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.