It's all gone quiet over there

Well, it's been a while since I've posted a blog on here. The reason for this hiatus is a good one. It's all still quiet on the cancer front. Apart from the niggles and worries that I can never really shift (as every other so-called cancer 'survivor' knows) it's been pretty much plain sailing.

A lovely lady from Church asked me today when I would be posting again, and Facebook seems to be doggedly on my case to put my virtual pen to virtual paper and share an update. So, here it is...

My last oncology appointment was in May. It was a routine appointment with my eminent, world-class Professor, highly regarded by all who have been fortunate enough to be treated by him. I was checked for lymphadenopathy and breast lumps. Neither were evident. It's seems strange to me now that the origin of my cancer was in the breast, as the metastatic, malignant Triple Negative Breast Cancer tumours in my brain have somehow dwarfed the memory of the breast cancer.

The Prof also performed an examination of both breasts as part of the trial I was part of, called Import High (where a higher and more focused dose of radiotherapy was administered to the cancerous breast). There was "slight breast shrinkage" but in comparison to my breast cancer peers, many of whom who needed mastectomies, and others who tragically died, I got off lightly. It was also reassuring to be checked over by a specialist. In my previous appointment with the surgeon who conducted my wide local incision (medical lingo for cutting out the lump), two young male medical students inspected my breasts. They were not training for breast surgery, so they awkwardly patted them as if they were a pair of unexploded bombs, looking around the room to avoid catching my eye!

The next step is a CT scan on my brain on Friday. Unlike the usual protocol, if all is well, I won't have a review meeting and I will be advised by letter. The Prof also wants to do another CT scan in 2020 to coincide with year 6 of the Import High trial. To me, it was extremely important that a trial of this kind would make a difference to breast cancer patients in the future. So, the cancer journey (to coin a completely overused phrase) continues. I'm on a narrow country lane now, far from the fast-paced motorway I was on three and a half years ago and at some point I will leave it all behind and feel the grass beneath my feet.

I am here by the Grace of God, by the gifts of the magnificent team at Royal Stoke Hospital and with more than a little help from my friends, husband and Dad. My heart bursts with gratitude and I hope and pray for the healing of those who are still in the eye of the storm. You know who you are.

Amanda

Apologies for the over-use of (mixed) metaphors and hyperbole