Chapter 2
The Choice & Surgery
Back to North Manchester
January 5th. Back at North Manchester, back in that familiar consultation room. A nurse handed me a pink robe and told me the consultant would be in shortly.
This time, I wasn’t alone - my friend had come with me, and we planned to call my husband so he could listen in on loudspeaker. The consultant agreed.
She told us the second biopsy was clear - it was just a cyst. That was fantastic news. I didn’t realise at the time how much it mattered. If that area had been cancerous too, it would have complicated everything - potentially classifying it as multi-focal cancer.
She asked me to lie down so she could examine the lump again, then sit back up. Then came the options.
Surgery Options:
Lumpectomy or Reconstruction
I had two choices:
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Option 1: A lumpectomy, removing the lump and a margin of healthy tissue. But because of the size of the lump - and my HH cup size - it would leave a noticeable dent. I could come back for fat grafts to fill the gap, but that would mean multiple procedures for years to come.
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Option 2: A reduction and reconstruction. She would remove the lump and reshape the remaining tissue into a smaller breast. Then, to match, she would reduce my right breast too.
The second option would take longer to recover from but would be done in one operation. No follow-up fat injections. No mismatched boobs. I chose the second option. A full reconstruction.
She also explained they'd remove four lymph nodes from under my arm to check for any spread.
Telling the Kids
How do you even begin?
We’d had a month to process things. We sat the kids down and told them I needed surgery. That I’d found a lump, it had been tested, and yes - it was cancer. But it could be treated. And I would get better.
One of them cried and hugged me tighter than ever. The other went straight to their dad. We told them the surgery would be on the 17th. We hadn’t told them sooner because we didn’t want to worry them unnecessarily. I think they understood.
I offered to let them feel the lump - so it wasn’t just some mysterious “thing.” My son took me up on it. He thanked me. He said he’d imagined it would look like a bump, but it made more sense now why it hadn’t been obvious.
We promised openness - no question off-limits. We were going to face this together, as a family.
Pre-Op (Pre-Operation)
My husband and I went to pre-op. Swabs, bloods, a urine sample. A chat with a nurse about medications, the plan for surgery, what to expect. Nil by mouth. Day surgery unit. Meet the consultant again. See the anaesthetist. But the most comforting sentence?
“Your husband can be with you on the ward.”
Those words calmed my racing heart.
The Days Before
I felt like I was on autopilot, constantly checking the lump as if trying to prove this wasn’t real. Did I really have cancer?
I'd done the tests. I had the diagnosis. I was booked for surgery. It had to be real. But it still hadn’t sunk in.
We tried to enjoy that last weekend. Just us. Me as a mum and a wife.
I turned to social media. I started writing, sharing, connecting. It was for awareness, yes - but also a place to say things I couldn’t always say out loud. I found others going through the same thing, and I hoped I could be that person for someone else too.
Hover To See Photo Of Markings On My Body Pre-Surgery
Surgery Day
January 17th. North Manchester.
We arrived at 11am as I was the second surgery of the day. I tried to distract myself with the TV in the waiting room.
The nurse walked us through the day again. This time, I found out I’d be staying overnight. That hadn’t been the original plan.
My anaesthetist introduced herself. Then my consultant arrived - with a metal wire and a blue marker pen in hand.
It was just me and my husband. I was in my gown, compression socks on.
The consultant drew all over my chest - incision lines, nipple placement, measurements. It was surreal. For a moment, we laughed - me with tape measures and marker lines all over like a whiteboard. But the arrow drawn above my left breast reminded me: this is the one with cancer.
I was ready.
Into Surgery
My husband walked with me to the surgical suite. Then I was handed over to the theatre nurses.
I climbed onto the operating table. The nurse adjusted the back so they could later assess breast shape and position during surgery.
The anaesthetist was there, gently talking me through everything. I answered questions - about my teeth, about crowns - and then, after all questions had been answered and I was in the right place on the bed chatting to the nurse - mid-sentence, I drifted off.
Coming Round
I woke up around 6pm. My throat was sore. Groggy. Disoriented.
They wheeled me to the ward, and through the haze I saw my husband, my kids, my mum and dad walking behind me.
Surgery had taken five hours instead of three. They’d been worried. But it turned out my consultant had been working solo - her assisting surgeon wasn’t available. She did it all herself (with her nurses, of course).
The cancer was gone. My family didn’t stay long - it was hard for the kids to see me like that. I reassured them: I'm OK. I'm not in pain. I’m full of good drugs!
Later, alone, I lifted the hospital gown and looked.
There was a drain - a bottle hanging from my side. Bandages. A cut near my armpit. Buzzing PICO dressings to vacuum-seal the wounds.
I looked down and cried.
Drain Bottle
PICO Dressing
The Aftermath
The nurse helped me up and into my pyjamas and post-op bra. She gave me a bag to carry my drain in - helpful to hide them from visitors, especially the kids. Each minute, the PICO battery would buzz, sucking air out of the bandages.
Thoughts...
Boobs are a bit like hair. They're part of your identity. I’d never had a problem in the boob department. Woke up one day in my teens with a full set.
They were a pain sometimes, sure - but I was proud of them.
My surgery took me from a HH to a D cup. It felt like losing part of myself. On January 17th, 2023, they might as well have amputated my legs to the knees. That’s how it felt.
And yes - I know how lucky I am. My surgeon saved my life. Gave me a neat, balanced pair. But every time I look in the mirror, I see what’s left behind. It still stings. Every day.
That’s the mental side no one talks about enough.
Please... Check Your Boobs
Get to know your normal.
Check regularly.
If something feels off - don’t wait. Get it checked.
Let me be the voice in your head that reminds you to.