Rads 4 today. And appointment with the geneticist.
She's a nice woman; I really like her. Last time, I was so over emotional that it was pretty much all I could do not to cry. This time, I was better, mostly. I felt a bit moist at one point but overcame it. The manic talking (mine) wasn't totally appropriate but, overall, an improvement I think.
So. The nitty gritty.
She can't definitively state that I have the BRCA1 gene. There WERE changes in it which are an indication that I could have it but no definite answer.
The changes in the gene are enough, however, to lead her to support preventative surgery for me if I want it. Which I do. She's done a referral to a surgeon for an oophrectomy or a hysterectomy. She did say that the chances of cervical cancer are no greater than that of the general population and of a specific type of cancer of the uterus are, given her own work so far, only 1%. While I was in with her, that led me to think, oophrectomy, but now I'm home, I've reverted to thinking hysterectomy. Give me the MAXIMUM chance of life possible.
She confirmed that I need to wait a reasonable amount of time (I've read a year) after radiotherapy for mastectomy and reconstruction. So that isn't going to happen for a while.
Lets get that uterus out then.
We also talked about I. She'd already registered that I was really worried about her, but given that she didn't have a clear answer about the gene, stated that my daughter and my neices weren't qualified for genetic testing. We talked about what checks my daughter should have and she recommended an MRI and even told me the approximate cost (£500 - £600). This is because while NHS scans will commence after she's 30, until that point any checks she has will need to be done privately. I'm going to arrange one for her and go with her at some point after we've talked about the possibility that we MAY have the BRCA1 gene. The doc also advised that while MRI scans would be offered here, that the area she lives in may not offer them. As I live here, however, it will be possible for the doc to get them provided through her. Such relief.
She also gave me some information about a long term study of this type of change to the BRCA1 gene which she'd like me to take part in. Other than a blood test, it really just involves them monitoring my medical history through my records, and doesn't much involve me. Fine by me.
On the personal front, R didn't come with me today. I half wanted him to and half didn't. I may have got to the point where I decided not to have him come on my own but it was clear that he didn't really want to so I went alone. When I got home, he actually brought the topic up despite his extreme aversion to confrontation (due to the snotty text message I'd sent him) and said I should just have told him if I wanted him to go with me. I told him that he should want to like I'd want to if it was him. In his opinion, that was me unfairly guilt tripping him. Uh. Hello. MOST partners go with their WAGs. Guess I'll be doing it pretty much on my own from now on. I don't want him with me if he doesn't want to be there.
Wednesday, 23 February 2011
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
113 Hypochondria
Since last week (pre radio) my boob has been lumpier than usual and sore. Last night I tried to lay on it (which I've been able to do since 2 weeks after the lumpectomy) and couldn't because it hurt. Today, I've examined it and really don't know if the hardness I can feel is new or not. Oh bugger. Why the hell didn't I just get it chopped off?
I see the geneticist tomorrow. Maybe she'll advise me that I really should just have a double mastectomy and be done with it. I'm bloody sick of being scared.
I see the geneticist tomorrow. Maybe she'll advise me that I really should just have a double mastectomy and be done with it. I'm bloody sick of being scared.
112. 2 and 3
Two rads on.
The second one was slightly less intimidating. The machine appeared to buzz one time less than last time but I queried it and was assured everything was OK. No hyperventilating this time and I checked with the nurse about my 'side effects'. She was certain these were nothing to do with the radiotherapy. Maybe just being on the chemo ward with K had that effect.
Tuesday I went into school to help 2 year 12 girls who are VERY behind with their coursework. I had to leave by 3 to go to my 3rd rads. This time, I asked R to drop me off as the parking charges (at least £3 a time) will really mount up over the month. I was in a different room this time as room 7 was running very late.
My armpit had been sore since approximately lunchtime so I checked it out in the mirror when I got undressed. Nothing visible.
Again, it was over even quicker than last time. I smothered my armpit and breast in aqueous cream and put my orthopaedic bra on instead of my underwired bra as I dressed. Hopefully this will help the sore armpit.
The second one was slightly less intimidating. The machine appeared to buzz one time less than last time but I queried it and was assured everything was OK. No hyperventilating this time and I checked with the nurse about my 'side effects'. She was certain these were nothing to do with the radiotherapy. Maybe just being on the chemo ward with K had that effect.
