The breast cancer patient's best friend is: DRUGS!!

I'm not one to peddle drugs, but I have to say that I had to have morphine for the pain. It was nice-the morphine, not the pain!!

Everyone finally got their act together-and on Thursday morning I had a visit from Mr.Tan; I had to sign consent forms, we discussed the surgery. I had to go down to nuclear medicine to have an injection which would show the lymph nodes. I was radioactive.

I had to have my computer and all valuables locked in the hotel safe, where they stayed until Saturday. And the porter came to bring me to the theatre at 2:15-I was shaking. Literally! I wanted to escape.

Short version: I woke up in recovery and the pain was excruciating. I want to say that I felt like I'd been hit in the chest by a double-decker bus-but that sounds so ordinary (and I don't do ordinary!). It was as if I'd been jumped on by a herd of stampeding rhinos (now that certainly is not ordinary!!). So you get the idea: there is pain, and there is "shoot me and put me out of my misery"pain. Mine was shoot me pain. Even then I was joking with the nurses about whether or not I still had both kidneys (I did. About the spleen...well...)

Anybody who tells you that there is no pain after a double mastectomy, or they "know how you feel" (never experiencing themselves), has to be masochistic. Or they have no nerve endings. Or they are bonkers. Or dead. The pain is worse than anything you could possibly imagine. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't move. I had to have morphine.

Morphine is good. Trust me on this!! My blood pressure shot up so high that someone was assigned to take it every hour through the night-it finally started to drop towards normal at around 8am. Then someone asked why I hadn't slept all night-well, DUH!!! Could you, with someone constantly poking at you every hour?

The first three days were terrible. I stayed in bed most of the time. When the bruising started to come out, I noticed that my entire upper body was black and blue-mostly black. No wonder I was in so much pain!!

If you are really into pain, have a bilateral mastectomy. You're nuts.

I'm at six days post-op now, and I can finally lift my arms, so I wanted to let everyone know I am still alive. My face is an interesting shade of slate, I have a huge (and I do mean, huge) cut from armpit to armpit (I have been sliced and diced), I'm black and blue from armpits to waist and all around front and back, and very swollen; I'm wearing one of those lovely (!!) hospital gowns, someone put black anti-embolism stockings on me when I wasn't looking, and I'm wearing these ghastly yellow NHS booties. I just get sexier every day!!

Next Tuesday I will find out the results of the histology test-so I will know whether or not cancer went into the lymph nodes. Fingers crossed; if the test is clear, I won't need chemo or radiation, so at least I won't lose my hair.LOL bald and flat, that would be too much.

I'll be back. A nurse is here to plague me-and to feed me something that looks like someone else ate it first.

And another thing

I heard about Angelina Jolie in the six am news on Tuesday, and I thought what a courageous woman she is to go public about a double mastectomy, even though she doesn't have breast cancer, only the gene (I have the same gene, BRCA-1). She certainly didn't need the attention.

Here is someone who seemingly has everything in life: fame, success, money, beauty, a loving family-and, of course, Brad Pitt. Yum.

Honestly, I salute Angelina-and on Tuesday I felt -well, not happy, but pleasantly surprised that someone at her level of fame would go public about something so personal, and a condition so nasty and so probable. I was never a huge fan of Angie/Brangie/whatever the two poor publicity hounded people are called these days. But nobody else at even close to that level would ever dream of doing that. We get so accustomed to famous people whining about everything-and all the attention-seeking-the less the talent, the greater the narcissism, it seems. Good for Angelina: I salute her.

Gotta go. People are starting to annoy me now. My blood pressure is taken hourly-and it keeps rising (so much it is nearly normal!!). Of course my pressure is rising!! Well, DUH!!!! No gold star for anyone on the staff who figures that one out (I think a lot of them are from that place that shall remain forever nameless. Sounds like essex).

