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Noel Sumner

My Journey From the age of 35 years old, I was going to one of Melbourne ’s leading breast specialists, I had many cysts, and he would aspirate them on a regular basis. Plus I had yearly mammograms, but never; never had I had a complete breast examination. At the age of 50 I discovered another lump and as my specialist was overseas the relieving doctor did a biopsy and discovered an infiltrating lobular carcinoma with spread to 50% of the nodes. Within 6 weeks I had a mastectomy and was the 5 th woman in Australia to be placed on the High Dose Chemotherapy Trial with Autologous Peripheral Blood Stem Cells and G-CSF Support. This was very traumatic since I had been to my specialist a few weeks before and had the regular mammogram, but as we know, these x-rays do not show all abnormalities. I remained in hospital for most of the 3 ½ months as I continually had infections and other complications. I lost all of my body hair, my finger nails and toe nails, shed layers of skin, 20 kg in weight and saw the loss of my leg muscles. I have just celebrated my 10 th anniversary, and have been co-ordinator of the Daffodils B/C Support group in Richmond for the last 5 years. I have taken up golf with great passion and travel to different countries when I have the time. I enjoy public speaking and at present I am the President of the Malvern Rostrum Club. I live life to the fullest and try not to waste a precious moment. But until recently I was unaware of the depth of my daughter’s distress at the time of my diagnosis. I would like to share with you the poem she wrote whilst I was in hospital. Still Life with Cancer Nicole Sumner Nicole Sumner, daughter of Noel, who was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1992, wrote the following poem. Noel said she was unaware of the depth of her twenty-year old daughter’s distress at this time. The poem featured in this year’s Daffodil Day Arts Awards in the poetry section. I’ve got a lump in my breast. Anger at the mammogram only three month’s prior Bad news shattered us. No time to think, it all happened so quickly. What is a radical mastectomy anyway? Stupid nurse with the glasses and brown hair tripped, pushing the needle further into your hand Taking blood from your feet. Bruises. Join the production line, no privacy. Third floor oncology – home away from home Who are all these bald people on the walls anyway? I changed the dressing when no one else could Just a line and a hole, weeping. With a battery pack like a Walkman strapped to your waist, you went off to work with a big jacket on, Panic when the battery ran out. Blood and bone marrow transfusions bloated your face like a puffer fish, You had that ‘yellow glow’.