'From the moment you feel the lump, it's a waiting game'

Naoise Coogan is a mother-of-two, freelance journalist and PR and digital marketing executive living in Co Kilkenny.

She and her husband John were astonished to recently learn, following a breast check at Waterford University Hospital – a centre of excellence in breast care – that Naoise had breast cancer.

In a new series, Naoise writes about her journey from the day she discovered a lump to starting radiotherapy. Breast cancer is treated in a standardised manner under very particular guidelines in Ireland and these guidelines are followed by all of the centres of excellence around the country. If caught on time, breast cancer is considered very treatable and women of all ages are encouraged to check their breasts for lumps on a regular basis, getting anything unusual examined by a GP. Early diagnosis is vital to saving lives.

Chapter one: The Lump

It’s a waiting game. From the moment you feel it. Waiting for a doctor’s appointment, waiting for a referral. Waiting for the day of the mammogram. Waiting in the waiting room for the mammogram. Waiting for the discussion after the mammogram. Waiting for results of the biopsy – which is where I am today.

A few weeks ago I felt a lump in my breast. Being a glass half-full type of person, I wasn’t overly concerned. However, I did think I should maybe get it checked. My doctor works three days a week and it’s hard to get an appointment. However, I got one by default while I was attending her colleague with one of the kids one day and so, finally, after nearly three weeks, had a breast check.

She wasn’t overly concerned but was adamant that, even so, she was referring me for a mammogram – just as a precaution. Living in the south east, I chose to attend Waterford Hospital as it was convenient and it was a centre of excellence. I still wasn’t concerned. I travelled with my mom as my husband minded the kids. He was more concerned than I was, wishing me luck – really when I thought there was no need.

I had a clinical check. Was told, yes – as my doctor had thought – it was probably a cyst, but again they were not going to take a clinical examination as gospel and so I was sent for a mammogram as expected. This was downstairs in a dedicated unit of the hospital.

We waited in anticipation. At this stage I was getting apprehensive but again was not too anxious. I had texted my husband and sister and brother to tell them that it was most likely a cyst as that was what the doctor had determined from the clinical examination, so there was relief already in the air.

I was called for the mammogram and got squashed and squeezed between two plates, which I thought was a bit unnecessary as even if the lump hadn’t been sore before, it certainly was now. After the squash and the squeeze from the mammogram machine, I was sent for an ultrasound. You could not say that these guys weren’t thorough, that’s for sure, I thought. Finally, the specialist arrived and covered me in ultrasound jelly. I knew about this – I had two kids which were scanned as often as was safely possible during their gestation period.

After rolling a jelly-covered utensil over my left breast, he said, “We will need to do a biopsy.”

“Really?” I thought. “Is this seriously going down the route I think it is?”

Who could be prepared for this?

Not a fan of needles, my sugar levels began to slowly drop and my body began to shake. The piercing of the needle into my breast was more than I had prepared myself for on this day. This was supposed to have been a photograph of my breast and a clean bill of health. Not a 10-inch needle piercing my body and what sounded like three staples being stamped into my breast. The nurse was amazing. She was understanding, concerned and caring about my sudden dive into a quivering mess. What had just happened? A few moments ago I was a confident and happy-go-lucky girl having a breast check. I had suddenly turned into a trembling baby with a feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach.

“You can get dressed and we can talk afterwards,” he said. “Do you have someone with you to drive you home?”

I felt it again.

“Yes,” I said. “My mom is outside the door.” Thank God for that. I was fit for nothing by now. I changed and he came straight out.

“Is that your mom?”

I nodded.

“Maybe bring her along.”

I felt it again.

We sat in some sort of a theatre room on a bench-like seat and he pulled up a chair.

“There is an abnormality,” he said. “I won’t know everything until we get the results from the biopsy of course but in my opinion, it has to come out.”

“OK and why is that?” I asked. “Is this sinister?”

“I don’t like the look of it. I will be recommending that it be removed whatever the results of the biopsy.”

My mom began asking questions about the C word and hospitals and experts and specialists and second opinions and I was quiet. Except for the shaking hands.

“Is this really happening to me?” I thought.

We left the room. Dazed. In a completely different world than the one we had occupied when we had walked in. People sat around the waiting room chatting and all I could think of was there is a strong possibility that I have cancer. The world became quieter and we walked in shock to the car.

One week to wait until the biopsy results. You will be sent an appointment for next Thursday he had said. You can speak to the surgeon and plan your course of action then. Until then, just wait.

And so, I am waiting. And my family are waiting. And my friends are waiting. And I have never had to wait like this before. It feels bizarre. It feels like someone else’s life.

But thank God for amazing family and intuitive friends who understand I am not one to sit around and wait – I am a doer. And so I am exhausted from a week of constant planned activity but grateful to every one of them for keeping my head so occupied during this lengthy wait.

Just 24 hours and I will know my fate. Best-case scenario: a lumpectomy. Worst case: cancer, chemo, mastectomy and spreading. I am optimistic that the former will be my diagnosis. But I am preparing for the worst too. I am 41 years old. I have two adorable little girls and the kindest husband a girl could ever have. This cannot happen to them. Whatever about me.