4. Hell and back

The weekend came and went in a blur. No idea now what we did. Where we went.

Hospital today. I'm pleased and terrified simultaneously. Pleased because now I'll know. I'm hoping to hell it’s a cyst although am also very scared of having it drained. I HATE needles. The sight of them makes me nauseous.

R went out in the morning to run some errands. I sat and waited for him to come home. He wasn't back by 1.15, my appointment was at 2.30. Part of me determined to go to the hospital on my own. Common sense prevailed however and I sent him a text telling him I was leaving at 1.30. 1.25 he dashed through the door. He implied I was stressing too much (WTF?????) and leaving too early. Whatever. MY call what time we leave - no discussion.

The drive to the hospital was unreal, as was trying to find our way through the maze of corridors. R chattered on about the hospital but for once I didn’t feel guilty for ignoring him. We waited for what seemed like ages but was really only minutes. Once called in to see the consultant the fatalistic formality of it all hit me again. Silent and unresponsive on the outside, inside I was filled was horror; a feeling that was starting to become only too familiar. I was sent off for a mammogram and the possibility of needle biopsies.

The mammogram wasn’t as bad as I was expecting. Mum, friends had all warned me it was painful. It wasn’t. A little uncomfortable but very OK. I was sent back out to the waiting room to sit with all the other braless, pink shirted women. My composure was starting to go and I couldn’t concentrate on the magazines. Thank god I’d taken my book with me. I read quite a lot but had to reread and reread because nothing was going in.

FINALLY, I was called in. The ultrasound room was a blast from the past. It reminded me very much of the much happier circumstances I was in the last time I’d had a scan, when I was pregnant. But the radiographer and nurses were lovely so I tried to relax. The scan started off OK. Things went downhill very quickly though. I could tell from the change in the radiographer’s body language and focus that my worst fears were realised. I tried my hardest to stay calm and say nothing so she could finish but when she asked me to roll over though, to scan my armpit, I couldn’t manage it anymore and started to cry. Even with my level of ignorance, I knew she was scanning the lymph nodes and that she wouldn’t have done that if the lump was just a cyst.

She finished scanning and it was at that point that I asked a question. I don’t remember what I asked and I don’t remember the answer. The answer was clear though. Cancer.

There is nothing good to draw from that diagnosis and I find it hard to recall those few minutes, or at least the emotional side, because I think that was probably the worst experience of my whole life. Despite being an English teacher I don’t have the words to express those feelings beyond a few key words (KS3 anyone?). Black, dark, alone.


Anyway. The rest of the experience wasn’t as bad as it could have been thanks to the lovely nurses that were there. My hysterics, incoherent rambling about having to tell my daughter, about her having no one other than me, were summed up very quietly by one of them telling me I would be taking the next few weeks one step at a time, that my daughter would cope and that for a while at least, I’d have to put myself first.

The same nurse held my hand while I was injected with a local anaesthetic (almost painless) and all the way through the various needle samples that were taken. One of them sounded like a staple gun and had a bit of a physical recoil when it went in, but I can’t really say it hurt, even with my phobia.

Again, I don’t remember getting dressed or what I said to R. I do remember being desperate for a cup of tea (is there ANYTHING tea doesn’t help?). I remember a period where I felt the way I felt in the ultrasound room. We left the Breast Clinic and I drunk half of my tea.  The thought of drinking the 2nd half made me feel sick.

I also remember being talked to by the consultant. Although at the time the news didn’t feel good, in retrospect I know that there WAS some good outcome. I was offered a choice of lumpectomy but told I could have a mastectomy. I was also told I needed radio therapy. The nurse tried to talk to me after the consultant left, but in all honesty, not a lot went in. I don’t remember going home. I don’t remember the evening. Probably just as well.