So Brave is a fusion of art, cancer research, empowerment, fundraising, body positivity, and education. After tucking my 3 children into bed, in March 2020, then doing the evening routines (washing up, walk the dog, fold the washing, make lunchboxes), my husband and I sat down to watch some late news about the unfolding COVID pandemic, awaiting the information about how Australia and Tasmania may be affected. I scratched an itch in my right breast and found a lump. A day or 2 later, it was still there, so I contacted my GP, who is fabulous, and although we both suspected it was a cyst, he sent me for imaging to be sure. I went first for a mammogram, but was told I had dense breast tissue, so they could not see the lump, despite it being quite obvious and palpable to look and feel. I had an ultrasound with inconclusive results, but was told it looked benign. I received a phone call later that day to say that I needed to come back the very next day for a contrast mammogram and biopsy. My husband came with me this time, as I was feeling a little more nervous about the urgency in which they had booked me back in. Within those few days, the Tassie health system had become vigilant in limiting the people walking through the hospitals due to the pandemic. When we arrived, my husband was politely asked to leave and told to wait in the car. I had the contrast mammo, another ultrasound and a core biopsy on my own, and was told by the sonographer that she felt it looked malignant but I needed to see my GP for results of pathology. I was not charged for the imaging on that day, rather, getting sympathetic looks from the admin team, who clearly had more of an idea of the journey I was about to travel than I did. Later that week, I saw my GP, who confirmed that I had breast cancer – an aggressive HER2+ carcinoma as well as wide-spread DCIS in my right breast. One of the most challenging conversations I have ever had to have occurred last April, when my husband and I sat down with our 3 young children, aged 5, 6 and 8, to break the news that their mum has cancer. Family life in any family with young children is chaotic, busy, wonderful, busy, uplifting, busy, at times frustrating, busy, joyous and … busy. Life did not stop just because I had a cancer diagnosis – it couldn’t. The kids still needed me to be Mum. My days looked quite different, rather than going to my job as a Kindergarten teacher, I would attend medical appointments, but in the mornings and afternoons, I still needed to find enough energy to be “fun” and present for my family. Undertaking treatment as well as keeping our family life as normal as possible was utterly exhausting. I started with neoadjuvant chemotherapy – first AC X4 rounds followed by 12X weekly Paclitaxel with added Herceptin every 3rd week. During this time, I was having bloods taken prior to each chemo and 12-weekly heart scans to check that the toxic drugs were not wreaking too much havoc on my circulatory system. My veins became crabbier and crabbier until the chemo nurses recommended to my oncologist that she request a port insertion. Chemo is the gift that just keeps on giving. Overall, I think I tolerated it quite well, given I have heard how debilitating it can be for some people. That is not to say it was easy, though – it was a totally crappy time. The nausea and fatigue were huge hurdles, then there was the hair loss (including explaining this to my autistic son who did not cope well with this change; refusing to hug me or look at me on the day my husband shaved off my hair), the spontaneous nose-bleeds, the dry skin – so dry that the inside of my eyelids were literally scratching my eyeballs, making them red raw, itchy and sore. My bowels teetered between constipation and diarrhea, my fingernails were so weak they would bend and tear doing the smallest task, all food tasted metallic and then I lost my taste altogether. I also gained about 8kg which felt horribly offensive given I was already having a tough time looking in the mirror. Despite having the most amazing and supportive family, I needed to attend every chemo appointment alone, due to the COVID rules of no support people in the chemo ward. The nurses were fabulous, but it was so scary to step into that room on my own the very first time, and it became tricky to keep fronting up week after week when I knew how horrible I was going to feel when I came out. When my chemo finished, I continued with the immunotherapy for another 6months. In December 2020 I had a bilateral mastectomy with expanders inserted. They took out my chemo port due to its position on the chest, but put in 2 new ports for the expanders to accept saline over the coming weeks. I had wonderful news a few days after the surgery – the neoadjuvant chemo had done its job – I was cancer-free! I had a sentinel node biopsy at the time of the mastectomies, which later resulted in cording in my right armpit, down to the elbow. I had physio to help with this. About 6 months after the surgery, my right breast swelled up horribly, with the skin on the underside becoming red and hot. I went back to the doctors who at first admitted me to hospital on IV antibiotics, fearing it was an infection. It was not - they think it is something called red-breast syndrome, which is very rare, and is the body developing a sensitivity to the dermo-matrix inserted during the reconstructive surgery. This became worse and very uncomfortable. The doctor removed some saline from the right expander to relieve the pressure on the skin and told me it was “self-limiting” and would go away in weeks or months. My head was being all crazy on me by this stage, fearing it was a recurrence. The swelling and redness eased a lot after about 3 months, but has since flared back up again. I am awaiting the second stage of the reconstructive surgery, hopefully to occur early next year – this will be to remove the expanders and insert the silicone implants. Throughout my cancer journey, I have been very blessed to have a wonderful support network – my family and my friends are so amazing. What I lacked, though, was the support of anyone my own age, or in a similar life position, to talk to. There were plenty of lovely ladies through my parish community, and friends of my parents, who had walked this road and had supportive words to say … but they were all much older at the time of diagnosis and treatment; which does not take away from the tough road they travelled, but it was different from my own experience – for example, starting chemo on my middle daughter’s 7th birthday, or missing my youngest daughter’s Nativity play as I was in surgery. I did meet one other young woman who had breast cancer the year before me – she came to have a cup of tea one day and our little girls played together. She gave me a book – “Letters of Love to our new breast friends” by So Brave. It was such a generous thing of her to give and the book gave me so much hope. It was inspiring to read the tales of these courageous young women, facing similar hurdles, and coming through the other end so bravely and with strength and empowerment. I started looking on the So Brave website and immediately felt that the work this charity do was something I would like to support when I was through most of my own crappy journey. I am very excited to be joining the So Brave community – I am looking forward to having the opportunity to advocate for young women; and to help educate young women in our communities to be breast aware and to have the confidence to seek medical attention if they feel that something is not right. I feel proud to help raise funds and awareness for a charity that aids research into cancer causes and prevention and I love the messages of body positivity that So Brave stand for. I am many things in this life – a mum, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a teacher, a friend, a warrior and a survivor. I am optimistic. I am resilient and I am So Brave.
