86. Countdown to hell

Oh god, oh god.  Chemo tomorrow.  I could cry, but I'm not.  Trying not to think about it.  I'm scared.  It makes me feel sick.  I feel as if I'm not strong enough to do it.  PLEASE give me some strength from somewhere. 

I want the chemo.   I want all the fucking cancer cells to die.  I'm trying hard to be able to visualise them being blasted.  If I could do that while I'm getting it, it would probably help.  A lot of my reaction last time was psychological.  We need a chemo CD to listen to, in the way I used to have a 'Give yourself confidence' CD to get me through lesson observations. 

Those syringes are so big.  The very thought of them makes me sweat with fear.  Help!

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Prechemo checklist

5 different types of anti sickness medication to hand
Pain killers ready
Asthma inhaler available
Laxatives there in case of need
Lemon Barley squash ready
Clean nightie
Dressing gown
Slippers
Changed duvet cover and sheets

Basically, everything needs to be done for the next 2/3 days in case I'm not up to doing anything.  I've wrapped most of my Christmas presents, need to put credit on my phone, have clothes ready in case I'm up to getting out of bed.  I know I'll have forgotten something and that will be the very thing I need.

85. Wobble

It's only hours since my last post.  It's 6am though and I'm having a bit of a wobble.  Two reasons.  That two year thing keeps going through my head.  For two years I've got to be excessively vigilant and check religiously for lumps (well, forever really but...).  For two years I'm going to be terrified.  And I'm really, really tired of being scared all the time.  While I'm scared I'm not having a proper life and if this is all the life I've got left I don't want to waste it being scared. 

I'm also wobbly because my daughter misses me and I'm not there.  I feel really guilty that I'm ill and she can't see me, although I don't want her to see me being ill after chemo.  I feel even more guilty that I might die and leave her.  I've been crying for an hour now and writing this has set me off even more.  Bugger. This really is SHIT.

84. Forging ahead

North East Breast Buddies Christmas jolly today.  I met the ladies online first.  There is a north east thread on there and I've made a few friends.  The one I'm in contact with the most, K, wasn't able to come because she's been hit so hard with exhaustion from chemo.  I was quite apprehensive, meeting up with people I'd never met in person before but it was OK.  They're a really nice bunch of ladies.  Very varied in age from young to 60ish.  I was shocked at how young one girl was.  She was triple negative (cancer not responsive to hormones, makes up approx. 10/15% of breast cancer.  Unfortunately, higher death rate too) as well, as was one other woman.  It was good to meet other people with the same diagnosis but scary too because they had more information than I do and some of it was not positive.  I listened for a bit but then had to zone out because I was getting overloaded with frightening info.  One thing that I did notice was that most of them have a lot more information about their cancer than I do.  I'm quite capable of finding this info for myself if I want it, but despite what everyone says, I'm really just not brave enough.  Those women were; brave I mean.  They even knew their chances of survival.  I'm not sure I want to know.  I would like to be as brave as them though. 

One woman there had breast cancer 12 years ago, grade one, stage one and has recently had a recurrence, grade 3 this time.  12 years is a good survival rate.  I'd like that.  57 is a much better life span than 45.  My daughter would be 37, hopefully married with kids and able to cope much better with losing me. 

It was lovely to see them but a bit of a reality check too.  I'm now part of a club that NO ONE ever wants to join.  At one point, I felt like crying.  Managed not to though.  Most of them have young kids and in comparison, I should feel grateful that my child is an adult (told me this morning that she's feeling happy and stable now, yippee!!!!) and independent of me.  I can go if I have too. 

Off to buy yet another bra today.  I WANTED the red sexy bra but settled for my usual, satin plunge, in black.  It wasn't the mangled boob that put me off buying the sexy red number, it's now my weight gain.  My midriff is expanding daily, or at least that's how it feels.  I can't feel attractive while it is.  I SHOULD.  If I don't, I should make efforts to feel better about myself.  Chemo 5 Thursday.  If I'm not too ill afterwards, I'm restarting my gym membership.  At least I'd feel as if I was trying to help myself if I was getting some exercise.  At the moment I feel like a fat, lethargic lump.

I'm still all up in the air about what sort of scan to have done privately on my much examined lump.  S said whole body MRI.  Today though, a couple of the women said that MRI scans are known for giving false positive results.  So maybe an ultrasound or a mammogram WOULD be better.  I'm checking with S.  He's the nearest thing I know to an expert, although I may ring the breast care nurse too.  Although, as she hasn't answered my email yet, I'm not sure if I'll get a response.

83. Relating

It's been a funny old week.  Have been staying at R's because my hot water hasn't been fixed yet. It's been out for a month now; actually, OVER a month.  Crap landladies, totally irresponsible.  They know I've got cancer and am having chemo therapy and STILL are dragging their feet sorting it out.  Totally inhumane.  R and I have been getting on OK.  His son has finally split up with his girlfriend, so conditions chez R are much more bearable.  Less mess, noise and disruption.  We've had some time on our own, which has been really nice too.

The sex drought appears to be over, thank goodness.  NOT my fault this time.  He had seemed totally disinterested for a fair while but is back in the saddle again.  I was a bit concerned but wasn't going to spend time sweating it.  Bigger things on my mind (What?  I hear you ask).  Anyway, while we were, um, you know, this time, my nightcap thingy came off.  It was dark and he told me not to worry about it.  I was a bit self conscious, given that when my hair first fell out he decided he didn't want to see me bald, but I WAS otherwise distracted.  He didn't seem bothered, and after a rather tentative pat, actually started stroking and caressing my head. It was lovely.  Very accepting.  Affectionate and weirdly erotic.  He did it again the next time too.  Nice feeling and made me feel much closer to him as well.  Small steps. 

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Out today with S.  We went to a Christmas market in North Shields.  It was nice.  Lots of stalls; mainly food related but a few giftie places too.  The only thing I bought was vodka.  Chocolate vodka for I and rhubarb for me.  Lush.

82. Stats

I can feel another period of reflection coming on.  But I will spare you for now. 

Here are this weeks stats.  As always, I'm honoured to have so many readers.  Thanks.

United Kingdom 72

United States 18

Spain 9

Cyprus 4

Russia 3

Germany 1

Denmark 1

France 1

Croatia 1

Vietnam 1

81. What DO I think? (apologies for the foul language)

Well.  I may, or may not have mentioned that I've been online on a site called Breast Cancer Care.  Great site.  LOTS of information and online forums, where you can chat to others in a similar situation.  So I'm on 2 forums.  One is a North East group which is great.  Women in the area with or who have had breast cancer. We're meeting up, in person next Monday.  Fab!   I've met a girl on there, K, who is just a week or so behind me in treatment and who goes to the same hospital.  We have the same nurse for a favourite and BOTH hate fucking chemo.  Although, that's a stupid statement.  NO ONE likes chemo.  We're nearish in age, although she's younger than me.  Which is rare.  Breast cancer is an old women's disease on the whole.  The downside of this is when it does strike prior to menopause it is frequently fatal.

Anyway.   The other forum I'm in is for those who started chemo in September.  This is good too because we're all feeling like shit at the same time.  The really good thing about this forum is that everyone I talk to on there GETS how fucking awful chemo is.  Civilians aka non chemo sufferers don't.  End of.  OK, OK, arrogant I know, but it's true.  Very kind, loving, well meaning friends make statements like 'Only 2 to go.'  Uh huh.  Those near and dear (OK, the boyfriend) make truly fucking stupid comparisons between other illnesses (minor) and medications (virtually over the bloody counter - well, maybe not, BUT) that scream ignorance of the hell that chemo is.  I described it yesterday to a friend as being pumped full (there is LOADS of the stuff to be injected) of poison so strong it can cause acid burns if it gets on the skin.  And this is true.  The bloody nurse wears GOGGLES for fucks sake.  Making myself sit still while ever fibre of my being is terrified and screaming NOOOO, it's going to kill you, it's poison.  My head feeling as if it's swelling and shrinking alternately, swimming, fading in and out.  Feeling as if I'm going to vomit, in front of 20 or 30 people any moment.  Hot flushes, shivering fits.    Um, sorry, as I was saying before I got sidetracked into a rant, the women on the site KNOW.  They're doing it.  And how great to moan or share or just not feel alone in the hell and the terror for once. 

The downside to this great site is, however, also one of its positives.  Information.  Loads of it backed up with other peoples accounts and experiences.  One of the things I'm learning is that my cancer, triple negative (meaning not affected by any hormone) is often fatal.  As it isn't affected by hormones, there is no treatment beyond chemo and radio therapy.  It also has a 2 year window.  If it hasn't recurred in this 2 year period, survival chances go up.  I read somewhere today that it recurs less than other types of breast cancer, BUT this may have been anecdotal.  I had to stop reading at that point.  Information overload. 

The other cancer related thing I did today was contact a private breast screening company.  They offer 4 types of scans, mammography, ultrasound, MRI and something called a Digital Infrared scan.  I found the site by accident but read the home page and FAQ.  It appeared that they were willing to scan pre diagnosed women.  What can I lose?  I emailed.  Big deal.  It's just, that lump.  The 'harmless' one that's been felt by 4 different medical professionals.  It's also the pain in my collar bone that is really just a niggle, but...  Anyway.  I emailed this morning.  They haven't replied yet.

80. Urrrrrgggghhhh

I feel like SHIT.  Before you think this is a cancer moan, it isn't (yippee!).  I have a cold.  Head.  Chest.  Lack of energy.  Scratchy throat.  Racking cough.  I went to bed early because I felt crappy but couldn't sleep.  Read till 2am, got up, had a drink and a cough, went back to bed, read some more.  Finally, finally, fell asleep about 3/4am.  Up at 6 for a drink.  Bloke woke up at 8.30.  Finally managed to drag myself downstairs by 11.  Oh well.  It ain't life threatening.  Although if I get a temperature it could be.  Meh.

