There's never a perfect time for breast cancer to enter your life; 26 weeks pregnant with our fourth child certainly was not ideal. Amidst the miracle of this new life we had created, we faced the paradox of death.
Our girls were ten and five, and our baby boy was nine months old. The fact it was two days before Christmas seemed irrelevant in the scheme of things. On Christmas Day, we went for a big walk and reassured the children -- as mums and dads do -- that it would be alright.
I attended the maternity unit to have them oversee the baby's health whilst I had a mastectomy. It was strange hearing all the babies cry; harder still that I had left my babies with our friends not knowing what might happen. Because I was pregnant, the scoping tests were pretty limited. They'd have to wait to check the lymph nodes after the operation and then wait until we induced the baby to have the normal scans.
We decided to induce our baby at 36 weeks, the safest option. After an eventful induction, our little man, Robert Alexander (Bobby) came into our world. He was sick and put straight into special care. After a sleep I was sent for a bone scan and the other tests they couldn't do before. I couldn't bring myself to visit my new son. I had to wait for the scan results first.
The oncologist was magnificent. She got the 'all clear' results back to me immediately. I then started spending my time between the maternity unit, the special care unit and the oncology ward for chemo.
Our little man got stronger and stronger and within a couple of weeks we were able to hold him in our arms. Many things happened during this hospital time. Our eldest son, Patrick, turned one and learned to walk. Our eldest daughter, Rachel, won an important swimming carnival on the day of my first chemo (I missed it). Rachel also turned 11 the day after Robert was born. And Olivia progressed into Grade 1 at school.
Robert came home after three weeks, but I continued to have treatment sometimes staying in hospital and later on as a day patient. After the chemo came radiotherapy. Robert and Patrick were pretty well known at the radiology dept; the nurses would hold them whilst I was zapped. We had a lot of help, without which we couldn't have remained together as a functioning family.
Last December, I had my five year check up with my surgeon. It was fitting that kindergarten was cancelled that day and my little man was able to come with me. This was the first time he had been back in the hospital since he was born. I hadn't even processed how special this was going to be for all the people involved in our care to see him again. Bobby is the most effervescent of boys. Even though he is bursting with cheek, he is adorably affectionate. His koala cuddles are unsurpassed. Our little man is on batteries and nothing stops him until they are switched off.
Rachel is now 16, excelling in her school work and looking forward to a year overseas in Switzerland next year. Olivia begins high school next year and is a keen student who loves netball. Patrick is Bobby's best friend and they are inseparable. Patrick is in Grade 2 next year and Bobby began prep this year.
I never regard myself as a 'survivor'. I didn't choose cancer. It certainly didn't enhance my life like you read about so often. It simply made it hell for a while. No benefits for me. I was never scared of cancer, just scared of death. Young women with breast cancer don't usually have time to rest or heal emotionally. As a parent, I'm a primary caregiver. But this is good. I can be distracted by practical responsibilities and take refuge in them.
My advice is to look forward and don't stop until there's something worth looking back at. Think about tomorrow. Eventually, with hope and good luck, you'll look back after five or so years and see a lot of yesterdays that don't have cancer anywhere near them.
--Anne Marie
