To hear a diagnosis of „breast cancer” or „malignant tumour” is a huge shock to any woman, at any age. I first heard these words in July 2013, when malignant cells were discovered in both my breasts following three biopsies. The first operation followed, during which these cells were removed together with several of my lymph nodes, to determine whether the cancer had spread. I went alone to my doctor’s for my results, as I was convinced that there was nothing wrong with me. When I was told that I would need another operation, but this time a bilateral mastectomy, and removing all lymph nodes from one armpit, I was devastated.  I staggered out of the surgery and rang my sister who immediately left work and came to see me at home. We cried that evening and tried to come to terms with the news and what would happen next.

We faced the doctors’ panel already the following day, and came armed with questions. Unfortunately, in response to our question “What is the emotional support here for women following such debilitating surgery,  chemotherapy (which at the time seemed the worst thing possible!) and radiotherapy?”, the doctors had nothing to say other than to point at my sister and friend and indicate that here was the emotional support I would need.  But it is also difficult for the relatives, friends and colleagues of people with cancer to cope when hearing that a person close to them is sick and has to witness them going through these invasive procedures.

After the first operation, on seeing the scars, I wept, but the nurse on duty said there was nothing to cry about, the scars would heal. More than a year later it is still difficult for me to speak or write about the emotions I went through after my second operation....

Everyone knows that your hair falls out during chemotherapy, as the chemotherapist also reminded me regularly, but no-one warned me just how quickly this would happen, or in what quantities, just two weeks after the first dose. When this happened, I rang my friend in the UK first, as she had gone through something similar herself, and after that – my hairdresser, as we had agreed that he would come to my apartment and shave my hair off entirely when needed.  Then I rang my workplace to say I wouldn’t be in “for technical reasons” and finally my brother and his girlfriend who came round for moral support whilst my hair was shaved off completely.

The fact that I had previously gone for regular physiotherapy sessions even before my cancer diagnosis helped me come to terms with and recover more quickly.  I set myself the goal that after my second operation I would go to the health centre regularly and start exercising as soon as possible. I continued to do so throughout the period of my chemotherapy and radiotherapy treatment, and felt better after each session, both physically and morally.

I visited a psychotherapist exactly one year after my operation.  I had already been dreading my “one year anniversary” date, but wasn’t prepared for the overwhelming grief that overcame me that day, which meant I had to miss work.  As is quite common, I felt that if I went to see a psychologist or psychotherapist, it would be an admission that I was unable to cope or losing my mind. I need not have worried though, because by talking to a psychotherapist I felt much better and realised that it’s perfectly normal, and even advisable, to seek specialist help during a life crisis such as this. I had also long been suffering from insomnia, which is typical in around 50% of cancer patients, and the psychotherapist also helped me find solutions for this.

Currently, in Latvia, the state doesn’t cover the costs of physiotherapy or psychotherapy, even though it is standard practice globally and research shows that such rehabilitation methods are an extremely important part of treatment to help patients with cancer and other chronic diseases to help them return to an active lifestyle as quickly as possible. The Latvian Ministry of Health has proclaimed 2015 as Cancer Awareness Year, and much mention is made of the need to make regular checks, but less attention is paid to what happens when a woman goes for screening and is actually diagnosed with cancer.  A great deal currently depends on a woman’s own efforts and ability to finance the abovementioned therapy.

This is why we have founded the Pink Train Foundation – to raise funds so that this gap can at least partially be filled, by offering women in Latvia diagnosed with breast cancer the opportunity to have individual consultations with a professional psychologist/psychotherapist and/or physiotherapist, providing the necessary help on the road to recovery.