I wonder what they do with the breasts once they remove them...just an interesting question to ponder. I thought in the middle of the night (because I couldn't sleep. No huge surprise there) that if this was 1939 and we were a little further east, someone would probably be making handbags. Suitcases if it was Katie Price (double F?), but me? Probably change purses.

I will get a karmic overload for that one!!

Chop chop...chop chop...and the axe falls today

Actually it is the scalpel that will fall today. When I was growing up and studying history, I wondered how Marie Antoinette felt just before she was separated from her head. Now I think I know how she felt-only I'm being separated from two other parts of my anatomy!!

I was so happy yesterday to be able to actually get online-so everyone knows I haven't either died or been arrested. And at the end of the ward there is a room that is always filled with policemen-I think I told you that the Whittington is the nearest hospital to Holloway (the women's prison) and Pentonville (the men's nick), so people come in and out of here in their lovely, sexy (ewwww) orange uniforms, with the addition of the latest style of handcuffs and leg chains. One of the men is on the ward, and police are constantly there, guarding him.

Scary. But-some of the coppers are rather cute, in a creepy kind of cop way. Mostly creepy.

I had people coming in and out every ten minutes yesterday-or, it felt like every ten minutes. This is a chest ward, and nobody knows anything about CVID here (except my doctor, and she doesn't come on the ward), so it is a shiny, brand new experience for them all. Plus I have breast cancer. They are accustomed to people with bad chests, not people who are going to have no breasts. I'm a curiosity.

The sister, or head nurse, or head honcho, if you will, came in yesterday to have a quick chat, and to tell me that I'm allowed only water after 2am. I reassured her that I won't be going out for a Domino's Pizza, so nobody has to worry at all. By 2am I am tucked up in bed, anxiously awaiting the whole thing to be over. I said that, once I heal up, I will at least have a flat area to rest my laptop so I don't have to squint when I use it. She just burst out laughing...and said that I will probably go to a surgical unit after surgery, and then be back on this ward tomorrow (Friday). She said that most of the staff are looking forward to my return, because of my very dark, warped, dry sense of humor. I make them laugh-I try to make myself laugh. I guess you have to laugh.

I had a wobble last night. I finally got rid of everyone asking me how I am (what do they think I'm going to do? Jump out the window? The windows don't open that far. And I wouldn't do that anyway...geez, I haven't come this far to jack it all in now!!), and took a shower and washed my hair. All of a sudden I started to cry...and the whole surgery, cancer, de-boobing thing hit me.

So, I sat and cried for a little while, and then I was okay. I shook, even...just began to tremble. I thought I was going to vomit. So I stayed in my room, and closed the door, and didn't really speak to anyone except to be polite (always polite. Mostly. Usually).

So, this morning I will go to the nuclear medicine department and have an injection of some noxious substance into my breast, and I will be irradiated for a week. The lymph nodes around the body will be highlighted, and Mr. Tan will be able to see if there are any sneaky little cancer cells where there shouldn't be cancer cells. I will have a blue right side for a week, a grey face to match the hospital broccoli (think I'm kidding? I should photo it and put it on YouTube. Nobody would ever eat broccoli again), blue urine and green feces. I will look just too, too sexy. Add flat-chested to that, and I will just be so attractive it isn't true (and it isn't true, but one can only dream).

I will be back on this blog over the weekend-and I will let you know if my consultant, Mr. Tan, lied about me not being in terrible pain afterward, and not being very swollen under the armpits, and being able to lift my arms (he said that he has patients who left the hospital the same day they had a double and went on holiday. I'll know if he lied. I just want to be able to lift my arm high enough to slap him if he's lying).

I might be cracking jokes all the way to the operating theatre; it's my coping mechanism, and we will see how I feel. At least I don't have to look at grey broccoli! And-you know what? I never got the extra cream cheese on my bagel, either (I didn't ask. If I had to play the cancer card, I would do it for something more important than cream cheese. Starbuck's, maybe).

