My side of the story

What a rollercoaster ride the last two and a half weeks have been! To tell you that our world has changed since the 12th of May would be putting it lightly. It's amazing how I, for one, have been taking our good health as a given, and how the change in this assumption has influenced our perspective.

Lourika has written a lot about what has taken place, as she has been to all of the hospital visits on her own while I were looking after the lads. On Thursday last week our kind friend Liezel Lotz looked after the two boys (and her own two girls!) so that Lourika and I could meet with the surgeon who would be taking charge of the treatment if we decide to remain in the UK. IT's somewhat ironic that if surgery is required - and this seems quite likely - that it will be done my Mr. Carpenter. Why Mr. and not Dr.? Many centuries ago surgery started out of the barber trade, and in order to distinguish themselves frmo the physiscians, they opted for the title of Mr. (or Miss) , and it's used to this day.

We met with him at St Bartholomew's Hospital in the City. I immediately felt relaxed when I met him - he seems very confident about the way forward, and it's clear that he is quite experienced in his field. He discussed the probable way forward, although this depends on outcome of the final test results, and Lourika's appointment with the oncologist. In all likelihood Lourika will have six chemotherapy sessions over four months, followed by surgery.

Speaking of the test results; it seems that the cancer has not spread beyond her breast and lymph nodes under her arm, so that was great news. As the doctor told Lourika: "You're young, you're healthy, and you just happen to have a lump in your breast. So go and relax in South Africa for a couple of weeks, and we can fight this once you are back." So that's where Lourika and the boys are at the moment, while I am writing this from a room on the 24th floor of the Hotel Jen in Hong Kong. I am here for business, and am relieved that we long ago decided that Lourika, Hugo and Ivan spend this time in SA.

Thanks to every one who has supported us through phone calls, text messages, e-mail, and most importantly their prayers. Never before have we physically been so far removed from our loved ones, but felt so close because of the overwhelming messages of love, hope and support that we have received. You do not begin to understand what this means to us!

Until next time!

Andries

Quo vadis?

One of the decisions that Andries and I need to take is where to have the treatment done - in the United Kingdom or in South Africa?

Quo vadis? is a Latin phrase meaning "Where are you going?" We know that treatment in the UK will be world class, but South African doctors are also world renowned. Our support sytem is better back home, but it would mean that Andries has to leave a job that he has grown to enjoy so much (although he said that he'll return tomorrow if that is what I want to do!).

The boys and I set off for South Africa in two days' time, but on Thursday before we fly out Andries and I will together see the surgeon (Mr Carpenter) for the first time. Based on our discussion with him, and what we learn from our appointments with two oncologists in South Africa, we will be able to make the call. This is not going to be an easy one...

By the way - Monday 25 May was a bank holiday in England, but also my first down day when I was pretty angry about this lump in my breast. I'll have more such days - I am sure. But then again I'll have great days, and we'll make the most of it!

More tests than the Lions Tour to SA

On Wednesday 13 May, the day after I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I wake up early. Suddenly I wish it was yesterday, as yesterday I did not have cancer yet.

We write an e-mail to our closest friends, and over the weekend Andries sends out his "London Bulletin" where he also breaks the news. Messages of support, prayers and so many success stories of victory over cancer stream in, and we cry some more. Andries informs his boss, and he pledges his full support during this difficult time.

The next two weeks are filled with tests. Mammogram, MRI scan on the breasts and chest, CT scan on the liver and lungs, core breast biopsy and a bone scan. We also talk to an oncologist in South Africa, and she provides valuable guidance. She is the sister of someone in my parents-in-law's care group - the Lord works in wonderful ways!

Andries' aunt Elizabeth visits us during this time - a trip that she book long ago. She helps with the kids and the household, and it was great to have her around.

On Friday 22 May I see Mr Carpenter (fitting name, isn't it?)- a general surgeon specialising in breast surgery (removal and reconstruction). He had a look at most of the results and reckons that the tumour is close to 4 centimetres in diameter, and located so deep in the tissue that a mastectomy is quite likely. He wants to start with a series of chemotherapy treatments, and then perform the surgery. He lifts my spirit with his plan of action, and I feel positive about the road ahead.

Throughout this time we keep on receiving messages of support and prayers, and I just know that God has great plans in stall for me in these trying times.

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...

Setting the scene

In March 2008 Andries phoned me from a Momentum product launch and told me that there is an opportunity to move to London and work for RMB Asset Management International. This is something that we have discussed for some time, but it was something different now that it became a distinct possibility. With two young sons (Ivan was not even born at the time) we knew that it would be a challenge, but one that we were keen to take up.

We wrapped up everything at home, and on 3 October left for Heathrow - with a six month old baby, two and three quarter year old toddler and a mother-in-law in tow. Our new home was a two bedroom flat on the third floor of an apartment building on the Isle of Dogs (near Canary Wharf), overlooking a beautiful park and the river Thames.

Andries enjoyed his work immensely, and even though I had a couple of tough days (and weeks) with the boys at home - especialy during the colder months - we settled in well, and even managed to travel to Paris, Belgium and the Cotswolds.

In March 2009 Andries' company announced some personnel cuts, and he was fortunate to still be employed. His work load increased somewhat as two of his close colleagues were made redundant, but he revelled in the challenge.

So, in short, all was hunky dory until the month of May, when we were surprised by an unexpected tackle from left field (to use a football expression...)