79. Sisters

Snow's still here.  Lots of it.  I actually went out in it yesterday. It's OK where it's compacted and hard but the soft stuff is difficult to walk in.  A bit like sand.  Which I suppose makes sense, given that a lot of what's on the ground started out as hail.

Nice day.  Wife of a friend of R's met me in town.  We went round the shops.  She bought some lovely boots.  Had lunch and a great chat.  I really like her, she's warm, caring and kind.  Funny too and can talk the hind leg off a donkey, which is great, because I clam up at times. 

I'm still feeling OK although I do seem to be developing a cold.  Will phone the chemo ward and see if I need to do anything extra.  I also have, I don't know what to call them; niggling aches and pains.  I've had pains in my boob and also in my collar bone above my boob.  Could be nothing.  Could be bone cancer.  Never again will I be able to just ignore anything minor.  In the back of my head now, it could always, conceivably, be life threatening.  I could moan about it, but given how well I'm feeling I won't.

Oh, oh, oh!  I've met a lovely group of ladies online through the Breast Cancer Care website forums.  I've been chatting with a girl younger than me, K, who lives fairly locally and have also been in touch with other women in the area.  They meet up every so often and are out on Dec. 13th so I'm going to meet them.  How nice!  And how helpful, knowing other people that are going through the same thing.  K is also having chemo at the Freeman and her nurse of choice is also G.  She is approximately 2 weeks behind me in treatment so we're at almost exactly the same stage.  Talking to them has made me grateful that I'm not having more problems than I am.  Nothing like a bit of perspective.

UPDATE:

Cold is developing.  I feel like crap.  Meant to be going to Durham tomorrow with S.  I really hope I feel better than this.  Good nights sleep needed I think.

78. Let it snow...

Day 4 after chemo 4.

Still well.  I AM feeling the tiredness but even that isn't as bad without the debilitating effect of sickness.  I had my follow up appointment with the consultant today, 10.45am, which was good, EXCEPT we've had blizzards and heaps and piles of snow.  I managed to get the car out though and got there half an hour early.  My notes weren't back from chemo so I ran (really!) upstairs to get them and nearly killed myself.  Had to sit down to recover.  Still.  Good though. 

I didn't actually see the consultant again; one of his assistants.  Young, oriental, pretty, nice.  She asked for my side effects and I rattled them off, randomly, haphazardly.  I even flustered her I think.  Oh for my MIND back! 

Just BEING in that bloody hospital makes me feel sick.  I hate it there.  I got out as soon as I could and arranged to meet R for a coffee.  Except I had tea.  Earl Gray.  Tastes better than normal tea at the moment.  Now cooking dinner and feeling OK.  Let it snow.  Let it hail.  Let it do whatever the fuck it likes.  I don't care.  I feel well.  Ye bloody ha.

77. Day 2 (after chemo 4)

Well, well, well.  Pretty much sums it up. 

I lazed around in bed some of the morning, expecting to feel icky but didn't, much.  Took ALL the anti sickness pills, had several drinks, ramped it up (ooooh, daring) to a little Heinz tomato soup and later onto a small bowl of my frozen lentil soup. 

I felt OK.  Hey, who'd have thought?  Certainly not me. 

Later, I braved going out to the supermarket with R.  I found some new fluffy pyjamas AND managed to shop.  And didn't collapse when I got home.

How can chemo 4 be better than any of the others?  I kept expecting some sort of ill effect to kick in but nothing did.  OK, the steroids DID keep me up half the night and I did need to up the anti sickness meds by the evening but nothing major. 

Later, R's mate came round.  I felt a prat sitting in my pj's in front of a bloke I don't know.  Totally weirded out when he put his arm around me and pecked me on the cheek.  He's a nurse, so I understand the compassion, but, really, NO!!!

76. NOT so bad after all

4th chemo.  I worried myself shitless about FEC 4 after I developed phlebitis after 3.  By the week before it was due though, I gave myself a talking to; I was ruining my quality of life by worrying in between cycles.  It worked reasonably well.  Less worrying, more peace of mind.

Day before, I was still managing to keep my mind off it, just.  Chemo day dawned though and I couldn't avoid it anymore.  We arrived and were taken in 1/2 hour late.  G, the male nurse I had for chemo 2.  Well, he was fast and efficient at least.  Knew well what he was doing, thank goodness after last time with the sister from hell, who it now transpires, may well have caused my phlebitis due to her dodgy needle insertion.

Anyway, my worst fears were avoided.  G found another vein in my right hand, wrist actually (really fucking hurt, having a needle put into the wrist).  He'd phoned the consultant and had been advised to give me a shot of hydro cortisone prior to chemo to stop any adverse reaction.  I had my Emend anti sickness and off he went, a bit too quickly really as he hadn't given the anti sickness time to kick in.  I was jumpy, nervous and scared.  No two ways around it.  G commented on it but continued.  Half way through I developed a bad bout of shivering and was FREEZING.  G didn't stop or appear unduly worried, but after he'd finished he tucked my coat around me.  Very thoughtful.

Before I left, he went through my meds with me.  I've got more now, to keep the sickness under control.  As we left, I felt like shit and started to cry, so we sat down for a bit.  Then I felt puky and thankfully made it to the loo in time.  I felt much better after being sick, if still somewhat weepy.  However, I could tell anymore exertion of any kind would set the nausea off again, so I sucked it up and went home. 

I stayed on the sofa all evening.  Tried to go to bed once but it was too noisy upstairs so went down to the sofa again.  I briefly considered going home, but not a good idea really, being on my own on chemo day. 

75. Here we go again...

Chemo day after tomorrow.  I'm trying REALLY hard not to think about it.  WHERE are they going to put it in?  Foot I could just about deal with.  Don't want and am terrified of having a clavicle port.  Equally worried about having a porto cath (arm?).  Don't want my inflamed veins further damaged. 

On the plus side, I'm making hats from a pattern recommended to me by a woman I met at the benefits and work workshop.  VERY nice.  I'm making them in jersey so they're soft.  Very funky.  I'd wear them even if I had hair, unlike the scarves and that damn wig.  Have made 3 so far and have 2 more on the go.  I'm sending one to Justine in the US and am gonna make one for my little pumpkin.  Justine is having a seriously hard time which is both a lesson and a warning to me. 

74. Reflection or moaning? You choose

So I've been reflecting on chemo so far.  The things I hate are:

1  Seeing it put in.  The sight of the red chemical is almost enough to make me vomit.

2  The chemo suite.  I hate it.  Really bad associations.

3  The nausea and sickness.  Obviously.

4  The way the chemicals make my head feel.  I feel swimmy and not like me.  I get some sort of disorientating dizziness.  Never again will I take anything willingly that alters my state of mind.

5  The way I have to be in bed for days afterwards.  I suppose, strictly speaking, I don't have to be, but the only place I have any sense of comfort or normality is in bed.

6  The fear I feel before I have it.  It terrifies me.

7  The sense that they are filling my body with poisons.  Which they are.

Strangely enough, other things don't bother me.  I don't really care about being bald although I do hate having to wear something on my head.  I'm not too fussed about the ulcers that are trying to form at the corners of my mouth, or about my tongue feeling burned all the time.  I don't really care anymore about my lack of libido (although, actually, it's come back for the time being) or even about other sensitive areas being a bit sore (I'm trying to keep this polite).  Dry skin is no more than a passing irritation.   The phlebitis is slightly annoying and I do worry I'll develop a clot from it but as far as my tolerance of it goes, it's OK.  I don't actually like my boob being scarred and a different size and shape to the other one, but I can put up with it.  Even the operation itself was OK.  I think the upshot really is (so far) that I can cope with most things when I'm not actually at the hospital having chemo administered and the 48 hours immediately afterwards.

73. Recovery

So.  No sickness.  I stayed at R's for the night but then, bingo, the next day, the stuff that passes for music that his son makes started.  R was in town, and out to the pub that night so I thought that I might as well be at home.  I was wobbly, but grabbed the nearest pile of my stuff and the meds and went home.

I was in bed mostly for 3 days.  Eating was possible, because I wasn't vomiting but I did have intermittent nausea so didn't want anything with any lumps in it.  Heinz tomato soup got a bit old after a while but L, the vicar from work, came round with some amazing lentil soup.  I made it last for 3 servings it was so nice.  It actually settled my stomach which was a relief.  It was lovely to see her and hear her good news.  She's been given a lottery grant so is starting a cafe, one day a week, in her local area.  I'll definitely be there.  They're amazing cooks!

Saturday, when I woke up, I realised my chemo arm was stiff and sore.  I remembered that in the night I'd got up to go to the loo and thought I saw my veins turning brown along the arm.  At the time, I'd dismissed it as a nightmare, but there was some discolouration.

I phoned the chemo ward and they told me to go to A&E.  Could be infection, could be phlebitis. Thankfully, A&E next door (literally across the road) was still open, although due for closure a week later.  I dragged myself round, exhausted and sweating by the time I got there.  Sitting in the waiting room was hard, I could barely keep myself upright.  It was the first real time that I'd felt like an ill person.  I mean, I HATE chemo and it makes me feel like shit, but that is artificial illness.  Chemo would make an athlete ill.  But sitting in that dingy hospital, in a waiting room with people with cuts and broken bones, made me feel abnormal. 

I was seen really quickly.  The blood pressure machine wasn't working (either that or I was sicker than I thought).  The doctor was a young girl who seemed very unsure, but she diagnosed phlebitis too and gave me antibiotics, instructing me to come back if it got worse and to contact my doctor if it didn't get any better. 

Over the weekend I spoke to S.  He said that a long line would be a good idea to avoid any more problems like this.  At the time I didn't ask what this was.

