Frances Hilditch had to knock back a few vodkas when she was diagnosed with cancer but now, five years on, she's well enough to enjoy chasing her grandchildren, she tells Claire O'Connell
I WAS TOLD I had cancer on my 60th birthday, March 7th, five years ago. The previous Christmas the breast had been swollen. I said it to Jolene, one of my daughters, that it was very red. She said to go to the doctor after Christmas. I eventually went down to the doctor and said I want you to look at this, and I was sent straight into hospital to have tests done.
Then on my birthday, I was told I had breast cancer, that was my birthday present. They told me in the hospital, up in one of the rooms off St Anne's ward in St Vincent's. They told me that I had breast cancer, and they would put me on the drug herceptin because the form I had was Her2.
It was Prof John Crown who told me. He's a sweetheart, I think he's amazing. We don't see him all that much now, he's very busy, he really is a great man.
I brought Jolene in with me to get the diagnosis. I said to Jolene, 'you'll have to be my ears' because I get to a point where people can say something and I don't want to hear it. I can cope but I don't want to hear it.
I remember coming out of the hospital and standing on the steps with Jolene and I said: "He said I had cancer, didn't he?" She said yes. We went across the road to a pub and I got a vodka, threw it down, then got a bigger one, threw that down and we went home. I made a mug of coffee, I sat down and then when everybody was gone I had my little cry because of the thoughts of everything.
I was so awkward at the beginning it was unbelievable. I wanted everyone to go away from me, not to talk to me, not be ringing me. I even told my husband, Tom, to pack his bags, but he didn't.
Then I was in, and I got all the treatment, chemo and radium, the whole lot, and then the herceptin. I used to go in at nine in the morning and it was six in the evening before I'd get out. It's such a long thing at the time, there were so many drip bags going up - I never want to see a drip again - and it probably wasn't as long, it's just that sometimes in your head you think it's longer than it was.
In the hospital I found it very, very boring, sitting there for hours and I got very cheeky. I asked how long am I going to be on this? The doctor said the rest of your life. I asked how long is that, and he said as long as you want it to be.
The staff at St Vincent's are wonderful. To the present day they are terrific. I couldn't say a word against any of them. And John Crown is a very honest man. He's out to get better treatment in hospitals around the country. Why should people have to travel from Longford to St Vincent's to be looked after? To me that's silly.
While I've been getting the treatment the staff there ask how I'm doing, and I have been keeping great. The only side effect I had was losing my hair from the chemo. I woke up one morning and got out of the bed and looked at the pillow and thought what the heck is that? It was all the hair from the back of my head. Still, it grew back, and the same colour.
At first I had to go in for the treatment every day, then it gradually cut back and now it's only once every three weeks and I have scans every few months. My youngest brother, who has since died of cancer himself, and my sister-in-law and my daughter were very good and drove me in from Bray and back out at first, but now I go by myself. I'm very independent.
The tumour has shrunk, but it hasn't spread, that's the most important thing. I suppose I was unlucky to get the tumour, but lucky that it was the type that could be treated with herceptin.
I'm on herceptin for the rest of my life, they put it in with a line. But I have all the tricks now - like I keep the back of my hand warm because if it's cold it's more painful when the needle goes in.
I have seven grandchildren, aged from 15 down to one year. Some of them arrived since I started the treatment and now I can run around with them in the garden, I'm forever chasing them around.
So to anyone who has just been diagnosed, I'd say soldier on, keep going. Sometimes you can only see doom and gloom, but it's not always so.
• Readers who would like to talk about their own health experiences, good or bad, can contact this column at healthsupplement@irish-times.ie