The Fortune Teller .....

At 4 O'clock yesterday afternoon, I went to visit the surgeon who had removed the tumour from my right breast, and the associated lymph nodes. It had been a full week since the operation, and I have to say I was more than ready to hear the full diagnosis. I had been feeling as if I was a refugee in some alien hinterland that I didn't recognise and when I sought direction from my internal compass to navigate my way back to more comfortable waters, it just span around and around, hopelessly seeking answers that disappeared like mirages every time I approached too closely. I think the past week has been one of the most uncomfortable journeys I have ever been on. Totally lost and disorientated in a familiar landscape.

We waited in the now familiar Waiting Area and watched as Couples, Daughters and Mothers, and occasionally a woman on her own, left the Clinic having had their fortunes told. No words were necessary to understand their destiny; the smiles that lit up faces or quiet tears of despair said everything the onlooker needed to know. You couldn't help but be moved by them, and I couldn't help wonder which I would be. My Husband saw me watching and clasped my hand tightly, his eyes reflecting the fear of the unknown visible in my own.

A Breast Care Nurse(BCN) called us in, and we went into a Consulting room. I was asked to go behind the curtains, undress and pop onto the couch; Miss Stebbing would be in shortly. While we waited, the BCN smartly removed the dressings that had hidden the wounds from a week earlier. I knew I was bruised, I had seen the yellow and purple mosaic spreading out in all directions when I bathed, but I hadn't quite prepared myself for how large the incisions were and was a bit surprised by what I saw. My husband's reaction to it later when we had a proper look in the privacy of home was ' Zoë fought the Tiger and the Tiger won'.

Miss Stebbing came in, and examined her handy work, and I have to admit, despite the initial shock, I had to agree with her that it all looked remarkably healthy, was healing well and was very neat; you can't see a stitch mark, despite there being 2 wounds, one 3 inches and the other 6 inches long. Happy with her work she told me to dress and come and sit down again. It was a joy not to have the dressings on, and as the nurse helped me do up the monstrosity bra, I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before I could wear something less utilitarian again.

I sat down next to himself, and waited with butterflies racing around my stomach and my heart in my mouth. The last time I had sat in this chair, Miss Stebbing had told me it was 'bad news'; that I had Breast Cancer. What was she going to tell me today? She smiled. I knew the news would be good, and she started to explain what the future held. Mercifully, they hadn't found any cancer cells in the lymph nodes they had sampled, and from that they were confident there had been no spread. The tumour itself in the scheme of these things was small, and all the margins of the tissue they had removed was also clear of any cancer cells, which meant she was confident that they had removed it all; the threat of more surgery was gone. It also means that I don't have to suffer the effects of Chemotherapy, that I can continue as she initially predicted, and take Tamoxifen for the next 5 years, which is a hormone cancer therapy appropriate to the type of cancer they found in me, and Radiotherapy once the wounds are well healed.

I should start on the Tamoxifen today; my GP will phone to let me know when the prescription is ready, and I may throw all care to the wind and walk the mile into the village to collect it. I still haven't driven yet, as the area is still sore, and I don't want to push my luck and endanger other road users because of a wonky arm. I will see an Oncologist next week to discuss the follow on treatment from the surgery, Radiotherapy, and arrange when that will start and for how long.; the hospital will phone and tell me which day at sometime today. Miss Stebbing thinks 25 visits should do the trick, going along on every weekday to the Unit in Southampton for 5 weeks. That in itself is going to be quite a feat as it is an 80 mile round trip.

So it's Champagne all round! Here's a toast to you all who sent me messages of support and encouragement, kind thoughts and positive vibes; they really made a difference. XX

Some light relief

This cupboard in my bathroom is filled to overflowing with bubbles, oils and other exotic ungents

I thought I would share my comedy moment of the week; it will be these moments that stick in my memory in years to come when I discuss my personal journey with Breast Cancer; the things that made me laugh, when even laughing hurt.

There are so many little things we take for granted in everyday life, the ability to access hot water and clean ourselves when we feel the need. Little bathing rituals we acquire that help us set the world to rights, a bath, a hair wash, just feeling clean can be spiritually cleansing too. Imagine my dismay when I was told not to get the dressings wet! No showers, no baths, and washing my hair virtually impossible! I wanted a hair wash, it hadn't been washed in 3 days; I was beginning to feel like the great unwashed, it bothered me out of all proportion, despite my Husband's protestations that it looked fine, it smelt fine, and anyway who was going to see! Men don't get it.