Tuesday I went into school to help 2 year 12 girls who are VERY behind with their coursework. I had to leave by 3 to go to my 3rd rads. This time, I asked R to drop me off as the parking charges (at least £3 a time) will really mount up over the month. I was in a different room this time as room 7 was running very late.
My armpit had been sore since approximately lunchtime so I checked it out in the mirror when I got undressed. Nothing visible.
Again, it was over even quicker than last time. I smothered my armpit and breast in aqueous cream and put my orthopaedic bra on instead of my underwired bra as I dressed. Hopefully this will help the sore armpit.
111. Wine, women and song
Post rads Friday I did a big shop and went home. Bezzie friends coming to stay for the first time since I moved up North!!!!!
Fab weekend. We gossiped, bitched, slagged colleagues and shared acquaintances off, compared notes, schools, pupils and salaries. There was lots of eating, drinking and analysing.
Saturday we went to the fabulous Barter Books. I was, for a change, very restrained as I'd only just been a couple of weeks previously. The ladies loved it, predictably since we're all literary types (blue stockings, NOT!). Browsing, drinking of tea and eating. Very nice.
For dinner, we went for a lovely Indian restaurant, very local to me as I live in the Asian quarter. The laydeez were introduced to R for the first time and he was just about on his best behaviour (following many threats to his manhood if he wasn't the epitome of politeness).
Sunday entailed a trip to the Metro Centre. N and I watched as K stocked up on verrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy expensive makeup. She has an injury to her ankle from weeks before and can barely walk, so we'd managed to get her an electric scooter which gave her mobility back and boy, did she use it.
We had a lovely Sunday evening together that was only marred slightly by N developing a severe headache that threatened to turn into a migraine. After a nap and lots of painkillers, she was OK and we chatted and stayed up late watching a movie and turning ourselves green with a Lush face-mask.
There really is NOTHING like good friends. I love you two. XXXXXXXXXXX
Fab weekend. We gossiped, bitched, slagged colleagues and shared acquaintances off, compared notes, schools, pupils and salaries. There was lots of eating, drinking and analysing.
Saturday we went to the fabulous Barter Books. I was, for a change, very restrained as I'd only just been a couple of weeks previously. The ladies loved it, predictably since we're all literary types (blue stockings, NOT!). Browsing, drinking of tea and eating. Very nice.
For dinner, we went for a lovely Indian restaurant, very local to me as I live in the Asian quarter. The laydeez were introduced to R for the first time and he was just about on his best behaviour (following many threats to his manhood if he wasn't the epitome of politeness).
Sunday entailed a trip to the Metro Centre. N and I watched as K stocked up on verrrrrrrrrrrrrryyyyyy expensive makeup. She has an injury to her ankle from weeks before and can barely walk, so we'd managed to get her an electric scooter which gave her mobility back and boy, did she use it.
We had a lovely Sunday evening together that was only marred slightly by N developing a severe headache that threatened to turn into a migraine. After a nap and lots of painkillers, she was OK and we chatted and stayed up late watching a movie and turning ourselves green with a Lush face-mask.
There really is NOTHING like good friends. I love you two. XXXXXXXXXXX
Friday, 18 February 2011
110. Todays the day
Well, first rads today. I'm at work, supposed to be marking but can't concentrate. I've got the attention span of a gnat and really can't focus. I'm not really sure why I bothered coming in. I think the routine is good for me. And the company. Lovely to talk to people, just mundane boring day to day stuff. Thanks folks.
Watch this space...
Well. Rads was... interesting. I was scared, I'm not ashamed to admit it. When I was in the changing room, getting into my 'rip off gown' (velcro shoulders and sides. To be pulled down to my waist once on the table) I started really panicking. When I lay on the table I was terrified. As the machine moved over me I started hyperventilating. The first time the machine buzzed (a high pitched electrical wasp) a hot flush started.
The whole thing lasted about 3 minutes. I THOUGHT I felt my breast get warm and I imagined I could smell something. Hmmm
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As I was getting zapped, K was upstairs in chemo hell getting Herceptin. Before I went into the radiotherapy suite I'd taken her up some flowers and chocs. Afterwards, I went up to see her and we met for the first time.
I stayed 3 hours and we chatted and got on fabulously. We showed each other our scars and generally talked out the cancer, kids, partners, work and uni. It was really good. She's lovely, MUCH funnier, ballsier and lively than the impression I got by text. Fab.
