Why A Cancer Diagnosis Isn’t All Bad

WORDS: Corrine Barraclough PHOTOGRAPHY Supplied

CB’s BC Journal

If you’re easily offended, probably best you don’t read on because I believe in vigorous honesty and freedom of speech – yes, even around health and cancer.

People are telling me I shouldn’t use the words ‘fight’ and ‘battle’ around my cancer diagnosis. And with all due respect, I’ll use whatever words I f***ing choose. I get to cherry pick which energies I want around me right now, and I’m totally stepping into my warrior.

When I went for a mammogram on Tuesday February 8^th, I was bracing myself for it not to be plain sailing. I’d felt a hard lump and had a bad feeling.

I went straight on for an ultrasound and an hour later the technician was still taking various videos and measuring masses I guessed weren’t what you’d call normal.

At the end of the ultrasound she said she needed to go and speak to the doctor, who promptly came in to tell me there were “several legions of concern” and she fitted me into her practice down in Tweed Heads that Friday.

I had 12 needles in my right breast that morning; four biopsies, two samples from each (including two core biopsies which are more invasive and sound like an ear piercing gun, be warned) plus local anaesthetics injected into each site.

They said I was brave, especially considering it was the first time I’d had biopsies taken.

Honestly, I was glad to be wearing a mask to hide most of my face (thank you COVID). I closed my eyes and said my beloved Serenity Prayer over and over in my mind.

I was told the results would be in for Monday morning. When I got home I called my GP’s surgery to check she would be in as I was expecting lab results and was very nervous.

“Most likely you’ll receive a text when they come in which will say something like, ‘Results in, no action required’. If there’s something of concern, we’ll call you and arrange for you to come in to see the doctor”.

That sounded ok… until my phone rang a couple of hours later.

Before I knew it, I was in my car heading to my local GP’s surgery where I was told, “I’m so sorry, it is breast cancer…”

It all felt very surreal. The way that week had unfolded, I hadn’t managed to take a proper deep yoga breath for days; I’d been kind of holding my breath. I had a feeling something wasn’t right. None of this felt routine.

And now I had heard the words the stigma in society teaches us to dread.

But this is 2022.

I feel so overwhelmingly grateful to have received this breast cancer diagnosis today, and not 10 or 2 years ago.

I feel incredibly thankful to have made the Gold Coast home several years ago, which not only means I live in paradise which is magical for my mental health, it also means I have exceptional medical facilities on my door step.

You see, without sounding all Eat, Pray, Love, getting a breast cancer diagnosis today isn’t the news it once was, it is no longer a death sentence.

No, this was not on my plan; it’s an absolute wrecking ball that has swung, invited into my life and touched every inch of my life. But I resolutely refuse to say that this is all bad.

Worrying is not going to make any of this any better.

In the weeks since my diagnosis, I have connected with friends I haven’t spoken to in years. It’s been so wonderful to catch up, even in these circumstances. I’ve been forced to dig deep and have been buoyed by my own inner resilience.

I’ve zoomed in on life, spent loads of time in nature, laughed until I cried, practised mindfulness and found moments of calm and joy in every single day. I’ve marvelled at magic all around me.

Gold Coast Health has been amazing; the breast cancer nurses I’ve met already have given me so much hope. The doctor who oversaw my first chemo treatment gave me a reassuring smile and told me she liked my attitude, which made me smile back and raise my attitude a little higher.

The lady in the chemo pod with me, who sat opposite in a brightly coloured headscarf, tells me she’s finishing her treatment next week and has a book of tips and advice to give me.

I have received a horrible diagnosis; I’m not disputing that for a second.

But, and it’s a really important but, I have seen the very best in human nature, marvelled at the advancements in modern medicine, and I feel immensely inspired to keep on trucking ahead on this journey, one step at a time, one day at a time.

I believe in a Higher Power, the spirit of the universe, whatever you’d like to call it. And I’m so relieved I have that to lean on, even in my darkest moments.

And now, I’m really happy that you’re joining me on this journey too.

See you next week; I want to tell you why I decided to shave my head!

Corrine x

Corrine was diagnosed with Stage 2B breast cancer (Invasive Ductal Carcinoma, IDC), HER2+  which has spread to her lymph nodes. Her medical oncologists are pursuing a “cure”, which will begin with a six-month course of chemotherapy at Gold Coast University Hospital, followed by surgery at Robina Hospital and then further treatment. Corrine will be writing a weekly blog journaling her personal journey for Ocean Road Magazine throughout her breast cancer battle.