I wash my hair every day usually, it's one of the few things I do that is any kind of concession to the usual female preening rituals, I don't wear make up, never have. I don't colour my hair, never have. I do like to feel clean, I like my hair to shine and smell fresh . I bathe every day, often having a shower in the morning and a bath in the evening. It is my way to cleanse away the ills of each day, a luxury; to feel renewed, rejuvenated; it is healing.

I had figured out that with some help from himself, I could clamber in the roll top bath, and submerge my nether regions in a couple of inches of water perfumed with my favourite bubbles and generally splash around cleaning me from the waist down. Introducing water above my belly button was problematic, it was apt to get uncomfortably close to the dressings on my breast.

A little Internet research is often my way to circumvent frustration when faced with a task that seems seemingly impossible; and my mission was to wash my hair. Despite having a bath of sorts, I still felt grimy, and unclean. Yes, I know I am totally irrational, but as I reminded my Darling husband, I am female and it is my prerogative to be totally irrational about such things, and if he valued peace, he would stop telling me I was being irrational and that my hair was fine and could wait a few more days.

They say 'Desperation is the Mother of Invention'; well I was desperate by now, and willing to consider any method to secure clean locks, regardless of how madcap it might at first appear. My Saviour appeared in the form of a roll of Clingfilm. Yes, that right, Clingfilm. I undressed, and bid my poor husband wrap me in it tightly, over the area that the dressings occupied, and above and below; this way if I got wet, it didn't matter! I have to tell you that it took us a while to accomplish this, and the subsequent mayhem that ensued as I was wrapped up like a Turkey had us both in uncontrolled fits of laughter.

It was some while before either of us calmed enough to allow him to wash my hair for me; I bent over the basin and he carefully and gently washed my hair, rinsing it as if I might break; me still trying to stifle giggles and the rid myself of the ludicrous image I made in the mirror. I shall never be able to look at Clingfilm on the shelf in Waitrose again without having to stifle a smile.

Little Bird flies the Nest

My Little Bird holding Wayne the Chavfinch after his run in with the French Windows

This weekend is a difficult weekend; I had planned it so scrupulously, not realising that even the best laid plans often end up in the waste bin. My daughter leaves home this weekend for University. I had spent the summer scouting around the sales, buying her bedding and pots and pans, and all the things you need to set up your first home away from home. I was totally oblivious to the circustances that were going to overtake me, I had it planned to the most minute detail, so that in my heart I knew she was well provided for and would settle into her new surroundings quickly and easily. She is renting a house along with a group of other students as Halls accommodation at her Art School is very restricted. I went through this exercise with my son a couple of years ago, and it helped me a great deal to know that he was well equipped, and comfortable in his new home. This time I can't help, all I can do is watch as they load the car and plan what's going where in her new home. I find things like this so difficult, I so want to be part of it, plump the cushions on her new bed, run a duster around at the last minute, spring a home baked cake on her as we leave; but I can't, and it fills me with a huge sadness. I feel as if I have been robbed of sharing essential part of my daughter's development from madcap teenager, to self sufficient adult. It's moments like their first words, their first steps, their first tooth, they are moments you can't repeat, and I feel robbed and bereft as I watch the last load of books and clothes disappear into the boot of my Husband's estate car, ready to transport her to her new life. I shall just wave goodbye as they disappear down the lane.

Home Again

Taken earlier this year; Roses and clove Pinks from my garden

Sorry I haven't let you know how I am sooner, I have been rather dopey and have been sleeping rather a lot! I went in for the surgery at 7.45 am on Tuesday. I was greeted in the foyer of the Diagnosis and Treatment Centre (DTC) by a Theatre Nurse, and taken to the female locker room, where I was asked to change into a theatre gown, my robe and slippers, and then to wait in the Pre-Op waiting room. I duly did as bid, and scurried off, book in hand to wait to talk to the different Doctors and Nurses who would be checking me out before I went down to Theatre.

It is all very relaxed, its a bit like sitting around in a GP's waiting room; Radio 4 was playing in the background, and around the room were doors leading to 4 small consulting rooms. First to call me in was the Anaesthetist, who went through a routine set of questions about my general health, how I got on with anaesthetics and so on. Next a Nurse came to check my pulse, BP, and all the usual signs and placed tags on my arm and leg so they remembered who I was! I was also given some very glamorous stockings to wear; I am sure they will catch on eventually! I also had a Pre-med and some anti-emetics, as I was keen to go home that day. Once all the standard procedures had been carried out, I went up to the Breast Care Unit to have the wire inserted. This was a bit uncomfortable, but once it was in place and taped down the pain went away, and it was just a dull ache.