Monday, day 4, I was still really tired.  My arm was no worse but no better so I phoned the consultants secretary.  She said that he should assess me in clinic that afternoon.  Bugger.  Got to go out again.  My rent was due and the agent hadn't arranged a standing order mandate as I'd requested so I had to go out to pay it.  I went to R's afterwards but he seemed pissed off so I went home again.  Back to bed for an hour. 

I had a taxi take me to the hospital.  I couldn't face driving.  The consultant didn't inspire confidence.  He was distant and cold with a rather nasty patch of eczema on his face.  He told me to discontinue the antibiotics and stick to ibuprofen.  He made some changes to my anti sickness meds and that was it.  I asked him how I'd get my chemo next time and he rather ominously said 'They'll get it in somehow.'  Very reassuring.  He did say that they should be able to manage side effects from the chemo each time but also said that I shouldn't feel as ill as I did on only cycle 3.  He also mentioned a long line being fitted but said it could hopefully be avoided as I'd only got 3 cycles left.

R picked me up from the hospital and took me back to his.  I felt I had to make an effort but really couldn't stay upright so went to bed.  The sheets needed changing.  I wanted to be at home.  :-(

72. 3rd chemo

Cycle 2 side effects

Severe vomiting (Unable to keep any fluids down for more than 30 mins)
Vomiting from 7pm on day of chemo. Hourly for 36 hours
and then every 3 or 4 hours for a further 36 hours

Moderate to severe headache
Hot and cold sweats for vomiting period
Moderate sore throat
Day 3/4/5 moderate to severe pain in stomach (from previous ulcer?)


Cycle 3

This is hard.  Even thinking about it makes me feel sick.  But...

Got to the hospital on time.  Had to wait an hour, which was annoying because it took a lot for me to psych myself up to it in the first place.  When finally I was taken through into the chemo suite, it was packed.  One nurse off sick. 

I'd had the local anaesthetic cream on my hand for 2 hours by the time the nurse got to me.  She was disorganised and chaotic and didn't inspire confidence.  She didn't bother with the hot water to dilate my veins and put the cannula straight in, complaining about the quality of the vein.  Duh.

I waited about another 30 mins and a different nurse (thank goodness) came over.  I gave her my pre-typed list of symptoms (above) and she went away.  After another wait of half an hour, she came back with a pill (Emend) for me.  I had to take it and wait another hour.  I didn't hold out much hope of it reducing my level of nausea. 

When finally she came to start my chemo, I already felt sick.  As she gave it, I felt sicker and sicker.  Eventually, I asked for a sick bowl.  The thought of throwing up in front of loads of other people was mortifying but...

The injections went in slowly.  The saline drip wasn't clearing easily and she had to keep waiting.  But eventually it was done.  I was given the usual anti sickness drugs and an additional two pill of Emend to take home. 

We went back to R's.  I sat on the sofa and dozed (thankfully).  When I woke up at about 9.30 I took some sickness meds and went to bed. 

No vomiting!

71. Don't want to

R's birthday yesterday so he had some friends round last night.  Should have been nice but wasn't because I'm dreading chemo today.

It's depressing me.  I don't want to have stuff that is going to make me feel like death for 4 days.  I'm scared.  2 days of vomiting every hour.  I didn't want to get up.  I didn't want to have to line up the medication ready for later.  I didn't want to have to sort out my clothes because I won't be up to it for a week. 

I HATE this.

Oh and my boob hurts.  My underarm hurts.  My arm aches.  My libido is zero and I'm officially menopausal now.  The TWO consultants I saw both said my lump is probably OK but I'm still scared and worried its another tumour.  If they're wrong I could die.  Nice gamble.

70. Practical shit

Went to a symposium on cancer, work and state benefits.  It was mostly a lot of waffle but I did get to ask a few questions.  Answers below.

1)  It is typical for teachers to be discouraged to work during treatment despite periods of wellness.  If I'm well enough to work, my employer should allow me to.

2)  I'm entitled to Statutory Sick Pay as well as my salary (although, as I haven't seen my payslips since I've been off yet, don't know if I'm getting it at the moment or not).

3)  My employer needs to make reasonable adjustments to my job to enable me to continue working when I'm ready to return (which may or may not mean I'll need to go part time, if I'm taking Tamoxifen (sic?) permanently).

4)  Anyone with a cancer diagnosis at any point in their life has permanent disabled status, thus conferring extra employment rights (sounds nuts, but actually makes sense.  To prevent employees missing out on promotions or being discriminated against when applying for new jobs because of the cancer).

5)  I should get a phased return to work and need to have this specified in writing so there is no confusion about it.


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As well as the information, I also noticed what a sheer relief it was to be in a room with people that all had/have had cancer.  Although I was wearing a scarf, it felt symbolically as if I'd chosen to take off my head covering and sit bald, with no judgement.  In that room, a bald woman with cancer was normal; in the majority.  It's been 4 months since I've felt normal in any way.

I also talked a bit to a woman wearing a HOT hat. Turned out she'd made it herself. To date (27.11.10) I've made 5.

69. On the road again...

Home today.  Although I'm not sure up north feels like home really.  I'm not sorry to be going but I do feel a bit rootless now.  I'm happy to have my treatment up there but East Anglia feels like home.

It's been a good visit.  I met up with two friends that I haven't seen for a year and a half.  It was amazing.  I felt as if no time had passed at all.  No distance, no awkwardness, just nice.  Things have obviously changed though.  I don't work with them anymore (we all taught at the same school in Ipswich).  N has a new, hopefully permanent man, K is now a figure of authority at school, I have cancer.  Hmmm, short straw or what. 

Real feeling of deja vue to the day though.  We went to Norwich for the day from school as a well being trip once a couple of years ago and I was MISERABLE then.  This time, I was actively happy (rather than just default happy) and really aware of it.  I have no idea why really.  I think cancer really has seen off my stupid day-to-day irritations and discontents and focused me on what is important.  Which is... love really.  I know it sounds daft and right on man-ish but it's true.  I'm aware now of how many people care about me in a way I wasn't before and I'm really grateful and pleased that I inspire that in so many people.  Far more than I thought.  A grumpy, opinionated old bag like me.


My nieces have been lovely and very supportive this visit too. Once of them told me how much she admired me for being so brave about it all.  Ha.  They should read this blog!  Brave my ass. 

Things with I were nice. She's being normal again, which is just the way I want it.  It's nice when she's kind and supportive but it makes me feel like I'm bloody dying!  She didn't want to see my head (neither does R) which upsets me a bit.  I feel as if they should just accept me the way I am.  I don't look bad, bald, so if I can accept it, they should be able to as well.

My daughter did love my wig though and wore it when we went out to dinner.  Hilarious. I hate it and either go without any head covering or wear scarves and my Muslim skull caps.  She can have it once my hair grows back.  Good riddance!

68. Ye ha

Visiting home to see the family.  I love 'em but they do my head in too.  Anyway.  Duty calls.

Step one.  My mum met me off the train, seeing me in my scarf for the first time. 
Step two.  When we got home, revealed my bald head.
Step three.  Out for a chaotic meal with the family, bald.

Steps one and two were OK. 
Step three; baldness was the least of my worries.  Family nuts.  Hysteria.  Nice meal.  5 year old vomited on the floor.  At this point NO ONE was looking at my bald head.  Stroppy waiter.  Fast exit. 

Nice head massage from mum though.  Feels amazing on my baldness. :-)

67. Big 'n brave

Met S at the gym tonight.  I was apprehensive.  She wanted to swim but I didn't know what to do about my baldy head.  Muslim cap or bald?  In the end I chickened out.  Muslim cap.  Seeing as how I did no swimming but just sat in the jaquzzi, I guess it didn't really matter.

When we got changed though, I decided not to put my scarf back on.  Safety in numbers; with her support, I went scarfless.  I only noticed one person looking.  Physically, it felt lovely.  When I had a hot flush, it really helped having nothing on my head.  Nice.

66. Stats

Readers to date.  I am very honoured.  Thanks everyone


United Kingdom 1,128

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65. Bald is best

Nicked today's title from a card I saw in town.  Banksy's monkey with the slogan changed.  In purple.  Well.  I didn't buy it but will and scan it and put it on here. 

I don't know if I like myself bald or not yet.  The shock in the mirror is still too great.  I might look better if I had full slap on, but usually I look at myself at either end of the day.  One thing I've noticed, my ears are very flat to my head.  Apart from the top little bit that sticks out a little, which makes me look like Spock. 

The FEEL of my head, however, is lovely.  I'd had enough of the tufty shit a couple of days ago, so shaved my head in the shower.  It was harder than you'd imagine.  The bits I did well felt gorgeous though.  Smooth and sensitive.  So for the last couple of mornings I've had the razor out, tidying it up. I'm getting a little obsessed I think. 

What amazes me is how soft and new the skin on my head looks.  As I said, it feels gorgeous.  I wish I had the confidence to walk around bald.  I catch myself slipping my fingers under the wrap to stroke it.  It feels nice to the touch and the touch on my head is amazing. 

The other thing that gets me is that without hair, the face becomes less important.  Now I can look at my whole head without the distraction of hair, the front oval (face) is just a part of the whole.  And this makes the skin that in isolation looks old, look younger.  Also, now there's no hair, I can see the bulge of muscles at the base of my skull that cause my migraines when they get tense.  It would be very easy for someone to massage them now I have no hair, which just might see off the migraine.  Interesting concepts coming out of something that I was terrified of.

64. Sista

So I'm walking around in scarves that I find binding and annoying.  I'm paranoid about looking like a victim, which I probably did on Monday when I ventured out for the first time after the chemo from hell.  I was exhausted and ready to vomit at any given point.  Which considering I went to the supermarket and the bank, wasn't a good thing.

