After Lauren's treatment ended she desperately wanted to return to ‘normal’, but became overwhelmed with anxiety. She tells us how she coped and found support to help her feel less alone.
After Lauren's treatment ended she desperately wanted to return to ‘normal’, but became overwhelmed with anxiety. She tells us how she coped and found support to help her feel less alone.
Doctors were confused about my diagnosis
I found a lump in April 2016, but wasn’t diagnosed until June 2016. I had a really rare malignant phyllodes tumour, and there was a lot of confusion as to whether it was cancer. My biopsy got sent to Leeds and was seen by a handful of different pathologists before it could be diagnosed. I was 25 at the time too, so they just didn’t expect it to be breast cancer.
My surgeon had only seen a handful of cases like mine in his career, which didn’t fill me with confidence. Doctors couldn’t agree on whether I should have radiotherapy, which I eventually had in October.
Once that ended, that was it – the end of treatment.
I thought I’d be overjoyed
I thought I'd be elated, relieved, wanting to celebrate, jumping for joy once treatment ended. I thought I would have an epiphany in life. I thought a giant weight would be lifted off my shoulders.
But I felt deflated. It was a complete anti-climax. I walked out of the hospital and thought, ‘What now?’
I felt pressure to return to normal
There was no way I could be the same person I was a year before. But I didn’t know where to start picking up the pieces.
I felt pressure to return to normal, because of my age, and didn’t have anything to tell me that what I was feeling was normal, that it was OK not to be OK. I was being pulled in two directions – this enormous thing had happened to me that I needed to process, but I desperately wanted to go back to who I was before I was diagnosed.
I ended up going back to work two weeks after radiotherapy ended. There were financial pressures, and I could see everyone else around me getting on with life; I wanted to as well.
I shut down from my mum
I'm an only child and have always been close to my mum. But I totally shut down on her. She was so scared and worried that seeing her scared me. She'd ask a question about it, and I'd get so mad. Seeing her so distressed brought it home to me and showed me my own fear.
I have a close-knit group of friends who were amazing, but in my wider circle, a couple of people I'd known for years just didn’t know what to say. A few just completely ignored me. They couldn’t handle it, perhaps because of something they were dealing with themselves.
That's damaged those relationships. Breast cancer makes you realise who you can rely on.
On the other side, I had friends who I hadn’t seen for 10 years – people from school who would drop me a message to see how I was doing.
My anxiety after treatment was totally different
I’m a worrier by nature and always struggled with anxiety. Once I finished treatment, though, it was very different to my stress during treatment. That was short-term and was based on physical realities like waiting for the next appointment.
Post-treatment was totally different. I had physical side effects which I knew would eventually go, but I found myself constantly worried about the future. I was willing for the next few years to speed up so I could get further away from my diagnosis and into ‘safety’.
I convinced myself I couldn’t have kids
A lot of my friends started having children. Although I'm young, I convinced myself that it couldn’t happen to me, I felt in a rush, that I should think about it now because what if it comes back?
My body fundamentally broke down on me. When was it going to break again?
I realised I can’t make life decisions like that.
My fear of recurrence comes in waves
There are triggers that set me off. I can completely forget about it, then my check-up will creep up on me or I will feel a pain in my ribs or armpits and I can feel my anxiety creeping back in. I get frustrated at how much it consumes me.
I don’t know if that fear ever goes away, but other things in life do take over.
Sometimes it gets easier, but then my head tells me, ‘Don’t be complacent, you’re not out of the woods, don’t take that sigh of relief – that’s when it will go wrong.’
I feel on guard all the time.
I found support that made me feel less alone
My family and friends were so supportive, but they couldn’t understand how I really felt. None of my friends had experience of this and how life-changing it was.
I went to a Younger Women Together event in Bristol which was incredible. For the first time, I didn’t feel like an outsider. I realised I wasn’t alone. It helped me normalise my fears, and stop beating myself up for dwelling on concerns and worries.
You have to do what makes you happy
I wish I hadn’t been so hard on myself straight after treatment ended.
It’s so important to do whatever you need to that can make you happy in that moment. There were a lot of times I wanted to stay in bed but forced myself to be ‘normal’ and get up and go.
Words like ‘should’ and ‘could’ were so pressurising. But they don’t really exist – there's nothing you should or could be doing, other than taking care of yourself.
I wish I'd let myself recover more mentally. I wish I'd been able to live in the moment. Finally, I'm getting there.
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