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All afternoon, after rads, I had a sicky feeling and a faintly dizzy sense of being slightly out of balance. I really, really hope this isn't a sign of side effects.
Watch this space...
Well. Rads was... interesting. I was scared, I'm not ashamed to admit it. When I was in the changing room, getting into my 'rip off gown' (velcro shoulders and sides. To be pulled down to my waist once on the table) I started really panicking. When I lay on the table I was terrified. As the machine moved over me I started hyperventilating. The first time the machine buzzed (a high pitched electrical wasp) a hot flush started.
The whole thing lasted about 3 minutes. I THOUGHT I felt my breast get warm and I imagined I could smell something. Hmmm
************************************************************************************************************
As I was getting zapped, K was upstairs in chemo hell getting Herceptin. Before I went into the radiotherapy suite I'd taken her up some flowers and chocs. Afterwards, I went up to see her and we met for the first time.
I stayed 3 hours and we chatted and got on fabulously. We showed each other our scars and generally talked out the cancer, kids, partners, work and uni. It was really good. She's lovely, MUCH funnier, ballsier and lively than the impression I got by text. Fab.
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All afternoon, after rads, I had a sicky feeling and a faintly dizzy sense of being slightly out of balance. I really, really hope this isn't a sign of side effects.
109. Fingers crossed
What a day! Dentist first thing, to have my crown fitted and then another assessment at the radiotherapy clinic.
I duly arrived at the dentist at 9.05 for a 9.15 appointment. After sitting quaking in the waiting room for what seemed like hours but in reality was between 5 and 10 minutes, I was called in. He gave me an anaesthetic injection, which I clenched everything for despite acknowledging in the back of my mind that it didn't really hurt very much. Then almost half an hour of fiddling in my mouth and behind my back. He fitted the cap, took it out and drilled it (better than drilling in my mouth) and fitted it again. Finally, he admitted defeat and said I'd have to come back next week. The cap didn't fit. Bugger!!!
I'd got half an hour to spare so I took myself off for a consoling coffee and then made my way off to the hospital. THIS time I was in and out of the radiology room in under 20 minutes. The L shaped gantry of the radio therapy machine is massive and is very intimidating. The screen has an 'eye' that cranks open and then closes with a metallic grinding nose. It really feels as if something alien and hostile is watching. No idea what will happen when it's firing it's radioactive rays at me. All was well this time and I was told that rads could start tomorrow. Yippee! I think.
The whole thing really wasn't as bad as last time though so I was grateful when I was released earlier than I expected. I was about to leave when I checked my bag for my keys. No keys. After retracing my steps through the hospital I finally found them. Left in a loo and a nice bloke had handed them in. Phew!!!
I duly arrived at the dentist at 9.05 for a 9.15 appointment. After sitting quaking in the waiting room for what seemed like hours but in reality was between 5 and 10 minutes, I was called in. He gave me an anaesthetic injection, which I clenched everything for despite acknowledging in the back of my mind that it didn't really hurt very much. Then almost half an hour of fiddling in my mouth and behind my back. He fitted the cap, took it out and drilled it (better than drilling in my mouth) and fitted it again. Finally, he admitted defeat and said I'd have to come back next week. The cap didn't fit. Bugger!!!
I'd got half an hour to spare so I took myself off for a consoling coffee and then made my way off to the hospital. THIS time I was in and out of the radiology room in under 20 minutes. The L shaped gantry of the radio therapy machine is massive and is very intimidating. The screen has an 'eye' that cranks open and then closes with a metallic grinding nose. It really feels as if something alien and hostile is watching. No idea what will happen when it's firing it's radioactive rays at me. All was well this time and I was told that rads could start tomorrow. Yippee! I think.
The whole thing really wasn't as bad as last time though so I was grateful when I was released earlier than I expected. I was about to leave when I checked my bag for my keys. No keys. After retracing my steps through the hospital I finally found them. Left in a loo and a nice bloke had handed them in. Phew!!!
Wednesday, 16 February 2011
108. Back to normal-ish
Update: normality reigns!
I'm at work, not really teaching, but over seeing controlled assessments, which to the lay person, are mini exams. The only real difference is that they're teacher invigilated. Most of the kids in my controlled assessments are little angels and sit and work silently. The odd one or two pop their heads above the parapet but they're manageable. If only because I can send them back to their own teacher.