I've been experimenting with how to tie the scarves.  I don't like the long bit flapping at the back so am ending up with a head wrap a lot of the time. 

When I was in the supermarket, I noticed a woman giving me REALLY filthy looks.  I'm a particularly unobservent person, so it was definitely NOT a figment of my imagination.  They were real evils.  I thought about it but... whatever.

Then when I was in town,  a Muslim woman made a real point of smiling at me.  LIGHTBULB!  I look like a convert.  Fabulous!  I love it.  Except I hope they don't think I'm a terrorist. 

63. All in the head?

I’ve been stressing about the 2nd lump. Is it real or isn’t it? It’s the one that I think I found on results day. It’s been examined by:

My surgeon

A breast care nurse

My oncologist

And I’ve had it ultrasounded by the woman who initially diagnosed me (but I think she may have missed it because I had such a huge seroma – 250 mls drained off).

The symptoms/appearance
Feels hard and spherical although not completely round, just like the first lump
It shows through my skin
It has the ‘orange peel’ skin appearance
It isn’t painful


I really want to believe that it isn’t a tumour. WHO wants more cancer? But if it is another lump, I want to know. Take the fucker out.

Anyway. I’ve stressed myself to the point where it’s waking me up at night so I emailed S. He told me to contact my breastcare nurse and if she didn’t help to contact my consultant (which one? Surgeon or oncologist?). He also told me if they hadn't done something by Friday he'd make phone calls.  Yet again, I'm SO grateful I've got him.  He feels like a safety harness. 

I was awake at 6.30am anyway so emailed the nurse. She phoned back later. I definitely think they think I’m neurotic. I think maybe I am. But it IS a real lump whether I’m building it into cancer when it’s just breast tissue or not. I think the only thing that will really set my mind at rest is if they biopsy it.

I must be crazy. Woman with needle phobia WANTS needles shot into her recently operated on breast. But I can imagine the rush of relief if it isn’t cancer. PLEASE!!!!!!!!!

62. Catching up. Apologies for any repetition or omission

I feel a bit weird writing this (have a feeling it will be in real depth) because on the surface not much other than chemo is happening and yet I feel my head is full of cancer related stuff.

Chronologically recently I have:

1) Had total hair loss – am bald now

2) Undergone my 2nd chemo - fucking awful

3) Seen the geneticist – head fuck

4) Been experiencing sexual issues – nothing new there then

Will tackle these in order.

Hair Loss

When my hair started dropping out, I got R to clip it short. This was liberating and made me feel AMAZING. Hair is an issue for women. Naively never realised it before. Cutting it off was like saying fuck you to the world.

When the clipped hair got too sparse, however, that was anything but liberating. I started wearing scarves because I don’t like the hypocrisy of pretending I’ve got hair when I don’t really. On balance, I’m glad I’ve got a wig, because it’s there if I want to blend in but overall, I’d rather not pretend. Wearing something on your head all the time is however oppressive. Sorry to all the Muslim ladies out there, but it is. The weight. The readjusting. The pressure. And seeing myself with concentration camp sparse hair was awful. A slap in the face every time I looked in the mirror.

After I’d got over chemo, I took the bull by the horns and clipped it to nearly invisible. Better but still a shock. I WANT to embrace being bald. It too could be freeing. But I’m not there yet. Not to mention it’s cold.

2nd Chemo

Tripped along to the hospital, relatively blithely. Slightly apprehensive because I was worried it would get worse each time but overall, ok.

Didn’t like the 2nd male nurse I got. I want a woman, ok? Someone fat and comforting. Once he got started though it wasn’t too bad. He went to school in Suffolk so we had a nice chat and I felt like a person not a number despite the huge workload he had.

Out to lunch afterwards to celebrate. Mistake. Within 4 hours I’d been sick for the first time. I felt awful. I was sick every hour for the next 24-36 hours. Headache. Dizzy. Shaky. Hot and cold flushes. Shivering. My throat was sore and swelling from throwing up bile. Couldn’t keep water down, couldn’t keep the anti-sickness drugs down.

The following two days I felt human again although I couldn’t eat or get out of bed. After I’d stopped vomiting I asked R to take me home because his son was mixing ‘music’ upstairs, loudly and I thought either my head or my stomach would burst. I DID feel fractionally better at home, probably because in the quiet I could nap when I wanted to.

Geneticist

I wanted this and yet when the letters came put off booking it. Finally got round to it.

Lovely lady. Went through my family history. The thing that stood out to me was despite my blithely assuming that we had little cancer risk in my family, that we have actually had a lot of it. For such a small family.

She particularly picked out my uncle (lymphoma or some lymph node related disease) and my granddad (prostate). Although she’s not sure yet, she thinks we have a faulty gene handed down my father’s side of the family. If it is this, it could benefit me, because she can tailor my treatment exactly to what is needed for my cancer.

At the time this was just a lot of information to take in. I was only doing it to protect I. Later, though, I began mulling it over. Far from NOT being at risk of breast cancer, I should have been screened for the faulty gene and offered regular mammograms once I was past 30. And possibly preventative surgery. Instead, I’m sitting here post op, in intensive chemo, with radio therapy ahead, worrying that I may not survive more than the next 2 or 3 years.

Sex

I haven’t had a period since my first chemo, over a month ago. I think I was warned chemo could induce the menopause but it didn’t really register. I’m way past wanting to reproduce and have been having hot flushes for years anyway. I hadn’t really considered the effect menopause would have on my libido though. Since the 2nd chemo, I’ve had none, whatsoever. But that could be down to the severity of how ill I felt.

The other sexual angle I was worried about was the effect on R of my hair loss. I’m having problems dealing with it so I don’t blame him if he is.

The plus side of all of this SHIT is that we are closer, so now I’m feeling better again, sex was an option. I was reluctant to initiate it but he didn’t make any move so I did. He took a bit of coaxing, but rather than letting his, um, lack of response, hurt my feelings, I decided to go with it. And it was amazing. It’s always been good but it was fantastic, better than usual. And had the added benefit of boosting both of our egos. So now I’m hoping that THAT issue is out of the way.

61. House hunting

Hairs still dropping out. I’m half way there to being bald on top now. Fortunately, I’m getting better at tying scarves over the jersey cap so I’m OK with going out like it. I practised tonight, at wearing the cap and scarf and have discovered that they’re quite warm, more so than hair would be. Learning curve maybe? Lighter silk scarves needed, rather than pashminas.

Went to view my first house today. I wanted R to go with me but he’s working his way down to a bad patch so went on my own. My instinct was right. GORGEOUS house. It looked good online and much better in reality. 3 bedrooms. Dining room. Small but very modern kitchen. 3 bedrooms. Big landing (enough room for a desk and PC). Small bathroom but nice, no work needed. Big enough attic for a loft conversion. The décor was all nice, with only the lounge and dining room needing painting to fit my colour scheme. Of course, it’s too expensive. If I knew I had 20 years of work ahead of me, I’d buy it. Strictly speaking I can afford it, but in the back of my mind the whole time, I’ve got the thought that the cancer may come back and I don’t want to default on mortgage repayments. Cancer strikes again.

Oncologist appointment tomorrow and then chemo Thursday. I MUST ask the nurse to examine me, to feel what I think is a lump AND ask if it’s being recorded in my notes. I’m worried it will be a tumour and that they’ll dismiss it and that then, later, finally, it will be ‘discovered’ and there won’t be a record of it. Already, it is being called a haematoma, which it can’t be. It’s been there since the week after my surgery and has got bigger, not smaller.

60. Femi-nazi hair

The hair’s been dropping out. It wasn’t nice when it was happening when I was drying my hair but the worst was when we were having sex. It’s fairly normal, I think, that the touching involves holding your lovers head while kissing. I’d never noticed how much of it goes on until it meant that every time he put his hands in my hair that it was coming out. Which was obviously crap because it ruined the mood for me.

The hair loss was happening pretty heavily. I could see hair on my pillow in the morning so finally, I asked R to clip it off. He found a set of blades that were over an inch long which sounded OK. I was nervous it would pull but it didn’t and actually felt really nice, so I relaxed and enjoyed it. The first sight of my head was a shock. Fortunately, I’d dyed my hair a couple of weeks ago, so it was dark red rather than grey. It needed washing though, so I had a shower and used the hair dryer on it.

It looked OK. I put make up on, heavy around the eyes and got dressed. And looked again. My hair looked, not just OK, but FANTASTIC!!! I was amazed and kept looking. From angle to angle. It really did look incredible. I posted pictures on Facebook and within an hour, several friends also said how amazing it looked.

After the shock of clipping my hair off, I realised I still had stuff to do in town. So I took my skinhead self off feeling incredible.

I really can’t over emphasize the euphoria I felt. I walked around town, shopping, browsing, revelling even, in how I felt. Wow. I knew really, it didn’t look that amazing. Quite a lot of hair had come off the crown and my scalp was really visible. The feeling, however, didn’t seem to be linked to my actual appearance. I think I was just relieved and happy that this huge step hadn’t knocked me down.

59. Rug...

Hair is still coming out. Finally, finally, I had to bite the bullet and go to buy a wig. I also had a lot of coursework to mark, so combined the tasks.

Buying the wig was the most stressful task so I did it first. The shop was fairly easy to find. Although it was the shop recommended by the NHS, it was also the place my hairdresser advised me to go to, so I was OK with it. I WAS however, disappointed with the shop. It was small and the wigs inside were really old fashioned and not at all tempting. There WAS one wig, short and in dark brown, that I thought I may be able to cope with.

The assistant was busy when I went in so I waited. I wasn’t convinced by her manner but knew I couldn’t leave without a wig because I didn’t want to have to gather my courage and go back again. Finally when it was my turn, she took me into a back room. I didn’t want to hide in the back but wasn’t given an option. I tried wig after wig. They all looked ridiculous. Each time, the assistant liked the look, which didn’t give me much confidence in her advice.

