Cancer and Pregnancy: Some Statistics

Cancer in pregnancy is considered rare, occurring in approximately 1 in every 1,000 pregnancies and accounting for between 0.7%-1.0% of all malignant tumours (1-2). While the medical profession may consider this rare, one woman being diagnosed with cancer for every 1,000 pregnancies actually seems rather high to me.

Especially as I was that woman.

I was 40 years old and 41 weeks pregnant when I was diagnosed with stage 2 invasive breast cancer. What should have been one of the happiest times of my life was devastated by a diagnosis few people are every really prepared to receive, let alone one who is heavily pregnant. I was suddenly overwhelmed by a rollercoaster of emotions, where the joy of being pregnant and excitement for future motherhood was totally overshadowed by fear for my own life and the life of my then unborn child.

My whole world was turned upside down. I was sent home to give birth (given it was so imminent) and told to get back in touch once I had; the pressure to take immediate action was high. My hormones were raging, the infamous ‘baby brain’ was taking hold and I had just received a cancer diagnosis. I really was not in a position to be making life and death decisions.

Breast Cancer and Pregnancy: Breastfeeding, Cancer Treatment and Donor Breast Milk

So I initially went along with the recommendations of the professionals, as at that time I didn’t believe I had any other options. They advocated a full mastectomy, 6 rounds of chemotherapy, radiotherapy and finally, the icing on the cake, 10 years of the oestrogen blocking medication - Tamoxifen. I was to unquestionably put my life in the hands of the medical profession.

Breastfeeding was a sticking point for me as I was determined to breast feed for as long as possible. I had read so much about the benefits for both mum and baby and I was adamant that I had to give my son the best start that I could, cancer diagnosis or not! In fact, the thought that I wouldn’t be able to breastfeed for as long as needed was one of the things that upset me most in those early days. Strange what we focus on but I am still glad that I did.

Sometimes they recommend chemotherapy first then surgery but because of my desire to breastfeed, the specialists agreed that I could have a mastectomy first. So at 4 weeks post partum I had a single sided mastectomy, and continued to breastfeed. During the daytime I was fine but overnight it was total hell. The post surgery pain ramped up a thousand fold overnight, so much so that it was excruciating to have Ethan lying on top me but I was so determined to keep at it.

I wanted to delay the start of chemotherapy, until the new year at least, but this was not to be once some rather dire statistics were presented to us by the oncologist. Within the week I was at The Christies Hospital in Manchester having my first round of chemotherapy. I was 8 weeks post partum and continuing to breastfeed was no longer an option. I was distraught.

But then I discovered the wonderful women who donate breast milk to breast milk banks around the country and that potentially we could access this milk for Ethan via a grant scheme obtainable through my GP. It took a few weeks to arrange but with the support of my GP, we received donor breast milk until Ethan was 6 months old, fully funded via this grant. It was such a weight off my mind and I am eternally grateful to these anonymous women for being so generous and kind. It was one less thing to worry about.

If you would like some support negotiating your way through this challenging time, then take a look at our 90 day programme to see how we can help you. Alternatively, if you have any questions then send us a message and we will get back to you as soon as possible.

Cancer and Pregnancy: The big wake up call

It is almost 7 years now since my diagnosis, and if I was able to tell my 40 year old self that while I was without doubt facing the greatest challenge of my life, I would come out the other side a healthier, happier, and emotionally, a much stronger person then I simply could not have believed or foreseen it. 

But cancer, it turns out was to become my final wake up call.  I’d had some significant warnings over the years that I wasn’t looking after my body and mind as needed, but I heeded none.  I didn’t consciously choose to ignore these signs, I was merely behaving in such an unconscious way that I did not see them for the warnings that they were (I’ll talk more about these signs in a later post).   But cancer shook me, it forced me to think deeply about everything, my life so far, my current beliefs and ways of living, and also how I wanted to live and to be in the future.

Fundamentally, I wanted to live!

Not just for my son or for my husband but for me. And I didn’t just want to survive, which I equated to simply clinging on, being alive but not being particular well. That wasn’t what I wanted for myself.

I wanted to thrive! I wanted to be fully back to health. No compromises.

I just had to work out how this was possible given the dire state of my then health. I needed to work out why my health had deteriorated so, and what I could do to turn that around. No mean feat given that the vast majority of us are so disconnected from how we need to live to be healthy. It really is little wonder then, that data suggests that one in three adults in developed countries lives with multiple chronic health condition (4).  Moreover, many of the most harmful behaviours, are culturally the norm, perfectly acceptable behaviours and habits, and to veer outside this conventions to a more healthful way of living is often considered strange, offbeat and unconventional.   As a culture we are actively choosing ill-health, day in, day out through the choices we make, and this to many is the norm. My life needed to be different, I had to start making better choices so that I could recover fully, from the birth of my child, from the operation, from the 4 rounds of chemo, and ultimately from the underlying diseased state that my body was in.

