So Monday was back to work. Monday was about getting settled in again. Which I did.
Tuesday was for getting stuff done. Sorted.
Wednesday. Well, Wednesday, today, I was on cover. Cover for B, the male teacher who has the BRCA gene. The one who had the sister that died of breast cancer. He and his wife have gone to London to have in vitro fertilization (IVF) and pre-implantation diagnosis (PGD). He understandably doesn't want his children to have the gene he has.
Anyway, I covered his lessons. Lesson 1 was OK. Nice year 10's. A few of whom were my year 9's from last year so I had a nice catch-up with them. Lesson 2 - uh oh! Bolshy year 11's. Bit of a handful, a dictionary got chucked. But then, remarkably, I managed to get round them and we had a fab lesson. They worked, asked my advice, took it, and were lovely.
But Lesson 3. Well. Fucking amazing. Year 13 Literature. Wow. They'd been reading the novel, The Kite Runner and were looking at feminist literary analysis. I browsed the handout and off we went. M, from my form and my English group 2 years ago was there. Two months ago I talked her into not dropping literature and she's still there. It was AMAZING. We had a fantastic discussion, ending up by discussing WHY Shakespeare could write strong women in a time when women had no rights when modern male writers tend to produce size 0, fuck-me-heeled bimbets. When the light bulb went on (to try to make women more controllable, put them back in their place) it was one of those goose pimple moments. And in a cover lesson. I LOVE my job!
(here is an article about in vitro fertilization (IVF) and pre-implantation diagnosis (PGD))
http://blog.dslrf.org/?p=37
Wednesday, 9 November 2011
Sunday, 6 November 2011
200. Back to work
Day 26
Sunday. Evening. Back to work in the morning. NOT QUITE Sunday night syndrome but almost. It’s nuts. I hated going off on the sick again for this op and was really quite upset about it. Now I don’t want to go back to work.
Typical.
Typical.
199. Hot, hot, hot
To the GP today for various issues. I have a list of 5 topics.
Back to work.
OK to drive?
X-Ray results
Bone scan request
Referral to triple negative expert
I feel well. I feel normal, other than not being able to get up any earlier than 10am. Therefore I must be well enough to be back at work.
If I’m well enough to be back at work, I’m well enough to drive. Did a couple of short journeys in the car to test myself and was completely capable.
My shoulder x-ray results were pretty much inconclusive. Hopefully not cancer. Could be arthritis. So pretty much a waste of time really.
Leading to the bone scan. This was agreed by my oncologist to ensure the cancer hasn’t metastasized to the bone. If it has, I’m not going to bother having the double mastectomy and reconstruction. No point really if the cancer has spread already. But the scan hasn’t been arranged yet. Why not?
One of the girls from the support group found a triple negative expert who works at Guys Hospital in London. She contacted him and has arranged to be referred to see him by her GP. I’d like the same.
Very nice GP, mine. He agreed to everything pretty much. And he’s very kind, and listens well, and is very good looking. I’m turning into one of those middle aged women who lusts after her doctor. Sad old bag.
198. More bad news
My friend in the US has died. I sent a card 10 days ago. I hope she got it. She wasn't much older than me. Has a 15 year old daughter.
I have no words.
I have no words.
197. Hanging in there
No updates from K. She is however in touch with W. I've got the urge to grab all the girls and hug them. Make the most of them.
To this end, I arrange to meet W for coffee. A few others arrange to be there but on the day can't make it.
I'm really, really glad I went. W looks lovely. Same smiley, cheerful, LOVELY face. We have a great chat; cry a couple of times. Talk about death. About leaving children (she has a 5 year old). About faith, beliefs. The worst isn't dying, we agree. The worst is being left behind. We cry again.
To this end, I arrange to meet W for coffee. A few others arrange to be there but on the day can't make it.
I'm really, really glad I went. W looks lovely. Same smiley, cheerful, LOVELY face. We have a great chat; cry a couple of times. Talk about death. About leaving children (she has a 5 year old). About faith, beliefs. The worst isn't dying, we agree. The worst is being left behind. We cry again.
196. Utterly unfair.
NEBB. My girls. Friends. Supporters. Sufferers. Brave.
There are the original group. There's 'my' era. And there are 'new' members.
The original group is falling by the wayside. They're moving on and just check in occasionally.
'My' era are mostly back at work but are still active members.
The 'new' members are mostly in current treatment.
K is a 'new' member. She was scheduled for surgery about a month ago. None of us had heard from her until she handgrenaded a FB update. No surgery. Her cancer is too far advanced and has spread. She's hoping to make it to Christmas. Currently in a hospice but hoping to go home to spend time with her husband, toddler and baby. Yes, baby.
NEBB were in shock. No one knew what to say. What utter, utter, shit. How can this happen?
There are the original group. There's 'my' era. And there are 'new' members.
The original group is falling by the wayside. They're moving on and just check in occasionally.
'My' era are mostly back at work but are still active members.
The 'new' members are mostly in current treatment.
K is a 'new' member. She was scheduled for surgery about a month ago. None of us had heard from her until she handgrenaded a FB update. No surgery. Her cancer is too far advanced and has spread. She's hoping to make it to Christmas. Currently in a hospice but hoping to go home to spend time with her husband, toddler and baby. Yes, baby.
NEBB were in shock. No one knew what to say. What utter, utter, shit. How can this happen?
195. Chilling
So. The day I went home, Nat arrived. Again, lovely, lovely to see her. Yet another person I miss from home.
We had a fab time during her visit. I didn’t want to do the Turner exhibits but I did so went with Nat. I expected not to like them but a couple absolutely gripped me. Particularly one very ephemeral one made of paper and poster paint. It was very gentle and childlike and evoked all sorts of warm, safe feelings. I very much enjoyed it and came away feeling quite soothed. My take on art is that it is meant to be enjoyed or at least meant to make the viewer FEEL something so by my standards, that particular entry was a huge success.
While she was here, N cooked for me and drove me to Barter Books. THAT was a lovely day. It was rainy and drizzly outside, I was in a bit of discomfort from the hysterectomy and bleeding more than I’d hoped to, but managed to collect a pile of books, nab a seat on a sofa by the blazing open fire and had a pair of black spaniel puppies dozing at my feet (another browser’s dogs). It was one of those moments when you know all is right with the world. Big sigh. Fadeout…
194. 2 weeks post op.
2 appointments today. Plastics at 1. Opticians for I at 2.45. We went to both, together. I was glad it was only a plastics appointment. While I want her to know the reality of my treatment, I don’t want her worrying unduly.
My plastics appointment was with the specialist plastics breast nurse. She’s very well versed in what is and isn’t possible in breast reconstruction. I explained at length how my breast reduction had left me unmatched again and how my intention had been to try to keep my nipples. She brought in the idea again of having one made. At the time of the appointment, I didn’t disagree with her, but when I went away and thought about it, it made me angry. I want my own nipples.