The other, fab, thing so far about being back was seeing my amazing year 11's (now year 12s) on Friday afternoon. I had them last lesson Fridays every other week last year and they were off the wall hyper in that lesson. I used to dread it because there were so many of them (32) and they were SO clever they could run rings around me if they chose to, which fortunately, most of the time they didn't. I was over the moon last June when I got my timetable and saw I'd got them for A Level English Language. Lucky bloody supply, getting them. I'm very jealous of her. They're MY kids. Anyway, I digress. C, the supply, was off Friday afternoon and I covered for her. The kids were SO pleased to see me I nearly cried. We had a chat and a muck around and then I insisted we did a little work. J, who was in my form last year and in my English group is as nuts and self obsessed as ever. S, the clever gay boy is prettier than ever and still getting bullied by his little pack of learner fag hags.
At the end of the lesson, they insisted I follow our old tradition of a music video to end the lesson (last year it was bribery to get them to finish their work on time). We listened to the new Lady Gaga single and discussed it (it's crap). Fab to be back!
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Underneath the distraction of the kids, I'm worrying about my initial radiology appointment. As my daughter said when I spoke to her last week, the longer they leave it, the longer anything (e.g. cancer) in there has to grow and spread. My boob is lumpy in one area and although I know this is probably ordinary breast tissue (ducts) in the back of my mind the whole time is the concern that another tumour could be growing and I won't be able to tell until its bigger than a centimetre (because that is on average how big the lumpy bits in my boobs are).
I'm at work, not really teaching, but over seeing controlled assessments, which to the lay person, are mini exams. The only real difference is that they're teacher invigilated. Most of the kids in my controlled assessments are little angels and sit and work silently. The odd one or two pop their heads above the parapet but they're manageable. If only because I can send them back to their own teacher.
The other, fab, thing so far about being back was seeing my amazing year 11's (now year 12s) on Friday afternoon. I had them last lesson Fridays every other week last year and they were off the wall hyper in that lesson. I used to dread it because there were so many of them (32) and they were SO clever they could run rings around me if they chose to, which fortunately, most of the time they didn't. I was over the moon last June when I got my timetable and saw I'd got them for A Level English Language. Lucky bloody supply, getting them. I'm very jealous of her. They're MY kids. Anyway, I digress. C, the supply, was off Friday afternoon and I covered for her. The kids were SO pleased to see me I nearly cried. We had a chat and a muck around and then I insisted we did a little work. J, who was in my form last year and in my English group is as nuts and self obsessed as ever. S, the clever gay boy is prettier than ever and still getting bullied by his little pack of learner fag hags.
At the end of the lesson, they insisted I follow our old tradition of a music video to end the lesson (last year it was bribery to get them to finish their work on time). We listened to the new Lady Gaga single and discussed it (it's crap). Fab to be back!
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Underneath the distraction of the kids, I'm worrying about my initial radiology appointment. As my daughter said when I spoke to her last week, the longer they leave it, the longer anything (e.g. cancer) in there has to grow and spread. My boob is lumpy in one area and although I know this is probably ordinary breast tissue (ducts) in the back of my mind the whole time is the concern that another tumour could be growing and I won't be able to tell until its bigger than a centimetre (because that is on average how big the lumpy bits in my boobs are).
107. Life at the chalk face
Back to work Tuesday! Monday, things had happened so quickly that I hadn’t had time to think about them. Tuesday was a different matter altogether. It would be usual, I think, after an absence of months due to an illness as serious as cancer, to be nervous about going back to work, and certainly, I’m the stressy type and would normally be almost hysterical with worry and fear. I DID only get 3 hours sleep but other than that, was remarkably calm. I think maybe the combination of breaking the back of greeting the department and a lot of the staff Monday and my refocus on the things that are REALLY important may have changed my focus.
It was, as the day before, lovely to be at work. I managed a 10 minute meeting with my head of department but other than that, spent the day chatting and catching up with everyone. I managed to get a Controlled Assessment session (the new version of coursework) booked for the next day, which at least helped me feel I’d achieved something.
It was, as the day before, lovely to be at work. I managed a 10 minute meeting with my head of department but other than that, spent the day chatting and catching up with everyone. I managed to get a Controlled Assessment session (the new version of coursework) booked for the next day, which at least helped me feel I’d achieved something.
