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Canterbury, VIC
Diagnosed age 32
No hair and a massive belly
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Kylie Blackwell with her husband
Brendan and son Thomas Jack
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On 3 April 2006 I first heard that devastating word ‘cancer'. Age 32, newly married, a newly qualified paediatrician, I had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. I was 12 weeks pregnant with my first child.
Thus ended my 6 month search for what I was sure was there. I had no lump and no family history, just a gut feeling. Luckily, I also had a great surgeon who listened. Fortunately the tumour was small, and I was node negative, but the tumour was also hormone sensitive, and so I was given the choice: terminate or chemo. Easy - What is hair compared to a baby? Clinging to the advice that it should be safe, I began the second trimester of my pregnancy; breast conserving surgery followed by four cycles of chemotherapy, all to buy time until a planned early elective caesarean so that I could have radiotherapy without too much delay.
The world of oncology is not unfamiliar to me. Throughout my medical training I worked in adult and paediatric oncology units; but nothing prepared me for being an oncology patient, especially a pregnant one. I've been asked whether my experience has changed the way I practice medicine. Has it made me a better doctor? Defensively, I say no. But, yes, I now understand the anguish of the unknown, the torment of not knowing what one's future holds, the sense of despair when faced with one's own mortality, the overwhelming "noise" that fills one's head when discussing a personal diagnosis of cancer, the sense of helplessness and dependency one feels when placing your trust - your life and fate - in the hands of others, and the fear above all for the life of one's unborn child. So, yes, I guess I am changed, and I believe for the better. One can hardly go through the treatment of breast cancer, or any cancer, and remain unchanged. I can now say with conviction to parents and patients: ‘I know what you are going through'.
I sailed through the chemo without a hitch. However, nothing prepared me for the fatigue of pregnancy combined with chemotherapy; even my baby felt it and would barely move during our low-count weeks. As for body image - no hair and a massive belly are not good for one's ego and resulted in the necessary purchase of several glamorous blonde wigs and hours of shopping.
There were tears of frustration, anger, self pity, boredom and despair; but there was also laughter - when a wig fell off at an inopportune moment, or when my 3 year old niece dissolved into giggles at the sight of my bald head. Despite all the lows I always felt lucky. I had found the cancer early, I had a kicking baby to focus on, I had an amazingly understanding husband and above all, I had a second chance.
Hospitalised at 31 weeks with premature ruptured membranes, I went into labour at 33 weeks resulting in an emergency caesarean. Thomas Jack was born a healthy 1.8 kg with a head full of hair, and no complications.
Six months on, he is enormous and never stops moving, smiling or babbling. He still comes to my appointments as he always did - my chemo buddy. Thomas helped me through every dark day by his wriggling and kicking, through the sight of my constantly expanding belly, and the knowledge that all I was doing, I was doing for him.
I am still amazed by the reactions of others when I tell my story, the pity I hear in their voices and see in their faces. Yes it was horrible, but it was also the best year of my life. Firstly, it gave me my beautiful son. Secondly, I have discovered the true meaning of love and friendship, from both family and friends. I have grown as an individual, discovered a strength that I never knew I had, and I have seen the best in those that I love.
Last Updated 7 December 2007
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Kylie Blackwell