We had a lovely time together during her visit. Usually we can’t be together for more than a couple of days without bickering, but this time we managed it. She was very thoughtful, offering to rub my feet and massage my hands. It was nice that she was nice, but made me a little concerned that she was worrying about me. I mean, I’m glad she cares but don’t want her to worry. Cancer IS crap. But as long as I’m OK I don’t want it to impact on anyone’s lives too much.
The optician was good. I found frames that she liked. 2 pairs. Mummy, of course paid. Oh well. She’d had no birthday present.
The next day, yet more shopping. This time to get her birthday present from Granny. My mother has 4 nieces. I is the one she sees the least. So she’d decided that it wasn’t fair that I gets the least and instructed me to buy her a GOOD present. I had chosen an iPod. Expensive but worthwhile. She’s got a long walk to work everyday so uses it all the time.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
We had a lovely time together during her visit. Usually we can’t be together for more than a couple of days without bickering, but this time we managed it. She was very thoughtful, offering to rub my feet and massage my hands. It was nice that she was nice, but made me a little concerned that she was worrying about me. I mean, I’m glad she cares but don’t want her to worry. Cancer IS crap. But as long as I’m OK I don’t want it to impact on anyone’s lives too much.
Our time together was too short. While we can’t live together and while I’m happy up North, the cancer has made me fret about the lack of time I get with my girl now. When we bickered all the time, it was good that the distance improved things between us, but now that we’re enjoying each others company I miss her. But I don’t want to move back down South because the hospitals here are SO much better than where I come from.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Incidentally, I told me that when she’d seen her granny the weekend before, they’d talked about my uncle. He’s my dad’s brother. I don’t see my dad anymore, or my uncle. Big issues to do with child abuse with my dad. Money, with my uncle. Anyway, I digress. My uncle had lymphoma when he was in his 40’s. I didn’t know much about it, but I remember MY granny telling me. What I didn’t realise was that my uncle has also had prostate cancer (as did his father, my granddad) and throat cancer. And survived both of them. My mum had bumped into him in the city one day. I assume my name had come up because of the breast cancer.
Apparently, my uncle had said he’d like to establish contact again. I’m in two minds about it. Part of me thinks that I want nothing to do with them. He, his wife and my two cousins cheated my brother and me of our share of our grandparents inheritance. However, another part of me thinks that it would be some sort of support re: the cancer. I don’t know really. Maybe at the least I should give the geneticist my uncle’s name. She could track him down to the N&N hospital and see if he’s been tested for BRCA1.
193. Day 13
Foolishly I started stressing at lunchtime that I would miss her train. She’s an adult, runs a shop, manages staff, lives on her own. But in my mind, she’s still daft enough to miss a train. So I text her. She texted me straight back assuring me that she was leaving almost an hour early for the station. Which I knew was a lie. I’d do that, she wouldn’t.
Anyway. An hour later she text me to tell me she was on the train. Phew. So I switched worry to excitement and started to anticipate her visit.
I’d completely intended getting the bus to the station, given that I couldn’t drive, due to my op, but R offered a lift and it was so much easier.
She looked, as always, gorgeous, when I saw her on the other side of the barrier. She dropped her ticket and scrabbled around on the floor for it. I didn’t realise straight away that she was having trouble seeing the ticket because she had no glasses on. They’d broken a week before. Poor thing. She’s almost useless without them.
192. Day 11
Whoo hoo! My girl is coming to stay! Had R take me home to clean and tidy the house. Since he was there, I got him to pull out the sofa bed and I made that up for her too.
I’ve spent £80 on groceries because after I has gone home my buddy N is coming to stay. The cupboards are GROANING with food. I have a cheese shelf in the fridge. Oh dear. Doesn’t look like I’ll be restarting my diet anytime soon.
191. Day 10
Feeling loads better. Probably because I’ve accepted that I won’t bounce back the way I’d expected. I spend a lot of time lying around, in bed, watching TV. That’s OK. I’ve acclimatised. Previously, I found it hard to concentrate on TV. I’ve got a hugely short attention span and as a rule, can only watch a small screen for a few minutes. Now though, I’m totally gripped by utter crap such as ‘Australian Border Patrol’, ‘Location, Location, Location’ and ‘Four in a Bed’ (NOT porn, 4 B&B owners who rate each other).
Have had another couple of ‘intimate interludes’. R has been very weird about sex. I tried to talk to him about it, but he wasn’t having any of that touchy feely discussion shit. THEN when I was waffling on one night in bed about being nervous about resuming penetrative sex, he said with feeling ‘Me too!’. So that’s it then. I don’t blame him. My body has been poisoned, drugged, cut, stitched. My boobs are totally different. One is ‘normally’ saggy for a woman my age, with a huge crater in it and the nipple is either numb or only minimally sensitive. The other looks like the breast of a 15 year old BUT with an obviously stitched back on nipple and a weird lump under my arm. And NOW my fanny is a dead end street.
190. Day 6
The griping pains are getting really really intense. They feel like labour pains, they’re so bad although fortunately they don’t last long and they only happen every half an hour or so. Going out yesterday was DEFINITELY not a good move.
I was in bed most of the day.
189. Day 5. Overdoing it. Surprise, surprise
Foolishly, I decided that I was feeling really well, so when R suggested going to the movies, I agreed. Getting there was OK, although I felt like an old woman I was walking so slowly! I was fine during the film, the seats were inclined and I laid back and was really comfy. The film was lovely too; Midnight in Paris. A writer goes to Paris with his fiancee and her family. One night he goes for a walk and at midnight, magic! A car comes and collects him and takes him to a party with dead literary heroes Hemmingway and Fitzgerald. It was a sweet escape from reality for a couple of hours.
Getting home was a little harder than getting there. R had met a friend and we walked to the metro together. I was having problems walking and wasn’t feeling very chatty. By the time we got to the metro, my griping pains had started up. They were so bad they made me sweat. When we got off the train, I had trouble walking home. It wasn’t far but I had to keep stopping and holding my stomach.
188. Day 4
I’d been having gripey stomach pains and had assumed they were my bowel. By the evening though, they were really quite severe. I was having problems going to the loo and certainly, the pains were too high up to be my surgery wounds. The pills the hospital had given me for this purpose weren’t doing any good so I took some Fibregel. Fingers crossed.
187. Day 3.
The peace and quiet at home had been lovely but true to form, I was bored and lonely. R, bless him, took me to Asda and then dropped me at home again, agreeing to pick me up later.
He did and we had a nice evening. That night, I decided I needed to see if my girly bits were in working order, so we fooled around a little. He needed a bit of persuasion but I’m nothing if not a Taurean. I’m pleased to report, that the wiring is still working.
186. 2 days post op.
Wasn’t fooled by my wellness this morning. Got up for a while. Had breakfast and started on dinner. Went back to bed for a rest. R has the painters in. I’m a bit worried that I’ll trip up on their dust sheets that are on the stairs. Last thing I need is to fall on my squishy bits.
