AFTER a cancer diagnosis, mum Harriet Dow has chronicled her experiences in a moving and humorous blog. Here she shares some of her experiences.

MY name is Harriet Dow, I am 38 and live in North Yorkshire.

When I was 24-years-old I found a lump in my left breast and was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer. Surgery, chemotherapy, radiotherapy and hormone therapy followed. During my chemotherapy I married my incredible husband Robin.

This time in our lives was a horrendous struggle, but the treatment seemed to work and eventually cancer didn’t dominate our lives any longer. We travelled the world, developed our careers and most importantly became parents. I was well for 13 years and although the fear of the cancer returning never went away, we believed that I had ‘dodged the bullet’.

This was until early 2014 when I was diagnosed with secondary breast cancer. Secondary (or metastatic) breast cancer means that the cancer has spread from the original tumour to another part of the body. In my case it was my left lung. When it gets to this stage it is deemed to be incurable. Treatment is given, but this is to prolong life rather than cure the cancer. At the same time I was diagnosed with a separate thyroid cancer

I started writing a blog on the year anniversary of my diagnosis in May. Below are a few extracts:

Cancerversaries and scanxiety

Tomorrow it will be a year since I went for a routine chest X-ray after feeling a bit under the weather with a horrible, sick-making pain in my left shoulder and a bit of a sharp pain in my chest. It’s fair to say things went wrong from the moment I had a message from the GP that same day asking me to call them ASAP.

York Press:

Harriet and Robin

Scans revealed that a rather large tumour had taken up residence in the upper lobe of my left lung, and its smaller friend was having fun in the lower lobe. A keen-eyed radiologist also spotted something else untoward on the first CT and after a lot of discussion, many needles being inserted into my neck, one massive needle going into my chest and lung and pathologists doing their stuff, it was agreed that I had two separate cancers: oestrogen receptive metastatic breast cancer and papillary thyroid cancer.

When you live in the cancer world there is virtually a whole other language that you become aware of. Two words I have learned are ‘cancerversary’, when you generally acknowledge the anniversary of diagnosis, and ‘scanxiety’ which occurs as you await scan results…something that could easily replace many forms of torture.

So, on my cancerversary I am trying to get my head round the last year. The harsh truth of my situation is that I have been diagnosed with an incurable disease that will shorten my life. I have been lucky for someone with secondary cancer, in that I have been able to have surgical intervention to remove the cancer we know is there, but it is expected I will relapse. We desperately hope that will be a very long time away, but we also know that it might not be. Our lives are lived from scan to scan, experiencing...you guessed it…scanxiety!

Radioactive isolation

When you read this on Monday I will be in Leeds receiving radioiodine treatment for the thyroid cancer. We hope this will be the last physical treatment I need for a long time. I can’t wait to spend the summer with my family.

The aim of this treatment is to absorb any thyroid cancer that still may be trying to have a wee holiday in my neck. I will be radioactive and holed up in a lead lined room for four days. When I emerge, hopefully not a funny shade of green, I cannot be around children or pregnant people for up to two weeks. You can imagine how that feels as a mother. Not brilliant. My amazing husband will be keeping the plates spinning brilliantly as ever. The hot water bottle is in the spare bed at my parents’ house already in anticipation of my enforced vacation.

As I emerge, blinking into the daylight…OK I’m getting carried away now... I will have a full body scan that will show where the radioiodine has been absorbed. Only thyroid tissue absorbs it. If it shows it has been absorbed elsewhere other than my neck, for example on my lung, then it means the thyroid cancer has spread. I have decided it’s time for some luck so this isn’t going to be the case. We found out last week that there were more nodes containing breast cancer than we first thought in the samples that they took from my neck during my last surgery, so as we just get up from that beating, it would be nice not to have another for a while please.

I do have the unenviable boast that I have in fact been radioactive before. When I had my treatment for primary breast cancer in 2001, I had iridium needles inserted into the site of my primary tumour and left there for three days whilst I resided in a lead lined room.

My 24-year-old wannabe retro self decided I would take up knitting when I was in there, but once in situ I discovered the teeny issue of having no idea what to do when you reach the end of a row of stitches and because I was radioactive I couldn’t really get any help. So I managed a small square in the end as my mother stood behind a huge lead shield during her visits trying to instruct me how to do it. You will note from my lack of knitted goods empire that I didn’t pursue it much further.

So people, place your bets on how much liquid I can consume to help the radiation on its way, how much sleeping I will do whilst in there, if I will maintain my proud achievement of never having watched an episode of Jeremy Kyle and how…wait for it. I will cope without wireless…I can hear your gasps from here.

York Press:

Kindness knows no bounds

Life seems breathtakingly cruel at times. But the past year has made me realise the many things for which I am incredibly grateful. My husband Robin (pictures with Harriet above) is the best. Fact. I receive world class treatment from the National Health Service; Harrogate, York and Leeds Hospitals. The people looking after me are nothing short of incredible in the way they care. I am so lucky.

I have an absolutely brilliant oncologist who listens to me and tells me things straight. He is patient and kind and we are so grateful. I have a wonderful employer. Kindness knows no bounds. We are surprised daily with gestures and messages of support and love. My physical and virtual support networks are incredible.

feel so loved and supported by family and friends and also by the Younger Breast Cancer Network – a Facebook group for women under 45 with breast cancer. I also get huge support from the charity Trekstock, which gives advice to young adults experiencing cancer.

I plan on having many, many more cancerversaries.

- You can follow Harriet’s blog at harryhatd.wordpress.com

Harriet's 12 months in summary

It is utterly impossible to fully articulate the past 12 months, but in summary, it has seen the following that is quantifiable:
6 chest X-rays
5 CT scans
1 PET scan (a specialist scan on which active cancer ‘lights up’)
1 MRI scan, during which I couldn’t stop thinking about Madonna falling offstage at the Brits, which isn’t good when you can’t laugh 
1 bone scan
1 PICC line in my arm for 4 months that chemotherapy was pumped through
6 courses of chemotherapy
1 full head of hair disappearing
40 odd headscarves (became an obsession)
144 pre and post chemo steroids
1 swollen face and steroid related bloating
18 days throughout chemo of total hyperactivity due to the steroids
2 weeks after each chemo wanting to rip my own skin off
12 bottles of tonic water as normal water was revolting during chemo
7 nights in 3 different hospitals
2 general anaesthetics
1 lung removed (well, they left me a teeny bit)
1 thyroid removed
28 lymph nodes removed from the left side of my neck of which:
14 nodes had thyroid cancer in them
3 nodes had breast cancer in them (a total shock to learn of spread to my neck)
2 post surgery drains
2 catheters
1 morphine pump
2 suspected blood clots
2 A&E visits
1 chest infection
6 hormone implant injections and 6 months of hormone tablets, both of which I will be on forever or until they stop working for me as a form of treatment
2 painful feet, ankles and legs due to hormone treatment, resulting in reduced mobility
1 paralysed vocal chord resulting from the lung surgery (now finally on the mend)
12 reflexology treatments at my cancer centre
6 psychology appointments at my cancer centre
365 days of unrelenting thinking and worrying about cancer.