See everyone on Saturday or Sunday. Anyone want me to give one of the coppers a kick, just for-whatever, fun. payback, because they're coppers? I can get away with it; I've got a walking stick. And cancer.

When is a dongle not a dongle?

Easy answer: a dongle is not a dongle when it doesn't dongle. And that is why I have not been online for over a week. I bought this from T Mobile, thinking that I would be online in the hospital...no such luck. So I finally was able to sneak out yesterday afternoon and buy another one.One that works.

Whose bright idea was it to call it a dongle, anyway? It sounds like a contagious disease. Oh, he has a dongle. Poor thing. Is it contagious?

What a week it has been. I've seen the NHS at its worst. No kidding, on Thursday I will be fearing for my kidneys-and other body parts (worth a fortune on the black market, incidentally).

The admissions people couldn't organize a necrophiliac's convention in a mortuary. I could go on and on about that-but I won't. You get the idea: I have no patience with stupidity or incompetence, and I encountered both this week. Actually, I have no patience at all.

On Monday I had to come in for an MRI, and the tech destroyed the veins in my arm, so I am black and blue (mostly black) from fingers to elbow. Amazing that the films turned out okay, and that the same guy didn't MRI the walls and floor. Tuesday I had to drive my car to the garage for its service, and MOT so I can tax it for another year. The guys at the garage were great. I did tell them about the operation, and they said I could just leave the car there until I am able to drive it home. What stand up guys, my mechanics!!Wednesday I was admitted, had to wait three hours for the bed (the woman was supposed to be leaving, and decided to have a wash at the last possible second. That took two hours. She must have resembled a prune afterward). And then, at 3pm, I had to go for my PICC line.

It took 45 minutes to get the line into my arm and up and across into the tip of my heart. That hurt-although the doctor was very experienced and kept injecting me with a local anesthetic, it was very painful. Add to that the fact that his mobile phone kept ringing. I said, nice ringtone. He said, everyone keeps calling him-to which I replied, well, can you turn it off, or shove it in the microwave (I so wanted to tell him where to shove it, but I did have a wire in my arm going up to my heart. Even I'm not that foolhardy!!). So it was finally over, and his phone still kept ringing! I went back to the ward and needed painkillers for the next week; my arm was very bruised and swollen (he did warn me-in between checking his messages!!).

And that is how my week has been. I will almost be glad when I have surgery on Thursday-I will need the rest!!! And with a bit of luck, the cancer will all be removed. It's going to be a double mastectomy-and I will write more later, since a nurse is waiting to take my blood pressure. It's gone up since I've been here. I wonder why!! Duh!!!

More later. Let's see if she can find my arm!!

A little urban paranoia is a good thing

The upside of using the computer at the library is the fact that the screen is a large one-and I can see better than on my own laptop. The downside, however...well, it takes so long for the thing to power up that you could make several cups of coffee (not instant, either), a five course meal, do the dishes, do the laundry...you get the picture. I really need to get a larger monitor so I can blog from home. At the moment, however, I am a wee bit busy with other priorities!!

Another down side of using the library computer is: lurkers. People shamelessly stand behind and have a good look at what other people are doing online. And-the keyboards are always very sticky (with what, I don't know. Ewwww!!!!).

So after I finished the other day, I turned around to look at the person who was standing behind me, having a good old look at what all of us were doing (three computers in a row). As I stood up and walked away, the woman said: I know you, you're limerabbit, aren't you? I was so glad I wore makeup that day, too!! But I looked at her, and-just to be on the safe side (like I said, a little urban paranoia is a good thing), I asked: are you armed?

She started to laugh, and said that she couldn't help but look at my screen (it is bright pink), and she also said that she follows the blog. I then asked her the next obvious question-just for security, of course-"you aren't from Essex, are you?". I was prepared to run if I had to...and she just laughed and said that she is from Denmark, and is visiting her daughter who lives nearby. She said that they both read the blog...and she wished me luck. Then we parted company, and I was looking over my shoulder as I took the long way home. You never know!!