M came round with chocolates, a small looking pair of leggings/jodhpurs and a magazine. Had a nice chat. She’s very disenchanted with marriage (periodically) and shared her woes while I peeled some potatoes. After she left, I tried to go back up for another lie down. R was upstairs moaning on about the painters wanting to paint the bedroom door. It was the second time that he’d been grumpy with me, not to mention the day before. I lay on the bed and ruminated on it. Grumpy old man. No privacy. No room to rest and recuperate. When my own clean, quiet, peaceful little flat was sitting empty. I left it long enough for him to have calmed down a bit and asked for a lift home.
185. 1 day post op.
Woke up at 6ish feeling much better. Following the debacles of the night before I was determined to go to the loo on my own. I shuffled around my curtained cubicle trying to be discreet. Not as discreet as I’d hoped. One of the health care assistants came over to see what I was up to. I felt like a naughty kid. Once I’d had a wee and was back in bed they started coming round to do morning checks.
Discharged at 11. R collected me at 1.
Breakfast was a choice of untoasted bread; soggy white or dry brown rolls or cereal. I ate a roll just to prove I’d finished puking. After breakfast I had a shower, moisturised and did my nails to prove I was doing well and could go home. Then I got a stomach ache from doing too much so had to lie down.
Discharged at 11. R collected me at 1.
184. Urgh
Vague memories of the recovery room. Vomiting. In and out of consciousness. Very sick.
I’d gone down at 3.30 for a one hour op. The first I remember was 9.30. Still, not very with things. More vomiting. Also, a bed bath. Either because I’d been bleeding or because I’d been sick.
I tried to get up for a wee in the night. They suggested a commode. I tried, really tried to get to the loo. But felt too sick. So I gave in and used the commode. Before the nurse could get back to help. Just to show my independance. Oh yeah.
183. Chop Shop
Admission at 7.30. Meant getting up at 6. FFS.
On time for a change. When the consultants registrar came round he informed us that I’d been bumped from 2nd on the list to last. From 9.30 theatre slot to 3.30. Ace.
I sent R home. No point us both being bored all day.
I lolled around all day. Reading magazines. Trying to nap. Eventually it was my turn. I’d insisted on my pre-med so was put on a trolley. When I got into the anaesthetic room there was a bit of discussion about my veins. I showed them the vein that worked and they tried 2 others; my hand and my LEFT arm. My cancer arm. The forbidden arm.
182. Last day. Again
I’d been feeling better about the hysterectomy after the psychologists appointment. But the last day at work was hard. I hadn’t really thought about stopping work again, beyond looking forward to not having to get up for work at the crack of dawn.
Suddenly, I was sitting in the usual group of people who were chewing the fat of the usual school stuff. And I realised that once again, I was dropping out and missing out. My life is stopping again. Because of cancer.
181. Fat. So?
I’ve put loads of weight back on. It’s been depressing me and the psychiatrist had helped a bit by suggesting I cut back on carbs at least without getting too heavily into the dieting. So in combination with this, I started going back to the gym again.
On the way to the gym this morning, I decided to make a little detour by way of a new housing development that I’d just found out about. Nice houses. One VERY nice house. 3 bedrooms. 3 floors. 1st floor living room which is EXACTLY what I want. I love it and want it. But it’s 50K more than I can afford.
Sigh
Good gym session.
Treadmill
Cross trainer
Four machines to work the inner and rear thigh muscles
180. Agents of the devil...
Estate agents – agents of the devil more like
So I’m buying a house. I wanted to move in BEFORE my breast reduction but things didn’t go through in time. So once I’d recuperated I started harassing the agent. The survey had come back with lots of damp so I’d contracted a company to go in to give an estimate of the costs of damp proofing and replastering. The company tried to get the keys from the estate agents but the owners were ‘fixing’ the damp. Which they of course WEREN’T doing. It went on for weeks until eventually I retracted my offer.
Then the begging started. The owners were desperate to sell and would concede to my ‘demands’ to allow loft access to assess the roof and to let the company go in to give an estimate for the fixing of the damp.
Eventually, I relented and communicated with the agent. The house had no loft access because the hatch was sealed up and the ceiling plastered. Obviously, the hatch had to be opened up. I told the agent this. They said they’d get back to me with an answer. And then didn’t. I gave them 3 days to get me an answer. They didn’t.
The session with the psych showed me I was stressed and that that was leading to me getting depressed. I can’t do much about most of my stress (as mentioned earlier) I CAN however, reduce the stress of the stupid bloody house. The agent had persuaded me to give it another go with the purchase and was very convincing. THEN the crap started up with them again. So NO MORE! After work, I phoned and told the agent they could fuck off.
179. Shrinking
Psychiatrist today. It was a last minute booking because I’d missed an appointment last week. I’d totally forgotten it had been prebooked for just before my hysterectomy. I got up late, left the house late and got stuck in traffic. Despite my initial tardiness, I managed to get into town early enough to get to the appointment with 10 minutes to spare. The usual magazines were there so I read for a bit until the psych got there – late ironically.
I don’t know what happened really. Obviously, I’d gone to deal with however I might be feeling about my hysterectomy but ALL the stuff that’s going on for me came spewing out. India
I was in tears a couple of times, without really knowing why. I’d realised a couple of days ago that I was showing signs of depression. I also recently had the revelation that I have at NO POINT so far reflected on what I’d be doing now if I hadn’t had cancer last year; where I’d be, what I’d be doing. It also occurred to me when I came out that I hadn’t mentioned my shoulder and how I’m being referred for a scan to double check it isn’t cancer.
It’s so obvious now I’ve thought about it. There is just far too much going on for me at the moment. Some I can’t help. Most in fact. I want the operations because they give me a better chance of living. I can’t help but worry about my daughter.
The psych also said I need to make more effort to do things that I enjoy if I’m battening down the hatches due to depression. So. Chick flick this weekend I think.
178. The hospital years. 30 years early
Busy day. GP first. Preoperative assessment second. Physio third.
I’d asked for the nice, good looking, young, new GP. If I’m worrying about having cancer again, at least I can have some eye candy to letch over while I’m doing it. He asked me to take my shrug off (wow, a man that knows that a little buttonless cardie is a shrug!) and examined me. As the previous doc AND the physio said, he still thinks its muscular. BUT because it’s been going on for so long he referred me for a scan and for blood tests.
Preop assessment was OK too. A lot of hurry up and wait during which I did my reading revision for school. How geeky is that? I was a little worried that they wouldn’t be able to get my blood but the nurse that did it listened to my advice about which vein to use and got it first time (whoo hoo!). She even did the GP’s blood test for me.
Physio was OKish. I’ve been taking pain killers so it isn’t hurting as much as previously which the bloke took to be a sign it’s getting better despite my telling him about the pills. Tch. Idiot. Still. To be honest, as long as it isn’t cancer, I really don’t care.
