad would I really have gone on to do it three more times?!) but to help you understand how tired and sore I was having had no sleep that night, then faced with a hungry newborn baby who understood none of that! Why should he wait? He was now the most important and precious person in my life and I had to attend to his needs, however I was feeling.

My first baby was born in a very old Victorian hospital with one long maternity ward. I had the luxury of remaining in the labour suite until around lunchtime that day because they didn’t have a spare bed on the ward. If only I could have stayed there! The ward was busy, noisy and daunting. Also once there the visiting rules kicked in and I could no longer have my family around without restrictions so I was on my own. With a very grumpy baby who I was informed probably had a thumping headache from being suctioned out by the top of his head…..

Sleep was not an option. He just wouldn’t settle. I asked for some help and was told to give him a bit longer. In those days the maternity ward had nursery nurses to help out but, as I found out, the help wasn’t readily offered. In fact, it was wanton reluctance! On ringing my call bell again, a nurse came over and very harshly said “well you didn’t give it very long!”. Up to that point in my life I don’t think I’ve ever felt so vulnerable and alone. If I thought that was the worst bit, I was very much mistaken. I can’t remember the timing now but at some point during my hospital stay an officious nurse came to ‘help’ me feed my baby. This is my memory of that experience – she roughly man-handled my boob and forced my poor baby to latch on, all while tears flooded my face as the ‘baby blues’ and sleep deprivation kicked in with almighty force. There were no gentle, encouraging words, just fierce conviction which felt like she was fulfilling her own personal agenda, not mine. If anything was going to put me off, that moment could have been it! However, this is where my determination to succeed and not be defeated came in handy. In hindsight, I believe that is what kept me going, not a bully of a senior nurse who reminded me of a stern old matron from back in the day. Thankfully they didn’t model ‘Call the Midwife’ (incidentally my favourite programme) on her inhuman, unsympathetic approach. There are ways of supporting new mums and some kindness wouldn’t have gone amiss. However, I would feel bad if I didn’t mention how wonderful the midwives were for all four of my babies. Not everyone has to demonstrate control to get results.

You may think I’ve gone a bit rogue and digressed from my story here but I’m getting there, I promise!

On day three of being a mum, my ‘real’ milk began to arrive. For anyone who doesn’t know, the first form of milk immediately following delivery of a newborn is called Colostrum. The bioactives found in colostrum are essential for a newborn’s health, growth and vitality which is why there are benefits even if you only breastfeed for the first few days. When the milk arrives, they need a bigger container and I can’t lie, I wasn’t expecting needing one the size of a milk churn! I will never forget the day I went to ‘Contessa’ with my best friend to be fitted for my nursing bras. I had grown from a modest 34B to an almost inconceivable 34FF! I thought if I ever put those bras on the washing line the scouts would be queuing up to borrow them for their next camp! We were in hysterics! They can try their hardest but making an underwear garment of that magnitude was never going to be attractive – two inch wide straps to scaffold the ample bosom and zips to allow their escape with the greatest of ease.

Before I continue, I feel I need to say that I don’t want to put anyone off breastfeeding. For me the pros still outweighed the cons. That close, intimate bonding with your baby, no making up bottles and warming them up in the dead of the night, rolling over half asleep and latching the baby on….

However, you do need to have a good level of tolerance and perseverance if breast feeding doesn’t come naturally to you. Often it is the baby who doesn’t get the hang of it for whatever reason. Please remember though, it is NEVER your fault and you are not a ‘quitter’ if you change your mind. Your baby needs you to be happy and relaxed, not stressed and upset. Cracked and bleeding nipples are no fun….

Unfortunately for me I was prone to Mastitis and suffered with every one of my babies. Mastitis is inflammation of the breast and symptoms include local pain and fever. I felt like I had the worst flu – terrible fatigue, aching and shivering. Basically I felt like I’d been hit by a truck! Without antibiotics the most effective way to get through this is to continue feeding. Can you imagine?! As if that wasn’t the last thing I felt like doing. Now, midwives are full of wisdom and I had total faith in mine but imagine my confusion when she asked my husband to buy a cabbage and freeze the leaves! I resisted asking if this was a joke but it wasn’t easy to do that when she advised me to slip the frozen cabbage leaves into my bra! It really does sound like an oldwives’ or, in this case, midwives’ tale but oddly it seems to do the job. The exact reason is not known but women have been using this practice for centuries and, believe me, I’d have tried anything…..

