Entering the Gayelle–Stepping into the ring with breast cancer

My name is Nicole Drayton. I’m a proud Trinidadian, a daughter, sister, friend, and now a breast cancer survivor. This is the story of the day I stepped into the gayelle—not with a stick in my hand but with courage in my heart—ready to fight for my life.

I was met in front of the hospital by my girlfriend/sister Anna-Lisa Paul at 6 pm, and together we were ushered up to the breast cancer surgical ward. We sat in the waiting room upstairs, holding hands, trying to lighten the mood as we awaited the next step.

Around 6:15 pm, I was assigned my bed. We unpacked my bags and prepared me in my pink nightgown. As Anna-Lisa tucked me in, I saw the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. We both tried to reassure each other that all would be well while the evening bell rang, signalling the end of visiting hours.

Tears streamed down my face as I watched her walk away, the royal blue of her shirt fading into the distance, turning to wave one last time. I was scared, even though I knew this was the right decision for me. Chills ran down my spine as the dreaded “what if” crept into my mind.

Silence settled over the room. I was the only person in my twin bed. I messaged my WhatsApp group to say I’d arrived safely and chatted to pass the time. I brushed my teeth and tried to force sleep, though my stomach reminded me it was hungry just before 10 pm—my last meal time.

I drank water, said my last prayer as a woman with size 40 double DD breasts, and reminded myself I was doing what was best—saving my life. Sleep came briefly as the cold air from the AC blew across me, but it was soon interrupted. Being in a strange bed, I made many trips to the bathroom—five in all—where I met other ladies and exchanged big smiles, acknowledging a sisterhood of breast cancer survivors.

I finally rested around midnight and then got a call. Of course, it was Anna-Lisa checking in and enquiring why I wasn’t sleeping. I answered, “And here you are up too, lol.” She called because she was worried. We laughed, and eventually, I drifted off.

Surgery day–Stepping

into the ring

At 3.45 am, I woke and thanked the Father above for rousing me. In the bathroom’s quiet light, I took one last look at my breasts and whispered goodbye: “I have to let you girls go—the poison inside you will kill me, and I need to leave you behind.”

I showered, returned to my room, and checked messages. The night nurse was surprised to see me up and dressed in my TED stockings to prevent blood clots and handed me my surgical gown. I waited for surgery, my stomach growling as I had not eaten any food since 10 pm, some eight hours earlier.

Messages and calls poured in, wishing me well. Anna-Lisa called again, letting me know she was downstairs waiting for me, unable to come up because visiting hours were over. Hearing her voice made it easier, knowing she was nearby.

While waiting, I met my new neighbour, a 68-year-old grandmother from east Trinidad, who came for reconstruction.

It was time to go into the gayelle, and boy, was I ready to dance. At 49, I was scared but excited, taking the lead in preserving my life. This felt like Christmas morning, and I was ready to open my presents.

At 10 am, the surgical nurse and orderly called my name and helped me to the surgical bed. I was wheeled into the coldest, brightest room, where a nurse confirmed my name and date of birth to ensure the right surgery. She chatted with me to help me relax.

Then I met the anaesthesiologist, who also confirmed my details. I was moved to another cold room where my case was presented to the surgical team. Once all was confirmed, I was wheeled into the surgery room. Anxiety crept in as I was asked to lie on another bed, arms stretched out, while medication was administered. The anaesthesiologist guided me through deep breaths as she placed a mask over my nose and mouth. The next thing I knew, I was out.

Victory and new beginnings

I woke to a familiar voice—Anna-Lisa’s—full of relief. She wanted to hug me but held my hand instead, quietly asking how I felt. My surgery was a success.

YES, it was done, and I thank God! I don’t remember when I got back to my room. I came out of surgery around 2:15 pm—ALIVE!!!

I was thankful Anna-Lisa was there, especially since visiting hours had started and I was alone. We shared our first laugh when she scolded me for putting my strip lashes on my water bottle. “Why, Drayton, why you had to wear those lashes to the hospital? Drayton, Drayton?!”

The moment came to feel my chest for the first time—it was flat. OMG!!

We smiled and thanked God. The visitors’ bell rang once to notify that visiting was nearly over.

I asked the nurse if I could eat, and I was cleared to do so. Anna-Lisa fed me wonton soup from Kam Wah restaurant while teasing me about my lashes every time I drank water.

After she left, I prayed and thanked God for bringing me through. My greatest fear had been not waking up.

I made my way to the bathroom, wheeling myself in with the IV stand, feeling liberated. Looking in the mirror, I was pleased to be alive, especially as my 50th birthday approached in two weeks.

The next day, I was up at 4 am, wheeling myself to the bathroom to tidy up, then did my make-up—lashes and red lip included!

The doctor released me at 9 am into the care of Anna-Lisa and my mother, who were filled with shock that showed on their faces when they saw me with red lips and all.

I made a quick trip to the office to see my colleagues and then headed home to rest.

Two weeks later, during my healing, I went for my first post-surgery dressing check. Healing was progressing well, but I had to return for my report in six weeks.

That day, March 24, I celebrated my 50th birthday with my cousin from Bermuda, Shanda, who treated me to lunch at TGI Friday’s. It wasn’t just a birthday—it was a victory.

I was here. I was alive. I had walked into the gayelle and come out standing, scarred but stronger, ready to dance into the rest of my life.

To be continued.