Then she put a wig on me that off, looked like nothing special. Once it was on, however, it just looked like hair. Which was SUCH a huge relief and is, I suppose, the intention. I played with it, she adjusted it.

I bought wig shampoo and conditioner. I considered some of the scarves they sold but they were dark and old fashioned. I asked about how to tie scarves and the woman from the back room played around a bit; obviously a hairdresser, she did it easily with a flick of the wrist and a little finger play.

The assistant told me I should keep the wig on. I felt really self-conscious but did it. I guess I had to start sometime. I walked around in it, feeling as if everyone must be staring at me. No one was. But the front of the wig kept riding up making the fringe look stupid.

I sent a photograph of myself to S and to I. S liked it. I, however, was upset. Which made the whole thing worse. OK, so I may die. I know it and am coming to terms with the possibility and am resolving my own sense of mortality and religious and spiritual beliefs but my poor baby will be left behind, having to deal with losing her mother. Which is SHIT. I can’t do it. I have to live even if it means having bits of me cut off and having chemo after chemo. So I spent the afternoon reassuring her. I love her SO much and I hate that she’s having to deal with this.

58. Skull cap

So the slight hair loss continued. It was looking inevitable that I’d be without hair within a week or so I started buying scarves. R was with me the first time; rehabilitation after his time in Coventry. It was helpful, he helped with choosing colours that didn’t suit me and also made me less self-conscious.

But bloody hell. Decent scarves are expensive. £25 in M&S. I remembered that I’d got quite a lot of scarves at home, stashed away for work wear. I pulled them all out and started trying them on. It was hopeless. I didn’t know how to tie them and which ones looked best. Square scarves were easier. Long rectangular scarves LOOKED like they should work better but didn’t. There is a problem of what to do with the body of the scarf that hangs over the back of the head. Wearing them as a hair band didn’t work because then the bald bit stuck out the back.

R had the brainwave of looking on You Tube for instructions of how to tie a scarf. I watched the cancer scarf advice. It was functional and useful but… NOT glamorous. I did another search and found a gorgeous Muslim woman advising how to tie a hijab. Hey. HER scarf looked gorgeous. She had a really wide headband underneath to give a two colour effect, with the scarf further back on the head. Mmmm. THEN she showed a cap thing that could be used instead of the headband.

Eureka! One quick web search later and I’d ordered 4 cotton jersey bonnet caps from a Muslim website. Hot pink, turquoise, purple and black. Nice colours and best of all, VERY cheap. Not much more than £1 each. With a scarf tied over the top, in two complementary colours, the effect is not too bad. A hot pink jersey cap with a purple scarf over the top is LOVELY. Although wearing them over hair is annoying and itchy. I HOPE they’ll feel better when I’m bald.

57. Losing hair

I was drying my hair in the bathroom in front of the mirror as usual. It was looking a little limp so I gave the long side of my asymmetric cut a tug… and a small clump came out. I know I’ve been expecting it (not yet, supposedly after the 2nd chemo) but it was still a mild shock. But. No point worrying. I flushed it down the loo and carried on. Later, R told me I’d been imagining things. Really. Thanks for that.

Again, the next day, a similar amount of hair. But only when I pulled on it, so obviously, JUST DON’T.

56. No shit

Or maybe I’m no different after all. Things have blown up with R. All the little niggles came together yesterday. I’ve been trying to ignore stuff but there’s only so much that can be put aside. It’s a bit like ignoring kids with behaviour issues at school. If you don’t nip it in the bud it just gets worse and worse. Which is bad. One thoughtless comment led to another thoughtless action and it snowballed into downright indifference.

And yet I assumed I needed him because of the cancer. Having only been here a year, I don’t know loads of people, which I think also maybe made him feel obliged. Having cancer makes me feel like shit. But a friend, who has a friend with cancer, gave me a talking to about appreciating living. And she’s right and I realised this. I’ve been mooching around, scared and stressed about dying, when what I should be doing is appreciating living. It could be worse. The cancer could be in my lymph nodes, it could have spread, I could have needed a mastectomy, I could be having a horrible time with chemo.

So. To the best of my ability, no fucking more. And part of what has been making me sad and depressed was / is R. He has been making me feel like shit lately. I do nice stuff for him, think of things he might like, did laundry, housework and shopping while he was away. I KNOW he’s been supportive of my health issues. He was prepared to look after me during chemo. But I’m not just a responsibility (maybe that’s the problem, he’s not big on responsibility), I’m still me even with the depression and cancer.

I’m not used to this. I’m used to having fairly good self-esteem about myself but the cancer has affected my rating. I’m no longer able to see myself as a reasonable catch for someone. If I’m single again, I can’t see myself in a new relationship. Who wants to be with someone who may need nursing and who may not survive, long term. That does not, however, mean I’m prepared to be dragged down by someone else. The ultimate cliché maybe but life really is too short.

55. Good day

Not a bad old day, really. Slept until 10, which is pretty unheard of and nice. R phoned, I assume because he realised how thoughtless he was yesterday, to suggest a day out. I used to hold a grudge, but cancer’s made me rethink my attitudes.

So I ran a couple of errands and then we went to Craster. It was windy and cool, rather than cold. We walked up to the castle, which took, I don’t know, an hour, hour and a half?

It was really good. Fresh, invigorating and really blew the cobwebs away. I didn’t think about my boob or the cancer at all, until R brought up Michael Douglas, who is looking rough. Now, far be it from me to lack sympathy for someone; I like to flatter myself that I’m a kind and sensitive person, but Michael Douglas has got 20 years on me AND has been a lifelong smoker. Not that anyone ever deserves cancer, but I want 20 more years please.

54. Message

If you're following this and wonder why I'm not updating, chemo kicked ass this time and I'm recovering.

Will be back online in a couple of days.  Thanks for reading!

53. What's normal?

Hmm.  Couple of not so good days.  No side effects from the chemo, other than having gone off hot drinks (go figure?) but mentally...

My boob's been sore and hard and swollen.  I did get a bit carried away a few days ago and forgot to be careful of it, during sex, but nothing major.  No S&M or anything, just a normal romp.  But I don't think it was anything warranting the discomfort and pain I've been having.  I've gone back to wearing the soft bra I had at first and for one night wore no bra at all and I think it's a little better.

The real problem is with my head though.  How do I know what is normal about my boob now?  How do I know if the lump is a real lump or scar tissue?  And who do I tell?  The breast nurses make me a feel a bit as if I'm a hystercial woman (and?) but I'm nervous of going to the GP because I feel as if they won't really know one way or the other.  Which means I spend my time walking around, thinking that maybe I still have cancer and therefore that maybe I'm going to die.  Which puts me back in the bubble where others can see and hear me, and I them, but nothing manages to get through.  Because facing death is something we do alone.  No one can come with us to share or lighten the burden.  Fuck.

52. Cathartic-ish

Still feeling normal, thank goodness.  Well.  Other than a sore boob.  Which is to say, probably, not well, but the state of my breast is ideally not defining my state of mind.  Which means perhaps I really should get my head out of my arse and think about others a bit more. 

I went to a Macmillan coffee morning this morning because it was being run by K, the lovely lady who L at work put me in touch with; fellow breast cancer sufferer/survivor (bloody cliches).  It was, as always, really nice to see her.  She's an inspiration in lots of ways.  The most positive being nothing to do with her boobs (see above) but rather is her fabulous attitude towards life.  She's lost 2 children to cancer and had a mastectomy 5 years ago.  She needs more surgery which may just be her implant moving around BUT could conceivably be a recurrence of cancer.  Her only grandchild lives abroad so she doesn't get to see her often.  Her surviving child had a bad accident only a month or so ago.  She's bubbly, positive, outgoing and completely bloody fabulous and amazing.  Just looking at her makes me feel good. 

I AM worried about the pain in my boob.  It's all over rather than just in the area of the lump as well as being in my armpit.  I haven't massaged it since chemo started though because the smell of the Bio Oil makes me feel sick, so I must try hard to get over that and restart.  But as with K's fears, it could be cancer again.  Her example though has made me realise that I'm just going to have to get on with it until my next appointment in a week and a half.  I'm NOT going to anticipate this appointment because it's the day before my 2nd batch of chemo and THAT is nothing to look forward to. 

R is away for a couple of days so I'm amusing myself which as always isn't an issue.  I went to my favourite cafe today and sat and did some coursework marking.  Nice to be able to do it without the pressure of deadlines but really bloody irritating that I can't get at the lazy little gits who haven't done their best and have got crap marks. 

I also need to go shopping for a wig.  My NHS wig voucher came through.  I'm in  2 minds about it though.  I don't want to look as if I've got fake hair but every time I've tried a scarf on, I look like a twat.  Maybe the complimentary therapy people at chemo next time can help with styling it.  Ideally, I'll go bald but every time I think of it, Miss R's comment from a year ago pops into my head; 'fat, old AND bald'.

51. Hot and cold (sorry Katy Perry)

Well.  I don't know whether to write a positive blog or not.  I suppose I should but as always, default setting has returned to negative.

The sickness is passing (day 5 of chemo) but the tiredness is ramping up.  Ate breakfast, lunch and dinner.  Not much of any but normal eating-ish.  Don't think I actually slept all day although I did a lot of lolling around.  Resting sitting up is a bit easier, yesterday (Sunday) I had to lie down.  Lying down isn't too good because my dodgy sinuses give me a headache when I lay down for too long. 

R dragged me out for a bracing walk today across the moor.  The first 15 mins were nice, bracing, fresh.  Then I got tired and I felt like a dog being taken for a walk.  And because there were cows on the moor it was a walk through cow shit.  I'm such a bitch.  He was really trying. 