Mastitis can be caused by engorgement which can happen when the milk is not being effectively removed from the breasts and results in a blockage of the milk ducts. This makes complete sense to me as none of my babies were avid feeders, satisfied with small feeds, but I seemed to have enough milk to feed an entire reception class at every break time! I remember turning the bath water white as my milk sprang out like a shower from both breasts without any stimulation (yep, maybe too much information…!). So much so that when I weaned all of my babies off the breast my GP had to prescribe tablets to dry up my milk because it just kept on flowing long after it was needed.

Frustratingly I’m sure for fathers of newborns, the arrival of an abundant cleavage is unlikely to afford them any pleasure as they are quite literally out of bounds during that time. No-one else gets a look-in! Sad but true.

All I can say is, be careful what you wish for……

The Beginning….of the First Half

All stories need a beginning. Mine sort of has two – or is a story of two halves.

In 1988, at the tender age of 20 I became a medical statistic twice in the space of a few months. The first time was the result of a cervical smear and consisted of a colposcopy examination, a biopsy and cryotherapy treatment, followed by annual smear tests for five years. Unpleasant but necessary. If left untreated the cells would have become cancerous. At that time cervical smears were offered to any women who were sexually active but nowadays only women between the age of 25 and 64 are invited to attend regular screenings. In England, since 2008 girls and boys aged 12 to 13 years have been routinely offered the HPV vaccination. Recent reports claimed that the HPV vaccine is leading to such dramatic reductions in cervical cancer that those who receive it may only need one smear test in their lives.

The same year I discovered a lump in my left breast. It was a fibroadenoma. This is a solid, well defined lump and can be moved around within the breast tissue, hence why they are also commonly known as a ‘breast mouse’. The lump was surgically removed and one of my biggest memories of the time was a group of young student doctors accompanying the consultant on his ward round and being invited to have a ‘feel’! As a shy young student myself I was mortified! Being observed is one thing but basically having your breast fondled so publicly was not an experience I would care to repeat! Happily the lump was confirmed as benign and I was left with a small scar and peace of mind.

Jumping forward to 1993, our family got the news that no daughter, son or husband ever wants to hear. My mum was diagnosed with breast cancer at just 45 years of age. A huge shock for all of us. However, in her usual stoic fashion, she just got on with what she had to do without complaint or hysteria. She underwent a lumpectomy followed by weeks of trips to Brighton for Radiotherapy treatment, continuing to work half days of those appointments like she was just going off to lunch! Once she was given the all-clear, she was put on a hormonal therapy drug called Tomoxifen to reduce the risk of breast cancer coming back and to prevent a new cancer developing in the other breast. She took this drug for the next five years.

My mum discovered an actual lump and was prudent about going to see her GP very quickly and was told it was ‘caught early’. When you think about this, it just shows the importance of being vigilant and not putting off those trips to the doctor. Despite an early diagnosis, it was clearly enough to still warrant a substantial ordeal for my poor mum and to send our family into a very frightening, uncertain new world. You never think it will happen to you. Well, I didn’t back then….

My humble, kind, fun-loving mum was already my hero but the way she handled this horrible situation with such courage and dignity catapulted her to no less than a Queen and Conqueror in my eyes. She didn’t deserve this but who does? The truth is cancer does not discriminate. We are all as vulnerable as each other.

It’s hard to tell if being faced with her own mortality was the reason but my mum continued to fill her life to bursting point by ‘living’ it with all her being, whether it was time with family, riding pillion on my dad’s Harley Davidson, dancing like no-one was watching and so much laughter. She hated missing out on anything concerning her grandchildren, whether it was a school assembly, a dance show or football final. If ‘FOMO’ (fear of missing out) had been an official thing back then, she may well have been the inspiration for it! She just soaked it all up. She was the perfect example of living every day like it might be your last. I know nobody is actually perfect and she could be stubborn and argumentative but to me she was as close to the perfect mother you could get. She was my best friend. Not everyone can say that so I know I was lucky to have her and that’s what inspires me every day. Life is short….