I’m a man and had breast cancer – I felt like a hidden statistic

From pink hospital curtains to all-women support groups, one man shares how isolating it can be for those suffering with male breast cancer

I’m sure you’ve heard the term “God’s little angels”. Well, what if I told you an elbow to the chest from my six-year-old daughter potentially saved my life? It was in the summer of 2016, when pandemonium playtime turned into a life-altering moment. I was left with a slight soreness in my left breast to which I later found to be a pea-sized lump behind my nipple. 
At the time I was 44 and didn’t know much about male breast cancer. As far as I knew, no one in my family had it and although I vaguely knew that men could get breast cancer I knew very little about it. After a brief visit to the GP I was seen at Wirral’s Clatterbridge Hospital, where I had a physical examination, mammogram, ultrasound and a biopsy. 
Because I was being treated for breast cancer all the correspondence, the curtains, everything was pink. I know for a lot of men, everything being pink and fluffy added to their isolation. But I told myself, “Everything’s pink, everything’s lilac, but so what? You’re here for a medical procedure – don’t worry about the colour of the curtains.” 
Within four hours of my examination, I was told “yes, this is probably breast cancer”. I just remember sitting at that table thinking, “this isn’t how my life’s supposed to be”. I felt utterly isolated – like the only man in the world this was happening to, a hidden statistic. There were no famous male survivors of breast cancer and no active role models to look to for positive stories. 
I remember being given my Macmillan nurse and us having a cup of tea. She was very sympathetic but it was clear she wasn’t as used to dealing with men. She kept trying to get me to express how I was feeling, but I didn’t feel I could open up straight away. I ended up driving around for quite a while. I didn’t want to deal with my emotions, I just wanted a strategy to sort it out and get well.  
It was only when I told my family that it felt truly real. I was with my partner at the time (we’ve since separated) and at first I didn’t want to share my worries with her because I didn’t want to upset her. It was the same with friends. I’d see how sad people got when I told them. I found it so hard to talk about my cancer, I just kept everything in. 
The night before I got the proper diagnosis I felt truly alone. I was restless and panicky. My ex-partner was putting my daughter to bed. The sky was dusky, it was about 8pm and I left the house and just walked and walked. I didn’t know who to speak to or what to do so I sat down in a local beer garden and called the Samaritans. 
“You’re at a fork in the road, and you just need to go tomorrow and get those results to find out which direction your life is going to go in.” they said.
The advice may seem obvious but it had a big impact. It felt so much better to have just voiced how I felt. The next day it was confirmed it was grade two breast cancer. I had no choice, I just had to get on with it. 
Four weeks after the confirmation, I had a mastectomy, the lump, nipple, and the sentinel node in my armpit were removed. In total 32 grams of cancerous tissue. Luckily I didn’t need any drains or reconstructions. 
After the surgery, I took three months off work and during this time my daughter was a godsend. It was the middle of summer, the schools had just finished and she kept saying, “Daddy, can we play on the trampoline”. I thought to myself “I can’t just sit on the sofa, and feel sorry for myself”. My daughter’s got Down syndrome, so she’s the master of staying in the moment. She helped inspire me and kept me together during those months.
I didn’t fit in any of the support groups so that was very isolating. Firstly, because I was a man, and secondly, because I didn’t have chemo and didn’t lose my hair. I wasn’t going through aggressive radiotherapy and dealing with radiation burns like other people suffering from breast cancer so I was in this weird limbo land. I was suggested to join a male skin cancer support group for men but I never went . At that point I accepted the fact that I was on my own.
It’s hard to raise awareness for cancer when the cancer you have affects less than 1 per cent of the population but I think it’s crucial as men can genetically pass down the breast cancer gene to their daughters. 
I was put on tamoxifen by my GP for five years to make sure the cancer didn’t come back. They told me, “I’ve never given this to a man but when I give it to a woman I usually tell them they will grow hair and their voice is going to deepen”. I could live with that. 
These days I’m not ashamed to talk about my breast cancer at all. If by having a conversation you can help save a person’s life, then it’s worth it. 
You may know of Liz O’Riordan, the breast surgeon who has also had breast cancer – she’s been an amazing supporter of mine. I remember her saying “I’m so glad, Phil is here to just remind us that breast cancer affects men too.”
As told to Aniqa Lasker
For further information visit Cancer Research UK and Male Breast Cancer Global Alliance for more information on male breast cancer.
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