Many people find that chemotherapy is the final stage of their treatment. In my case, it was the first.
When I met with the surgeon, he explained that the choice was entirely mine. I could have the double mastectomy first, followed by six sessions of chemotherapy, or I could begin with chemotherapy and have the surgery afterwards.
For some reason my instinct told me to tackle the chemotherapy while I was still physically strong — before surgery, before scars, numbness, and all the challenges that come with recovery.
So that was the plan. He shook my hand, wished me luck, and said he would see me again in five months when the chemotherapy was finished.
Soon afterwards my next appointments arrived. I was sent to Oncology to go through the details — how, where, and when treatment would begin.
I signed the consent forms to allow them to give me three rounds of EC chemotherapy (Epirubicin and Cyclophosphamide), more commonly known as the “Red Devil”, followed by three rounds of Docetaxel. Each treatment session was three weeks apart.
Somehow, I made it through — and eventually rang the bell.
But it came at a cost to my body.
My veins were scarred and exhausted. My weight increased with every session. My face became round and puffy as steroids and fluid retention took hold.
Before treatment began, I shaved my head. I had been told there was a very high chance I would lose my hair anyway, and I didn’t want the additional pain of watching it fall out or dealing with sore follicles. So I got ahead of it and braved the shave.
Cold capping was offered, but it meant much longer treatment sessions and no guarantee of success. For me, the simpler option felt right.
Before cancer, I was someone who wouldn’t even take a paracetamol unless I was rolling around the floor in pain. Suddenly I had some very serious medication both in my system and sitting in the cupboard.
When I finally rang the bell at the end of chemotherapy, for a few weeks I actually felt almost normal again.
But it didn’t last long.
The brain fog appeared first. It’s a strange experience when you suddenly can’t remember a word in the middle of a conversation. I had to write everything down or I would forget it.
Even though chemotherapy was finished, treatment was still continuing. I was returning to the chemo ward for further medication — Phesgo injections and Herceptin infusions.
Phesgo was given as a slow injection over around ten minutes. Herceptin was delivered through an intravenous drip.
In total I had three Herceptin treatments and eighteen Phesgo injections.
Eventually I had my follow-up meeting and the early results were promising. At the time the doctors said they would have liked to see more shrinkage in the tumour, but the outcome was still considered acceptable.
Later, after surgery, we discovered something much more positive: the tumour and lymph nodes that remained were actually dead.
In that moment I realised that everything I had been through hadn’t been for nothing.
During this period people often asked how I was.
You say you’re fine.
They reply, “That’s great — chemo is finished, you can get back to normal now.”
But it’s hard to explain what it really feels like.
Everything looks normal again. My hair was growing back. On the outside I looked healthier.
Inside, though, everything felt slightly out of sync.
The only way I can describe it is like watching a film where the sound and the picture don’t quite match up.
In my mind I could still run. I could still do squats. I could still stand on my paddleboard.
But physically it just wasn’t possible.
It took a long time to understand that my body had been through something enormous, and that rebuilding strength would take time.
Even now, it’s still something I’m working on.
Eventually I realised that the phrase people often talk about — that frustrating “new normal” — had quietly arrived.
The old normal wasn’t coming back, at least not in the same way.
And perhaps that’s okay.
The best advice I can give is to embrace the new version of yourself.
However upset or angry you may feel about what has changed, remember something important:
You got rid of the cancer that invaded your body.
You became a warrior.
Some things may take time to rebuild, but strength returns — slowly, step by step.
And along the way there will be more moments that require courage.
But now you know something powerful.
You know you can find that strength when you need it.
Next on the list: surgery.
You might also like
• When Chemo Ends and the Next Chapter Begins
• Preparing for a Double Mastectomy: Practical Tips