177. Ongoing
Meanwhile, W from NEBB is having chemo to manage her secondary tumours. We're hopeful that if controlled, she'll have years of life. When she was first diagnosed with secondaries, I found it very hard to cope with. But it's inevitable that if I'm in a cancer support group that some of us will go on to have secondary cancer. We all think; Please, NOT me. But it will be some of us.
So now, we support each other. And W is, as I really really hope I could be, equally supportive of those in the group who have niggles and fears that turn out to be nothing.
So now, we support each other. And W is, as I really really hope I could be, equally supportive of those in the group who have niggles and fears that turn out to be nothing.
176. Collective
E’s temp is back up again. Her boob is hot and swollen and hard. She’s going for a scan and a biopsy. NEBB holds its collective breath.
She’s clear! It’s not cancer!
And waits. And waits. And waits.
An ongoing infection is diagnosed. More heavy duty antibiotics. She posts fairly regularly, saying that her temperature’s gone down. That the redness and swelling is less. That she’s massaging the lump.
175. Next Day
E’s lump is still there but her temp has gone down a bit. All the NEBB girls are crossing everything. Her antibiotics have finished. Lets hope that the end of it.
174. A lump but not mine...
One of the young members of my support group, NEBB, has already had the big operation that I’m planning on; double mastectomy and reconstruction from my stomach. I saw her during our weekend in York
So when I saw on our FB page that she’d found a lump in one of her new boobs I was horrified. She had to come home early from her holiday with her husband and her two kids (5 and 11) to get checked. No one was able to give her an answer to start with. For over a week, our whole group worried and posted online and discussed.
In theory, she shouldn’t’ve been able to get a new tumour there. The lump was in the fat that had been taken from her stomach. There was no breast tissue left there. No breast tissue, no cancer. In theory. But still. In a person that had never had cancer, the worry would only be slight. But we’ve faced cancer, faced death in fact. So we know a lump can be life threatening.
Cellulitis is diagnosed. Antibiotics are prescribed.
173. Family Ties
We drive to my mums Saturday. Lovely lunch with my mum and I and then we go out to the fabric shop and to have a wander around the shops. We stop for a coffee and then go home to relax.
I’s cake from her granny is a Powerpuff girl cake. I’ve brought everything with me to make mine for her. Green cake and lilac icing. Yum!
I goes off to meet her old uni mates for the evening. I settle down with my mum to watch TV. I comes in late, saying she has fallen over and bumped her head. She feels sick and gags but doesn’t throw up. Concussion goes through my mind but I think the best thing for her would be to sleep it off.
Next day, I is acting weird. Not happy. She’s staying in Norwich
She decides to go back to Bury that night instead of staying over. I’m going home that way so take her. It adds time to my journey but she’s my girl. In the car she’s tearful and sad. When I left to move up North two years before she was like this over a different stupid boy. I HATE seeing her like it again.
172. Road Trip
So I saw I three weeks ago. But its her birthday. While I don’t think I’m dying, I do have a worry in the back of my mind that my bad shoulder could be the beginnings of cancer metastasizing to my bones. So on some level I’m concerned that this might be my last chance to see I on her birthday.
Normally, I’d catch the train when I’m going home for the weekend mid term. Because R has a fridge for I though, as well as the bookcases and the table that she wants from me, I determine to drive. We finish at school at 2.30 on Thursdays and Fridays so I can get on the road early.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Still, once past the toon, I’m motoring. No careful speed restrictions tonight. I do at least 80 and sing along to the radio, determined to keep my mood up. Until the first traffic alert. Bloody A1 is blocked at Weatherby. I calculate in my head how far I’m OK to drive before having to come off the A1. Another couple of alerts describe whets happened. A Mercedes has rolled, crashing into the central reservation.
I make sure I’m done at work in plenty of time. I’m on the road and off in good time. Traffic is heavy going past Newcastle
I leave the motorway and after consulting R, try to take an alternate route. Then the next traffic alert informs me that the A19 and the one other road to the South is also blocked. FFS! What do I do? Do I drive on and possibly sit all night in a traffic jam or turn back and go next weekend?
I determine to go on. I sit and sit and sit. There’s a novel in my bag which I read until finally, traffic moves on. I get to Bury nine hours after I left home. My back is cricked and I can barely move. But it’s all worth it when I see my girl. My birthday girl. J
171. Cover
I’d determined to chisel out a role for myself this term. My hysterectomy was booked for 11th October but that left loads of time. I put myself on the cover list and waited. Sure enough, the work started trickling in. The first couple of times I was very apprehensive but I soon got used to it.
I mainly cover English. No class (so far) has been unbearable. A couple of year 9 classes have been a bit bouncy. I covered one for S that was so noisy I had to send them out to come in to the classroom again in a more controlled manner. Three kids couldn’t manage it so I sent them to the duty office which is a punishment room. Getting sent there is automatically a whole school detention.
I’ve also been doing controlled assessment catch-up’s for any of the English department. A controlled assessment is in effect a mini exam, performed under exam conditions in a classroom but prepared in the classroom with the teacher.
In the times between cover and controlled assessment, I’ve been writing a scheme of work for next half term for exam practise. Normally I like writing schemes of work, but this is boring! My own fault. I picked it.
170. New Year
One week off after getting back up North and then back to work. It was FAB to see everyone, at least initially. First day back briefing had a lot of information, most of which I didn’t take in. Until the end when the head announced two deaths through the summer hols. Both from cancer. One from breast cancer. The bald teacher that had so shocked me when I’d come across her in the corridor the previous September when I was post lumpectomy but pre-chemo.
I tried to maintain my composure but didn’t manage it and started to cry. Hopefully not many people noticed. How embarrassing.
169. She’s getting married…
The hen party was weird. I was the oldest there by a looooooong way. The wedding, obviously, was different. I hadn’t been able to find a dress so wore one I’d made a few weeks before. When I fitted the dress it was pre-breast reduction. The front was a cross over and gaped due to my boob size. Post reduction the front fits very well. Unfortunately the waist didn’t fit because of the weight I’d put back on. Grrrrrr
We were quite early at the church. H’s grandmother was there. H had a very difficult childhood and her Gran was probably the only parental figure she had that loved and supported her through it all.
I looked gorgeous. She had on a homemade fascinator that I’d made her along with her new, gold dress that looked amazing against her skin. I had on my homemade dress and the red hat I’d bought inLondon
When the bride came into the church, it brought tears to my eyes. She looked absolutely beautiful. To think that she and my little girl were at school together, rebellious and angry. Part of me wished it was I walking up the aisle. Not to strike too negative a note, I would really like her to find someone to be with. Nothing wrong with being single, but if the dreaded C gets me I would really like to think that she had someone to support her through it.
The wedding was a bit of a mix. H and the groom looked stunning as did the grooms men. The bridesmaids were a bit alternative. They had on short pink dresses and Converse trainers. Secretly, the bride had on Converse too, tartan ones that matched the groom’s kilt. Parts of the ceremony were very moving. I have to admit to being relieved when it was over though. All that standing still was making me twitchy.