One of the other side effects of chemo is constipation (which I will skirt over because I'm squeamish, never mind anyone else).  First I was; now thanks to an overdose of over the counter meds I'm not.  Yuk.  End of.

Oh, and I'm still having bloody hot flushes.  Half the time I'm sweating, the other half shivering uncontrollably.

My boob is sore.  My arm is sore.  The point of breast conserving surgery was, if I'm honest and shallow, sexual.  I couldn't contemplate being sexually active with one boob for the year I would have to wait for reconstructive surgery.  Lumpectomy was the right choice for me; I still think this.  BUT.  Now I'm terrified something will come back.  The 2nd lump is still there.  Despite reassurances I can't be convinced it isn't a 2nd tumour.  It is making me feel as if I still have cancer (officially I don't) and that my remaining life is limited (more on this in a moment).  Also, my boob is hard.  Around the surgery, fair enough.  To be expected and I expect it will get better.  But it is also hard elsewhere.  A haematoma officially.  At 4am I think it is fast cancer spread.  Oh, I know I'm nuts, OK.  Please don't enlighten me.

The things that really piss me off and hurt about possibly only having a few years left to live are: I don't want to spend them feeling ill from treatment, I want to see my grandchildren, I want to do more teaching and to a lesser extent (not essential) I want to go and work abroad. 

A bonus from cancer is that I will never again bemoan my age on my birthday.  I hope I get to become one of those really irritating old people who brag about how old they are ( I GET it now).  Also, cancer has cut across my existential angst and shown me what's important.  My daughter, family, friends, work. And I think that's about it.

50. Yuk

Brief blog.  Feeling sick.  Tired.  Managed a bath and had to have a rest before I could dry my hair.  Maybe breakfast wasn't such a good idea since it wiped me out for 4 hours.

Have been up for 30 mins (it's 4.30pm) and I need a rest.  Too soon for white cell count to be down, surely.

On the plus side, now have blog readers in France and Latvia.  Such fame!

49. The morning after

Restless night.  The headache didn't shift and I woke up repeatedly.  Eventually I realised a lot of it was R being restless.  The final straw was a hard kick to the leg, him kicking me I hasten to note.  I took myself, drugs and sickbowl to a quieter bed.  I woke again, sometime around 4, felt sick just from turning over, so took an anti sickness tablet (ondansetron, very expensive according to S).  It worked fairly well, so that I was able to take some painkillers at about 7.30.

I got up and moved back downstairs to the double bed.  After lolling for a bit, I read.  Sarah Waters, The Little Stranger.  Started off well, promised a lot, and instead turned into a Waters special, overtones of the supernatural with multiple villains.  AND an unsatisfactory ending.  She's no Emma Donaghue, that's for sure, despite the hype and fame she has and Emma has doesn't. 

I'm still obsessing about the 2nd lump.  I'm leaning towards going to the GP but thought I'd contact K about it first, given that she's been in my place and maybe let R feel it as well.  Make sure I'm not being a hysterical hypochondriac.

48. Later...

Had dinner, nice curry.  Felt queasy before I ate it and queasy after.  Didn't stop me actually eating though.  Maybe the anti sickness tablets are too effective?  Maybe it's too soon to tell?  Maybe I won't lose weight if I eat when I feel sick! The headache's back and I'm tired now.  Feeling fine when I'm laying down though.

Have been feeling my boob again.  The 2nd lump is still there.  I don't know if I'm being hysterical, if it's scar tissue or just normal.  I can't really remember enough about the other lump to tell if it feels the same.  So what do I do?  Do I phone the breast care nurse AGAIN?  Email her?  Go to the GP?  They said it was fluid, but the fluid has gone and the lumps still there.  I REALLY don't want to be one of those me, me, me patients, but I don't want to let a cancer grow because I'm scared to ask for help either.


Totally aside from other things, I have; started talking to two very dear friends again, which is brightening up things immeasurably AND have started obsessively checking who is reading my blog.  People in the USA, Canada, France, Germany and Japan, as well as the UK of course.  Do I really have nothing better to do?  No, of course I don't. 

47. 1st Chemo

First chemo today.  SO last night, I thought it would be a good idea to go out to dinner before I lost my appetite.  Lovely Italian meal but bugger me, if I wasn't developing a headache.  Half way through the main course I started to worry it might turn into a migraine.  It only got worse, so by the time we got home, I went straight to bed.  Up at 4am to take painkillers for a pounding headache (thankfully hadn't turned into a full on migraine).  Still feeling rough at 8.30 but had to get up anyway to get my stuff and get out of the flat (estate agents coming round to take pics - yes, despite cancer/chemo, my home is being sold from under me.  Meh.). 

At the hospital for 12.30.  A large room full of invalid chairs and drips.  It didn't register at the time but I was by far the youngest in there.  My nurse, a bloke, seemed a bit drippy but OK.  I had to have bloods done and then wait for the result.  He put a cannula in (I'm STILL a wimp about this) and took the bloods through that.  And then we waited and waited.  I chatted a bit to the bloke next to me, who just happened to be the 2nd youngest person in there.  Nice, a biker, tattoos etc.  He assumed I'd got lung cancer (my age?  wrinkles?). 

Finally the blood results came back and the nurse came to start the chemo.  Five syringes.  Two full of fuchsia liquid.  The stuff I had was so nasty it couldn't be put in a drip, but had to be injected by hand, through the cannula of course.  The first syringe, of clear stuff, made my bum tingle (strange but distracting at least), the red stung as it went in, the final clear syringe stung too, but as it was nearly over, I didn't moan.  About 45 minutes in total, which bodes well for the remaining treatments, despite an overall time today of 4 1/2 hours (waiting for blood results).  No sickness today, but I can expect that in the next two days. The tiredness/exhaustion will kick in mid cycle apparently - days 7-10ish.  And my hair will start to fall out after the second treatment.

It was fairly low key.  Food in the form of sandwich bags was provided as was tea and coffee.  There was some kind of art project going on, but really, not the right place. 

A batch of anti sickness tablets given and explained, as well as a timetable for the rest of the chemo and we were away.  Not as bad as it could have been, by far.  Oh, and it got rid of my headache.

46. No motivation

Should be working but can't focus.  Instead I am: Blogging (no shit), eating, reading other blogs, reading the news, checking my phone, IGNORING the huges piles of coursework I'm surrounded by. 

It's like there are two lives and two me's existing in parallel.  There's cancer me; off work for treatment, no motivation, no focus.  I'm not quite sure who she is, or even if I like her.  Then theres the real me, still at work, thinking about what to put up for display (language techniques, connective words), thinking about RT who wants to come back to improve his coursework, thinking about which books to mark next.  I have a feeling: cancer me has been introduced into the equation to TEACH me something.  Something about my work not being my whole life, about stopping to get some work/life balance.  It's HARD though.  I'm bad at real life, I'm good at being a teacher.  It is (despite the 80 hour working week) easier to focus on things I know I can do well and hard to stop to do the things I'm less good at.  

45. Another ending

Yesterday was hellish; being passed around from one area of the local hospital to another.  Cancer is bad enough, people not only not helping, but being actively unhelpful and dismissive is horrific when your life is in their hands.  I was a mess at work.  Only just in control of myself in front of the kids again (fortunately they're lovely and endlessly sympathetic) although things eased up once I was assessing them.  Focusing on one specific thing was a real relief, as was the realisation that they remembered really well what I'd taught them.  A couple unfortunately underperformed, but given my new focus, I didn't stress and therefore the kids didn't either. 

Back in the English office, it was a different story however.  Poor C. had to talk me down from my hysteria and was really kind. In the end I accepted that I would have to leave work early, yet again, because I just couldn't cope being in an environment where I was supposed to present a professional demeanor.  Just as well she had calmed me down, because half way through lesson 3 one of the kids from my year 11 Literature group came and got me.  They'd got me a couple of cards and they'd all signed them and added personal messages; about my nagging them, about coursework, about being worried they wouldn't get their grades without me.  I was OK.  I looked but didn't read at the time, but later, at home, I read them all and cried buckets.  I don't want to leave them either.

I had a couple of errands to run, so went and did mundane stuff, which helped me calm down a little, as did the drive home.  I had some WHSmith Vouchers, so went and chose some books.  While driving home I remembered S and sent him a text, telling him what had happened (given that it was his advice to phone the hospital).  He told me to phone the consultants secretary immediately, which I did as soon as I got home.  I explained what had happened to her (including the bit about the nurse saying she'd never heard of the oncology consultant) and she said she'd contact bookings and get back to me.  What a relief to speak to someone even vaguely sympathetic! 

Feeling somewhat calmer, I made a cup of tea and started one of my new books.  4 chapters later I checked my phone; a voicemail.  A nurse, calling to book my chemo appointment!  I called her straight back, given that it was 4.58, I was worried I may have left it too late, but no.  No messing around, she booked my chemo start date for Thursday - 2 days away.  Previously, I'd been concerned about the pupil assessments I was halfway through doing.  Not anymore. 

The relief when I got off the phone was immense. Thank goodness I'd asked S what I should do.  Thank goodness the secretary had intervened.  Scary though, that it was necessary to do so much to ensure I got the treatment I'd been told was required.   What would have happened if I hadn't persisted and hadn't had someone to help me through the maze?


So.  Today I'm at work, sorting, clearing; viewing this pretty much as the end.  I've managed to disassociate myself somewhat from the kids, which is a relief, because otherwise this would be too hard.  And have just heard I've got a speeding ticket.  Just as the previous points have dropped off my license.  Ce la vie  

44.

Still not feeling good.  I half thought Sunday evening that I may not be able to go into work, so texted my HOD.  By Monday morning though, I felt a little better so forced myself up and out. 

