I wasn’t sure if I felt like writing an entry this week and even writing this now I’m not sure I feel like it but it might help so lets see how it goes.
On Wednesday I had to return to the RHU to get the FULL results of the MRI scan that I had last week. Whilst the scan had shown that the cancer was one big lump and lots of little buggers around it, meaning I’d need a mastectomy, the radiologist needed more time to view this. On returning it was concluded that this was still the case and in fact the main culprit is 71mm rather than the 48mm initially thought. Now this might sound scary to some people and it did to me until I had it explained to me that “size doesn’t matter” when it comes to cancer. Some people have cancers that are 3mm that are a lot more aggressive. I’ve just got a big, reasonably slow, stupid one.
On returning to the RUH my bum didn’t even hit the seat before Nicky (my surgeon) came to get me to tell me I needed to have an ultrasound done on my left boob. As you can imagine this came as a huge shock to me. No one had ever talked about my left one before and so it weirdly, hadn’t even crossed my mind that this might also have “issues”. All the attention had just been on my right boob.
I dropped my bag and was taken back into the dimly lit room to have an ultrasound. It was a different lady this time, not that it mattered. As I led on the bed, ripping the stupid paper sheet as I twisted round into position, I started to cry. I was looking at the same fire detector that I was looking at about a month ago when this all started. It brought back a lot of memories. The nurse tried to comfort me buy putting some NHS value tissues in my hand which absorbed the sweat in my palms and turned to mush in seconds. It was all over very quickly “well. that all looks normal to me” what a huge relief that bloody was.
The “Foob”
When I was initially told I have breast cancer I instinctively said “well you can just cut my boob off and get rid of it” apparently a VERY common response from most women in my position. Despite this comment I was still taken through the reconstruction options available to me in a lot of detail. I was given a number of booklets to read and given yet more bloody decisions to make.
One implant or half a boob job looked very odd when shown to me. I just didn’t seem like something that I’d feel comfortable with. One boob pointing straight up when I led down and the other being natural. I joked to Spence that if I had this done, we’d just have to tell people we could only afford the one! Plus, as I have to have radiotherapy a silicone implant was not an option as it would shrivel with the treatment and look like your fingertips do when you have been in the pool too long. I did not want a pruney boob!
As time went on and I spent more and more time thinking about the impact of all of this on my life, my body and I became more and more worried about my mental health. Worried about how my mind would cope with what had happened and what I had to see in the mirror each day. It scared me and I concluded that I don’t think my mind can handle this. So I need to do whatever I can to make this as easy as possible.
After lots of research, I discussed with Nicky and Kate that I think id like to have an “Expander” fitted. “what is an expander?” I hear you cry. Well, think of a balloon that’s not yet been blown up and you are about there.
In the same operation as my mastectomy, a silicone “expander” will be inserted behind my peck muscle-wall and over time will be slowly filled with saline to inflate it and give it some shape. It will be done over a period of weeks at the RUH in a 5-10 minute procedure by my breast cancer nurse. It looks a bit more natural that just having a ready filled implant, although I am under no illusion it will still be very weird looking. In my mind, I think I will handle a weird boob better than no boob or “being flat” as its commonly referred to. But who knows? I just decided that id rather have it and not like it than freak out being flat and having no other option.
Its a temporary fix. It will be replaced in time when I have the DIEP flap reconstruction in about a year. Plus, it only has a manufacturer’s warranty of 18 months so has to be out by the time that’s up!
There are risks associated with this, like with anything they do. They are inserting something foreign into my body and it might not like it. I will be dosed up on antibiotics to help fight any infection and given very tiny exercises to do to make sure it doesn’t move and settle in the wrong place like up by my chin or under my armpit. I can’t lift my arm more than 90 degrees for about 3 weeks. It will be a considerable amount of time before I will be able to lift any kind of weight. Not even the kettle. But I have been assured I’ll be ok wiping my own bum. Which is a relief for Jaz and Spence who had drawn the short straw on that should help be required.
The Dreaded Drain
So after many ops you come out with a drain. These Drains are long tubes that are inserted into the breast area or armpit to collect excess fluid that can accumulate in the space where the cancer was. The tubes have plastic bulbs on the ends to create suction, which helps the fluid to exit your body. I’d seen pictures of these and they didn’t look that bad. A bit gross but not to bad. But not mine…..
On Friday back at the RUH I met with Kate who had to do all the fun bits. More paperwork, aftercare advice, etc etc etc.
Spence and I were taken to their quite room and I was given a bag to carry my drain around in. “sorry to do what!?” “Yes. You will always need to carry it around with you” now when I saw this thing I nearly passed out. Of all the things that have happened so far this I think is up there with the worst. Firstly, the bag to carry it in. Now this has quite obviously been made by a group of little old ladies who have a lot of time and some old curtains hanging around. Don’t get me wrong, I think its lovely that they do this and they obviously serve a very valuable purpose but I think mine has been made from some curtains that have come from a charity shop in Glastonbury.
If you are a bit squeamish you might want to skip this next bit…
The drain itself is about 1m in all with different chambers and bulbs to it to collect said fluid. There is about 30cm of this tube in me and the rest is just flapping around outside. At several points during the day one chamber needs to be emptied in to the other using a series of valves and clasps. A bit like when you play Screwball scramble and you have to shut one gate, roll the ball though then open the other gate without it rolling back through. I have to empty it every morning and keep a note of how much liquid comes out. GROOOOOOOOSS! I’d switched off by this point.