The reception was OK although I peaked far too soon with the gin and tonics. The food was good though. We ate and hung around as long as was polite and then I drove us back to I’s.
I looked gorgeous. She had on a homemade fascinator that I’d made her along with her new, gold dress that looked amazing against her skin. I had on my homemade dress and the red hat I’d bought in
When the bride came into the church, it brought tears to my eyes. She looked absolutely beautiful. To think that she and my little girl were at school together, rebellious and angry. Part of me wished it was I walking up the aisle. Not to strike too negative a note, I would really like her to find someone to be with. Nothing wrong with being single, but if the dreaded C gets me I would really like to think that she had someone to support her through it.
The wedding was a bit of a mix. H and the groom looked stunning as did the grooms men. The bridesmaids were a bit alternative. They had on short pink dresses and Converse trainers. Secretly, the bride had on Converse too, tartan ones that matched the groom’s kilt. Parts of the ceremony were very moving. I have to admit to being relieved when it was over though. All that standing still was making me twitchy.
The reception was OK although I peaked far too soon with the gin and tonics. The food was good though. We ate and hung around as long as was polite and then I drove us back to I’s.
Friday, 26 August 2011
168. Hen Party!
So the second reason for coming dahn Sarf was to go to the wedding of one of I's school friends. H is a lovely, lovely girl, leeetle bit misunderstood, bless her. I suspect she was a bit of a pain in the ass at school, what with the smoking (tobacco PLUS), fighting, swearing, lack of respect, BUT she'd had a seriously hard time at home and was effectively homeless at 15. So. Quite a hard paper round. She'd only ever been polite and respectful to me, so I was a fan.
Wedding Saturday. Hen Party Thursday.
We got dolled up and as I's new place was only a 10 minute walk from the town centre, walked in. We met the girls and proceeded to go on a crawl through the pubs and clubs of Bury. On a Thursday night. Ooooweeee. Nice bunch of girls. We were all drinking and getting on well (me, 20 years older than any of the rest of them) when one of 'em got ill. No surprise there, what with all the alcohol that was flowing. But then H filled me in. G has lupus and has been having chemo for 10 years. She's 24. The evening of the hen night, she was 1 week post chemo. Tiny, pretty little thing. Has a toddler daughter. Partner left her 6 months ago.
I held her hair while she threw up. Stroked her head. Life is shit.
Wedding Saturday. Hen Party Thursday.
We got dolled up and as I's new place was only a 10 minute walk from the town centre, walked in. We met the girls and proceeded to go on a crawl through the pubs and clubs of Bury. On a Thursday night. Ooooweeee. Nice bunch of girls. We were all drinking and getting on well (me, 20 years older than any of the rest of them) when one of 'em got ill. No surprise there, what with all the alcohol that was flowing. But then H filled me in. G has lupus and has been having chemo for 10 years. She's 24. The evening of the hen night, she was 1 week post chemo. Tiny, pretty little thing. Has a toddler daughter. Partner left her 6 months ago.
I held her hair while she threw up. Stroked her head. Life is shit.
167. Off again
Next morning I was up with the lark. Packed, dressed, cup of tea and in the car.
The drive was OK. Long but no 2 ways round it really.
When I got to I's she and her dad were loading up his car. She was in a bit of a strop which I decided to ignore (good god, is it just me that's sweetness and light? I'm surrounded by grumpy buggers).
Moving her wasn't actually as hard as I'd expected. Moving her in was a bit harder. She'd moved up from a room to a (small) house. Only furniture was a bed. WHERE to put everything?
The drive was OK. Long but no 2 ways round it really.
When I got to I's she and her dad were loading up his car. She was in a bit of a strop which I decided to ignore (good god, is it just me that's sweetness and light? I'm surrounded by grumpy buggers).
Moving her wasn't actually as hard as I'd expected. Moving her in was a bit harder. She'd moved up from a room to a (small) house. Only furniture was a bed. WHERE to put everything?
166. Ships that pass etc
I landed back in Newcastle about 4.30pm. R informed me we were going out at 8.30 so I did a 2 hour turn around with very little fuss. Dinner, shower, make up, hair (OK, so theres not a lot but...) and we were off out. OK evening. I didn't get hammered, I'd got a 260 mile drive the next day.
By bedtime he was in a filthy mood, all because I was texting on my phone. OK, so I'm a textaholic but so what? It just so happened however, that I was joining in a group support session of one of the NEBB members who had just discovered a lump in one of her very newly reconstructed boobs. While this sort of thing IS very regular, it never fails to be a 'heart sink' moment. 'Our' group, as opposed to the older group that has factioned off, has only been in effect a year or so, so to date, we haven't lost any group members, although 2 of approximately 12 do have recurrence of their cancer.
Poor old E is ridiculously young to have gone through what she has and it really really isn't fair that she's scared all over again. So, sorry to dent R's feelings and all, but I wasn't going to be put off sending her a message.
When I'd finished, I gave him a cuddle, but he gave me the cold shoulder so I reverted to my book. C'est la vie.
By bedtime he was in a filthy mood, all because I was texting on my phone. OK, so I'm a textaholic but so what? It just so happened however, that I was joining in a group support session of one of the NEBB members who had just discovered a lump in one of her very newly reconstructed boobs. While this sort of thing IS very regular, it never fails to be a 'heart sink' moment. 'Our' group, as opposed to the older group that has factioned off, has only been in effect a year or so, so to date, we haven't lost any group members, although 2 of approximately 12 do have recurrence of their cancer.
Poor old E is ridiculously young to have gone through what she has and it really really isn't fair that she's scared all over again. So, sorry to dent R's feelings and all, but I wasn't going to be put off sending her a message.
When I'd finished, I gave him a cuddle, but he gave me the cold shoulder so I reverted to my book. C'est la vie.
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
165. Over and over and over and over
Home from Norwich, London and Chatham. I was in need of a serious break. I departed from chez R and had a blissful couple of nights at my flat, alone. I had another trip coming and needed a little solitude.
Wednesday, S2 and I were off to Harrogate. Nice place. Lots of older people. Betty's Tea Room. Ripley Castle. NOT Harewood House, which was ridiculously expensive to visit. Couldn't do the Turkish Baths as I had an unhealed wound. Bugger!
Wednesday, S2 and I were off to Harrogate. Nice place. Lots of older people. Betty's Tea Room. Ripley Castle. NOT Harewood House, which was ridiculously expensive to visit. Couldn't do the Turkish Baths as I had an unhealed wound. Bugger!
164. Soho or bust
Saturday morning, unaccountably, we were both up with the lark. Packed and breakfasted, we followed satnav out of Watford in the direction of Chatham. I'd looked on the map and assumed we'd go round the M25 anti clockwise. Imagine my horror dear reader, when I realised we were being directed OVER THE DARTFORD BRIDGE!!!!! Greater only than my fear of flying, is my fear of heights. And with the demon bloody driver behind the wheel. My palms started to sweat and the soles of my feet to tingle. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I'd survived chemo only to be ricocheted over the edge of a seriously f**king high and terrifying bridge by a grumpy old man worn down by my nagging. I stopped sulking and started being nice. Just in case.