I then returned to the waiting room; now filling up with various shapes and sizes of patients in for different procedures. I caught the eye of a lady across the room, and she mouthed silently 'Breast?' to which I nodded, and went to sit by her. We established we were both being treated by Miss Stebbing that morning for an identical set of circumstances. It was reassuring to have someone else to chat to, and we soon forgot why we were there and discussed anything but surgery. She went down to theatre before me, so I bid her well, and waited on my own, reading the novel I had taken with me. Around about 10.30 the Theatre Nurse came back to get me, and said it was my turn. We walked down to the Theatre and I hauled myself on to the table; I think they were expecting someone taller! Everyone introduced themselves and talked me through everything they were doing, and I gradually drifted off to sleep singing 'Octopus's Garden' silently to myself.

When I woke I was aware a considerable pain in my right side, and the nurses very quickly sorted that out with an infusion of Tramadol, followed by morphine. They helped me put on the monstrosity bra, and made sure all the dressings and the drain were secure. I dozed on and off for quite a while, whilst they took my BP etc and made sure I was recovering well from the anasetic. I was then taken around to the small DTC ward, where I slept for a while, and then was offered some water. I was very chuffed, it usually at this point the day goes wrong and I end up disgracing myself, meaning I cant go home. Thankfully, this time the anti-emetics did the trick, and I followed the water with a coffee, and some digestive biscuits. These ALWAYS taste so good when you have been fasting for a few hours. I slept a bit more, and was soon feeling hail and hearty ( ish) but well enough to ask to go home. I was given the once over again, and told I could go. I got myself dressed and waited for my iGit to come and get me and take me back to the luxury of my own bed. I pretty much slept the next 12 hours without interuption.

Yesterday afternoon, the District Nurse called by to remove my drain, and generally check my dressings over. They have to stay in place until Tuesday next week. How am I feeling? I am sore as you might expect, but it is manageable, and I have tablets at home to help with that. I have been doing the exercises religiously, and think this helps a great deal. I have been resting and reading lots, and because the painkillers are quite powerful, find it hard to concentrate for long, and often start dozing off to sleep like the proverbial Dormouse.

Tuesday next week I have to go back and see the Doctors, and it will be then I find out exactly what I am dealing with. The waiting is the hardest part, but I am trying hard not to think about it, and just taking each day as it comes. Thank you for all the good wishes and kind thoughts, they mean a lot to me.

Today's the day

West Wittering, 30th August 2008

Dx Day +16

'Pandora' ~ John William Waterhouse

Time flies when you are having a ball; I wish. I have found time running mercilessly slow, and despite keeping myself busy with any number of jobs, I am finding that the surgery seems to be taking an awful long time to come around. I have been reading a lot too, despite my Breast Care Nurse (BCN) telling me to get off the Internet and put the books away. Having seen some of the claims made by some people, I can understand why she says that at this early stage of the treatment process, they can offer false hope to people in a vulnerable situation, and effectively try to capitalise on our ignorance and our desire for a cure, some are just frightening, and I don't think it helps at all to add to the stress of an already stressful time. I think in many cases she may be right about not reading too much beyond the stage you are at in your diagnosis and treatment, it is so easy to scare yourself witless in the process. It is easy to speculate and imagine that is you some months down the line, and before you know it, you are ordering your coffin and choosing hymns! Don't go there. Deal with today, and tomorrow, and the things you know to be true right now. I have tried to confine my information searches to what I know about my circumstance, although the temptation to read beyond is always there, a hope that you may catch a glimpse of the future or discover the panacea.

One of the reasons I read is I find the more I know and the better I understand what is happening to me, and what will be happening to me, I am then able to feel as if I am involved in the process of treatment, and rather than feeling overwhelmed, I understand the necessity for some things, and how and why they are done. It helps me to cope and feel more in control of what is happening to me. For example, I know I will have Radiotherapy sooner or later, and I have read about that in Terry Priestman's book 'Coping with Radiotherapy', which I found very useful. It helped disperse some of the arcane images I had about all things nuclear, although I have to admit to a tinge of disappointment when I discovered I won't have glow in the dark breasts! Another book that I have read and bought simply because the title appealed to me; ' 'I've Got Cancer, But it Hasn't Got Me'. These few words encapsulated perfectly the way I wish to deal with it too. The book was a warm , witty and informative account of the author, Kate Dooher's, own journey with BC whilst coping with the demands we all face; work, family, children and so on.

Other things that had mildly alarmed me included knowing that my breast would turn turquoise for several months, and that I would have tattoos. 'Miami Ink' sprang to mind, and I had some fun imagining several ink dots being being added to the freckles I already have and that I might be able to while away quieter moments playing dot-to-dot with me as the puzzle! Sadly, there are no artistic credentials attached to these marks, and they are there to ensure they line the machines up as accurately as possible, when undergoing radiotherapy treatment.