Still not sure if it was a good choice or not.  I only just coped with the kids and ended up having to leave early.  Went to the gym with A later which helped a bit.  I'm starting to feel as if I'm walking around inside a bubble; everyone else on the outside, me on the inside.  I can see and pretty much hear them but there is no connection or communication at all. 

Later, S insisted that I must phone the hospital, to get a date for my chemo to start.  This has been preying on my mind too, so I didn't mind the nagging.  Much easier said than done though.  This morning, I phoned the hospital.  I talked to 6 different departments, no one really seemed to know who my consultant was.  Turned out he was someone I've never seen and never heard of.  This in itself makes me anxious.  I haven't seen the same nurse, doctor or consultant more than twice.  One of the nurses I spoke to this morning told me she'd never heard of the doctor/consultant I saw last week.  It really is starting to demonstrate to me why the patients at the Nuffield were so keen to have their chemo there.  Same consultant, same nurses, same admin staff. 

However.  Despite having a follow up date for the tracking of the side effects of my chemo, I still have no date for the start of my treatment.  I've been promised a phone call later today with an appointment but I'm not confident.

And now I don't feel capable of working, yet again.  Something I read at the weekend detailed the plight of cancer patients in the US who have no/insufficient insurance.  It was horrible and while I was reading made me reassess my luck in being British.  I don't feel very lucky at the moment though.  I feel scared.  Most people I've talked to have mentioned the speed at which they've been treated.  Cancer was seen as dangerous and requiring fast treatment.  I feel exactly the way I felt when I was waiting for my surgery.  Worried that waiting so long is going to cause the cancer to grown/regrow unchecked.

43. On and on and on

STILL being a total pain in the backside, hysterical and ALMOST out of control.  Why the fuck can't I just turn this response off? 

After reading the mag article, I've spent a couple of days trying to calm myself down, with varying degrees of success.  I'm sleeping OK but waking really early, although just, just within normal bounds, so I can just get up for the day if I want to.  I've been irritable, snappy and standoffish.  Which I suppose is better than clingy. 

Then I got the letter from the hospital which I assumed was about my chemo.  The date is a month away.  I'd been blithely assuming that it was starting in a week, given that the Doc had agreed with me when I gave him a date.  Waiting longer, in my mind, increases my chances of the cancer reappearing (or getting bigger if there is another tumour in there).  After a couple of hours of full on mania, bordering on hysteria, I realised it wasn't my chemo appointment but was the follow up they weren't able to book at my last appointment because the receptionist wasn't at her desk. 

42. Nervous disposition

Um, not good.  Yesterday, I was browsing through a magazine, when I came across an article on breast cancer.  I convinced myself not to read it, passed it by, but stupidly, went back to it and read it.

My cancer is one of 10/15% of those that isn't responsive to hormone blocking treatment.  This means it is harder to treat.  The grade (3) means it is aggressive and fast growing.  I really wish I hadn't read it.  Within minutes of finishing the article I was crying, convinced yet again that I was going to die.  Give R his due, despite our constant bickering at the moment (he's stopped smoking), he was kind and supportive, although I'm also upset that his training course corresponds with my first chemo treatment. 

Today, I've been feeling my boob.  It's very lumpy but the place where I thought I felt the second lump is still, well, lumpy.  Oh god, oh god.  I've talked to myself; one consultant, one radiologist, two nurses, have checked it.  They've all reassured me it isn't another lump.  I'm WILLING myself to believe it.  I do partly believe that many of them wouldn't get it wrong. But not completely. 

I told R yesterday that the stress of all of this makes me feel like ending it all.  He was surprised.  To his mind, the only reason to do that is if the pain of illness makes life unbearable.  This fear feels pretty unbearable.  How DO I learn to bear it? 

41. Manic

Well.  Oncologist was OK.  Nothing too unexpected.  There was some bad news.  Apparently.  The receptors on the surface of my tumour are unresponsive to female hormones and therefore I can't have hormone treatment.  It was bad news.  I don't know why and didn't want to ask why.  I think I've got enough to worry about (and I am worrying, irritating as it is, given that most of what I've had has been good news) without sweating about complicated stuff.

The chemo I'm having is called FEC, which is an anagram of the drugs I'm having.  1 days treatment, every 3 weeks.  Which is better than I thought.  I thought the cycle was 4 weekly.  That reduces the treatment time by 6 weeks.  I MAY be back at school before GCSE's start, meaning I might get to teach my kids again this year. 

Side effects can be hair loss (purple wig.  R's idea.  Fabulous!!!  It'll look fake anyway so why not go the whole way.), sickness, tiredness (read exhaustion) and there is a one in 10,000 chance of damage to the heart.  The heart damage isn't immediately obvious and when it does manifest, doesn't do so until between 10 and 20 years later.  If I develop a heart problem in 20 years it will mean I've survived cancer.  They're currently doing a trial into the part DNA plays in the side effects suffered while having chemo and need volunteers.  I've got the stuff at home to read, although I suppose I'll agree to take part.  It doesn't involve TOO much more time at hospital, which is the main thing.  I want my LIFE to be the main point of my existence, not just the treatment. 

I was given the choice of when to start treatment so asked if I could start in a week and a half or so.  That would JUST give me time to finish the Frankenstein orals with year 11.  C at work gave me a bit of a telling off, worrying about the kids and work, but I can't separate this stuff out, it's too big a part of who I am.  It's not just a job; sadly enough it's the major part of my life. 

Out to the movies afterwards with the wife of a friend of R's.  Lovely, lovely film; Alamar.  Very gentle, calm and beautiful.  GORGEOUS male lead.  Made Johnny Depp look plain.  Beautiful lustrous mane of hair, deep and sincere eyes and full brown lips.  Umm.

40. Blah blah blah

Really, really didn't want to get up today.  Didn't sleep well, up at 4 and then 5.  When I finally got up I could feel the beginnings of a stress headache.  I really have no excuse not to be at work though, so got on with it.  In the car, listening to the news.  There's a new website in the North East that allows women with breast cancer to predict their chances of survival by entering their data (size of tumor etc etc). 

Every time I hear something like this, its like a slap in the face.  While I AM terrified of it spreading/recurring/developing secondary cancer, I'm even more sick of my fucking life being defined by this.  I want to be at work; teaching, stressing, being driven mad by incomplete coursework, irritating kids, unreasonable management demands.  THOSE I can control.  And do well at.  At cancer, it seems, all I can do is fail.

Oncologist later. Oh, wonder if S is at work?  Wonder if she's in labour?

39. Still waiting

Oncologist appointment tomorrow.  I didn't think I'd be nervous, and consciously I'm not, but underneath I obviously am anxious.  I'm hyped up and quite over emotional, although thankfully I'm managing to control it at work.  S is very emotional at the moment and looks as if she'll go into labour at any moment.  T was off work yesterday with suspected concussion and L is looking very ropey this morning.  In comparison, I suppose I'm doing quite well!  Two kids that I stayed behind with last night to do coursework catchup asked if they could visit me while I was off.  I was really touched by how sweet they were but no.  Against the rules.  Still, nice sentiment.

My boob is still very lumpy.  Most of the time I ignore it, but when I stretch or try to lay on it, it demands I pay attention.  It feels, weird, I suppose is the closest I can get; as if there is something in my bra, or the way I imagine an implant feels.  The area where I thought I'd found the second lump feels gristly now.  When I manipulate it, it doesn't feel like a lump any more; more like a piece of muscle or sinew.  Definitely not fat though, which was what the radiologist said it was.  The nipple is still sensitive, although it still has enough of an alien boob feel to have no sexual connotations to the sensation whatsoever.   

Don't know whether to look forward to tomorrow's appointment or not.  On one hand, the sooner I start chemo the sooner my treatment will be over.  On the other hand, I'm really scared I'm going to hear that my cancer has a really high chance of returning.  I DON'T want to hear that, although I think it most of the time.  I'm coming to terms with the fact that I'm a natural pessimist.  I tend to think negatively unless I get positive feedback from others; which I need fairly regularly or I revert to my miserable thought pattern.  I SHOULD be glad they think the cancer is all gone.  Instead I can't help thinking that it will come back and I'll be one of those people that spend vast amounts of whatever life they have remaining getting different treatments and operations. 

Arggggggghhhhhh.  Normality again  PLEASE.

38. Up and down

Saw the original breast care nurse yesterday.  The one that was at my first and second appointments.  She's lovely.  She looked at my boob and thankfully said it wasn't a seroma again.  This time it's a haematoma which means it DIDN'T need draining.  Ye ha!  I texted S when I got out of the hospital just to make sure.  If he thinks what they're doing is OK I feel safe. 

Things are better with R now too.  Got the sex thing sorted.  Thankfully.  I know I'm shallow but still...  As a result, slept very well last night, which means I feel better today.  When I got to work, I realised my period was starting, which accounts for my over emotional state.  That too is a relief.  Tears and bad moods that aren't down to the cancer are normal.  Normal is good. 

Went into my year 12 group to give them a little pep/warning talk about fucking around for the supply.  This part of the module is really important; it lays the foundations for everything else they do for the remainder of year, including coursework AND the exam.  I'm glad I did; it was fabulous to see all my favourites sitting there in my lesson but gutting to know I'm not teaching them now.  I think I need to set myself the target of being back before the summer next year to keep me going, the way I set myself the target of going to results day five days after my op.  Teaching, or more accurately, teaching THESE wonderful kids gives my life such meaning and value.  I even said a prayer, in the car on the way to work today, to be allowed to do more of it.  I'm really glad I've been privileged enough to do it but I want more, I'm not done yet.