I needed to transform my ailing body into a body in which disease and specifically cancer could not thrive.  

I clearly had work to do!

I felt empowered.

Breast Cancer in Pregnancy: My Story (2016-2019)

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If you too want to become empowered to take back control of your health, to turn your ailing body into one in which cancer can not thrive then we can support you. Take a look at our 90 day programme for more information as to how we can help you, or alternatively, if you have any questions then send us a message and we will get back to you as soon as possible.

“We fall, we break, we fail... But then we rise, we heal, we overcome.”

— Unknown

If you would like to read more about my personal experience with breast cancer and my journey back to great health then please click on the following links for more in depth information.

• My Story

• My Journey - Blog

You can also join my Facebook group - Become a Cancer ‘Thriver’ and follow us on Facebook or Instagram.

References & Notes

(1) Hepner A et al. (2019). ‘Cancer During Pregnancy: The Oncologist Overview.’ World J Oncol. Vol:10(1), p28-34. doi: 10.14740/wjon1177. Epub 2019 Feb 26. PMID: 30834049; PMCID: PMC6396773.

(2) Nationwide registeries do not usually combine both obstetrical and oncological data, resulting in a likely underestimation of the incidence of cancer-related miscarriages or abortions. Also, population-based studies differ in inclusion criteria, often incorporating postnatal cancer diagnoses (3). An true view of incident rate is therefore difficult to obtain.

(3) Maggen C et al. (2020). ‘International Network on Cancer, Infertility and Pregnancy (INCIP). Pregnancy and Cancer: the INCIP Project.’ Curr Oncol Rep. 2020 Vol 22(2): 17. doi: 10.1007/s11912-020-0862-7. PMID: 32025953; PMCID: PMC7002463.

(4) Hajat C & Stein E. (2018). ‘The global burden of multiple chronic conditions: A narrative review.’ Prev Med Rep. Vol 12, p284-293. doi: 10.1016/j.pmedr.2018.10.008. PMID: 30406006; PMCID: PMC6214883.

April 2014

This is me, Sarah Eglin in 2014, aged 38 years old, collecting my race number for the 2014 London Marathon. I had been an avid amateur runner and triathlete for a number of years, and at this point in 2014 I was approaching the peak of my fitness. I finished the race in 3 hours 21 minutes, and while far from record breaking, it was a personal best (PB) beating my previous best by some margin. I was over the moon. Prior to 2014 I had run a few other marathons but none compared to London. It was such an amazing day out. With over 40,000 runners seemingly all in great spirits, the April sun shining throughout, and the entire course lined with thousands of spectators, cheering us on, it was like no other that I had ran. Bands were playing and local choirs were singing at intervals around the route. Even some of my family and friends had come to watch. It was such a wonderful experience and I definitely wanted to go back for more.

On the face of it I was a picture of health.

Fast forward 3 years and my life had changed beyond recognition. Running a marathon was a distant memory and the thought of running at London again began to take on a whole new meaning for me.

September 2016

In September of 2016, whilst 41 weeks pregnant, with my first and only child, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. There clearly is no good time to receive a cancer diagnosis but I feel that during pregnancy must be amongst the worst of times. On the one hand, I was imminently bringing a much longed for new life into the world, whilst simultaneously fearful that I may not live to see him grow up. The joyful high to which I embarked for my maternity leave quickly transformed into a rollercoaster of emotions. It was undoubtedly the most challenging period of my life.

Like many people in my position, I followed the advice of the medical experts. I was sent home and told to get back in touch after the birth, in view of its imminence. Given the size of my tumour (large), the close proximity to other areas (my chest wall) and it being highly oestrogen receptive, the prescribed medical treatment was a left sided mastectomy, 6 rounds of chemotherapy, followed by radiotherapy and 10 years of Tamoxifen, an antioestrogen medicine which blocks the activity of oestrogen (a primary female hormone). 

With a heavy heart, at 4 weeks post partum I had a single sided mastectomy, and at 8 weeks post partum, I started on the prescribed course of chemotherapy. I was devastated that I would have to stop breastfeeding once chemotherapy started. I had hoped to delay the start until the following year, but the initial meeting with the oncologist shattered my hopes as he reeled off the dire statistics regarding the risk of recurrence and/or death without their offered treatments, instilling fear into both mine and my husbands hearts. Consequently, a week later, I found myself sat in that awful chair with poisonous chemicals being injected directly into my blood stream and my 8 week old baby being cared for by my mum. At that time I felt it was my only option. I was trying to put on a brave face but my dreams were in pieces and my health rapidly went downhill. I had 3 treatments roughly 3 or 4 weeks apart starting in the November and each round took a progressively harder toll on my body, with the severity and number of side-effects mounting. I felt dreadful.

