Judith Lucy's cancer journey will reveal resilience she didn't know she had

It's a club no-one wants to join. There are a host of peculiar requirements. And the club remains a mystery to anyone who is not already a member.

Based on her post on Tuesday, Judith has already enjoyed the induction. The shock of diagnosis is all the more shocking because no-one can tell you precisely what the diagnosis is. Surprise! 

For many, an initial finding turns out to be the tip of the cancer iceberg, with each step potentially cascading into more possibilities and medical pathways.

As a lovely breast care nurse explained to me down the phone as I waited for the biopsy result that ensured my entry to the After Cancer Diagnosis Club, you never really get one diagnosis.

But the upside is, that means even the worst news can change!

Judith spoke highly of her delightfully named surgeon, Dr Fun. You will rely on them like no-one you've ever relied on before to meticulously work their way through microscopic layers of skin and tissue and extract the stuff that will kill you.

All journeys are different

There are so many decisions to make in those first few days and there is so much information. Who knew there were so many types of cancer? What's the difference between a stage and a grade?

The medical professionals who work in this field are brilliant and in Australia we have remarkable survival rates.

But it's an extraordinary journey, and it's different for everyone.

A few years back, my mammogram and my dental check-up were both due in the same week, but I only had time for one: I picked the scan foolishly thinking it would be the least problematic!

Good choice. That led to a repeat mammogram, which led to a guided biopsy, which led to a complete mastectomy, resulting in an even worse diagnosis.

At that point my oncologist arrived and explained that in a year it would most likely be largely behind me. A year!

She was right, of course.  A year of chemo, radiation and then mostly it was done. But, of course, it wasn't really done.

Just because you're not hooked up to an infusion every week doesn't really signal "the end" of cancer treatment. 

Stretching out for years ahead – for me at least – is the Tamoxifen treatment, daily  oral hormone therapy medication that rattles your bones. Then I opted for the reconstruction and a second mastectomy. Judith plans the same. No regrets here, but these are exhausting procedures.

And after the treatment there is the constant vigilance. Too many headaches? Scan for brain metastases!  Strange rash that won't quit? Biopsy for a recurrence!

Finding a path

My gorgeous kids were my anchor. The sound of my eldest tapping away at her homework next to my hospital bed made me feel safe enough to sleep, but it's a cruel thing asking to borrow your children's strength.

And you'll do most of this alone, sorry to say. Even the most willing families and friends will struggle to understand the fear, the aches, the change.

As one of my friends once described it, "done or dead" is what most people can deal with. Best to project positivity at all times. Emphasising the bright side and gags about a free boob job is the safe way to go. But it can make the experience all the lonelier.

"I'm fine" is so much easier an answer for others to hear than "I hurt all the time" or "God, the tiredness!".

Bits of my body will never feel the same. You know how amputees talk about phantom pains? I have a phantom itch where my breast tissue used to be, but no amount of scratching can get to it because there is no sensation in the skin.

It's constant reminder of what was there. As if you needed one.

Listen to Judith and get your boobs checked.

And Judith, you're about to be amazed by the people you meet and what you're capable of.