The game begins

My story starts in September 2006 when I first visited my GP's surgery. I had noticed a firmness in my breast, and despite telling myself that it was muscle from my recent exercise regime, I decided I should just reassure myself. I found myself in hospital the next month being told it was a lump, of course it was a lump, and that I had to have a radical mastectomy. I sought a second opinion, and although this second consultant had a much kinder bedside manner, the diagnosis of cancer remained the same and a mastectomy was recommended. By November the deed had been done. I was now a fully paid up Amazon. One of the fabled huntresses who chop off a breast to improve their aim and accuracy with a bow. Despite being in and out of hospital within days, and despite the number of such surgeries performed weekly in hospitals throughout the country this is no small operation. There is pain involved. There is disfigurement. And there is fear. And... there is worse to come. After giving the body a few weeks to heal, the chemotherapy starts. I was told that the cancer had already spread and there were tumours over each ovary. Fortunately, the tumours did decrease in size as a result of the chemotherapy, though they still remain. I had six cycles which took me from just before Christmas to Easter the following year. That's when the real game began.