A tale of love and loss

When we were young we had family friends that really were family. Steph and I were pristine, dressed in whiter than white knee socks and neatly tied pigtails, the boys taught us how to play cricket, had an underground hideout and took us crabbing. On the amazing holidays we shared over the years, we loved spending time with each other as did our parents. The Macs and Cokes were a family of eight.

This week I saw those boys, now accomplished men with children of their own, support each other as they delivered their beloved Mum's eulogy. Sue had been a special part of my life since I was a baby. She was an incredible woman. Strong but kind. She had been with Pete, her husband, since her late teens and they had a marriage that was so solid that others could only dream of it. She was incredibly supportive to me during my cancer and I was devastated when she was diagnosed with it herself. But, she didn't stop supporting me even when her cancer was advancing and at her funeral I met a woman who had cancer for whom Sue had done the same. She was the heart and soul of the family and loved spending time with her grandchildren. She died just before Christmas and her loss is devastating to her family and to us, her extended family. I look at the photo of us all on my wall and it is terribly sad that three of us, my Mum, my sister and now Sue are no longer with us. But my memories will endure and love lasts beyond death.

Sadly, cancer continues to blight my life and the lives of the people I love. My beautiful, clever, lifelong best friend has been diagnosed with lung cancer. A talented wordsmith, witty and warm with the biggest of hearts, she was by my side throughout my cancer challenges of the last five years. She even told me that she wished she could take it from me. It is devastating that now she has to face it too. I have been praying my heart out for her and I know she will face this with the humour, grace and optimism she has always displayed. It makes me even more sad that she had been the happiest I had ever seen her, due to her relationship with a man that she loves wholeheartedly. I know however that with her partner, family and network of friends she will be overwhelmed with love and support.

Shortly after I met my husband eleven years ago, he whisked me away to Florida for a friend's wedding. We were all staying in a villa and as I arrived, Dean went off to the stag do with the boys and I was left in the villa with a group of women I had never met. Although slightly intimidated I could not have been made more welcome by these lovely people. One of them in particular was so kind and funny that I liked her enormously right from the off. Fast forward to today and this lovely friend has been diagnosed with head and neck cancer (including the tongue). She has been characteristically upbeat, and again has an army of supporters and a fabulous husband.

It's harder than I expected to be the person who is watching and supporting friends with cancer. When I was suffering I knew that my loved ones were suffering too, but not to the same extent. My view on that has changed now. I feel helpless, but I know I can play my part in supporting them. Maybe that's one of the things I've learned from having cancer. It's a hateful disease but love is irrepressible and will overcome all.

Amanda

To know or not to know, that is the question

So, yesterday I had a hospital appointment with the Professor who conducted my original breast cancer operation in December 2013. At the end of my previous appointment with my oncology Professor (the hospital does roll out the big guns), he had mentioned that the next step would be to understand why I had got cancer in the first place and whether it may be genetic. He also mentioned a trial I had taken part in called 'Impact' (a super blast of radiotherapy to the area where the tumour was) for future review and discussion. I didn't expect it to be a significant appointment, rather just a catch-up on both issues and an examination of his handiwork from five years earlier.

I had an hour-long session with a delightful medical student whilst I awaited the Professor's grand entrance. And then...there I was (alone for the first time at a hospital appointment, normally I would have my trusted back-up team of my Dad and husband) and was expecting a light-hearted discussion about how the trial results would 'impact' on women with breast cancer in the future. I had completely forgotten the conversation with my oncologist about genetics. The Professor arrived with an entourage of the first medical student, a new student and my former Breast Care Nurse.

I had the customary breast review (a thorough investigation from the Professor and a more tentative feel from the two young men, who I think were worried about hurting me!), we all exchanged pleasantries and I awaited a cursory discussion about the trial. Things started well with a positive note from the Professor who said he was delighted to say that sometimes the specialists can be wrong and that he was extremely pleased that I was healthy and on good form. So far, so good.

He then began to explain why he wanted to see me. I expected to discuss the trial, however, the conversation was entirely focused on genetics. My family is no stranger to cancer (and other life-threatening diseases), however, on consulting the cousins on my Mum's side, and my Dad on his side of the family, none of them had been through breast cancer.

The mood in the room darkened and I was completely unprepared for the subsequent discussion. I was vaguely aware of the BRCA gene and that those who carried it had a significantly higher risk of getting breast cancer than those who do not carry the gene. The Professor advised me that I may or may not have the gene and if I wanted to have the test, I would then have to deal with the implications of a positive result. I could be opening myself up to the prospect of surgery, pre-emptive treatments, high insurance premiums and many other issues further down the line.

I have only just celebrated my five year 'cancerversary' and was hoping to have left cancer in the past (concentrating on supporting those for whom cancer is well and truly in the present). So, do I want to open that can of worms? Erm...no. I really don't. This may be a contentious decision and I may live to regret it. I am not Angelina Jolie or Michelle Heaton (although I have been mistaken for the former several times *joke*). They are brave women who made life-changing decisions. I respect them greatly, but I trust that God will keep me safe and that I will not need to go down that road. I am still unsettled, but my heart tells me that this is right for me, right now and so I'll put down my can opener and move on.

Amanda

I'll do what it says on the tin