MY HEALTH EXPERIENCE:MY JOURNEY with cancer began just over five years ago. Due to a strong family history of breast cancer, I went for genetic testing in 2005 and discovered I am a carrier of the Ashkenazi Jewish strain of BRCA1. My maternal grandmother was an Austrian Jew who came to Ireland at the end of the second World War, hence the Ashkenazi connection.
Carriers of this defective gene have an 85 per cent chance of developing breast cancer and a 50 per cent chance of developing ovarian cancer.
I had two choices – I could be monitored with mammograms and scans or I could opt for radical surgery.
In America, BRCA1 is a lot more common than here, and the doctors there were a font of knowledge on the subject. They urged me not to waste any time. Like me, they felt the safest option was surgery.
I was 33 and I felt like a ticking time bomb. I knew the only way to diffuse this internal turmoil was by having a double mastectomy and oophorectomy (removal of both ovaries), with breast reconstruction.
I’m married to Cian and we are blessed with two wonderful children, Sacha and Kim. Well before we’d ever heard of BRCA1 we had decided our family was complete. So for me, the removal of my ovaries was not the trauma it might have been had I been childless.
Having my breasts removed was not an issue for me either. All I was doing was altering my body in exchange for my life. It was a no-brainer. After the bilateral mastectomy surgery at Tallaght hospital the pathology results revealed pre-cancer cells in my left breast. I was told that the cells were contained, so naturally I was rejoicing at dodging my worst nightmare – cancer.
Nine months after the surgery my euphoria faded. I developed a rash on my face and upper body. The muscles on my legs and arms were arrested. I could barely walk. I looked like I had been scalded. I also noticed small round lumps in my neck resembling rubber peas.
I attended a skin specialist in the Blackrock Clinic and was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease called dermatomyositis, which is often associated with breast cancer.
Within a week of being admitted to Blackrock Clinic, I was also diagnosed with cancer in my neck, shoulder and under my left arm. The cancer that had been manifesting at the time of my mastectomy had spread. Those small rubber peas were nodal invasion breast cancer.
After six months of chemotherapy at the end of 2007, I was given the all-clear.
Before you decide my life must have been all doom and gloom, it wasn’t. I began writing and, in 2008, I signed a deal with Poolbeg Press publishers. I was going to become an author!
The elation at beating the disease was short-lived, however. In February 2008 I found more lumps in my neck and under my arm. I required auxiliary clearance surgery, which involved the removal of both the cancer cells and surrounding lymph nodes from under my left arm.
Normally, this type of surgery involves the removal of four or five nodes. I had 48 removed, so in other words, I had a huge amount of disease.
Following that surgery I was scheduled to have six months of further chemotherapy. Due to the presence of the autoimmune disease, which returned with the cancer, I ended up with a string of infections.
As a result, my second round of chemotherapy took nine months to complete. Blackrock Clinic became my home away from home for much of 2008. It wasn’t all bad though – I had plenty of time to sit and write.
In November 2008, we were celebrating when I got the best Christmas present imaginable – the all-clear for the second time.
My life was back on track and my new career had taken off. By that time my debut novel, Designer Genes, the story of which mirrors my own experiences with BRCA1, had been published and had hit the bestseller charts.
In September 2009, I spent my birthday with Ryan Tubridy as I had the honour of appearing on the Late Late Show. But two weeks after my TV appearance I found more lumps in my neck. In October 2009, I had further surgery along with radiation therapy.
Once again I was given the all-clear just in time for Christmas. I’m not sure who holds my puppet strings, but He or She seems to believe I should always have a fun Christmas.
In May of this year, guess what? You’ve guessed it – the cancer came back.
Luckily, it has remained contained and thankfully hasn’t invaded any organs. I have just finished another round of radiation therapy and am currently undergoing another six months of chemotherapy.
This chemotherapy, called Xeloda, comes in tablet form. This means it’s much less invasive on my veins. I am also on an intravenous drug called Avastin which requires a hospital visit once every three weeks.
Avastin is one of the newer forms of long-term chemotherapy and works as a prevention device for the body.
I’m very lucky to have a wonderful medical team backing me up. I owe my life to Dr David Fennelly and Dr Michael Moriarty and their wonderful teams of nurses.
I don’t want to sound like the dog in that terrible joke – did you hear about the one-eyed three-legged dog? He answers to the name of Lucky – but I genuinely feel lucky in a lot of ways.
My family and friends offer unbending and tireless support. I have a great husband, two wonderful children and a very purry cat, not to mention a new career. I would never have had the time or opportunity to begin writing if my life hadn’t meandered down this path.
Talking about cancer in Irish society is, astonishingly, still a taboo for many. I don’t hide behind euphemisms. I am open with family and friends about my cancer. My children know everything. I have always felt it was really important to keep them in the loop, by explaining about my cancer in an age-appropriate manner.
Although cancer is an ongoing battle in my life, the flip side is that my writing career is on the up. My second novel, Miss Conceived, is currently in bookshops. I have two new books hitting the shelves in 2011 and I am beavering away at my computer writing more.
Cancer is not the death sentence it once was. I’m living proof of that. It has tried four times with me and it hasn’t won.
When I went on the Late Late Show, they told me I could wear whatever I felt most comfortable in. So I chose to wear a bright pink evening dress. I didn't want to look like a walking corpse, because that is certainly not how I feel.
I’ve had dark moments over the years. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t. It probably gets more scary each time I’m diagnosed. But I cope by verbalising my fears. I wouldn’t ever dream of hiding away and not telling anyone. For me that would mean the cancer had gained at least one victory – by silencing me.
There have been so many positive medical advances in the past few years since I have begun my cancer journey. There is hope. This is light at the end of the tunnel.
I know the longer I can keep fighting, the closer the medics are coming to finding something to stop this awful disease.
Unfortunately, I can’t choose whether or not I will get cancer again, but I can definitely decide how I’m going to deal with it. I will keep fighting the good fight. I have come this far and I have no intention of backing down at this stage. Meanwhile, I am delighted to say that, for me and many others in my position, life goes on.
In conversation with Ronan McGreevy