Kate carried on explaining to Spence what he’d need to do for me as there was no bloody way I was doing it. Until “what’s that noise?” I know that noise all to well. Someone outside was cleaning the hospital windows. And so I’m told, not very well. We all stopped what we were doing and sat and watched this poor chap wash the windows whilst Spence commentated and pointed from the inside at all the bits that he’d missed. So I’m told “he didn’t even rinse that. There will be white spots everywhere when that dries”. I closed the curtains, Kate laughed and we carried on.
Back to the drain. After about 5-7 days this thing will be removed “so I’ll have a local anesthetic will I? to take it out?” “No no. You just come and see me and we just pull it out. You just need to breathe and before you know it, it will be out. It won’t hurt” Yeah alright Kate! I felt like screaming “when did you last have 30cm of plastic tube pulled out of you before!?” but I didn’t. I just snorted at her disapprovingly and unconvinced. I know they are right and have done this a million times but its just seems very barbaric.
More Poking, More tests.
I had my pre-op at the Bath Clinic where my operation will take place. A long way to go for a few questions and yet another blood test but hey ho, gets me out of the house. Plus it was nice to see where the hospital was in advance of the operation. Mum had her hip replaced there many years ago but I cant remember it.
The Nurse Chris, who reminded me of Kenneth Williams in Carry on Matron, was very impressed with my new nails. When I asked him if I’d need to have them removed so they can get to my nail to check my pulse, in the campest possible voice just said “ohhhhhhhhhhh. Aren’t they pretty! I’d just leave em on love”
He asked me a million questions, “Have you got or have you ever had HIV?, have you got or have you ever had Hepatitis? Have you got or have you ever had any heart problems? Etc etc” the list went on and on. Luckily for me, but much to Chris’s disappointment, all of my answers were no. As I answered him “no, no, no, no, no” he struck through the whole page with a thick black, angry line as if to say “I don’t know why I bother”. I think he was holding out for something to be a yes.
After my questionnaire with Chris I was off to have some bloods taken. A little old lady and I mean quite possibly in her 90s called me in to her room. I had visions of her shaking hands coming at me to get my blood whilst not being able to see where she was going and just randomly jabbing at me trying to find a vein. I tried to convince myself that as she was sooooooooo old she must have been doing this for years so therefore would be an expert at it. I breathed deeply to calm myself. It was ok after all.
After my blood was taken we were chatting away when I heard this sweet old lady just shout “SHIT” With that, she had taken the three vials of my blood she had just collected and mistakenly thrown them in to the sharps bin. Within seconds she was in there up to her elbow trying to fish them out. “Don’t worry, you can just have some more. Don’t prick yourself!!!” the last thing I wanted was her pricking her rice paper thin skin with some dirty old needle. After lots of shaking she managed to retrieve them unscathed. “Luckily you were my first patient so there was no other needles in there” “Oh that’s ok then. And are you sure that’s my blood?” she was sure. She stuck a plaster on me and off I went.
Operation “Get it Gone”
So the operation is looming and I have to say I am shi**ing myself about it. I’ve never had an op before. I don’t think I’m very good at pain. I don’t want to feel sick or be sick after the anesthetic. I want Spence to be there when I wake up. How will it feel to not have a boob? How will I sleep? What if my drain comes out? When can I wash my hair properly? What pants do I wear? Do I even wear pants? Should I shave my legs? The list of things that cross my mind is endless. Its so mental that this is happening to me. This operation is the start of it all. This is when things get really, really real. It keeps hitting me in waves. I’ll be fine and then BANG! It feels like a kick, right in the pit of my stomach.
I’m very much NOT a glass half full kind of person and don’t think for one minute that happy thoughts and positive thinking is going to get this cancer out of me. So I have to do this. I have no other option to basically save my life. So if have to sacrifice a boob to do it, then that is what I’m going to have to do.
Someone on one of the Facebook groups that I’m in said to me “don’t think of the operation as losing your breast. Think of it as losing your cancer” and she is right. Despite how utterly shitty this is all going to be, this is the first step, at the start of many shitty steps that will ultimately be getting rid of my cancer. I just wish it wasn’t happening to me. Or to anyone. Ever.
Spence will drop me off at 11:30 on Tuesday 20th. My op will take place at 1pm. It will take approximately 3-4 hours depending on how many of my lymph nodes need to come out as well. The MRI showed that one is cancerous, and a couple swollen. I might have one removed, I might need 50 removed. We all have different amounts so its hard to say. One thing I do know though is that my little friends, my nodes, have been good at grabbing the cancerous cells and stopping them getting anywhere else in my body so I thank them for that.
Initially the hospital want to send you home the same day! How mental is that? But as my op is middle of the day I will be staying in. Mum is very happy about this, I’m not. I want to get home to my own bed, my home comforts and see Spence and whoever else wants to pop by and see me. When I’m up for visitors. Who knows when that will be.
So this is it for now guys. You probably won’t hear from me for a few days. I’ll be psyching myself up for this and then recovering. I know you will all be thinking about me as you are bloody good like that. If you message and I don’t respond, I know you won’t take offence. I’ll be otherwise engaged.
Spence has promised he will put out a public service announcement for me when I’ve come round from the op. Jaz, as my PR agent, you might want to get Somerset Live prepped as well.
I love you all. Thank you so much for all being there for me and taking the time to share in this so far. It’s a lot easier having you all with me.
Just think, by the end of all of this we will all know so much about cancer, reconstructions, drains and chemo that if, god for bid, we come across anyone else who has to go through this, we might be able to remember a little something from this experience that can offer them some help. Even if it’s that you must rinse the windows properly after cleaning to avoid white spots!