Lumps and Bumps

I went through a couple of experiences nearly two years ago that made me re-think how I did my writing. Until then, I'd written on scrappy bits of paper or old exercise books and then having poured out all my feelings, thoughts and ideas, I shredded most of what I'd written.

Strange? Probably but in a way it was self-preservation. If I got rid of it all, I didn't really need to admit it was how I really felt.

So what brought on the changes?

The first was going through my Grandma's house. It had been over a year since I'd last been in there and nothing had been moved or changed. It was quite literally as if she had just popped upstairs to the loo. I allowed myself a couple of days of just spending time there and going through her things so I could choose anything important. Whilst doing this I came upon a poem that my Great-Grandmother had written when her youngest son died at just 28. My Granny was a fierce, proud and strict lady (although I only ever remember her as a sweet and gentle white haired lady with a tartan rug on her lap) who ruled her kids with a rod of iron, slaps and belt. I had no idea that she had a poetic turn to her mind. And that got me thinking - nobody would ever know how creative my mind was as long as I continued to destroy my words.

The second was somewhat more dramatic, scary and life changing. Just three weeks before I started going through Grandma's house I found a lump in my left breast. As mum had died of breast cancer my immediate reaction was one of pure terror!

Trying to convince myself that I was feeling things, I checked again and again. But there it was in the cold light of day - a lump, in my breast! And the more I felt it the bigger it seemed to get. It's amazing how completely aware of your body you become at times like this. It was as if there was a huge sign above my head for all the world to see - 'look here! Huge Lump!'

Luckily I'm the kind of person who needs to know what she is dealing with. Not knowing is infinitely more stressful than coping with the actual situation. With this in mind I took myself off to the Doctor.

'It's almost certainly a fatty lump. But because of your history I'm going to send you off for some tests. You should get an appointment in 2 weeks.'

Rationally that should have reassured me a little bit but of course the main phrases I tuned into were 'lump' and 'tests'.

And so began my waiting game. A time of great stress and anxiety. A time to reflect on everything I'd done or not done. A time to think of the future and feel scared that I may not have one. It was during this time that I came to have an even deeper respect for my mum. How had she remained so calm for the years (not weeks) she'd spent dealing with lumps, tests and being prodded around?

I bought the first of many nice notebooks and began writing in earnest. But these weren't going to be destroyed. Inspired by Granny, Mum and my own fear I decided that I should write what the hell I liked and if other people didn't like it tough! And I'm so glad I did. My scribblings over the next couple of weeks kept me sane. I wrote pages and pages of anger filled, bitter, terrified and lonely words. All the pent up emotions relating to mum and Grandma's deaths came flooding out. All my own personal insecurities were laid bare. It probably sounds like a total Drama Queen attitude but when you face your own mortality you cease to care about certain things. I wasn't going to apologise for how I felt anymore and boy was it liberating!

Luckily for me my fatty lump was just that - a fatty lump. And I don't know if it's psychological but once I knew that, it just kind of disappeared. But it's left it's mark. It took me months to feel like a healthy, attractive and 'normal' female again. And it's left marks in other areas too. I'm even more vigilant about checking myself now. I'm even more aware of being healthy and avoiding certain kinds of food. I'm even more aware of research or developments in the fight against cancer. And I'm still a prolific writer. I don't go anywhere without my trusty notebook. Some of the things I write are total rubbish; a string of incoherent words, bizarre cliches and random thoughts. But occasionally there things I write that I think are ok.

Having taken the step of keeping my writing, the next step was sharing the books with people - what an absolutely terrifying thought! All those angst ridden emotions laid bare for the world to see and judge. But the desire to share one of the first things I wrote that summer seemed a natural process when visiting my good friend E just after my lump was given the all clear.

Like me she had found a lump in her breast, and like me she was lucky. We spent a long time discussing how it had made us feel emotionally. After a while of going round and round in circles and muddling our words, I said 'here, read this, it sums up EXACTLY how I felt.'

And this is what she read

Lumps and Bumps

Lump, bump, fatty tissue
Blocked gland, mild duct
A bit of grizzle.
The words that your bodily parts are reduced to!

Where are the lover like names and caresses?
The strokes and the touches that make you feel special?
The things that make you feel like a woman?

They are GONE!
And instead, all you're left with are these
lumps, bumps, fatty tissue.

Is this how my breasts will be seen from now on?
Inconvenient flesh mounds we need to be rid of.
Nothing exotic, erotic, attractive -
will I ever feel sexy or gorgeous or wanted?

Lump, bump, fatty tissue.
Is this my life sentence?
My God I sure hope not!



Not brilliant by any stretch of the imagination but when she finished reading it my friend turned to me and said thank you. Bewildered I looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

'I've never been able to voice how I felt about my lump, but that is exactly it. I feel as if you are the only other person who understands'

I have to admit there were a few tears shed! I know there's a lot of rubbish spoken about female bonding but it was so important for us that night. We had both been through something that had made us question our femininity and attractiveness. We had both been through something that made us face our mortality and we had both been scared, bewildered, angry and frustrated.

I wouldn't wish that fear on anyone. It is truly awful. But if writing about it encourages just 5 men to tell their wives, girlfriends, sisters to check themselves and 5 women to check themselves and tell a friend or loved one to do the same it will be worth it.