106. Happy Mondays
Monday 10.10am. VERY nice doctor. She agrees almost immediately that I’m well enough to work. To be fair, I suppose the number of people that present at the docs insisting they want to be signed back on are few and far between in comparison to those begging to be signed off. Also, I’m so over excited with the prospect of a return to normality, I’m a bit hyper and gibber at speed about how well I am at her.
The upshot is, I can work.
Same day, without time to think about what I’m doing or how I’m going to feel, I’m at school. I manage to time my arrival to coincide with lunch time so what was an official visit to hand over my not-sick note turns into a social occasion. Because I haven’t had time to think and consequently to sweat and worry about how I’ll react, I’m fine and have a fab time seeing and talking to everyone.
The business manager is somewhat bemused by my sick note as it doesn’t advocate a phased return (because the doc has factored in that I’ll soon be off work again) and instead leaves it up to me to determine how much I am able to do. This laissez faire attitude may seem a bit foolish, given that it leaves me the possibility of doing the bare minimum. In reality, however, the reverse is probably the case. I’ll be so desperate to return to normal as quickly as possible that I’ll over tax myself and end up off work sick again.
The upshot is, I can work.
Same day, without time to think about what I’m doing or how I’m going to feel, I’m at school. I manage to time my arrival to coincide with lunch time so what was an official visit to hand over my not-sick note turns into a social occasion. Because I haven’t had time to think and consequently to sweat and worry about how I’ll react, I’m fine and have a fab time seeing and talking to everyone.
The business manager is somewhat bemused by my sick note as it doesn’t advocate a phased return (because the doc has factored in that I’ll soon be off work again) and instead leaves it up to me to determine how much I am able to do. This laissez faire attitude may seem a bit foolish, given that it leaves me the possibility of doing the bare minimum. In reality, however, the reverse is probably the case. I’ll be so desperate to return to normal as quickly as possible that I’ll over tax myself and end up off work sick again.
105. Sick and tired of being sick and tired (or, to be honest, bored and frustrated)
So. I’m sitting here inventing things to do. Housework isn’t done but that isn’t REAL work, its faffing about. I’m bored. Being bored is making me miserable. Being miserable is making me worry about aches and pains (a pain in my breast is more cancer, natch). Suddenly, a light bulb goes on. There is NO guarantee that radiotherapy is going to start immediately after my initial setup appointment (given the delay last time) and that will be me using yet more sick leave when I’m not sick. Therefore, if I’m fit to work, why not work? Only one hurdle. I need to see my GP. Within minutes, I’ve booked an appointment with the GP AND phoned the school to let them know I may be back at work soon.
104. Girl Power
So overall, last week was a bit of a shit week. Radiology: delayed. Blood tests: revealed cancer gene. Boyfriend: no sign or word. Friends: fab!
But. I'm shocked. R HAS been ill. Not so ill though that a sympathetic phone call or message could have been made. I think that maybe I’m facing what other women going through this have suffered before; male cowardice. Before I’m drowned with howls of protest, I acknowledge that the majority of men stand by their partners and indeed are rocks of strength and support. Not in my case maybe.
I HAVE thought about how I’d feel if he were going through something similar. I know it would be hard. I’m not sure I’d want to become his carer. I did it for an ex that was very ill and I don’t really want to do it again. So maybe I understand.
The sexual issue has to be addressed as well. A woman without breasts and a uterus. I don’t know if I can be sexual if I have both surgeries. I’d like to think I can get through it as a sexual being but… The girl that I know that is doing the same thing is 15 years younger than me. I don’t know, but I’m assuming that she and her husband will have a normal marital relationship. It says a lot about my relationship that I can’t imagine the same.
Without going into huge detail though, I’m going to state the obvious. If he can’t support me in my darkest hours, I don’t want to be with him. And although it may sound arrogant, if he isn’t able to do this with me, then he isn’t good enough for me.
But. I'm shocked. R HAS been ill. Not so ill though that a sympathetic phone call or message could have been made. I think that maybe I’m facing what other women going through this have suffered before; male cowardice. Before I’m drowned with howls of protest, I acknowledge that the majority of men stand by their partners and indeed are rocks of strength and support. Not in my case maybe.
