'When I was 40, cancer came crashing into my life like a tornado'

It’s been 15 years since Karen Murray was diagnosed with breast cancer, a milestone that means her risk of recurrence is now the same as any other woman her age. Despite the ordeal, she is determined to remain positive and not let negative thoughts live “rent-free” in her mind

Karen Murray, who has recovered from breast cancer. Picture: Noel Sweeney

Fifteen years ago, the rollercoaster began. Having just turned 40, with two children under six, cancer came crashing into my life like a tornado. 

No warning signs, no family history, no genetic predisposition. Even the GP wasn’t overly concerned about the lump I’d discovered while in the shower, believing it was probably a harmless cyst or fibroid. 

Like me, she thought I was too young to have breast cancer. But I wasn’t.

A chunky 7cm tumour. Grade 2 invasive lobular carcinoma — I remember a consultant saying those words, and trying to take them in.

All a bit of a blur, sitting there in panicked silence. Fear is the worst feeling at the beginning.

“This will be your job for the next year,” the consultant said at one point, and I remember thinking — what about my other jobs, working full-time and being responsible for two smallies? 

At that time, I was still married, but we relied on two salaries to make ends meet. How would we do it all?

And so the journey began. One step at a time, they told me. Easy for you to say, I felt like retorting, as I tried to stay off Google.

The first step was three months of hormone medication, prompting a premature menopause and all the hot flushes and achy joints that come with it.

Chemotherapy followed when the chunky tumour did not shrink enough. The hot flushes caused by hormone meds soon paled into insignificance as the fatigue, nausea, and brain fog set in. 

Eight sessions in all, three weeks apart, so the best part of six months was spent in a virtual “tunnel”.

Then three operations — two lumpectomies and a mastectomy — followed by five weeks of daily radiotherapy.

There’s a sort of comfort during treatment, though. You are in a little bubble, a cocoon where you are kept “safe”.

The care I received from the staff at CUH was amazing, and I had great support from family and friends. People can’t do enough for you when you have cancer.

But when the treatment ended, it was still very challenging, even when I was told “well” again.

Surgical scars heal, hair grows back, and I eased my way back into the other jobs that had been put on hold, trying to get back to normality.

It’s not that simple though, because it’s a different kind of “normal”. Life has changed, and it took me time to realise and accept this. 

Karen Murray (centre) who has recovered from breast cancer with her son and daughter Calum and Niamh Funnell. Picture: Noel Sweeney

There were some dark days, and plenty of tears, and much of this I kept private, feeling almost embarrassed to feel this way. Surely I should have been over the moon to be finally cancer-free?

That’s when you need to find a support network, and it’s not necessarily family or friends who have not gone through the same experience. 

I discovered a local group called Cork Cancer Care Centre (since renamed Iris House Cork Cancer Support), which offers counselling, holistic wellness, and group therapies, and is always available for a chat and tea.

Sometimes, that’s all you need. Strangers can become friends with the common bond of cancer.

I am still affiliated with the group and give them a share of my annual Daffodil Day coffee morning fundraiser to help them keep the show on the road. Because survivors are lost without the support such groups provide.

There is always the nagging “what if it comes back?”, but I have learned to shrug it off. Otherwise, every headache becomes a potential brain tumour.

I try not to let bad thoughts live “rent-free” in my head. I have hit the milestones — five years, 10, and now I’m approaching 15 — so I am at no more risk of recurrence than any other woman my age. And it’s out of my control anyway.

Life has changed a lot. The six-year-old is now in her third year at university, and the toddler will be 18 next year. This year, we added a rescue dog — the loveable Yager — to the mix.

My bond with my children has deepened as they’ve matured into young adults, not least because I have raised them solo for the past nine years. 

They were too young to remember me being sick (I recall my son asking me to “move my hair” when I accidentally left the wig on the kitchen table), but I have always been very open with them about my journey.

Someone once asked me, “Do you never think ‘why me’?” My response was: “Well, why not me?”

The disease is frighteningly commonplace. One in seven women will be diagnosed with breast cancer in their lifetime. It’s the most common type of cancer, and cases are rising.

According to the Marie Keating Foundation, every year around 3,616 women are diagnosed with breast cancer, 753 of whom die. But, if caught early, it has the highest five-year survival rate of all cancers — 85.1%.

So while cancer continues to take our loved ones — my father, aunt, and two friends have passed away since my own diagnosis — it doesn’t have to be a death sentence. People are surviving — and living with — cancer.

Iris House uses the term warrior rather than survivor to describe people using its services. I’m proud to call myself either, because it’s a privilege denied to many.

• October is breast cancer awareness month.