Scan for early warning signs

“I have something to tell you and it’s not easy. We received word that your auntie Wafa has been diagnosed with breast cancer,” said my father, Maan, breaking the news to the family.

My hands started to shake as his words echoed in my head. My auntie, my second mother, who I visited every day during my childhood ... how could this be?

She lived a wholesome, healthy lifestyle. She didn’t smoke and was always in the best shape, popping vitamins and eating all the right things. She migrated to Canada and continued the good life and looked after me when I started university in Ottawa in my late teens.

You hear stories from friends and acquaintances and you think this could never happen to your own family, not to someone you love so much. But, the reality is, you may never know until it is too late, unless you check.

Auntie Wafa is a survivor. She is now aged 55 and was first diagnosed in 2009, on June 10, as having Stage 2 breast cancer. Stage 2 indicates a slightly more advanced form of the disease. At this stage, the abnormal malignant cells have spread beyond the original location into the surrounding tissue and the tumour is larger than those identified at Stage 1.

However, it means the cancer has not spread to distant parts of the body. The survival rate for Stage 2 breast cancer is approximately 70 per cent, which means that most women will live for at least eight years after being diagnosed. Most diagnosed at this stage will usually live long and normal lives providing they continue to exercise and eat a healthy diet.

A tumour is often detected during self-examination as a hard lump within the breast. In fact, that is exactly how my auntie first discovered it. She said: “Ironically, I was sitting at home watching a TV series called The Doctors and it was an interesting episode about breast cancer. Doctor Lisa was talking about her mum and the importance of conducting self-examinations.

“I thought to myself, well, let’s try it out and that’s when I felt something under my armpit. I made arrangements to get it checked out by a doctor.”

After tests, the following month she received confirmation and had to come to terms with the diagnosis. For some reason she didn’t want people to know straightaway, including my brother and I, because she didn’t want to upset us.

Growing up, this was the woman who taught me to dance, she gave me prolific advice, she was my shopping buddy and so often people would mistake us for sisters.

I can understand why she wanted to protect me because hearing the news came as a huge blow. If I felt this bad, I couldn’t imagine how her husband Wael, 59, and their children Sami, 30, and Ehab, 27, handled it.

But they stood strong. My auntie told me that they were her symbol of strength. As upsetting as the news was, their support and encouragement never faltered.

She said: “I could not have coped without my family. Ehab was with me from day one going to the check-ups and holding my hand throughout.

“When I first heard the news about my diagnosis I was upset and shaken. I really did not know what to expect. I like to be in control of my own destiny. I was emotional. Even if a nurse put her hand on my shoulder to comfort me, I cried.”

My mother Hana travelled to Canada to be by her side and stayed with her for several weeks as she underwent a series of six chemotherapy sessions and 25 radiation treatments.

She said: “I started my first session and once the injection pierced my skin it hit me. This was real. In an instant I put my feelings of doubt aside and vowed, no more tears. I had my family to think of and to be strong for.”

The most common chemotherapy agents act by killing cancerous cells but they also harm those that divide rapidly under normal circumstances, such as in the bone marrow, the digestive tract and hair follicles.

This results in the most common side-effects including myelosuppression (decreased production of blood cells, hence also immunosuppression), mucositis (inflammation of the lining of the digestive tract) and alopecia (hair loss).

Unlike many women who watch their hair fall out during the procedure, auntie Wafa took matters into her own hands. She said: “I went to the salon, sat down and said ‘shave my head’. It felt empowering although my younger sister Nabila kept saying ‘your beautiful hair’, but I was ready for it.”

She looked stunning in a wig although she never wore it in the home. She explained: “This is who I am and the family needed to see it. My husband then shaved his head in solidarity but what surprised me is, on the very same day, my son, Ehab, shaved his too.”

After her last chemo session she raced out of the hospital and danced in the car park. Her strength and positivity has truly been inspiring.

I am still amazed by her energy and the smile on her face. She even found time to come to my engagement party in Bahrain a few months after she finished treatment with a full head of natural curls and a healthy glow.

She gave me the courage to go and get checked at the American Mission Hospital in Manama to help raise awareness of breast cancer and to highlight the importance of early detection.
Now in my early thirties, with a history of cancer in my family, it could do no harm to find out, although it is suggested that regular mammography screening, costing BD32, should start at the age of 40.

On Thursday I made my way to an early mammogram session with radiographer Arbabi Abbas. She re-assured me that it was a simple procedure and while I may feel some discomfort, it would be over before I knew it.

There is a booklet that explains everything a woman needs to know about mammography. The breast is slowly pressed between two compression paddles to ensure all the tissue can be seen by the X-ray machine.

She gave me a sheer blue hospital gown, which opened in the front unlike the ones that bare your bottom, a lead neck guard for thyroid protection and a lead apron to protect other parts of the body.

After getting my gear on, I heard Arbabi shout: “Ready or not, here I come.”

Four views are taken, two from the top and two from the side. She guided my right breast first between the paddles to position it correctly. I’m glad she had warm hands.

Together we compressed the paddles. It was uncomfortable but it didn’t last more than a second. I joked: “So, should I smile?” It raised a small laugh as the expert continued the study of my left breast. She then rotated the machine and repeated the procedures for the side views.

After all was done she showed me the X-rays. They appeared clear and I await the results for confirmation. She then gave me a pink ribbon along with a pamphlet on how to conduct future self-examinations.

This week has been especially hard on my family. On Tuesday evening my uncle Nabil died of lung cancer at the young age of 50 in the US city and county of San Francisco.

We were told by the doctors that he would have three to six months to live but that wasn’t to be the case. When I heard the news I flashed back to my fiancé Sam’s father, Paul Emmanuel Camille, who also suffered from the disease and was given a similar diagnosis. He sadly passed away suddenly as well and is missed every day. It was a shock then and that feeling never changes. 

My uncle was a warm, loving family man who cherished his children and had a wonderful sense of humour. All the family love him and miss him.

Cancer strikes when you least expect it. Early diagnosis is vital. Don’t be too timid to get checked.