On Wednesday afternoon I received a phone call from the hospital: I was being admitted on Monday (tomorrow). That wasn't acceptable at all - what happened to notice, anyway? So I started negotiating (I am very good at negotiating, so if you ever need a negotiator, do let me know). I said no. In fact, I said "Hell, no!!". I wasn't going to go into the hospital tomorrow, I have too much to do. So we went back and forth for a couple of hours, and I was told to come in on Wednesday. Tomorrow I have to appear for an MRI: this will tell the surgeon the location of the tumor, the size, whether there are cancer cells in the lymph nodes, and so on. Fine. But I then had to sort out going to the Royal London to collect immunoglobulin for intravenous use before the surgery. The hospital admissions people (not to mention the medical staff) had a real problem understanding all this. I spent hours on the phone, and they still got it wrong. And this is the place in which they will do my cancer surgery. I hope I wake up in recovery and still have my kidneys-and my legs-and arms-and all my bits and pieces that are not full of cancer.

So I left everything with Sylvia, my cancer nurse, and I practically sprinted to the storage unit on Thursday. I needed the rest. I was going to move everything to a storage facility near home-for the express purpose of getting what I needed/wanted/would actually use, and empty the storage place once and for all. But-then I was diagnosed, so that rather shot that idea down in flames. I had a word with the manager, who has known me for a number of years (scary, knowing that I have been there that long!!), and he finally agreed to lower the rental price for the next six months. Huh. Cancer can have some perks-not many, but a few. Personally I would rather have no perks-and no cancer, either!!!!

It has been that kind of week. At least I got to the gym yesterday, and that was a good workout. I spoke with a trainer who will work with me after the op, when I am cleared for exercise-and when I can raise both my arms, of course!!

It took me well over a week to accept that I have cancer-and to stop crying over it all the time. I'm sure other people have gone through this, too, and know exactly how I feel. I am making some jokes now-and people look at me very strangely!! But humor helps. And catching it relatively early(ish) helps, too.

After my MRI tomorrow I have to bring my car up to my mechanic, who will tell me if he can get a replacement mirror. I think I told you that the day after my diagnosis I went out to the car and discovered that someone had sideswiped the car and smashed the mirror. No note, of course. People just have no integrity or manners...and I was really upset. Just one thing after another. Well-I was doing my daily walk on Friday-and I discovered that  the culprit was parked right outside my house! His wing mirror was broken-and missing-and it was on the road, so I have it. There was also paint transfer on his car (and on mine) so I knew he was the miserable SOB who damaged my car. I rang the police-who are, of course, totally useless. They told me I needed to go to the police station and complete a form. I asked if the culprit would be arrested and made to pay-and they said that if he didn't want to, he didn't have to, because there were no witnesses, even though I have all the proof. Nobody died-and they only care if someone dies, and it is caught on CCTV, and there are at least a half a dozen credible witnesses.

Well-that really annoyed me. So-I got up very early on Saturday morning-and I mean very early!!- I decided that if the police wouldn't do anything, I would handle it myself. And I did just that.

Stop reading if you are terribly moralistic, religious, pedantic, law-abiding, think the police should handle everything-and if you are a copper, definitely stop reading!!!

I wonder how he managed to leave the area with two flat tires....:)

And another thing...

It might also help if I stop walking around, stopping suddenly, and saying "I've got cancer. Holy shit!!". It tends to upset people (as if I really care!!).

There is nothing quite so life-changing as a diagnosis of cancer. You really do stop thinking that what anyone else thinks is important. It isn't. Trust me. Get more cream cheese on your bagel.