Another thing that really did have me worrying was the fact that I know I am going to have a 'wire' inserted to guide the surgeon when they do the Wide Local Excision to remove my lump. I understood half the process, having had Stereotactic Core Biopsy the second time around to confirm my diagnosis. This was a remarkable bit of technology, straight out of Star Wars. They take two images if your breast, and feed them into a computer (the images, not your breasts, although whilst they did this to me, I was firmly clamped in the mammogram machine). The computer software then creates a 3D image of the space your breast occupies, and shows the structures within it, so that the tumour itself can be accurately located and samples taken. I had imagined this wire would be along the lines of 'X marks the spot', that was a little naive, but having discussed this with my BCN, I am happier about what's involved.

Yesterday morning I spent an uneventful 4 hours wondering from one department to another at the Hospital on the pretext of Pre-Op checks. The British Army might consider it useful as an orienteering course, I walked miles and got lost once! They seemed very through in their tests, and I was asked to provide urine and blood, and was also sent for an ECG and chest Xrays. I found this reassuring in a bizarre way. At least they would know how to put me back together.

Before I went for all the Pre-Op checks, I had arranged to see my BCN, as I had emailed her last week with a vast list of questions about various aspects of the treatment. I have found this side of it all so refreshing; the ability to be able to phone, or email someone who is throughly clued up about my case and the disease, who is there for me as a fountain of information when I am unsure. It's all highly civilised at the hospital I am at, and we went of to a quiet room complete with sofas and fresh flowers, armed with coffee in proper china mugs, and my gargantuan list. She talked me through each of the questions I had asked, and we discussed some non-medical stuff too which I had found difficult. It's amazing how people react to you when they learn you have cancer. In some instances it may as well have been the plague. But you soon learn who your true friends are, and after the first couple of shocks about peoples reactions, you mentally switch off to that kind of negativity. I decided I wasn't going to allow the hurt I felt at their reactions turn into negativity or depression. I have decided I have enough to deal with without having to deal with other peoples emotional cowardice or ineptitude.

I also contacted the Breast Cancer Care Charity, who are the is the UK's leading provider of information, practical assistance and emotional support for anyone affected by Breast Cancer (BC). I talked to a lady who was skilled in the art of discussing all the questions and issues I wanted to raise, without feeling I was adding to the burden of those around me. She was amazing, and suggested a number of practical solutions to things that had been bothering me, including sending me information to read about specific aspects of the disease, and also suggested that I might benefit from a 'Peer' to support me on the phone from time to time. Some one who had been through BC themselves, and was now a trained counsellor. Someone who was able to empathise and be realistic. This Angel phoned me last night, and we talked for quite a while. She is 10 years past her diagnosis, and had a very similar set of circumstances to my own. Knowing she was there, and life carried on as normal 10 years on, and that her kids got through Uni, and her husband was still by her side, gave me huge hope, and helped me put aside some of my less rational fears. She's going to call me again next week after the surgery, and we can talk again then; waiting for the full diagnosis is difficult, and I wont know the full story until a week later, but shes been there too, so understood my worries, and is willing support me along my journey. How amazing is that? My own personal Angel!

I think the most difficult thing I have had to do in the past two weeks however is find a Bra that is suitable to wear after the surgery, I actually ended up reassuring two quite upset fitters in one of the flagship Marks and Sparks yesterday afternoon as they desperately tried to help me find something that would fit! I had ordered some from the Internet, but they are a bit lacking in the cup department, and I had visions of waking up with my boobs poking out my back! Last night I discovered some monstrosities on Figleaves.com and have ordered a couple that may fit at the outrageous price of £46 each! Let's hope they turn up in time. I have to say it's the practical issues like these, that drive me close to tears; sheer frustration at not being able to do something that should be so simple.

Anyway, huge ramble; sorry about that, but I thought I had better let people know what I was up to and how I was fairing.

Thank You

This rose was part of a bouquet my youngest sister sent me

I am completely overwhelmed by the warmth and kindness shown to me in the comments left on my blog on Monday. I am not sure what to say, but it has touched me deeply, and each one brought a smile to my face at a time when I was finding it hard to smile. Thank you so much for all the good wishes, the messages of support; the encouragement, and the positivity. It means more than you know.

I am sorry I didn't reply earlier to say thank you to everyone; Tuesday was a busy day as I took advantage of the good weather and went to RHS Wisley; I have blogged about my day on Garden Hopping. Today I was in hospital as a day patient having my 12 weekly sense of humour top up, and am just about sentient after the sedation. Thankfully my pain management specialist Doctor is a complete Star and kindly agreed to get that out the way before all the other treatment starts and brought my appointment forward.