January 2017

The 4th round was due in late January 2017. Shortly before this, I attended a much needed yoga and meditation workshop and while talking with the teacher she asked me openly and with genuine interest a question that few people feel comfortable asking a person following a cancer diagnosis. It was along the lines of:

“So Sarah, what do you think has caused your cancer?”

She could not have asked me a better question. Initially, I was a little taken aback as I hadn’t had the time or energy to consider such thoughts, but soon my mind started whirling. No one had talked to me about the likely cause or causes before. I hadn’t given it a thought. That simple question ignited a spark and triggered a period of self analysis where I looked back at my life over the previous few years and considered the events and lifestyle factors which could have been contributing factors. I felt suddenly a little more empowered. My choices and behaviours were likely the cause even if I hadn’t been conscious of this at the time. The awareness brought greater hope for me. I was not simply reliant on others to ‘fix’ me, I had a huge role to play .

For my last 3 rounds of chemotherapy, the chemical protocol changed and was apparently even more toxic. There was now a significant risk that the nerves in my extremities (hands and feet) could be permanently damaged and so it was recommended that I wore ice gloves and feet covers to reduce the risk. This was on top of the ice hat that I was wearing to reduce the risk of my hair falling out (which didn’t work). The 4th round completely wiped me out. The ice gloves and feet mitts combined with the chemical cocktail being pumped into my veins made me throw up repeatedly during the procedure. It was awful. Afterwards, I remember crawling into the bath at home and looking at myself in the mirror. I appeared as close to death whilst still living as I think I possibly could have, with enormous black circles under my eyes and yellowy grey, sickly skin. I felt that the treatment was killing me and I knew then that I could not take any more.

As soon as I was able to I started reading and researching which was not easy given a 4 month old to manage and the now dire state of my health. I started looking into Tamoxifen initially, as it just didn’t sit well with me that I should be taking a medication which blocks such an important and vital female hormone. I understand the rational of why it is recommended but intuitively, I felt that the risk of negative effects would also be high. So I did a bit of digging, superficial reading of the internet really but my thought processes, combined with the intolerable side effects that I was suffering from were already leading me in one direction. By the end of the day, I had made my decision, I was not having any more chemotherapy, it was not for me, I was not going to have radiotherapy, that was not for me, and I was not going to take a medication that would block the activity of my oestrogen hormones. I had made my decision.

Now back to London Marathon

Pulling away from the medical professions recommendations generated some difficult situations, predominantly with my family. Most friends were incredibly supportive, appreciating that the decision was mine to be made and that I should do what I believed was best for me. A few people thought otherwise and this created a few difficult conversations but I really wasn’t to be swayed.

So a few days later, I found myself having a rather heated discussion in the park with a good friend of mine, who felt that pulling out of chemotherapy was perhaps not the best decision. He thought that I was being rash and that my brief research on the internet could not compare to 7 years of oncology training. I can obviously see his point. However, I knew that this was the right decision for me, I just knew it. I felt that the treatment was causing me more harm than good. I also no longer feared the dire prognosis that I’d been given, as I felt more empowered knowing that there were a multitude of positive steps that I could take to mitigate the many factors that I believed were likely contributors to my cancer (I will drill down on this in my next post).

In 2012, it was widely reported in the media that Fauja Singh (as pictured) had run the London marathon at aged 101. In fact he had run many marathons in his later years, after only taking up running at aged 89. His story is hugely inspiring and clearly had made an imprint somewhere deep in my memory, as I announced to my friend as the conversation escalated something along the lines of:

“Look, you really do not need to worry about me, I’m going to be around for a long, long time. I’ve made a promise to myself and I will be running London Marathon when I’m 100!”

I was told not to be ridiculous and at that point he walked off, shaking his head in rather despairingly. I should note that we are still good friends.

As bizarre as my statement may have seemed, spoken by a 41 year old, recently diagnosed with cancer, and suffering dreadfully from the effects of chemotherapy, that declaration has remained a focal point ever since.

It’s a dream, a life long aspiration but above all it gives me a huge amount of motivation to keep doing what I am doing. To ensure that I remain healthy and fit long into old age.

Whether I actually achieve this is to be honest less relevant. I just need to keep believing that I will and that I can, and the only way that I can keep believing that is if I’m fit and healthy in the here and now.

And that keeps me motivated to do my upmost, day after day, to keep my body in a state in which cancer cannot thrive.

If you would like to read more about my personal experience with breast cancer and my journey back to great health then please click on the following links for more in depth information.

• My Story

• My Journey - Blog

You can also join my Facebook group - Become a Cancer ‘Thriver’ and follow us on Facebook or Instagram.