I HAVE thought about how I’d feel if he were going through something similar. I know it would be hard. I’m not sure I’d want to become his carer. I did it for an ex that was very ill and I don’t really want to do it again. So maybe I understand.
The sexual issue has to be addressed as well. A woman without breasts and a uterus. I don’t know if I can be sexual if I have both surgeries. I’d like to think I can get through it as a sexual being but… The girl that I know that is doing the same thing is 15 years younger than me. I don’t know, but I’m assuming that she and her husband will have a normal marital relationship. It says a lot about my relationship that I can’t imagine the same.
Without going into huge detail though, I’m going to state the obvious. If he can’t support me in my darkest hours, I don’t want to be with him. And although it may sound arrogant, if he isn’t able to do this with me, then he isn’t good enough for me.
Tuesday, 15 February 2011
103. Déjà vu
Back to the hospital this morning for the CT scan to be redone. There was a male nurse there this time. Amazing how that changed the tone, although he was very nice. I was more nervous this time. Daft really. Had just done it once and there really was nothing to worry about. The scan was quicker this time, probably because they didn’t have to redo the tattoos.
Upstairs for a blood test next. Same nurse as last time. Same digging around with the needle. This time a sharp pain though, that made me exclaim. Same failure to get blood so another nurse was called. I was a little worried when she wanted to go in the same place the other nurse had just dug around. I was also a little concerned when she wanted to use the vein I had phlebitis in although fortunately she demurred when I showed her how far up the vein the plebitis went. Finally, she got blood out of the same place as Monday. The results were back very quickly. Platelets fine. Neurophils fine too. Green light for the dentist. More importantly, green light for swimming and shopping!
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S, a colleague and friend called later. Nice chat catching up on school gossip. It feels as if I’m never going to get back to work properly though. I AM going to have to go in for the periods in between treatment though, because I won’t be able to afford to be off continuously until all the surgery (that I may or may not need) to do with the BRCA1 gene is done. School won’t like this. It is much more convenient for them if I’m off for a whole block. It’s getting silly though. I’m well enough to be at work now. Going to see the GP Monday to see if she wants to sign me back on. School won’t be happy!
Upstairs for a blood test next. Same nurse as last time. Same digging around with the needle. This time a sharp pain though, that made me exclaim. Same failure to get blood so another nurse was called. I was a little worried when she wanted to go in the same place the other nurse had just dug around. I was also a little concerned when she wanted to use the vein I had phlebitis in although fortunately she demurred when I showed her how far up the vein the plebitis went. Finally, she got blood out of the same place as Monday. The results were back very quickly. Platelets fine. Neurophils fine too. Green light for the dentist. More importantly, green light for swimming and shopping!
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S, a colleague and friend called later. Nice chat catching up on school gossip. It feels as if I’m never going to get back to work properly though. I AM going to have to go in for the periods in between treatment though, because I won’t be able to afford to be off continuously until all the surgery (that I may or may not need) to do with the BRCA1 gene is done. School won’t like this. It is much more convenient for them if I’m off for a whole block. It’s getting silly though. I’m well enough to be at work now. Going to see the GP Monday to see if she wants to sign me back on. School won’t be happy!
102. The day after
Despite the shocks of the day before, I slept very well. So well, I didn’t want to get up. Finally, I was awake by 10.30. I didn’t feel up to rejoining the world though, so stayed in bed. I assumed I’d pick up and feel better and get up later. Nope. No such luck. A bit teary and down, I curled back up under the covers and stayed there. Later, I got a message from R. No reply necessary. K got in touch several times, despite being worried about the CT scan she was having later, little sweetheart.
Finally, finally, after spending most of the day asleep or reading, I managed to get up by 3.30pm. I had to really. The night before, I’d told S that I’d go to see her the next day.
S spent the evening cheering me up, with a degree of success. Not great, but an improvement on my previous mood. Thanks S.
Finally, finally, after spending most of the day asleep or reading, I managed to get up by 3.30pm. I had to really. The night before, I’d told S that I’d go to see her the next day.
S spent the evening cheering me up, with a degree of success. Not great, but an improvement on my previous mood. Thanks S.
