I apologise for my blogs becoming a little morose and lack-lustre.
No juicy wounds or post-anaesthetic-poo to talk about.
Where did I sign-off last time? Oh yes, I had returned from Sydney feeling sorry for myself and in the doldrums. This week I’ve picked up a little wind but I’m still feeling a bit weepy. Not curled-up-in-the-foetal-position weepy just …. melancholy. I have spacey, vivid dreams and wake up exhausted. I eat normally, I haven’t been drinking, not taking any pain meds. I have clean sheets on the bed and my bills are up to date.
1 August 2022
WFH. DIY coffee, tappety tap on the keyboard, emails, ‘fixing’ stuff, running a few excellent pivot tables. Keen for tomorrow to roll around.
2 August 2022
Today is THE DAY. Looking forward to seeing the surgeon/maestro to get the low-down on the op, the biopsy and what comes next.
Coffee
Down to Outpatient Specialist Clinic at Calvary (I’m a regular now). Go past the lawnmower which appears to have been placed in the overgrown garden as ‘art’. I’m impressed.
Bang on time. I go through to the waiting room which is not as depressing as it could be. There are a few other people (women) there who are at various stages of treatment. There are multitudes of pamphlets around the room – which everyone is too embarrassed to view/collect eg. ‘Sexuality, intimacy and cancer’. There is a little kitchenette and fridge and the tv is playing Channel 7 News (again – why?!) A woman comes through to the room with her Bosom Buddies Show Bag and a ream of paperwork to fill out. I remember that from only a few weeks ago. It makes me sad to know she has obviously just been given The News. I would like to say hi but no one is talking and it seems intrusive. I leave her to her paperwork. 40 minutes later the doctor comes through.
I take my top off so he can see his handywork. He is happy with how the wound is healing. “Make sure you put moisturiser on”.
Summary
The cancer in the breast has been fully removed. The tissue they removed from around the tumour is clear of cancer. No more surgery required. Yet. Unfortunately, cancer cells have been detected in one of the sentinel lymph nodes they removed. This will need to be treated – probably with radiation, perhaps chemo – it will be up to the oncologists to determine. Regardless of the lymph node ‘issue’, it is likely they will blast my poor little breasticle with radiation anyway.
So your work here is done? Yes, I’ll see you again in a years’ time. Sunday at reception will make the necessary booking. You will need to obtain a referral from your GP and get a scan a few weeks prior to your appointment in July 2023.
Thank you.
I go to reception to see Sunday who is the most lovely, efficient woman. I ask whether Karen or Tamara, the breast cancer specialist nurses are available (I am feeling very deflated – still not sure what needs to happen). Unfortunately they are both busy. I will call them later.
What was I hoping for? I wanted to know how and when it will all end! When do I get back to normal? Can I book a holiday? What is the treatment regime ie. when/what/how much?
Reality Check: no one person, in this case, medical specialist is an expert at everything. The surgeon was just that. The surgeon. They’re good at chopping things up, taking stuff out, putting things in. Opening up the human body, doing their thing then closing it up again – making sure all the bits go back in the right place, everything is working and you’re still alive. Mission accomplished.
Meanwhile the anaesthetist is making sure you don’t feel any pain, at the same time, don’t die. Success!
The nurses make sure the poor broken, cut, drugged, stressed body is comfortable, cared for and heals. Their work is never done.
The pathologists receive the juicy tumour. They slice it up. Whizz it up. Put it in stuff, place it under a microscope. Find out if it’s good or bad. If it’s cancer, what stage it's at and how aggressive it is. Write a report. Feed tumour to the resident lab cat.
Oncologists grab a cup of tea then sit down with the report to determine what kind of treatment is required to destroy the little cancer fucker.
As a wise man once said: “set expectations low”. Which is what I should have done on Tuesday. The surgeon has completed his bit, assessed the result and all is good. He now hands the baton to the oncology team. Who I am booked in to see next week. I will see both a radiation oncologist and a medical oncologist who will by then know, after numerous cups of tea and reading the pathology report, what kind of treatment is required.
I had hoped I wouldn’t have to wait another week but that is the gig. Suck it up sister.
On my way to the carpark I see the woman from the waiting room with the blue Bosom Buddies bag. I introduce myself, offer her my number and say if she ever felt like having a whinge, a laugh, a cry, to give me a call. She’s in good spirits, just shellshocked – and pissed off she will have to come off her HRT (which could mean hellfire, armageddon for her husband). She told me her cancer had been picked up through the national breast cancer screening program so ….. get your boobs checked chicks.
Life happens. Most of the time it is average – which is ok. We are safe, content, fulfilled – and mostly happy. Sometimes it is spectacular and we wish those times – that feeling – could last forever. Sometimes it’s shit and we muddle through. Sometimes it is so shit, we don’t even want to muddle through but rather make it all disappear.
Despite Vivien Leigh being an absolute fox, I don’t believe in ‘tomorrow is another day’. I believe in survival, being human, accepting the feelings you have now. I am a fan of the recuperative powers of a good night’s sleep. Perhaps a better way of viewing it could be: what ruined your today, won’t ruin your tomorrow – though even that is doubtful because lots of stuff that has ruined my today has ruined my tomorrow as well. Bastards. I’m not going to sit here and will-away or dismiss the feelings I have now, today, because they will likely be gone tomorrow. Fuck that. In fact I think the word tomorrow should be struck from the English vocabulary. It serves no purpose. Today and yesterday will suffice.
No news on the Mirena – that is MIA and so far down the list I can’t even be bothered thinking/worrying about it.
A shout out to my beautiful workplace who have been endlessly kind and supportive. I returned to the office this week, feels so good to be productive and part of the team again.
I have sourced some new bras which are fab-u-lous. No more frumpy-post-surgery-quasimodo-elephant-man-berlei bras. Feel somewhat feminine again.
My beautiful son Sam has been terrific. Helping out with chores, shopping, lifting, laundry. Not sure where he got the genes from but I’ll take some credit. Thank you Samuel F G xxx
The Full Bush Rat
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