My doctor looked at me grimly and said “Sorry, I’m afraid that you have the very rare condition of male breast cancer. Only one in a hundred thousand males get breast cancer. “You are going to need a full mastectomy and probably require chemo and radiation treatment as well. You will be having treatment for the next 12 months, followed by a lifetime of care and medication”. I went home numbed by this news. Jack Schitt1 unusually welcomed me home with a very long “Meow”
I sat in my favorite chair in complete and utter shock. Breast cancer? What? Me? Cancer gets in the nether region for us blokes, but cancer in my left breast? No way Hosea. I’m a normal 63-year-old guy with a slightly hairy chest and man-boobs. Nope, I had cancer and cancer kills. Unbelievably, on exactly the 22nd day and year anniversary of my father’s death from prostate cancer. Only three months before this date my mother had died from cervical cancer on my 40th birthday. Timing can be cruel. I had many unanswerable questions on my mind. Why me? Will this cancer eventually kill me? What did I do wrong? How will I pay my mortgage? Can I/Should I complete my profession’s refresher course? At least the TV gameshow questions were answerable as a one guess in three; these ones were certainly not. An old Chinese proverb came to mind “Any fool can ask a question that a wise man cannot answer”. Naturally, I had some tears; Jack jumped on my lap, which was most unusual. Sitting and fretting at this time is perfectly normal, and 99% of what we think might happen never happens, so that is wasted time and energy. I promised myself that I would not panic and to remain calm. The life changing day’s events will require a great deal of strength, both physically and mentally. Most of all I will need support from many people. Some things you just can’t do by yourself. And that’s quite OK.
My adventure started with a small dimple on my left man-boob’s arm side that I had noticed whilst showering. Oh, the price of getting old and wrinkly. Over several months the dent grew slightly deeper, but of course, was of no concern. I mentioned it to my GP on a routine visit for another matter. He felt a hard[1]moveable lump at the bottom of the dimple and said that this was most likely a fatty lump, or a benign cyst, not to worry, but it will require investigating. Or, just another odor eater in the sneaker of life. A week later I had an appointment at the clinic for a mammogram. Blokes don’t have mammograms. It seemed so wrong. I slipped in with a hoodie on hoping that no one would see me. The waiting room was very female-orientated, with women’s magazines, flowers etc. Enya was playing a soothing tune. Not a “Trucker’s Monthly” in sight. What little breast tissue I had was put into a vice. Guys – the girls are right. It really bloody hurts. An ultrasound showed a 3cm long cigar-shaped mass in my breast, next to a rib bone. It looked like something from a low-budget horror movie – a black gremlin with tendrils sticking out. I asked for a photo of it for the record. Next came a needle biopsy – a hollow needle shoved four times quickly into the black blob to get tissue samples. It didn’t really hurt; my pride was though. The samples resembled small white worms in a tiny water bottle. Surprisingly, not red as when you cut up meat. I was promptly telephoned to come in to see my G.P. Right away. Instinctively I knew that the light at the end of the tunnel was indeed a train coming – if the biopsy was clear the conversation would have been held over the phone. Bad news is always best-given face to face.
I let family know of my diagnosis immediately. They were also disbelieving and had never heard of cancer in the male breast. I called my sister who had only a few weeks ago been diagnosed with bowel cancer and was almost killed with the ensuing chemo. We compared notes and discussed the chances of two siblings getting cancer within weeks of each other! Friends were also shocked and once again had never heard of men’s breast cancer. This was a woman’s disease. The support from everyone was humbling. Diana2 and I visited the surgeon and his trainee. I went cold with the news he gave me that I would be having a total mastectomy – not just the black blob and surrounds were to be removed. This is preferred for men as they do not have the same cosmetic consequences that a female has; apparently, the more taken from my left chest area the better. We asked loads of questions and there was some technical jargon to grasp as well, my cancer was an invasive carcinoma (no special type). Grade 2, Oestrogen Receptor Positive, Progesterone receptors +ve, and HER2 receptors -ve, whatever all that rocket science means. The surgeon was very empathetic and understanding, putting the technical stuff in layman’s language. I learnt that cancer is specific to a particular body area. If it travels to another place it is referred to by its originating site. Oh well, if this has to be, just get on with it. Get this rot out of me. Now.
Link to the writings of Brian Pinny. V5 A Male with Breast Cancer.pdf