What does follow-up look like?

So what happens now? What does follow-up look like now that I’ve largely been signed off by the consultants who’ve been treating me for varying lengths of time since my breast cancer diagnosis one year ago this very week?

At around the one-year anniversary of my surgery, in mid-December, I’ll have a mammogram and an ultrasound scan on the good boob (if you’ve had cancer in one breast you’re at increased risk of getting it in the other) and an ultrasound scan on the reconstruction (there’s no point in having a mammogram as there’s no, or next to no, breast tissue there). The plan is that I’ll have those tests anually for at least five years.

I’ll have my next and third round of the bone hardening drug, zoledronic acid, in September. I’ve changed from having that every three months to every six and the plan is to continue on that basis for the next couple of years. I’m on letrozole, daily hormone therapy. Letrozole lowers oestrogen levels in the body and so increases your risk of developing osteoporosis. The bone hardening drug is to counteract that. It’s also been shown to reduce the risk of the cancer coming back in post-menopausal women like me.

I’ll have a bone density scan once I’ve been taking letrozole for two years to measure the effect letrozole has had on my bones so far. The scan I had before starting hormone therapy showed I had strong bones to start with, which is good.

And that’s it.

Or is it? This follow-up plan only works, of course, as long as there’s no recurrence. If that happens, all bets are off, as you’ll know from posts I’ve already written. In between your formal follow-up scans and whatever other ongoing treatments and/or appointments you have, you need to stay aware of the symptoms of secondary breast cancer, not panic at every ache or pain but get any worrying signs checked… and hope like hell that the concern that led you to go and get checked was misplaced and that you are in fact still cancer free.

 

 

Starting to feel free again

The consultants who’ve essentially been in control of my life for the past seven months have done what they needed to do in terms of treating me and are now starting to sign me off. I’m beginning to feel independent again. It’s a good feeling.

I was at the clinic this past Monday for physio but before that I hadn’t been there for a whole two weeks. A fortnight is not so long in the broader scheme of things, but I don’t think I’d had such a long period without an appointment or treatment related to my breast cancer since July last year.

I also saw the consultant breast surgeon this week for a three-month follow-up so I did in fact have two appointments this week. Nonetheless, I no longer feel I’m tied to the place.

People are warned that they may feel abandoned when their hospital-based treatment (chemotherapy, surgery and radiotherapy) finishes as they’ve got used to all the appointments and treatment and to having people caring for them. I haven’t any sense of abandonment – yet? – perhaps because for me there was no sudden end to things. Most people walk out of their final radiotherapy session and that’s it, but not me. I finished radiotherapy on the last Friday in February (“…3, 2, 1 and relax. Congratulations!”) but was back almost every day the following week (It’s not over ’til it’s over) as I’d had a bad skin reaction to treatment and was having the dressings changed on an almost daily basis. And there have been plenty of other appointments since then.

I’m still having physiotherapy on my operated side and there will be various other appointments over the next few weeks and months, but it’s good that things are tailing off. Feeling free again has its own challenges but, grateful as I am to everyone who’s been and who continues to be involved in my treatment and care, I can safely say I’m happy finally to feel no longer tethered to what has sometimes over the past seven months felt like a second home.

 

 

 

 

 

Post-op progress report No 4: Passing the Velux window test and “running” 5k

I’m delighted to report two massive achievements in terms of my physical recovery from my operation and more broadly from my breast cancer treatment in general.

Firstly, on a beautiful, sunny Spring morning a little over a week ago, I managed to open the Velux window in our bedroom in the loft for the first time since my surgery last December. Secondly, just this morning, I ran five kilometres round Tooting Common. This was the first time I’d been out running since finishing chemo last November (and even then I’d only really gone running two or three times since starting chemo in August).

If someone had told me a year ago that I’d get excited about something as trivial as opening a window, I’d have said they were having a laugh. But here we are. We didn’t know then that I’d be recovering now from six months of breast cancer treatment that involved chemotherapy, major surgery (a mastectomy, full lymph node clearance and immediate reconstruction using blood vessels and tissue from my abdomen) and radiotherapy. We also wouldn’t have known that I’d develop something called “cording” in my right arm following surgery that would mean I was simply unable to grasp anything tightly with my right hand or indeed to straighten my arm and exert any level of pressure. This time last year I hadn’t even heard of cording.

Anyway, the fact is that I’d tried and failed to open the Velux window on many occasions since my operation three-and-a-half months ago, on 19th December, so I was delighted when I finally managed it the week before last. It hurt but I’d done it. It meant the cording was loosening up. It still hurts to do it now, but it’s easier every time.

As for my jaunt round the common today, it was very slow but I think it just about qualifies as running*. I’d asked the plastic and reconstructive surgeon at my most recent appointment with her whether I could start running again. She’d said yes so I kind of felt I had to get out there and put my money where my mouth was before I meet her again, on 12th April, for my next six-weekly review. Also, the Saturday morning 5k running phenomenon that is Parkrun has come to Tooting Common and I’ve been gearing myself up to do that. The plastic surgeon had said to double up on the upholstery front if I did go running (It’s not over ’til it’s over) so, this morning, supported by the Sweaty Betty crop top that I bought for my sailing trip across the Atlantic at the end of 2014 (What a difference a year makes) and a sports bra, I set off.

When I look back on those first few days and weeks after the operation when I could hardly move (Post-op progress report No 1: Biting off more than I can chew), I find myself totally in awe of the capacity of the human body to repair itself. (Yes, I know the human body is equally “good” at destroying itself but we’ll set that aside for the moment.)

I knew I was getting stronger as I’d caught myself running up the stairs in the house a few times in recent days. That’s how I went up the stairs as a matter of course before I started treatment but at some point towards the end of chemo, I’d started walking instead. I’d also at some stage gone back to getting out of bed the right way without thinking about it but I’ve gone backwards somewhat on that front recently. The swelling and tenderness in and around the breast area (Breast cancer “reminders”) means that when I wake up now I have to work out which way to move that will cause least discomfort. Also, I have to confess that I’m already stiffening up after my run and am feeling a like an old lady sitting here on the sofa. All in all, though, I’d have to say things are looking up.

*To illustrate just how slowly I ran, I should tell  you that Andy, not the world’s fastest runner, accompanied me round the common and said he’d to make a real effort to keep down (is that the opposite of keep up?) with me!