Anna's story

We're sharing stories from some of our wonderful members of the secondary breast cancer community. Anna shares her story with us.

"Since my secondary breast cancer diagnosis early in 2023, I've had Gamma Knife surgery which initially shrank my brain metastasis for a year. Then between March 2024 and June 2024 it doubled in size.

I was terrified I'd have to have brain surgery and depressed that I might have to chemo again (chemo for primary breast cancer was hard). I truly have no fear of dying, I was more scared of the treatment. I didn't want to go through unpleasant procedures and lengthy ill health that would impact my quality of life. I dislike our culture's death phobia and am not someone who would continue to have endless procedures and debilitating, long and drawn out treatment just to eke out a little more time. I'd rather die with some grace and dignity, having prepared myself practically (I've paid for and planned my funeral); mentally; emotionally and spiritually for this rite of passage. So for a month that was my mindset.

Then I met with the neurosurgeon who was wonderfully and refreshingly frank... if I didn't have my brain metastasis removed I would go blind in one eye and then I'd die (I was already experiencing visual changes). I asked for a few days to absorb and reflect on this as well as talk to my loved ones and do some fact finding. As I had a solitary brain met and no evidence of other mets elsewhere in my body, plus the fact that my met was in an easy to reach location (left temporal parietal lobe), surgery was the best option and it seemed foolish to refuse when it was eminently treatable.

I reflected that it would have been a very different decision making process for me if I'd had multiple mets. So I had the surgery and hoped I wouldn't need any more treatment. I was pretty euphoric at this stage and felt that I'd been born again after the apprehension and stress of the build up to this point. But of course my oncologist said they recommended further treatment ... weekly chemo for 18 weeks to mop up the distinct possibility of rogue secondary cancer cells. Yuck. Again I went off and did my research before I decided. It was then that I learned I was in a good position to remain NEAD for as much as 10 or even more years (I'm 56) with the treatment regime they were suggesting.

So in my case the benefits of treatment outweighed the costs and now I'm plodding through the next few months of chemo, again. However, this slight blip should buy me a pretty good survivorship all being well (and if not and the cancer decides it's having the upper hand then I'll graciously accept that).

Secondary breast cancer has changed me beyond measure... physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually. It has been hard and continues to be hard, sometimes I'm annoyed about it, but mostly I'm pretty thankful this has happened to me. I'm aware my attitude is probably not necessarily the expected one. I even felt a little short changed when I realised that I might survive a lot longer than I thought. However, that realisation has happily only augmented my appreciation for my earth walk.

And whilst I have learned to step lightly through this world and not get too bogged down in its more pointless (human manufactured) propaganda, I am also enriched beyond measure by the beauty and joy of being human, and the opportunity to build relationships with all nature (human and the other than human). So, thank you cancer for giving me that gift and taking me on a journey that got my head out of my backside."

For anyone who is newly diagnosed, Anna advises:  "It will probably be hard to share all your feelings with your loved ones unless they are so totally on your wavelength that they truly get it. So do, do, do get support from the right professionals as well, for example out patient services at your local hospice (remember palliative care is not just for end of life).

This diagnosis will make you feel as weak as a kitten but know that it will also make you as fierce as a lion. It'll wake you up but it doesn't have to be a rude awakening. My hope for you is that it will be a gift, albeit a bittersweet one perhaps. 

Not everyone wants to know everything about their cancer and its treatment, but knowing enough to have informed choice is vitally important. And remember not to compare your situation to others too much. Although there'll be some common similarities, everyone's treatment and journey will be different.

I wish you well on this next part of your journey, there'll be times when you wish everything would just go back to how it was before but try and embrace this learning curve and see how many opportunities it gives you to be the human you were always meant to be. Oh, and be nice to the nurses... always."

Thank you Anna for sharing your story with us.