I was unwillingly familiar with the bloody bridge. Years before, when I'd been doing my post grad degree, I'd driven over it on my way to the Uni of Sussex once a week. The night before I would either have nightmares, if I was lucky enough to sleep, or fail to sleep at all. As we got closer, I told myself that I'd faced death and won, done chemo despite my sheer terror of it and that I could DO this without being pathetic. I was wrong. I WASN'T however a total gibbering idiot. I was scared but not totally terrified. Which frankly, was quite an improvement!
********************************************************************************************************
It was FABULOUS to see Steve. He's such a little love despite being 6' 6" tall. In some ways we're totally different (my rabidly left wing politics opposed to his consumer society middle of the road stance) and in some others very similar (he appreciates the uniqueness of Princess just as much as I do AND is a total sex addict although I'm merely aspiring). He settled us down, R from the traffic and me from the bridge with a cup of tea that he ordered his partner, G to make.
Then it was off to the station and back into London; or rather, Soho. We trawled the gay bars getting tipsy. The more I drank, the happier I got. We had a nice meal, yet more junk food (I could feel my waist expanding even more) and then headed into yet more gay pubs. I was having a lovely time. R wasn't quite as enamoured, at least not until he spotted a fellow Geordie in a black and white football shirt. He was in like a shot. The 2 of them got on famously chatting and gradually got elbowed further and further away from me, S and G.
Eventually, the poor football fan twigged that R wasn't a poof out for a quick knee trembler and made his escape while R was in the loo, just checking with S where the other gay venues in Soho were. R returned from the loo very disappointed to find that his pal had gone, blinking in confusion when S enlightened him. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore Toto!
I was unwillingly familiar with the bloody bridge. Years before, when I'd been doing my post grad degree, I'd driven over it on my way to the Uni of Sussex once a week. The night before I would either have nightmares, if I was lucky enough to sleep, or fail to sleep at all. As we got closer, I told myself that I'd faced death and won, done chemo despite my sheer terror of it and that I could DO this without being pathetic. I was wrong. I WASN'T however a total gibbering idiot. I was scared but not totally terrified. Which frankly, was quite an improvement!
********************************************************************************************************
It was FABULOUS to see Steve. He's such a little love despite being 6' 6" tall. In some ways we're totally different (my rabidly left wing politics opposed to his consumer society middle of the road stance) and in some others very similar (he appreciates the uniqueness of Princess just as much as I do AND is a total sex addict although I'm merely aspiring). He settled us down, R from the traffic and me from the bridge with a cup of tea that he ordered his partner, G to make.
Then it was off to the station and back into London; or rather, Soho. We trawled the gay bars getting tipsy. The more I drank, the happier I got. We had a nice meal, yet more junk food (I could feel my waist expanding even more) and then headed into yet more gay pubs. I was having a lovely time. R wasn't quite as enamoured, at least not until he spotted a fellow Geordie in a black and white football shirt. He was in like a shot. The 2 of them got on famously chatting and gradually got elbowed further and further away from me, S and G.
Eventually, the poor football fan twigged that R wasn't a poof out for a quick knee trembler and made his escape while R was in the loo, just checking with S where the other gay venues in Soho were. R returned from the loo very disappointed to find that his pal had gone, blinking in confusion when S enlightened him. I don't think we're in Kansas anymore Toto!
163. I predict a riot
Perfect timing. We had arrived in London immediately following the riots. HOWEVER, our hotel was quite a way out of London. Quite a way out of Watford as well. In the middle of bloody nowhere, to be exact. Fortunately, I'd done my research and there was an underground 4 miles away with a big car park. So daily, we drove to the underground and parked and trained it.
Science museum, V&A, Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square, Covent Garden etc, etc, etc. R went on a trip down memory lane on Kensington High Street. I wanted to go to the Kings Road for my nostalgic trip but by the time we'd tramped around Kensington my hip hurt and my feet ached and I just couldn't be bothered. We had every intention of staying in London for either a meal or a show but neither of us really had the stamina.
I'd started to notice that the wound underneath my boob hadn't healed properly. Although I wasn't worried, I did plan to get S to check it when we diverted our journey home his way. Chatham, here we come!
Science museum, V&A, Hyde Park, Piccadilly Circus, Leicester Square, Covent Garden etc, etc, etc. R went on a trip down memory lane on Kensington High Street. I wanted to go to the Kings Road for my nostalgic trip but by the time we'd tramped around Kensington my hip hurt and my feet ached and I just couldn't be bothered. We had every intention of staying in London for either a meal or a show but neither of us really had the stamina.
I'd started to notice that the wound underneath my boob hadn't healed properly. Although I wasn't worried, I did plan to get S to check it when we diverted our journey home his way. Chatham, here we come!
162. Watford or bust
We waved my family off with me in a right strop (surely not, I hear my readers cry!). I'd arranged to drop a futon my mum had been saving for my daughter off at my ex-husband's as we passed his on the way to London. R, however, was in a very uncompliant frame of mind, so after a couple of half hearted attempts to fit it in his PEOPLE CARRIER, I told him not to bother.
I was in a filthy mood with him until he started struggling with the traffic as we approached London. Obviously, letting me, a WOMAN, drive would have been unthinkable so we both suffered as he sweated and swore, went the wrong way and eventually (thank you god) drew up in front of our hotel. I felt as if I'd gone a couple of rounds with Tyson by the time I staggered out of the car.
Our room was obviously a budget room which was initially disappointing. But it was clean, had a tea tray and a TV. Good enough. The heroic driver decided he needed a nap to recover from his battle while I retreated to the safety of the bathroom.
After 2 1/2 hours I was bored so banged around the room a bit, eventually resorting to turning on the TV to wake him up. Despite the very inauspicious start, after we'd got dolled up, we went into Watford and found a lush Italian restaurant. A good evening was had, despite everything.
I was in a filthy mood with him until he started struggling with the traffic as we approached London. Obviously, letting me, a WOMAN, drive would have been unthinkable so we both suffered as he sweated and swore, went the wrong way and eventually (thank you god) drew up in front of our hotel. I felt as if I'd gone a couple of rounds with Tyson by the time I staggered out of the car.
Our room was obviously a budget room which was initially disappointing. But it was clean, had a tea tray and a TV. Good enough. The heroic driver decided he needed a nap to recover from his battle while I retreated to the safety of the bathroom.
After 2 1/2 hours I was bored so banged around the room a bit, eventually resorting to turning on the TV to wake him up. Despite the very inauspicious start, after we'd got dolled up, we went into Watford and found a lush Italian restaurant. A good evening was had, despite everything.
161. Road Trip
The drive to Norwich was long. It always is. It's not just the distance, it's the route. All goes well, down the A1, until Lincolnshire. Then you're talking one lane road; tractors, lorries, caravans and mopeds. It really is hellish. I don't drive it, myself. If I'm headed to Norwich, I train it. If I'm off to Bury I'll drive. MUCH easier route. There was no avoiding the drive this time, however, given that 2 of us were going.
