Cancer
A few weeks ago, my wife Katharine found a lump in her breast.
“Mmh.” said the GP, “Well, let’s send you to the hospital for some tests. If we can eliminate the possibility of cancer, then we can decide what to do about it.”
“The odds are very much against it.” I said, after a prolonged session on the Internet. “85% of lumps are not cancerous. It could be a cyst, in which case they’ll drain it. It could well be a fibroadenoma.”
“I had one of those before.”
“I don’t know how that affects the odds, but it must make it the number one probability,” I said.
Luckily we live fairly near the Royal Marsden, the first and arguably still the best of specialist cancer hospitals. I took Katharine in for a mammogram, ultrasound, and biopsy, and we met the consultant, Mr Guidamboldo Querci della Rovere (born in Venice, started his career at Padua, but evidently the lure of the Royal Marsden was enough to make him swap all that for Sutton). He looked reassuringly like a consultant, with his three-piece suit and watch chain, and he was accompanied by Fabio, who had a pony tail and looked like an American scientist from a Horizon programme of the 1970s.
Before we got the results of the initial biopsy, it emerged that the mammogram had found traces of calcification in the other breast, so Katharine had to undergo a further biopsy; wheras the earlier one had been guided by ultrasound, this one required x-rays and was a little more traumatic.
“In the great majority of cases,” I explained, Googling again “Calcification is not associated with cancer; moreover, where it is, it usually the earliest and most easily treated forms of cancer.”
A few days later, we went back for the results.
“I have some good news,” said Mr Querci, “The results of the second biopsy show no disease, so I am glad about that. But you remember we did say that there might be a risk, and I’m afraid the lump is, in fact, cancer.” He paused. “Now one option is that we give you some chemotherapy, to reduce the size of the cancer and make it easier to remove. In this case, I think we may be able to do without that, because your cancer is low-grade. But you will need to come in for an operation to remove the lump, and we will also remove some of the lymph glands in your armpit to check whether the cancer has spread.”
I Googled some more when we got home about lumps and operations and Mr Querci della Rovere; but I did not quote any more statistics.
Luckily Katharine had kept up the BUPA scheme originally set up for her by her father, so she could have a room of her own (not ready when we arrived, however) and was guaranteed that no lesser person than Mr Querci would wield the knife.
By this time, Katharine had been signed off work for an extended period, and we were beginning to receive cards and expressions of support and sympathy. Katharine had signed up to do the “Race for Life” in pre-lump days, and now her sponsorship total received a small boost.
The operation went well, and after a few days Katharine was able to come home with one drain still inserted: she had to carry this round in a small bag until we went back to have it removed. Last Friday we went back again for the final word from Mr Querci. He looked, as always, grave.
“I’m afraid there were some signs of disease in one of your lymph glands,” he said, “And also in the margins of the lump which we removed. With hindsight, I’m afraid it would have been better to have done the chemotherapy first. You’ll now need to do a course of chemotherapy lasting about four months; and then we’ll have to operate again. I’m sorry.”
For the last few weeks I’ve been doing most of the domestic stuff that Katharine previously did, and that will now continue for a number of months. Blogging is likely to be restricted.