37. Whinging again

Oh god, another sleepless night.  I keep waking up because I try to roll over and it hurts on my left side.  Then I had a nightmare about my daughter calling for my help.  I couldn't get to her in the dream and I woke up feeling awful.  I cried for a bit and then tried to work out why I was so upset but couldn't.  Not the cancer, not I, not R, not my Mum.  I finally came to the conclusion it was just my hormones.  No idea what time of the month it is but when in doubt. 

Breast nurse clinic later.  Don't know what I want.  If they drain the seroma it will be more comfortable for a bit, but then will probably fill up again.  But if they don't at times it is really uncomfortable.  Ironically, it looks better at the moment than it does after its been drained.  Fuller and the scar is smoother.  I really must get some Bio Oil to start putting on the scar where the lymph node biopsy was done.  I'll use it on the cancer scar too when the scab has gone.  Part of that area won't heal.  It's had steri strips put on three times now.

36. Rewind

8 days since the seroma was drained and it’s full again. The practise nurse yesterday wasn’t sure if it needed draining or not so advised that I should go to the seroma clinic tomorrow. I phoned the breast care nurses yesterday to ask about it and they were really not keen on draining it, but it is very full. On Monday I had problems with my right arm feeling swollen and achy, which I didn’t understand, but given the weird shape of my boob now, all on the side next to my arm, it makes sense.

ALSO today, I bumped into a member of the science staff talking to a new teacher I’d noticed on Monday. She’s got no hair so I half thought it was probably due to cancer. Turns out she’s had a brain tumour as a secondary cancer from breast cancer. Oh god. I can’t get away from it anywhere. And just as I’m feeling on my way to normal again.

However, my self obsessive, selfish and self centred attitude was punctured completely when I heard the news this morning that one of our really lovely support staff (my age) lost her husband last night.  He'd had an underlying health problem but nothing major or really serious.  And yet he is dead and I'm here, despite cancer.  PLEASE make me grateful and less self obsessed.  I don't like who I'm becoming. 

35. Back to reality

Back to work today. A bit of a surreal experience. I’m there, doing the usual training sessions with the others, well, actually, with an assistant head, knowing that I wouldn’t be there to put anything into action. Just as well anyway though, given that I couldn’t remember ANY of the stuff that we were being quizzed on, in front of an assistant head. She rather nicely (patronisingly?) told me at the end that I knew more than I thought I did.

Had to watch the (admittedly very nice) supply sitting at my desk, using my room, shifting my stuff around (not that I’m territorial at all, of course). Then I checked my / her year 12 class list. ALL of my top set year 11 pupils in my / her group. That I won’t get to teach until bloody February or March. Fucking, fucking cancer. First I lose my lovely year 10/11’s and then I get an amazing sixth form group, including one of my favourite clowns and because of a few random cells I miss out.

And my bloody stupid boob is reforming its seroma / fluid retention. Despite my constantly wearing my crappy, constricting, hot, restrictive sports bra as ordered by S.

Appointment with the oncologist next week. Roll on chemo. Facial bloating and weight gain. But as was so thoughtfully pointed out (actually, it was very funny and very true) to me at the weekend, I need to stop being shallow and just be pleased that my life has been saved. And I am. Of course.

34. Selfish and shallow

It’s so weird. I thought that having come to terms with cancer, that I’d somehow learned the secret of life (oh, how up my own backside AM I really????); not to sweat the unimportant things, to value what was really important. Bullshit. I’m the same flaky person I always was. How disappointing!

Out with SA on Friday. We had a really nice afternoon at Barter Books. Oh, I love that place! So chilled out and relaxed. Later, we were going out to dinner, partly to celebrate my all clear and partly to make up for my missing her birthday. She came over and while I finished getting ready I was winging on about having to wear a sports bra, about the inconvenience of having chemo and about the effect the steroids will have on my weight. She gave me a really old fashioned looks and said, ‘God, how shallow are you anyway?’ Bloody great! Yet another test of my pelvic floor. I’ve had more of those pissing myself moments since I found out about the cancer than before, certainly. She’s right of course. Having to wear a sports bra for three months (really, really S?) is not quite on a par with dying of cancer.

But given my supposedly new found wisdom, when things started going a bit apples and pears with R, I loftily thought I could rise above it. Could I buggery. I can understand why he’s drawing back. It’s fair enough. I’d do the same in his shoes, and did when F was ill. It was an enormous relief when I could get some normality and I wanted some distance. On the other side now however, it hurts; irrational maybe, but it does. Certainly, I don’t need him at the moment. But the distance is unfamiliar now after two months of full on, high tension, full support. Consequently of course, sex is a bit of an issue now. Which is OK. Normal couples experience this; things ebb and flow in relationships all the time. Except now, whenever it’s bad, I assume it’s because of my operation. I hate feeling this insecure. It’s almost worth cutting sex out of the equation altogether, so I don’t have to feel this. 

33. Results day

Very very dodgy night.  R was exceptionally restless so I only got a couple of hours sleep.  Any other night, I've have given up and gone home, but I really couldn't face being on my own given how I was feeling about 'results day'.  Because I was tired and scared, I snapped at him a couple of times.  I knew I wasn't being fair, but couldn't help myself. 

I'd got the time of my appointment wrong, 9.30am instead of 9am, so instead of running a little late, we were actually ready early.  One less stress.  Typically though, it was hurry up and wait.  By the time the physio called me in for a quick chat, it was almost 10.  By the time we got into the clinic room, it must have been 10.15.  Not that waiting would usually bother me, but under the circumstances...

A nurse I hadn't seen before came and took off my dressings and then left us to wait for the consultant.  I was on one side of the curtain, R was on the other.  I sat and looked at my boob.  Not ugly, especially considering the scar will fade.  He hadn't seen it so I went around the curtain to show him.  I thought it looked OK.

Mr. S. the consultant that did my surgery came in with a different nurse.  I was really nervous but showed him the lump. To my HUGE relief he asked the nurse to arrange an ultrasound.  Then... results.  No cancer in the lymph nodes as he'd thought.  No evidence of cancer spread.  At this point, briefly I stopped listening, slumping onto my arm on the desk.  I felt a huge wave of relief sweep over me. 

Probably only seconds, but when I came to R was asking about the blue dye to the left of my nipple.  It will fade within 3 or 4 months.  Mr. S also told me that the cancer was an irregular shape, 2.4cm at its largest point.  He outlined my chemo.  6 cycles.  A cycle is a day, followed by a 3 week break.  Radiotherapy for 15 days, Monday to Friday over three weeks.  I'm having chemo because my cancer was a grade 3, fast growing and possibly recurring.  Also because of the size of the tumour.  Hey, I'm HAPPY to have the treatment.  Maximize my chances.  Hit me with WHATEVER you've got. 

After he left, the nurse took us to the breast assessment area.  I thought I'd have to wait ages for the ultrasound (same day service?  In the NHS? Amazing!) so I sent R off.  He hates sitting around and there wasn't any need.  Needless to say, 10 minutes after he'd gone I was called in.  The same radiographer that gave me the news 2 months ago.  It was LOVELY to see her under happier circumstances.  We had a really nice chat and I told her how much difference she and her nurses had made, despite the earth shattering news they'd given me.  And good news this time!  Fluid.  They drained it there and then.  It wasn't nice, probably the worst bit of any treatment I've had so far (bloody lucky really, considering the amount of needles I've had, not to mention the operation).  Although she'd numbed the area, I could feel something click inside as she moved the needle into different areas.  They counted as they drained, in 20ml increments.  250 mls of fluid.  Yuk!  I could feel the container on my abdomen warming as it filled.  The thought made me feel really sick.

Then back to see Mr. S.  Just fluid.  Cancer all gone!!!!  A couple of steri strips where the wound was reopening at the bottom and me and my sadly shrunken and shrivelled boob were out of there!




Later, went to buy my third bra in 3 weeks.  Strap 'em flat!  I'm now on first name terms with the Bravissimo girls. 

32. Me, me, me. And just for a change, a little more me...

This morning, got up sluggishly, because I was stressed last night and took a tranquiliser, so therefore wasn’t functioning well. I don’t like taking them but when I’m worrying about the cancer I can’t sleep. If I’m at R’s, he is very restless at night now; linked or not I don’t know, but it makes my sleep even worse.

ANYWAY, couldn’t shower because of the dressing so again, washed. Facing the mirror, felt the lump. Now two again. &*9)+*????? This morning, I chose to see this as good. If it's fluid/blood, it will change and alter. By this evening however, I’m faltering again. I just wish it would go away. I’m at the point now, that if they tell me it’s a haematoma/seroma, I’d really like it drained. Not that what I want will make any difference. Treatment is set despite the patient’s wishes.

This evening my mum also phoned. I saw two missed calls on the phone so called her back. I have to be honest, I dread it. The tone of her voice, her lack of tact about how she asks me and doesn’t work her way up to it. The cancer is top of my list, but what I REALLY need from others is some normality. R is really good at this, and surprisingly, at the moment, so is I. They both just carry on, focusing on the now of daily life, which is a real relief. When I talk to my mum, I feel forced to support HER and to reassure HER. Really, really not fair. I’m certain I’m not a selfish person usually. I have no problem putting my own stuff aside to support others or empathising with how they feel. I can imagine how my poor mother feels; having a child with cancer must be awful. I don’t even want to THINK about I getting it. But right now, its me that has it and me that has to be brave. I’m waking up at night, scared I’m going to die; scared I’ll have to have a mastectomy. I really don’t think its unreasonable to expect my mother to try to be supportive of me right now. This makes me really fear another aspect of my mortality. If the fear of dying from cancer isn’t enough (the pain and suffering makes me sweat with fear) but I’ve also got to consider how I will help others with how they feel about it. I don’t resent having to do it for I. She’s my child and I expect to have to do it for her.

This really is just a wholly shitty situation. All I really want is to teach and live a modest life. WHY is this so much to ask?

Results day tomorrow. Is there any fucking wonder I’m going nuts?