It wasn't too bad actually. There was a good play on radio 4 (compromise between my preferred radio 1 and his preferred radio 5 live rant, sorry, talk radio). I was also very preoccupied with some items I'd been watching on eBay. I'd JUST discovered it was possible to shop via my phone so was watching like a hawk for just the precisely right moment to place my bids.
Unfortunately, my preoccupation was interrupted at one point by R's MANIC attempt to pass a bloody arctic in his (it must be said) sluggish people carrier. We ONLY just squeaked back in front of the lorry in time to avoid a head on collision. It would have been easier not to bother really, given the grief he got for the rest of the journey.
********************************************************************************************************
The actual visit wasn't too painful actually. My mum didn't appear keen on traipsing round with us, doing the tourist route. R was in a very peculier mood for the duration, however I was too preoccupied with the family lunacy to worry about him. One nutter at a time thank you.
It wasn't too bad actually. There was a good play on radio 4 (compromise between my preferred radio 1 and his preferred radio 5 live rant, sorry, talk radio). I was also very preoccupied with some items I'd been watching on eBay. I'd JUST discovered it was possible to shop via my phone so was watching like a hawk for just the precisely right moment to place my bids.
Unfortunately, my preoccupation was interrupted at one point by R's MANIC attempt to pass a bloody arctic in his (it must be said) sluggish people carrier. We ONLY just squeaked back in front of the lorry in time to avoid a head on collision. It would have been easier not to bother really, given the grief he got for the rest of the journey.
********************************************************************************************************
The actual visit wasn't too painful actually. My mum didn't appear keen on traipsing round with us, doing the tourist route. R was in a very peculier mood for the duration, however I was too preoccupied with the family lunacy to worry about him. One nutter at a time thank you.
160. Summer Holiday
So. The summer hols are here. LAST year my school summer holiday was swallowed up by cancer, operations, stress, fear, worry. THIS year I can't fly because I've just had an operation. But by god, I'm having a holiday.
So EAGER was I for holiday action, I've over booked myself.
1) 3 days in Norwich with R and the family.
2) Trip to London with R.
3) Drive from London to S's for a night there.
4) 2 days in Harrogate with another friend, S2.
5) Drive from Newcastle to Bury to help offspring move.
6) Wedding of school friend of offspring.
Sounded great in theory. Too, too much in reality.
So EAGER was I for holiday action, I've over booked myself.
1) 3 days in Norwich with R and the family.
2) Trip to London with R.
3) Drive from London to S's for a night there.
4) 2 days in Harrogate with another friend, S2.
5) Drive from Newcastle to Bury to help offspring move.
6) Wedding of school friend of offspring.
Sounded great in theory. Too, too much in reality.
159. Reply
Thank you for contacting us.
As it would seem your cancer treatment is complete and you are in remission I do not think a PARP inhibitor trial is currently appropriate for you. They are still in investigation in more advanced forms of the disease before being considered for women without evidence of active cancer.
With best wishes,
A
Prepared and sent on behalf of
Consultant Oncologist/Director
Breakthrough Breast Cancer Research Unit
King's College London School of Medicine
Research Oncology
3rd Floor Bermondsey Wing
Guy's Hospital
London SE1 9RT
Hmmmm. Pretty much what I'd been expecting really. Although disappointed, his email gave me some hope. The phrase 'before being considered for women without evidence of active cancer.' Meaning, I assume, that eventually this treatment MAY be used as an ongoing treatment for TN patients post chemo and radio. NOT that that helps me particularly but it may help my daughter.
As it would seem your cancer treatment is complete and you are in remission I do not think a PARP inhibitor trial is currently appropriate for you. They are still in investigation in more advanced forms of the disease before being considered for women without evidence of active cancer.
With best wishes,
A
Prepared and sent on behalf of
Consultant Oncologist/Director
Breakthrough Breast Cancer Research Unit
King's College London School of Medicine
Research Oncology
3rd Floor Bermondsey Wing
Guy's Hospital
London SE1 9RT
Hmmmm. Pretty much what I'd been expecting really. Although disappointed, his email gave me some hope. The phrase 'before being considered for women without evidence of active cancer.' Meaning, I assume, that eventually this treatment MAY be used as an ongoing treatment for TN patients post chemo and radio. NOT that that helps me particularly but it may help my daughter.
Saturday, 6 August 2011
158. PARP inhibitors
I've known for a while that there is some sort of ongoing treatment available for triple negative cancer that is associated/linked with the BRCA gene. I've heard it mentioned and seen it referred to online, but NO ONE I know with TN has had it as treatment.
So, late evening I'm online. I pop onto the Breast Cancer Care Website because a NEBB member has said there is someone on there asking about Oncologists that deal with Triple Negative cancer in Newcastle. While I'm on, I check the TN forum. There is a thread talking about websites with info about TN. I follow a link and before I know it, I'm reading a VERY dense scientific article about treatments; chemo, radio and biological. Biological?
Biological treatment is a reference to the mysterious PARP inhibitor treatment. I read about 4 pages of the article. It starts out referring to the bad press triple neg cancer gets. Some of the article is new to me. Apparently, the risk of recurrence with TN goes way down once the patient gets to 4 years. After 8 years, the risk of recurrence is practically zero. Ooooo, didn't know that!
I read on. A bit more about PARP inhibitors. I don't really understand so text S, asking him to talk to A, who is a chemo nurse. PARP inhibitors somehow 'fix' dodgy DNA. So, linked to the dodgy or faulty BRCA gene. They sort of fix it.
I post back on the BCC website, starting a new thread, asking if anyone's had this treatment. No, BUT someone posts a link to an article about a trial. At the bottom of the article is the email address of the secretary of the doc that is running the trial.
10 minutes later, my email to the trial doc's secretary is sent. And bounced back. She's on maternity leave BUT gives 2 other email addresses. Done. Sent. Just sit and wait time now.
Report url:
http://nosurrenderbreastcancerhelp.org/breastcancer101/TNBC/TNBC.html
PARP Inhibitor trials article url:
http://www.breakthroughresearch.org.uk/clinical_trials/parp_inhibitor_trial/index.html
Just read new posts on the BCC forum. Phase 2 trials of PARP inhibitors are being done in Newcastle.
So, late evening I'm online. I pop onto the Breast Cancer Care Website because a NEBB member has said there is someone on there asking about Oncologists that deal with Triple Negative cancer in Newcastle. While I'm on, I check the TN forum. There is a thread talking about websites with info about TN. I follow a link and before I know it, I'm reading a VERY dense scientific article about treatments; chemo, radio and biological. Biological?
Biological treatment is a reference to the mysterious PARP inhibitor treatment. I read about 4 pages of the article. It starts out referring to the bad press triple neg cancer gets. Some of the article is new to me. Apparently, the risk of recurrence with TN goes way down once the patient gets to 4 years. After 8 years, the risk of recurrence is practically zero. Ooooo, didn't know that!
