Dear Kind Reader,
I hope this message finds you well. If you’ve been following my journey, you know it hasn’t been easy. Here’s a brief recap:
In my last blog, I shared the ongoing emotional toll of being diagnosed with breast cancer the confusion of conflicting medical opinions, dismissive comments, and the overwhelming feeling of losing control over my own body. Still, I kept pushing forward, advocating for myself, and clinging to my faith, even when it felt distant.
In December 2022, I took a bold step by getting a second tattoo something I never imagined doing after getting my first one earlier that same year. The new tattoo became a symbol of resistance, a way to reclaim some control amidst the chaos. Around the same time, I also began fasting, hoping for both physical and spiritual breakthroughs, even as I continued to wrestle with my faith.
This journey has brought moments of both hope and heartbreak, but one thing I’ve come to understand is that healing both physically and spiritually is messy, painful, and necessary.
Now, let’s move forward into the next chapter.
The Skin I Was In
Before I get into the details of being referred to an oncologist, I want to share another layer of struggle I was facing the skin on my face. I had bad acne, dark blemishes all over, like a “connect-the-dots” puzzle. No matter how much water I drank, how many gym sessions I did, or how healthy and fruit-filled my diet was, my face just looked horrible, in my opinion. These pictures from February 2023 show just how bad it got. I’ve been battling acne since 2021, when my mum had a stroke and I became her primary carer. Acne never left my face after that. Prior to all this, I was also grieving a personal loss one I may open up about later in my blogging journey.
The Skin Behind the Fight
The Oncologist Appointment
While waiting for my oncologist appointment, I continued with the Hallelujah Challenge by Nathaniel Bassey and prayed every Tuesday with my friend’s mum. I was holding on to hope, praying not to lose my breast, and hoping that somehow, the cancer would just disappear.
The appointment came a week after a call from the surgeon on my mum’s birthday. She told me the cancer was now part invasive and part DCIS. I went to the oncologist appointment with a friend, but when the oncologist started talking about chemotherapy, I zoned out. My friend was asking all the questions, and then, alarm bells rang in my ears when the oncologist casually said, “I don’t really know the side effects of surgery I just provide the poison. That’s my expertise.”
Poison ☠️
That word shook me. I couldn’t shake it.
After that, I was handed a stack of leaflets. Chemotherapy was scheduled to start in March, with the first phase EC-T every two weeks until the end of April. Then, the second phase would begin in May, with weekly treatments until July 2023. The second phase included Paclitaxel (Taxol), Pertuzumab (Perjeta), and an extended treatment called Herceptin (Trastuzumab), which would be injected into my thigh every three weeks until 2024.
He asked if I had children. I said no.
He asked if I wanted children. I said yes.
He told me egg freezing wasn’t covered under my private insurance and said he’d refer me to an NHS hospital nearby.
He also mentioned that I’d be getting monthly Zoladex injections starting in March to shut down my ovaries and put me into medical menopause. I didn’t fully understand what that meant, but I agreed. Then, he said I’d need a PET scan and a Thorax/Abdomen/Pelvis scan to check if the cancer had spread. I didn’t know that these tests involved radioactive dye being injected into my veins.
Taking Matters into My Own Hands
This oncologist had a PA, and I remember her calling the scans department, saying she couldn’t get through to them. I asked for their number and chased them down myself. In one day, I had my appointments booked. I had this mindset: if I don’t do it myself or follow up, nothing will get done. The PA seemed way too relaxed. Like, hello there’s cancer here, and I need those scans ASAP.
I eventually had the appointments and scans, but I chose to go alone. I stopped telling people about each appointment and only shared the details with one person at that time.
While waiting for the results of those scans, I kept up with the Hallelujah Challenge and continued praying every Tuesday. I was praying again for the cancer to go away, declaring that I wouldn’t lose my breast. I saw this as another possible chance for the results to change before starting chemotherapy, hoping the cancer wouldn’t spread and would disappear completely and permanently.
Mind you, the pelvis scan was intense. When the ink started going through my veins, it felt like a dragon’s fire coursing through me. Not that I’ve ever felt a dragon’s fire, but that’s exactly what it reminded me of this intense, burning sensation that left me wide-eyed and wondering how anyone could get used to that.
A Call I Didn’t Expect
In the middle of all this scans, needles, bruised arms, and silent prayers I got a call from someone I once considered a friend. Yes, that same person from the three-way call I mentioned in my last blog. She rang me up just to say, “Andréa, if I don’t call you, then you don’t call me.”
Huh?
Was she being serious? Did she have any idea what I was going through? The scans, the injections, the blood tests that left my arms sore and purple, the emotional exhaustion, the pain I was learning to breathe through daily? And she wanted to talk about who was calling who?
I didn’t even know how to respond. All I knew was that every time she needed me, I showed up. If she wanted help drafting a complaint or needed someone to advocate for her in writing, I did it no questions asked. But now it felt like all of that was forgotten.
Some people really don’t know how to be selfless. And I get it, life gets heavy. But when someone’s facing a cancer diagnosis at any stage it’s not the time to keep score. It’s the time to show up. Even just to say, “I’m here.”
The Egg Freezing Journey Begins
I called my oncologist’s PA to ask if the referral to the NHS fertility consultant had gone through. She said yes but she hadn’t heard back. So, I did what I usually do when things feel stuck: I handled it myself.
I started calling around the NHS hospital, trying to find the right department (Fertility Preservation Women’s Services). The first call? I got hung up on. I called again. Then again. Eventually, someone picked up and gave me a direct email contact. I wrote to them straight away, explained my diagnosis, the urgency, and the fact that chemotherapy was due to start in March. I needed to be seen fast. Thankfully, they replied quickly and got me booked in.
This was around mid-February.
At the same time, the friend who had come with me to the oncologist appointment suddenly became very ill. I didn’t know what was wrong, but my prayers shifted. I started praying for him constantly. I was checking in with his family, visiting him at the hospital, doing whatever I could. I remember carrying heavy bags across London transport things he needed and eventually having to jump in an Uber just to get these bags to him.
That period was heavy. Emotionally and physically a lot. Everything was happening at once. And honestly, looking back, mid-February 2023 felt like a storm I had no choice but to keep walking through.
So, what happened next?
What were the results of those scans?
What happened when I finally went to the NHS hospital for the egg freezing prep?
And… did my friend get better?
To be continued…
I’ll pause here for now and continue the rest in my next blog.
Reflection Questions for You, Dear Reader:
- Have you ever felt let down by someone you thought would be there for you during a tough time?
- What helps you stay grounded when everything feels uncertain?
- If you’ve been through anything similar cancer, grief, or a complicated diagnosis what helped you through the hardest days?
Thank you so much for reading.
If anything I shared resonated with you, please subscribe, like, and share. And don’t forget to check out my YouTube channel:
Warm wishes,
Andréa Xxx 💕
Leave a comment 💕