Look, let’s be real. Seeing or feeling something weird and then having that panicking thought of “holy shit, what if it’s cancer” goes through everyone’s mind at some point or another. Don’t lie, you know you’ve done it.

But what happens if your cancer isn’t a lumpy kind of cancer? What if it’s inflammatory? What if the first symptoms that appear are so subtle that you might miss them if you’re not working from home, showering at 10am and dancing in your room to the Hamilton soundtrack in front of the mirror naked when you’re supposed to be working?

That, my friends, is exactly what happened to me. If I hadn’t worked from home after a ridiculous fortnight at work clocking up overtime, if I hadn’t showered and spent a while singing in the bathroom (acoustics were ace) and procrastinating on working, and then taken my time to get dressed, I may never have noticed the symptoms until it was far too late.

Inflammatory breast cancer is a particularly nasty thing to be afflicted with. It doesn’t present with the usual lumpy tits that people panic about. It looks like you’ve stood under the water for too long. The swelling gives you a weird line from where the weight of your breast sits in the cup of your bra. You don’t notice it until the light is right, and you’re drying under your tits like you’re supposed to for the first time in forever instead of just slamming a bra on, and you feel the weird yellow ridge of the swelling and go “hmm, but I haven’t worn a bra in 24 hours.” And then you see the faint redness on the surface of your skin, and your nipple looks just a little paler than usual.

The next day, Tuesday, you look in the mirror before your doctor’s appointment and think it doesn’t look as bad as it did, but it’s still noticeable. In some ways you’re relieved the symptoms are still there, because now you don’t feel completely insane. Trudging off to the GP clinic, you explain what you’ve seen to your friendly doctor who looks concerned, and examines you. He gives you antibiotics in case it’s a skin infection, and very clear, very strict instructions to return first thing on Friday morning if the symptoms don’t get better because you’ll be referred for an ultrasound.

Thursday morning rolls around and you examine yourself closely in the mirror again. There’s no change at all, in fact maybe the redness is getting a little worse. You call and make that appointment for the following morning, the first available.

The doctor does not look happy to see you at 9am Friday morning. He examines you again and writes up the referral for imaging. You need to go today, end of story. Tell them it’s extremely urgent.

Well, fuck. Maybe it’s cancer.

My name is Kate, I’m 34, and was diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer (IBC) on the 9th of October, 2017. Follow my rage against the oncogene as I stumble through cancer treatment.

(Fingers crossed I develop some wicked cool superpower like burning people with my mind and not something lame like the ability to communicate telepathically with fish.)

You can join in at any time, but I do recommend reading back through the earliest entries  (don’t worry, they’re not super long-winded like the latest ones are). It won’t take you long to catch up.

A few short notes about things you may not notice were deliberate:

• The colours in the banner are pink and orange with a black highlight. These are the colours of the Inflammatory Breast Cancer ribbon, a sister ribbon to the pale pink one that we all know worldwide.
  • Pink represents that it is a breast cancer.
  • Orange represents the peau d’orange (orange peel) skin presentation and skin rash that is unique to this bastard cancer.
  • Black represents that IBC is an aggressive form, and honours those who succumb to the illness.
  • Further information on Inflammatory Breast Cancer can be found at the Inflammatory Breast Cancer Network’s website.
• Titles are Harry Potter chapter puns because my brain is weird like that and it amuses me a lot to make cancer funny.