Beating my Chest: My sister & I were diagnosed with cancer just one hour apart
By: Libby-Jane Charleston
Tags: Health, Cancer, Life, Life Lessons, Family

Journalist and author Libby-Jane Charleston

If ever there was a ‘truth is stranger than fiction’ tale to tell then I’m about to tell you a big one: my sister and I were both diagnosed with breast cancer on the same day.

In different states, just one hour apart.

Although with me in Sydney, Australia and my sister in Perth, Western Australia, we have had vastly different experiences.

I hope that raising my voice and using my position as a journalist will not only help save the women who come after me, but that changes can be made to the cancer screening system I believe has flaws.

It’s also a story of survival, of not taking your life for granted and taking control of your health.

I’d buried my head in the sand. Three years had passed since my last mammogram and I only decided to have one because my sister was having one too. (We’d both had issues with benign cysts in the past, but because we didn’t have a history of cancer in the family, there was no urgency.)

Neither my sister nor I had any lumps or any other symptoms; it was just routine. I took myself to my local public breast screening clinic (BreastScreen NSW), and I was so relaxed about it I took one of my teenage sons with me so we could grab lunch afterwards.

Two weeks and four days later, I hadn’t heard anything. “No news is good news,” I thought. But then my sister phoned to say she’d been called back for further testing. She was already worried.

It was only then I phoned the clinic to follow up. Right away, I was put through to somebody senior. “Oh, sorry. You should have been called,” I was told. “You need to come in right away.”

Libby-Jane (right) with her elder sister and baby sister

I had a mini-rant along the lines of “Why the heck wasn’t I called?! What if I have cancer? That means you’ve held up my treatment by nearly three weeks!” At this stage, I didn’t really think for a second that I actually had cancer. (Cue the cliché: “Little did I know…”)

The next day, I spent six hours at the clinic having a 3D mammogram, ultrasound and biopsy. Warning: the biopsy is not easy, and aside from the long needle being inserted to take out a sample, it also involves inserting a tiny “clip” into your breast so that “if you have cancer”, the surgeon knows exactly where to find it. (Another tip: they’re hardly going to insert a clip into your breast unless they’re pretty sure you are destined to go “under the knife” very soon.)

My day at the clinic also included a few hours of waiting time — I was soon to discover cancer involves a LOT of waiting, much of it totally nerve-wracking — plus an appointment with a breast surgeon.

(Later, I had a feeling the three kind women carrying out my biopsy all knew. Of course they knew, they look at test results all the time. One woman looked at me with such sadness. I felt that they were incredibly caring and kind to me, because they knew.)

I had another nerve-wracking two-day wait. In the back of your mind, you think ‘it won’t be me’. Look at the statistics; 90 per cent of women who have mammograms do not have cancer.

I prayed and I spoke to friends and family, who all assured me, “You’ll be fine! Just think positive.” It’s all lovely and well-meaning, but all the positive thinking in the world doesn’t change the test results.

I was sitting in the reception area, waiting for my appointment to hear my biopsy results, when I received a text from my mother. It was about my sister: “Bad news. It’s cancer.” I replied, “Oh s — t. No way!”

It was sheer coincidence that we were receiving our results on the same day. This happened on a Friday; my sister wasn’t supposed to get her results until the Monday but she was called urgently to her GP, who wanted to give her the news right away, instead of having to fret and stress all weekend.

It was difficult putting my sister’s diagnosis out of my mind. I knew I needed to focus on myself, so I prayed again. I told myself it would all be fine. By the time I was led to the counselling room, I was full of confidence. My partner was downstairs waiting in the car because, according to me, “it’ll be fine and we can go out for lunch straight afterwards”.

There was no small talk and no attempt to soften the blow:

“It’s bad news. You have cancer.”

“What?” I yelled.

She passed me a diagram and started writing notes. “Yes, it’s malignant.”

“I’ve got CANCER?”

“Yes.”

“Oh my God, I can’t believe it! Sorry, I’m in shock.”

“Really?”

“Well, yes. Aren’t most people shocked when they’re told they have cancer?”

I paused for a moment and phoned my mother. “Mum, I’ve got cancer too!” I said.

I texted my younger sister: “S — t! Cancer!” But she thought I was referring to our elder sister, so I followed up with “MY cancer!” Truth is always stranger than fiction.

Imagine my poor parents, receiving a text from one daughter to say she’s been diagnosed with cancer and then less than an hour later receiving a text from me, too.

I phoned my partner, who was still waiting in the car. “Far out. I’ve got cancer. You’d better come upstairs,” I said.

The good news? My cancer (DCIS) was caught early, but is still being treated as aggressively as Stage 2 cancer. I’ve had surgery, which wasn’t pleasant. (Another time, I’ll write about the horrendous hook that was inserted inside my breast while I was wide awake and then left for 12 hours because my surgery kept being postponed. Fasting for 19 hours with a hook inside my breast was definitely a new experience.)

Then, there was a 14-day wait for the results, which dictates whether you have to go back in for another round of surgery, or whether you’re given the “all clear” to take a short break before starting several weeks of five-days-a week radiotherapy. This involves getting your breast “microwaved”. I’m told one of the biggest side effects is extreme fatigue, but if it means stopping the cancer from coming back, then I’m eternally grateful for modern medicine.

In my case, the cancer was bigger than they’d thought. There’s only so much you can see on the ultrasound screen; it’s not until the sample is with pathology that they can see how large the cancerous cells really are.

My sister’s cancer is further along than mine and her journey will be much, much tougher, but we are both curable. We will both survive.

I’ll be writing ‘Beating My Chest’ throughout my cancer journey so I can encourage women to be diligent about breast health. I also want to give practical advice to the thousands of women who will come after me.

It’s also important to reiterate that my sister has been incredibly diligent, having mammograms and ultrasound every November for the last seven years. She’d had a full breast check just one year ago. That’s how fast this cancer grows.

Libby-Jane (left) with her sister as kids

Please don’t bury your head in the sand as I did. If I had let my mammogram go for another six months or a year, I’d be in a much worse position than I am today.

Another thing: When you arrive at Breastscreen NSW, you’re confronted with a very reassuring sign stating 90 per cent of those with a mammogram have no problems. So if 10 per cent of women are in the “danger category”, surely there should be a system where those with good results are put to the side — they can be contacted two weeks later to let them know they’re fine.

But the 10 per cent who need to be notified that they need further testing should be contacted quickly — two weeks seems a terribly long time to send someone a text or email. Why should they have to wait two weeks (or in my case, not contacted at all nearly three weeks later)? Something has to change.

The main points people need to take from my story:

No family history

No lumps, no symptoms.

I never received a phone call or email to let me know that my mammogram was “suspicious.” If I hadn’t phoned myself to follow up, I’d be in a much worse position than I am today.

I’m still upset somebody looked at my mammogram result and knew there was something wrong, yet didn’t contact me. If I’d fallen through the cracks, so could you.

I’ve spoken to several cancer survivors and they all tell me the same thing: when you survive you will appreciate your life more than ever and feel like you now have a superpower.

So far, the biggest thing I’ve received from this lesson is that I am not immortal. It’s time to sprint after those dreams I’ve been slowly walking towards — and so should you.