Wednesday, 31 October 2018
You won't find much mention of family matters on this blog, gentle reader, but with this post I'm making an exception.
Like 18000 Australian women annually, my bride of forty-one years was diagnosed with breast cancer a fortnight ago.
She has had two surgeries (the second one "insurance" according to the surgeon) and a treatment plan is being devised. The may involve all of (or none of) medication, radiotherapy and chemotherapy.
My bride has studiously followed the medical advice for years, having regular mammograms. Two of her sisters have had breast cancer, and one of them died as a consequence, so it's probably in the family. As we have two daughters, genetic counselling is recommended.
On the upside (if there is an upside to such a diagnosis) her lymph nodes are clear, so no spread is apparent. Also, the female radiographer who found the tumour was on the ball, as this particular cancer (LCIS) is notoriously hard to spot on the imagery.
Nevertheless, the uncertain path ahead is pretty scary. She is dealing with it using her own special brand of exasperation, stoicism and good humour.
Myself - probably not so well. I feel so bloody useless.
There are tremendous supports available these days, even in a regional centre like ours. There is no need to travel to the capital for specialist services, both diagnostic and treatment.
We (we're in this together) now embark down an uncertain, and frequently trodden road.
And after the surgery, we have to cuddle carefully.
Update: Surgery is done (including insertion of a porta Cath. Next is Chemotherapy - weekly for three months.
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