I wake up feeling as though I've been kicked in the boobs and more annoyingly, woken up from a fantastic sleep. Lovely Prof T is there saying it all went really well and smiling a lot. I smile back. He's so nice.....
Ah....pethadin! Haven't had that for a decade or so! I'd forgotten how well it works....
I feel great! This is amazing! I look down - Oh - what's that hanging off me? Meet my two new friends - drain 1 and drain 2... God they are disgusting - I immediately ask the nurse to put them in a plastic bag so I can't see them. She looks at me as if I'm mad - but please, who wants to look at bottles full of Stuff That Should Be Inside You? She picks up drain one and waves it at me - I am nearly sick - before laughing and putting it back on the floor. She is clearly a sadist - need to watch out for that one. Asians simply DO NOT UNDERSTAND the difference between stuff you want to see (pretty, nice things) and stuff you don't (blood, needles, gunk) - but more of that later....
I check my mailbox and am overwhelmed by all the emails and texts flooding in - no journeys, pink bloody ribbons or anything - they pretty much all say "we love you" in your own "how are you, you fat tart" sweet ways.
J and the kids arrive bearing chocolate and big smiles. We all agree that the drains are gross and put them in a Crabtree and Evelyn bag, which is a tasteful improvement. They leave and I tuck into to steak and mash (this IS Singapore!).
More of the same for 24 hours - until (cue screechy violins) Dr Crippen walks through the door. He says they analyzed The Thing and it's in one of the lymph nodes (the bad ones) and it's grade 3 (there are only 3) and it's triple negative (the most aggressive, most recurring, least treatable type). Then he says we'll need the most aggressive chemo AND radio and then he says goodbye and leaves.
I cry. No pretense at Demi here at all - it's loud and it's not pretty. I hate him. I hate The Thing. Fuck - I might die. Really. I. Might. Die. Now, understand me, this thought has gone through my head a few times before now (normally in meetings with Dr Crippen, or around 3 am) but I'm doing a good job of believing Lovely Prof T when he says I'm going to be fine. Sometimes part of me is lagging behind in this plan, but generally it works a treat. I call J and say something, god knows what, and he is at the hospital in about 5 seconds. We hug and cry and hold hands. He then goes to collect the kids from school but I feel calmer and much more accepting. Que sera sera. When did my life turn into a Doris Day movie?
A few more days and I go home. I wave goodbye to drain 1, but drain 2 hitches along for the ride - still appropriating my Crabtree and Evelyn bag. Bitch.
Amazingly I feel no pain to speak of at all - although I have a slightly worrying tendency to stop breathing if I don't focus on it. This doesn't leave a lot of brain power for doing anything else (imagine thinking breathe in, breathe out, all the time). Of course it's 11pm before I think of mentioning this to J - he's actually asleep at the time - and he sweetly promises to watch me while I fall asleep to make sure I carry on breathing.
The next day, Lovely Prof T tells me to stop the painkillers as they are causing this apnea. He's right and bizarrely there is still no pain.
I take a number of sneak looks at my boob. It looks ok, really it does, although I can't see the scar or nipple area at all. It's a fetching shade of yellow, and naked, it seems very round and high up but in a bra, is exactly like the other one. He's certainly got the volume right, but I'm not so sure about the shape - but I'm told that it takes 6 months to settle down - and then everything can be tweaked to match, so not something worth spending any energy thinking about. So I don't. But I do worry about whether The Scar will be hideous....
I am also wearing an elastic band round my chest to keep "little miss new boob" from rising up as it heals - but I'm getting bad about wearing it - it's tight and it looks funny and it hurts my armpit and it smells.
Loads of lounging about and rubbish American drama series for a few more days, then time for stitches and drain to come out. We rock up to Lovely Prof Ts office, and having filled in the forms, we go in.
The forms! How can I not mentioned this bizarre process yet - BUPA is covering the cost of everything to do with The Thing, which means that each time we see a doctor, a 5 page form has to be filled in. If we see, in the space of one hour, Lovely Prof T, Dr Crippen, Biopsy Man and maybe our GP - that's 20 pages of form filling. Each time.
Someone needs to get a consultant onto that process - it offends me every time.
Where was I? Ah yes - stitches out. Nothing remarkable to note here, except that I still don't get to see The Scar as a new plaster is put on by Efficient Nurse immediately. We go home with the instructions to take the plaster off after a week - so the date for the big unveiling is set. I am increasingly worried about The Scar - purely because it is the fear of the unknown - in my mind's eye I have a jagged raised red gash where my smooth round (well, ok, naturally sloping) boob used to me. It gets bigger and more hideous every time I think about it.......
As we leave, Efficient Nurse gives us my file with all details, histology, scans etc etc in it. Clipped to the top is a flyer for a local restaurant - with some scrummy looking curries advertised. Always one to think of my stomach at all times, I suggest to J than we go there for lunch. He squirms and hides the picture. Turns out it's a high definition photo of what they took out, complete with crowning nipple (I'd thought that was a garnish). OMG that sooooo falls into the category of Things I Don't Want to See and I will never, repeat never, want to eat Cauliflower Dhall ever again.
Loads more lovely cards, flowers, emails - and am starting to be brave enough for a few phone calls. One or two people have to go onto the naughty step for breaking the No Sympathy, No Journey rule but I love you all.
As zen-like and serene as ever, J xx
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