Tackle from left field

Early in May I discovered a lump in my left breast. Having breast fed both of our boys for around twelve months each, I was not too concerned and just thought it was due to stopping breastfeeding Ivan in March this year. I had a doctor's appointment set up for Ivan, and thought that I may as well see the doctor while we were at the rooms and promptly set up one for me as well. The kind female doctor that examined me said that "it's probably nothing to worry about", but suggested that we have it checked out by a specialist.

So, on 12 May, I set off for St Bartholomew's Hospital to have a scan done. I was more nervous about the journey into the city than the actual examination, as I have not been to this part of London before. As it happened Andries was at home - it was Hugo's first day at Rainbow play school and Andries promised him that he'll join him for the first day of his new adventure.

I was just in time for the appointment. I had to undress above my waist, and had to put an NHS (National Health Service) gown on. I wish we could just get this over with as there was a thousand things to do at home. The doctor examined me, and I was sure that he thought he's in pottery class...

He sends me for a sonar, and the radiologist is very kind. She asks me about the kids, and when she hears that I am from South Africa she wants to know about Zuma. I reply that I wish he will pleasantly surprise all of us.

She uses a long needle to extract some tissue from the lump, and immediately says that "it's not a sack filled with liquid - it's a solid lump... ... and I see one swollen gland under your arm...". I just new this was not going to be good news.

They ask me to wait again while the tissue is being examined. Suddenly I realise that the whole process was pretty painful!

Wait, wait, and wait a little more. Eventually Dr Mostafa enters the room with two female assistants in tow, and I fear the worst. "I have one more question", he says, "do you smoke"? "No, never." comes my automatic reply. And then he says: "I have bad news, it's the cancer. The breast cancer."

I am dumbstruck. I look at the two ladies, and realise that my tears have started to flow. How can this be happening - I have two kids, one and three years old - who's going to look after them?

The next twenty minutes is a blur - they descibe all the further tests that I need to undergo, and I try to explain (typical to my personality!) that I have planned a visit to SA in two weeks' time, so all tests must be done by then.

The doctor leaves me inthe capable hands of Eileen - a cancer patient support worker. She is an angel. She has to be - who on earth wants to spend each day of her leave telling people that they have cancer?

And then the tough bit - I need to phone my husband and break the news to him. The line was bad, and he only caught the bit about it being "bad news". And the it took forever to get back home.

At home Andries holds me in his arms and we cry for a bit - we are both at a loss for words. And then our practical sides kick in - we need to wait for the further tests' results before we can really decide what to do about this whole new challenge that we are facing.

I am the Lord's child, and his will for my life will be done.

We phone my parents first. How do you break this news over the phone to someone that is 10 000 kilometres away? They are shocked, and I can sense that they are searching for the right words to say. Then we phone Andries' folks, and mother-in-law Ronel has uplifting words of support. My father-in-law prays for us, and we cry a little more.

I Skyped my friend Anne-Marie, and she is clearly distraught. Andries and I cry again, and then we go to sleep - emotionally drained. This day was supposed to be about Hugo's first day at school, and not about my new journey...