Breast cancer at age 38

Content warning:
This post contains content that some readers may find disturbing. Please engage in self-care as you read this post.

The nightmare of my first ever major surgery at age 38

I woke up at 4am one morning with a sharp throbbing pain in my chest. I felt a hard lump and didn't recall noticing it at all. I braved the pain and went to work as usual. By the late afternoon, I told my boss that I think I should get it checked out at the hospital.

I had been working overseas for some time and it was the regular hospital I would go to for my regular hypertension follow-up. So when the reception directed me to the General Surgery unit and the surgeon felt the lump and scheduled the day surgery in a few days' time without any scans or tests, I thought it must be very serious. I quickly informed my boss I would be away from work for some time.

The dreadful day of 6 February 2020 came.

Walking into the operating theatre and laying on the cold metal table, the bright white light blinded my eyes before a blue fabric separated my vision for the next few hours.

My tearful silent prayers filled my mind as the chatter and laughter of the medical team continued in a foreign language.

I felt the weight and sharpness of the tools they laid on my torso. Were they supposed to do that?

The intense pain I felt at my chest area not numbed by the local anesthesia set me yelping. The laughter immediately stopped, followed by quick actions of remedy.

The laughter soon resume as the surgery went on. Were they laughing at me for crying throughout?

It felt like forever. The surgery was completed. I was still laying flat on that cold metal table, and the surgeon brought a piece of tissue to my eyes. On that tissue was a bloody red lump which was extracted from my chest.

The sound of the rolling wheels reminded me of rumbling thunder as thr nurses moved me into the recovery room. I fell asleep but woke up numerous times to another patient's snoring... another patient's difficult breathing... loud voices in the foreign language... I was anxious. Could I go home now? Was the nurse coming to check on me? Should I be sleeping for a few hours post-surgery?

I remembered leaving the recovery room with my left hand on my right breast and taking a taxi home alone.

The nightmare continued

Returning to the hospital to redress my wounds for the next two weeks, my surgeon would be asking me daily to decide the changing options by day. If it turned out to be cancer, would I like my breast to be cut away fully, maybe half, maybe quarter... It was as if I was a piece of meat.

I broke into tears at the waiting room when I learnt it was cancer. I needed a second surgery as the margins were not clear. Damn it, I'm not doing a second operation here!

Uncertainties clouded my mind as I took the next morning's flight back to Singapore to seek further treatment. It was the onset of the pandemic. As I made my way to the airport and on to the aircraft, I didn't know if I should be afraid dying of COVID-19 or of cancer.

I wasn't supposed to have breast cancer. I was only 38 years old! I wasn't even old enough to go for a mammogram! No one in my family had a history of breast cancer!

I told my new surgeon in Singapore of what I went through and my anxieties, and was strangely comforted by the series of tests before my second surgery. 4 weeks of radiotherapy soon followed.

Would my life ever be the same again?

People started commending my courage and strength to undergo treatment in a foreign country and then flying home during the pandemic, but I didn't feel strong at all.

The physical scars and misshapen breast showed me I was no longer beautiful. Having gone through what I had to go through, mostly by myself, only emphasized the fact that I was a defective woman that was discarded by her husband then.

It took me a few months before I realized that I could no longer tie myself down in a loveless marriage where I always had to put on a masked front that things were going well between us all these years. I told myself I was still young enough to restart my life.

And so I guess the only good thing that came out of this ordeal was divorce.

It was much later before I came to terms that I am strong and I am beautiful. I ordered a mug that I could display at full sight as a constant reminder that I am nothing less than I was before... well, maybe less a bloody red lump.

This April, it would be my 3rd cancerversary.

This article was first written in 2023... Last month, I've just hit my 5th cancerversary. Gratefully.