Cancer
One Lump or Two, Mrs. Dewar?
How Breast Cancer Is Still Part of My Life, After 50 Years.
Since October is “Breast Cancer Awareness” month, I’d like to share
a story with you.
Robbie and I were sitting at the bar of the old King Edward Hotel in Hay Street, Perth, having a quiet Wednesday night drink, when I said to him “Robbie, I think there is something wrong under my left arm.”
He discreetly felt the two lumps under the arm and the one in the breast that had come to light in the past few days. “Hmm, it’s straight off to the Doctor for you,” he said.
On Thursday morning I phoned my Doctor (whose surgery was just around the corner from where I lived in Victoria Park) and he acted immediately. I did not have to see him. Within an hour, his surgery had confirmed an appointment the next day with the specialist in the West Perth (whom, by chance, we happened to know.)
I returned from seeing him, reeling with shock. I was 26 years old and to have immediate surgery for suspected breast cancer.
Time was of the essence and my fear was palpable.
My three children were living with their father at the time and there was no time to see them; I went to spend the rest of the day and the night with my Mum and Dad. Standing at the dining room table, I signed my Last Will and Testament with my parents as my witnesses.
It was the most frightening day of my life — because I did not know if I have cancer or not!
Surgery on a Sunday Morning
Robbie brought me to the South Perth Community Hospital early on Saturday morning and later my surgeon came to see me, because the operation was to be done early on Sunday morning.
I told him I was deeply afraid and asked how I can successfully live with only one or no breasts.
He was extraordinarily gentle and assured me that I will be surprised at what you can get used to — (if you are still alive!) He says, “whether I come out with one lump, two or none is entirely up to him, and he will do what is necessary and best.” I trust him.
Four total strangers thrown together for comfort.
There were four of us in the ward — me, a young 21-year-old American Navy Officer and two married women in their early 40’s. We talked all night. No sleep for us — we were afraid we did not have time to sleep. We told each other the things we had never dared to speak. We comforted each other — four women who were total strangers until that day.
At about 3:30am, the Sister came by and asks us to be a little quiet. With a laugh. “You know we have sick people here,” she says to us.
Like inmates on death row, we could have anything we want to eat or drink — while we await the dawn with fear. Then, it is time for pre- medication and tearful goodbyes as we each were wheeled off to meet our own destinies.
We did not come back to the same ward after our operations — the young American girl was going back to the US as soon as possible to see her family; her prognosis was dire, and we did not see her again.
The other two ladies were going to start their rehab and ongoing treatment to help them resume their lives and later they came to say goodbye, with their drip lines attached to their arms and their new pink slippers flopping up and down the passage as they pass by my room.
I am spared. My lumps were benign; I had no sign of any cancer; my body was intact, and my terror faded to a slight residual sense of foreboding.
Yet, even after fifty years, those days are crystal clear in my memory — as if they were yesterday. They are mostly forgotten, until there is a sudden, sharp reminder of those fears.
My Mum is my inspiration, to this day!
In 1999, at age 78, she had half a lung removed for cancer, and being a Jehovah’s Witness, she had bloodless surgery. I went to see her the morning before her surgery, with the first rose from my new “Just Joey” rose bush.
The best thing I could think to say, when I was leaving her, is “Have a good day!” What a laugh we got in the ward.
She survived to be 96, self-sufficient, and lived at home next door to me until she was 93, well and one of my best friends.
Now, I am 79 (I will be 80 on Boxing Day) and although my Mum has been gone for five years, she continues to inspire me.
Breast cancer is almost inescapable as we live longer.
In October, 2010, I was invited to speak about breast cancer for women at conference in Perth. Although I had no personal experience of the disease at the time, I was able to research it well and present reassuring information on the survivability of those diagnosed early.
To encourage women to have their mammograms and to regularly examine their breasts for any previously unnoticed changes.
I am now a breast cancer survivor
Two years later, I myself was facing the surgeon’s knife — but this time I was not so terrified. While it was a time of great stress, I had overriding family responsibilities to keep me totally occupied.
And my own research had reassured me. I never thought for a moment that I would die. I lost one breast in 2012 — less than a month before I turned 69.
My mammograms are done every three years, and right now I have a referral for an ultra-sound, because I have strained myself doing 90 hours hard work in the garden, over 18 days. Crazy effort for a 79 year old.
Both my parents have both passed away now, Mum at almost 96 (August 28, 2015) and Dad a few weeks short of his 100th birthday (January 16, 2018) With my Mum for inspiration and my Dad’s longevity being legendary, I see myself living for another 15 years or more.
Whether it’s tea for two or coffee for three, the phrase “one lump or two, Mrs. Dewar” will always ring little differently for me!
If you have enjoyed this story, give me some feedback with a comment or a clap or two. That makes you a fan and you can follow me by clicking here .
Become a Member of Medium and enjoy 100s of stories from other writers on every topic under the sun.
Get all my stories straight to your email address — by subscribing here