Another shitty day in Paradise-or whatever

Well, it is Tuesday-and I'm not dead yet. That must be a good sign-of what, I don't know. I've had a fairly dire few days. I was always someone who would eat like a horse when under stress, or when anything went south. But this time was different; I completely lost my appetite. I'm pushing myself to eat-I know I need all my strength for the operation.

Somehow I always manage to find humor in situations that are just complete crap. So when my friend in Pennsylvania called me and said that she got my email and started to cry, I made a few jokes to try to cheer her up. What am I supposed to say when people ask how I am? I've got cancer, how are you? That is a real conversation killer!!

I hibernated for a few days, and then decided to go to the Unitarian Church on Sunday. Maureen (in PA) said I should call the Baptists and get them to help-they are so zealous, they would fall all over themselves to hold prayer meetings, bring food-I think they might draw the line at cleaning my house and doing my laundry, unfortunately. So there goes that idea, right down the toilet. Anyway, I am persona non grata there, since I haven't been to a service since October. And I don't intend to go back, so what is the point? Some people only offer support to people who are diehard Baptists-I'm a diehard...uh....who knows? Who cares?

I was glad to be in the company of people who don't shove Christianity, original sin, etc, etc down my throat. When it came time for lighting candles (every week people light candles of joy or despair, or just light a candle and say nothing. Cool - no religion comes into it at all). I nearly wept. I surprised myself-I thought I was handling the cancer scenario so well up to then. And people came up to me during coffee hour and offered both commiserations and support.

Andy took me to lunch after the coffee hour. He sat me down and ordered me to have a pizza, saying that I need to eat, and I should eat protein and build myself up for the surgery. Trust me when I say that pizza is something I rarely turn down. After all, it is good for you: something from every food group.

We talked cancer, and I told him about the CVID. Now, Andy was a biochemist before he became a minister, so he understood the mechanics of CVID. He was so shocked, he just asked how on earth I survived this long. How did you live to adulthood without anyone diagnosing this? he asked. Oh, I must just be a walking, talking miracle. As long as I don't turn into a walking, talking, drooling miracle, I'm fine with it.

Knee surgery has been delayed until August. The mastectomy will happen before the end of May (I think). I still have to move everything from the big storage unit into a smaller one closer to home-and that was scheduled for this weekend before I even considered that I might have cancer. Who would have thought??

Life will be busy (and stressful!) for awhile, and I will go ahead with the storage move-it will keep my mind off cancer. I'm finally getting my head around it. Now here is the thing: people will vomit platitudes galore, like: God never gives you more than you can handle (total cosmic-sized bullshit if there ever was any), and you always get what you deserve (more bullshit, delivered by some halfwit who clearly never had a life), or trust me, it will all be fine, whatever happens. I love that one: spoken by someone who never had cancer, or any life threatening condition, but probably drove everyone else around him/her into an early grave.

I'm at the point where I can say (truthfully) to people who really piss me off: I have cancer. Back off. Better yet, fuck off. Try it. I recommend it. It's highly satisfying. Just only do it to people who are smaller, or older, or less healthy than you are. Or be prepared to duck. And run.

Humor helps. Being terminally depressed is worse than the cancer itself. I'm very lucky that I actually took myself to the doctor to have the lump checked out; if I'd waited much longer, I would be in really deep trouble. Like my GP said, if all people can see is the stick, or a flat chest, or lack of balance, and occasional wonky eyesight, they aren't worth my time and effort. Anyone going through any of this, please keep that in mind: people who don't see you for the person you are inside are too shallow to even think about. Dismiss them. Or shoot them (never mind, they aren't worth a bullet anyway).

Personally, I'm going to play a card I've never played (even though I had cancer before, I never did this. Too bad, too!). I'm going to my local deli and say "I've got cancer. So put more cream cheese on my bagel".

I'll let you know if it works.

Cornerstone of Life: Life is unfair

I wandered around all week like a lost fart. When it came to going to the hospital on Wednesday, I really didn't want to go. I must have known the news would be bad news.