I read on. A bit more about PARP inhibitors. I don't really understand so text S, asking him to talk to A, who is a chemo nurse. PARP inhibitors somehow 'fix' dodgy DNA. So, linked to the dodgy or faulty BRCA gene. They sort of fix it.
I post back on the BCC website, starting a new thread, asking if anyone's had this treatment. No, BUT someone posts a link to an article about a trial. At the bottom of the article is the email address of the secretary of the doc that is running the trial.
10 minutes later, my email to the trial doc's secretary is sent. And bounced back. She's on maternity leave BUT gives 2 other email addresses. Done. Sent. Just sit and wait time now.
Report url:
http://nosurrenderbreastcancerhelp.org/breastcancer101/TNBC/TNBC.html
PARP Inhibitor trials article url:
http://www.breakthroughresearch.org.uk/clinical_trials/parp_inhibitor_trial/index.html
Just read new posts on the BCC forum. Phase 2 trials of PARP inhibitors are being done in Newcastle.
157. And again
I managed to leave things with I a couple of days. But its there. It’s in my mind the whole time. I had a nightmare about it last night. And I’m simmering. I talked to R about it but he’s a bloke. Doesn’t understand. He knows I’m upset and tries to help but he really doesn’t get the complexities of my relationship with my daughter. Neither of us are easy women.
Eventually I text her. Just a simple question mark. She replies relatively politely that she has a day off next week so will book an appointment for then. I reply asking if she wants me to go with her. No. She’s hurt and resentful that I stopped having any contact with her. She’s VERY upset about the death of the step dad of one of her flatmates yesterday. He had cancer (lymphoma) and was on chemo although I really didn’t know the details. I is not good with death (is anyone?). She had several bereavements in one year, 6 years ago and ended up having a nervous breakdown over it. It makes total sense that she’d be finding it very hard to deal with.
I DO really get that she’s scared about getting herself checked because of my cancer. Knowing about the genetic link is horrific for her. Huge breasts and young and healthy but knowing that she may have a ticking time bomb in her. AND then a bad smear and something that needs looking into. I get it. It’s terrifying. And our relationship seems to break down under any stress. Which is really horrible.
Please god, please let her go next week. Please.
156. Again
Back to my daughter again. She STILL hasn’t been to have her smear checked. What the hell do I do? If I push it with her, she’ll get totally pissed of with me. Her excuses though, are ridiculous. Not enough time to go get checked. Tell cancer that! Her ignorance astounds me.
Get checked!
In the background to this is a letter, informing me that the date for my hysterectomy has been booked. Fab! Get it done. Reduce MY risk. Just the one cervix to worry about then.
I’m gonna have to stop contact with her until she’s dealt with it. If she wants my support, I’m there. If she wants to tell me that she’s having a cancer scare and then expect me to ignore the risk, I can’t do it. I accept that I can’t force HER to deal with it; she’s an adult now but she can’t make me accept it.
In the background to this is a letter, informing me that the date for my hysterectomy has been booked. Fab! Get it done. Reduce MY risk. Just the one cervix to worry about then.
155. Stinging Nettles
Over the next few days I gradually got used to my new boob. Too small, disfigured nipple, rectangular shape. Despite not having particularly good boobs before, they were my natural shape. I really felt now as if I'd got a man boob, given the shape and the size. I really just didn't get why he'd mismatched them. The intention, or at least MY intention, was to match up my breasts so that when I went in for my mastectomy and reconstruction, I'd have 2 fairly equal boobs. Now, my healthy boob nipple was higher and smaller than the cancer boob nipple AND the healthy boob was a lot smaller.
Almost second to the appearance (which was causing me great distress) was the reaction that I’d developed to the dressings that had been on there. A sticky stingy rash that felt like I’d got stinging nettles in my bra caused pain and loads of irritation. Something cold on it helped, but only temporarily. Back on the pain killers again. Ironic really. The pain from the wounds was minor compared to the reaction.
Almost second to the appearance (which was causing me great distress) was the reaction that I’d developed to the dressings that had been on there. A sticky stingy rash that felt like I’d got stinging nettles in my bra caused pain and loads of irritation. Something cold on it helped, but only temporarily. Back on the pain killers again. Ironic really. The pain from the wounds was minor compared to the reaction.
154. Mutilation
Phoned the plastics breast nurse Monday as instructed. In the interim, she’d spoken to ‘my’ nurse who’d told her to get me in for Wednesday.
Turned up, having been warned that I may face a long wait, but was seen quickly.
She peeled the huge strapping tapes off which stung. I was half afraid to look but eventually did. Not bad considering it was only day 6. The nurse finished pulling the strapping off underneath. By my armpit was a stingy patch. She looked at it and proclaimed it a blood blister. When I tried to put my arm down, it was sticky and felt prickly. Overall though, the nurse was pleased with the way I was healing.
Before she redressed it, she asked me if I wanted a look at it. I was shocked when I did. My boob was incredibly reduced. Much more so than I’d expected. My cancer boob is an F cup. My new boob looked to me to be a D cup.
Not only was my boob much smaller than it should have been but the shape was weird too. It continued into my armpit, giving a weird lump shape at my side. At the bottom, near the crease, what should have been a rounded curve was oval, almost rectangular. And the nipple! My areola was almost completely gone. Yeah, the nipple was there but around it, there was probably only a centimetre of areola left. Now, I know my areola was large, larger than the one on my cancer boob, but still. Now it was ridiculously small.
I had to stop examining myself in the mirror to allow the nurse to put the new dressings on. She put on a very light dressing, which was a real relief after the heavy strapping that had been on there.
I walked out of the plastics unit in a daze. Upset, shocked, let down by the way my surgery had gone; by what that bloody stupid plastic ‘surgeon’ had done to me. One thing was obvious. I needed a new bra. I wasn’t really in any state to go shopping, but the huge bra I’d been given on the ward just didn’t fit. M&S bra department was alien, given that I had to eschew the usual underwired bras. I found myself a selection of soft, D cup bras and tried them on. Too big. Not even a D cup then. Down to C.
I bought 6 and took them home.
153. Head OUT of ass
In the background to all this, Me, Me, Me is my daughter. She still hasn’t been tested following her dodgy smear. And she now also has housing problems to contend with. She lives with 2 gay blokes, 1 of whom had developed into a very good friend. Then she made the mistake of going away on holiday with them and found they were virtually neo Nazis (in her opinion).
Things in her house have deteriorated and 1 of the blokes has threatened violence. So obviously, she needs to get out. She has been house hunting, on her own, unaided (which sounds reasonable but YOU don’t know the background to my little girl; Facebook name is Princess. Fittingly). Unbelievably she’s found a tiny little flat that she can just afford. They check her details and out of the 3 applicants to rent it, she is deemed the best candidate. Which is great.
Now though, I’m back to worrying about getting her smear test checked out.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)