101. A bit shit
Attended for my initial radiology appointment this morning. First, was taken in for a chat and then into the radiology room for measurements and calibrations to be taken. I was pushed and pulled around for about 15 minutes. They were having problems getting the machine at the right angle to cover the necessary area of my breast without affecting my heart. My arms were raised above my head but my right arm wasn’t fitted correctly into the arm rest. The radiotherapy equipment was massive, much bigger than the CT scanner. It also came down very close to my face making me quite claustrophobic. It will be scanning in 3 positions and will move around on its own into each position. No staff will be in the room while it does this. As it moved around to my right side, it almost brushed my right arm and would have crushed it if the nurse hadn’t been there. She moved my arm several times but finally, they decided it wasn’t possible to get the machine at the right angle and I was told I’d need another CT scan. To start with, I assumed they meant there and then which would have been fine with me. But no. Another appointment was to be booked. And then treatment was to be rescheduled.
I was a bit low about it. I’d got a timetable in my head for treatment, recovery, going back to work, moving house. Just, getting back to normal really. After months of illness and worrying about facing imminent death, I’d finally felt I was rejoining the land of the living. Now, however, it was looking as if I needed to revise the timetable but I decided to wait for them to contact me before I panicked.
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I took myself off to the fish quay in North Shields. I love it there. It’s a little cove at the mouth of the river Tyne. I love the way you can see the ocean through the mouth of the harbour. The water inside the walls is framed by cliffs with a memorial and a huge block of council flats. The beach itself is a gentle curve backed by huge boulders and a path that leads all the way round the cove to Tynemouth.
I’d planned to walk along the beach to calm myself down but the tide was in. It was sunny though and the sun was twinkling off the water so I sat in the car and watched the sea. After a while, I got a bit bored so read my book for a while. Tiring of that, I got out of the car to see how much the sea had gone out. Not enough to walk along the sand. The wind was also deceptively cold.
Giving up, I returned to the car and drove back to Newcastle. Taking S’s advice, I went to the greengrocer and stocked up on fruit and veg. S is a nurse and had told me that I could bring my neutrophils back up with healthy eating.
I love the shopping area of my neighbourhood. I live in the Asian area and the shops are full are people of all nationalities. In the green grocers, there were Asians, Muslims, Orientals, English and Africans. The Geordie staff are cheerful and dash about, flinging boxes of fruit and veg on the overhead storage and teasing the cashiers who know all the prices by heart.
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I lugged my bags home and rushed in to put the heating on. There were two letters on the doormat, both from the hospital. I’d previously requested copies of all correspondence so get a lot of mail from the various consultants, clinics and treatments that I have attended. I’m quite blasé about the correspondence now having got used to the stark details of my type and grade of cancer.
The first letter just detailed the last appointment I had with Dr. S. It referred to the lump I’d insisted on having scanned and biopsied and contained nothing I didn’t know.
I was pleased to see that the second letter was from the geneticist. I’ve been meaning to look for her details to get in touch to check the results of my tests. They took blood during a pre-chemo blood screening months ago. When I started reading, however, I was horrified to see that they’d identified changes in the BRCA1 gene in my tests. This means I have a genetic predisposition to cancer. It also means my daughter and nieces have it too. Unfortunately, I know the treatment for this because a member of the North East Breast Buddies group has the gene too. Her treatment is oophrectomy (removal of ovaries), which I’ve got no problem with. Cancer in them is hard to detect so they’re an unnecessary risk, given that I have no intention or desire to have more children. Other treatment, though, is double mastectomy and possibly hysterectomy. Major, daunting surgery. It was like a slap in the face. Cancer is bad enough. MAJOR mutilation of my body though was just too much to comprehend.
I put the letter aside and sent a text to R and several friends. As it was sending, the horror of the meaning of the letter hit me and I started to cry. Never mind a 3 week delay due to radiotherapy. I’m now looking at MONTHS worth of surgery and recovery time. And I don’t know what my chances of survival are either. It was like bloody déjà vu. Again and again since I’ve had cancer I’ve had to take on board frightening facts that frequently seem to lead to the suggestion of me dying. Hard enough to do it at all. Too hard to do it on my own.
I was shocked by R. Two matter of fact, unemotional and VERY unsupportive messages. No offer to come and sit with me. No phone call. Who is he again? My partner? As if things couldn’t get worse, he made sure they did. From where I was standing, or rather, lying, it looked very much as if he wouldn’t be sticking around much longer despite what he said to the contrary.
