Picture it: Spring 2021. I had yet another mammogram as part of the Ontario Breast Screening Program. After several years, I was used to the results coming back negative. This time, there was an abnormality, and I would need a biopsy. I’d had no pain and hadn’t felt any lumps when self-examining, but there you have it. When my husband and I saw the gynecologist for the results, here’s how the conversation went.

Doctor: “You have breast cancer.”

Me: “Are you sure?”

Doctor with raised eyebrows: “Yes.”

Me: “It’s just that we’re a colon cancer family.”

I have regular colonoscopies because I’m in a high-risk group for that form of disease. My father, brother and one of my sisters had colon cancer surgery.

The doctor explained that my breast cancer was caught in pre-stage, was about the size of a pencil eraser and was imbedded deep in my left breast. He mentioned that even he wouldn’t have found it with a breast exam. Thank you, Ontario Breast Screening Program.

Fast forward to summer surgery—a lumpectomy. For me, I had no pain before, during or after the surgery, except for one pre-surgical procedure that felt like someone lit a sparkler in my breast. The doctors, nurses, technicians and staff at Markham-Stouffville Hospital were professional and personable. I went home the day of the operation. Day surgery. Imagine that.

Turns out I still needed 17 rounds of radiation, which I had at Southlake Regional Cancer Centre in Newmarket. Again, everything was organized and professional. The radiation technicians advised me to use lotion on my breast after every treatment. I got myself a big jug of Lubriderm and did as they suggested. Each day, my devoted husband, Rich, who insisted on taking me to every appointment with the phrase, “We’re in this together,” reminded me to use the lotion. One day, he said, “Have you boobridermed yet?” This became a favourite saying at the radiation treatments, and I even wrote to Johnson & Johnson to relay the story. Hey, I got coupons for some free lotion, so BONUS.

Since that surgery, I’ve had a bilateral mammogram every spring, and so far, so good. During the breast cancer journey, I lost a lot of weight. When people noticed the loss and asked how I did it, my response was, “Cancer—but I don’t recommend it as a weight-loss program.”

Life went on for me, and aside from a detour to rotator cuff surgery in 2023 (OUCH), I felt great. Imagine my surprise in early winter 2024, when after more than 20 years of having no periods, I noticed spotting. My initial reaction was WTF? I thought I was done with bleeding from there. I had read an article on endometrial cancer, which is on the rise in older women because most of us ignore symptoms. So, I made the call to the doctor. My family physician ordered a pelvic ultrasound, which showed abnormalities. Off I went to a gynecologist for a pap smear and biopsy. Rich and I were astounded at the news that I had uterine cancer.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

She gave us three location options for surgery: two in downtown Toronto and Royal Victoria Hospital in Barrie. As we live in Sunderland, we chose Barrie – a much less stressful drive, plus we pass an Arby’s in Orillia on the way. There aren’t any of those chain restaurants near where we live, and we love their roast beef sandwiches. BONUS.

The Barrie hospital is big, beautiful and has a large cancer centre. We met with the surgeon and radiation technologist. After the pre-exam, the surgeon, who looks about 18 years old to me (but then again, most everyone looks about 18 to me these days), scheduled surgery for early March. There was a pre-op day when I met with a nurse, anesthetist, etc. Rich was infinitely patient with all the waiting. Cancer involves a LOT of waiting – for tests, test results, appointments, etc.

The surgeon explained that she would do a hysterectomy laparoscopically, which is far less invasive than the previous procedure. She said it would be day surgery (can you believe it?), but that if anything unexpected happened, she would revert to the full incision, and I’d have to stay overnight. At 73, I was prepared that anything might happen. My biggest worry was that our bulldog, who sleeps with me, would be upset that I wasn’t there.

Did I mention that I’m dog crazy? On the day of surgery, I asked everyone who helped me whether they had dogs. Several of the nurses and technicians do, and they showed me pictures. BONUS. I remember a couple of those little sweeties named Luigi and Kevin! I am easily distracted by dogs, even electronically.

But back to the story. When I woke up after having my uterus and ovaries yanked out, I felt no pain and was ready to go home. Of course, I had to stay in recovery for a couple hours, but again, dog photos from hospital staff helped me pass the time. Rich spent the day roaming the hospital, eating in the food court and being his usual patient self. We were delighted that I was able to go home that afternoon. Who would have ever thought a hysterectomy would be day surgery? Thank you again, medical technology. And on the way home, I devoured a small classic roast beef sandwich, much to the astonishment of my friends. Yes, it’s a US chain, but don’t yell at me. I have cancer, remember?

I may not be finished with this round of cancer yet. The surgeon took some lymph tissue to send to pathology, and I may need further treatment. My attitude is whatever it takes. Since surgery, I have had no pain. None. I’ve experienced some discomfort, but it’s more like a dull ache now and then. During the week of the operation, people commented that I looked great for someone who just had surgery. Apparently, cancer becomes me.

So, what’s the moral of this story? There are several.

• It helps me to use humour to cope with life’s downturns when it’s appropriate. But I don’t take cancer lightly. There is nothing funny about children having cancer or adults in pain.
• My experience in “beating” cancer involved a combination of a proactive attitude toward my health, the expertise of medical personnel, and plain old luck. The earlier cancer is found, the better. Pay attention to changes in your body. Look for unexplained weight loss, pelvic or other unusual pain.
• For women – take notice of any unusual vaginal discharge. And check your breasts. Have mammograms and colonoscopies. Yes, they’re uncomfortable, but cancer is worse.
• If you have a devoted spouse or partner as I have, great. But friends can be just as supportive, and I am grateful to my cheerleaders as I maneuvered my way through my cancer journeys.

So, am I done with cancer? Time will tell. I feel great, but I’m due for a colonoscopy in Spring 2027. Let’s hope cancer doesn’t come in threes.

Dorothea Helms is an award-winning writer who will turn 74 this year. She has had non-fiction, fiction and poetry published. She is inspired by her family and her bulldog, Linda Rose.