I’ve had to lift up my shirt to prove I’ve had breast cancer

My first mammogram was very weird.

At the hospital, people looked at me like, what are you doing here? One of the nurse’s facial expressions seemed to say, you’re in the wrong place.

In one of my letters from the hospital, I was referred to as ‘her’ and in the past, when I’ve mentioned my cancer, people have said they don’t believe me. 

It’s made me realise that not only is breast cancer uncommon in men, lots of people don’t know about it. Then I tell them my story and think, you know now.

I was working on a building site in November 2022 when I first noticed a lump. I squeezed past a pack of blocks and I thought, crikey, something hurts. I touched my chest, wondering if I had bruised myself. About a week later, I did the same thing and it was still there.

I thought I’d wait and see if it got better but it didn’t – it got bigger. Breast cancer did cross my mind: my aunt had it and my grandmother’s sister died from it back in the 1980s. I wasn’t sure if men could get it as well but a quick internet search confirmed they can. 

The doctor at my local health centre initially dismissed me, telling me to keep an eye on it and return in a fortnight. I’d already done that but I followed his advice. At the next appointment, he admitted breast cancer was possible and referred me for a mammogram. 

On December 19, a further ultrasound and needle biopsy confirmed it. It all felt like a nightmare. I was 52 and had always been fairly fit. How the hell did I have breast cancer?

Worse was to come. A second biopsy confirmed that the cancer had spread to the lymph nodes under my right arm. I’d originally been scheduled for a mastectomy in January but this was cancelled as I now needed chemotherapy first. 

The oncologist was lovely but I will never forget her telling me that if my cancer had spread further and was stage four, they would only be able to manage it. That was very heavy to hear; my mother was in tears. The biopsy hadn’t been nice, and knowing I’d be having chemo was unpleasant – now I was even more worried than before. 

A CT scan in February revealed a dark shadow on my lung so I underwent a further biopsy and waited an agonising 10 days for the results. To my delight, they came back negative. My oncologist put the shadow down to smoking – I’d been a smoker most of my life – and said that if I didn’t want to see her again, I’d better stop. Wise words that I immediately heeded.

I was prescribed an initial six rounds of chemo, three weeks apart, starting in March 2023, which meant I would be off work for much longer than I had anticipated. Being self-employed meant no work, no wages; it dawned on me that I would not be able to keep up with my rent.

My parents offered for me to stay with them until treatment was over, and while I didn’t want to wrack up debt, I had been in my house for 14 years and it was very much my home. It was hard to give it up.

My parents are in their seventies and stuck in their ways (thanks to my dad being a bit deaf, I woke up every day to the TV blaring) but they live in a large house so I had space of my own. My son, Freddie, who was 23 at the time, referred to it as the ‘cancer hostel’. He even stayed for a bit.

My first dose of chemo was horrible. I couldn’t do anything for about a week afterwards and I was white, grey, barely eating. I dropped a lot of weight and looked like death warmed up. The second dose was not so bad and by the third, I asked the nurse if she was still giving me the same thing; she told me that I was probably getting used to the drugs, and the smaller doses were not so traumatic. 

Chemo finished in June and my mastectomy was rebooked for August. The operation went fine, although a few weeks later the scar got infected, then burst, and I had to have a couple of sessions having my chest drained of fluid – after being told I had cancer, having that drain put in was the worst bit.

After the autopsy on the tissue, it was decided I should have radiotherapy and some more chemo in case any cells remained – 14 IV treatments every three weeks on a Friday afternoon. I remember thinking, you’ve got to be joking – I had just sorted going back to work. 

I had to tell the site agent why I was taking the afternoon off. ‘I’m going to have chemo,’ I said.

‘Yeah, right,’ he replied. When I finally convinced him, he was surprised that I’d be back the following Monday – then he was blown away when I came back and did another week after that. I asked him not to get me to do too much; he said he was just thankful I was turning up.

It served as another reminder to me of how few men are diagnosed with breast cancer. 

The only time I saw other men was in the chemo ward, where they were being treated for other cancers. I got talking to one man back in November. ‘I don’t know why I’m here,’ he said, ‘I’ll be dead by Christmas.’ Another bloke was 46, with three kids, and was also going to be gone in a few months. 

I found it so upsetting I didn’t speak to anyone else, but it also made me think how lucky I was that my cancer had been caught early enough to get sorted. My biggest concerns were for my sons: Freddie, and my younger son, who was only 14 at the time. I made an effort to be very positive around them and to tell them I was going to be fine. 

The combination of treatment and surgery worked for me and I am now pretty much recovered. I still have to take drugs every day and will do for the next five years but I’ve put on weight and my hair is growing back; my friends tell me I look better than I have done in ages and it’s nice to hear that.

I’ve returned to work driving forklifts, moved into a lovely new home and I’m healthier and fitter than I ever was.

I did a 100-mile walking challenge last October, then another in March this year, both to raise money for Breast Cancer Now, and I’m doing another this October. And earlier this year, Freddie and I travelled to London to be photographed for their Wear It Pink photoshoot. I’d found the leaflets they produce really helpful so it was nice to be able to give something back.

If there is stigma around men having breast cancer, it hasn’t bothered me – just being told I had cancer was bad enough. A couple of people laughed but most of my male friends just wanted me to be alright.

Do you think there is enough awareness about male breast cancer?Comment Now

The lack of awareness is concerning, though. I’ve spoken to plenty of people that didn’t know men could be affected – I had one supervisor who laughed and called me ‘a joker’ when I told him, so I lifted up my shirt and showed him the skin flap where my nipple used to be.

Many men wouldn’t get checked if they noticed a lump, blokes don’t bother going to the doctors much as it is, yet if cancer spreads, you’re in real trouble – I wasn’t far from that myself. I want men to know that they can be at risk, too, and encourage them to check themselves. 

I like to share my story, not just because I had breast cancer, but also because I was diagnosed and recovered in quite a short period of time. Personally, I think it’s quite a nice way to be. I feel really fortunate. A lot of people don’t get the result I’ve had. I’m just grateful to be back on my feet.

This article was originally published September 15, 2024

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