I have breast cancer. I still can't get those words out without choking on them. When the consultant, Mr. Tan, told me, I nearly fell over. I could feel my jaw just about hitting the floor-I was that unprepared. And I cried-I'm such a crybaby!! All I kept thinking was I am going to die-and, shit, I am not ready to go. And I won't go without a fight.

So-this is a game-changer, I can tell you. I was too upset to even get near a computer on Wednesday - except to email all my friends and say hi, I have breast cancer. What an interesting way to start a conversation-not even a hi, how are you, the weather here is lovely, and by the way....how subtle!!!

I had to get on the phone with the Royal National Orthopedic Hospital-because Mr. Tan wants to perform a mastectomy before I go in for my knee surgery, and that would all have to happen the week before I go into the RNOH. So I would have the breast op and then go in for the knee op a few days later. I must be completely bonkers to even contemplate this. I put it down to the severe shock of having cancer.

Since this is a bank holiday weekend, anyone I know who could have given any emotional support is away until Monday or Tuesday. I do have a breast clinic nurse, however; her name is Sylvia. But-she isn't available on weekends or bank holidays, either. So I am on my own. Well-not exactly-I'm on my own in THIS country. My closest friend NJ was the first person I called to relay the news-and she is 100% supportive. She is also in Florida. So there goes any possibility of just going over for coffee. It's a bit of a commute. I want to move back even more now. But-there is a little question of cancer.

I cried all the way home on Wednesday (quietly, of course, since I was on a bus!). I just looked out the window and cried. And I kept thinking, I have cancer. Holy shit. There is no God. If there is a God, s/he clearly hates me. What have I ever done to piss off God? I haven't killed anyone. Yet. Whatever. I'm innocent of all major charges. I think.

So, over the two days since I received this news, when I wasn't on the phone with the immunology team, the respiratory team, the orthopedic team, and now the breast cancer team (I have so many teams. Lucky me), I have tried to calm myself down. Easy for people to say calm down, control the stress, do the mindfulness meditations-they don't have cancer, do they?? I tried to think up jokes-because as any regular bloggees know, I do my best to remain upbeat and to make jokes when I can. It's my way of coping with disaster: finding something to laugh about. I thought, well, now I don't need to go out and buy any new bras. I can use the ones I have now and just stick a sock in the other side (obviously it would be a clean sock). Then I thought I will go in for knee surgery and I will be lopsided. Imagine the poor registrar who has to do the intake exam and discovers I have only one breast. Not to mention the fact that I will be listing to one side until Mr. Tan does the reconstruction-and that won't be until next year, so I will be off balance and off kilter for ages.

I can tell you honestly that no amount of jokes worked. There is nothing funny about cancer. Nothing. It is scary as hell. I truly think that cancer is the one word that strikes fear-no, terror-in the heart of anyone who is diagnosed with it. Don't we all automatically think it is a death sentence?

Tan said not to worry, that we caught it early enough, and that he will remove the breast and the glands under my arm, and histology will provide more information. But-he wants to do the reconstruction next year, and remove the remaining breast, since I have the BRCA-1and 2 breast cancer genes in the family. Did I draw the short straw when it came to genes, or what?? Tan and Sylvia both said that I will be absolutely fine after the surgery-just sore for a couple of weeks. I should be physically recovered just in time to have a bionic knee. I think they should just transplant a healthy body (Angelina Jolie-now that one would do nicely).

I've not slept since the diagnosis-and it did occur to me this morning that we could push back the knee surgery (again!!) to August, and I will ask for a double mastectomy. As long as the consultant is in the neighborhood, so to speak, why not just remove both at once? That will save me a year's waiting and agonizing over the possibility of developing cancer in the other breast. I don't know what anyone will say to this, but it seems to be a good idea. Two traumas are better than one.

This is not my idea of a good way to lose weight. And-do a double, and next year I can tell everyone I've had a boob job.