What would I do without friends though? The 4 friends I’d told were instantly on the phone with support and love. Even N, who was in a meeting, sent me a lengthy message and a promise to phone me later. K, bless her, my Breast Cancer Care friend, calmed me down and sorted me out. Her calm, supportive, rational approach was good. Of all people, she knows, bless her because she’s doing something similar herself.
How much more, though? How much more will I have to cope with, be brave about, learn to live with? This is SHIT.
I was a bit low about it. I’d got a timetable in my head for treatment, recovery, going back to work, moving house. Just, getting back to normal really. After months of illness and worrying about facing imminent death, I’d finally felt I was rejoining the land of the living. Now, however, it was looking as if I needed to revise the timetable but I decided to wait for them to contact me before I panicked.
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I took myself off to the fish quay in North Shields. I love it there. It’s a little cove at the mouth of the river Tyne. I love the way you can see the ocean through the mouth of the harbour. The water inside the walls is framed by cliffs with a memorial and a huge block of council flats. The beach itself is a gentle curve backed by huge boulders and a path that leads all the way round the cove to Tynemouth.
I’d planned to walk along the beach to calm myself down but the tide was in. It was sunny though and the sun was twinkling off the water so I sat in the car and watched the sea. After a while, I got a bit bored so read my book for a while. Tiring of that, I got out of the car to see how much the sea had gone out. Not enough to walk along the sand. The wind was also deceptively cold.
Giving up, I returned to the car and drove back to Newcastle. Taking S’s advice, I went to the greengrocer and stocked up on fruit and veg. S is a nurse and had told me that I could bring my neutrophils back up with healthy eating.
I love the shopping area of my neighbourhood. I live in the Asian area and the shops are full are people of all nationalities. In the green grocers, there were Asians, Muslims, Orientals, English and Africans. The Geordie staff are cheerful and dash about, flinging boxes of fruit and veg on the overhead storage and teasing the cashiers who know all the prices by heart.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I lugged my bags home and rushed in to put the heating on. There were two letters on the doormat, both from the hospital. I’d previously requested copies of all correspondence so get a lot of mail from the various consultants, clinics and treatments that I have attended. I’m quite blasé about the correspondence now having got used to the stark details of my type and grade of cancer.
The first letter just detailed the last appointment I had with Dr. S. It referred to the lump I’d insisted on having scanned and biopsied and contained nothing I didn’t know.
I was pleased to see that the second letter was from the geneticist. I’ve been meaning to look for her details to get in touch to check the results of my tests. They took blood during a pre-chemo blood screening months ago. When I started reading, however, I was horrified to see that they’d identified changes in the BRCA1 gene in my tests. This means I have a genetic predisposition to cancer. It also means my daughter and nieces have it too. Unfortunately, I know the treatment for this because a member of the North East Breast Buddies group has the gene too. Her treatment is oophrectomy (removal of ovaries), which I’ve got no problem with. Cancer in them is hard to detect so they’re an unnecessary risk, given that I have no intention or desire to have more children. Other treatment, though, is double mastectomy and possibly hysterectomy. Major, daunting surgery. It was like a slap in the face. Cancer is bad enough. MAJOR mutilation of my body though was just too much to comprehend.
I put the letter aside and sent a text to R and several friends. As it was sending, the horror of the meaning of the letter hit me and I started to cry. Never mind a 3 week delay due to radiotherapy. I’m now looking at MONTHS worth of surgery and recovery time. And I don’t know what my chances of survival are either. It was like bloody déjà vu. Again and again since I’ve had cancer I’ve had to take on board frightening facts that frequently seem to lead to the suggestion of me dying. Hard enough to do it at all. Too hard to do it on my own.
I was shocked by R. Two matter of fact, unemotional and VERY unsupportive messages. No offer to come and sit with me. No phone call. Who is he again? My partner? As if things couldn’t get worse, he made sure they did. From where I was standing, or rather, lying, it looked very much as if he wouldn’t be sticking around much longer despite what he said to the contrary.
What would I do without friends though? The 4 friends I’d told were instantly on the phone with support and love. Even N, who was in a meeting, sent me a lengthy message and a promise to phone me later. K, bless her, my Breast Cancer Care friend, calmed me down and sorted me out. Her calm, supportive, rational approach was good. Of all people, she knows, bless her because she’s doing something similar herself.
How much more, though? How much more will I have to cope with, be brave about, learn to live with? This is SHIT.
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