This has been a week for the record books-another of those weeks! I was in terrible pain, and when I got to the hospital on Tuesday for the verdict on the histology results, I realized just how anxious, apprehensive and frightened I was. I had kept telling myself that this was just a cyst, not cancer-so now I have a great deal of trouble trusting my intuition and my judgment.
I decided to be very extravagant, and buy something ridiculously expensive to mark this day. If the verdict was a good one, I would look at it and remember how lucky I am. So I bought a red china teapot at the tea shop in Highgate. Crazily expensive, but more permanent than, say, dinner at an expensive restaurant, or a bottle of wine or bubbly.
Mr. Tan was almost on time. He was also very to the point. The sentinel node, he said, was clear. There is no need to remove any more lymph nodes. This was an aggressive cancer, and if I had waited much longer, he said, the results would have been very different. There was also something on the left side, so he was pleased with the fact that we had both decided on a bilateral mastectomy.
The bottom line: the cancer is gone, I do not need chemotherapy or radiation, I only need to be on the nasty drug called Tamoxifen for the next five years. No more cancer. And, of course, no more breasts, either. the little steri-strips came off, in about seven weeks I can have prostheses (silicone inserts to put in my bra to make it look like I have something there), and he wants to see me in six months. In the interim, I will need to be checked and double-checked at the clinic. And in a year I can have reconstruction if I want it. I have some time to think about whether I want more surgery!!
I can tell you how happy I was after the consultation-how relieved, too. So Tuesday was pretty good, but I had to collect the first month's supply from the hospital pharmacy-and that was an hour and a half's wait, so it was a very late day. I decided to blog on Wednesday, although I did call and text everyone who was also awaiting the verdict.
On Wednesday everything changed-and that is why I haven't been online to blog or email since last week. On Wednesday I decided to look in the mirror-and I was so traumatized by what I saw that I couldn't speak to anyone all week. I couldn't sleep. I had to force myself to eat. I looked at my chest in the mirror and finally saw how badly mutilated I was. I looked like slashers had been at me (I really have to stop watching those Halloween films. And Dexter. Well-maybe Dexter is an exception!).
The lines across my chest aren't straight-but then, Tan had to remove both breasts, and one is always a bit larger than the other, so there won't be straight lines. The scar begins just behind my left armpit and carries on to the breastbone, and then begins again and goes all the way to just behind my right armpit. Mr. Tan told me there would be "dimpling" that would go away in about six months. What I saw wasn't dimpling. What I saw were great big lumps of tissue-and I mean big, and I mean lumps-held by the sutures. No nipples, of course, but incredibly ugly. I looked, as I had really avoided doing all the time I was in the hospital, and all the time I had to wash using a basin and a cloth, so I didn't wet the dressing. And I cried.
I knew I had to look-and the good is the fact that I don't have cancer, and I don't need more treatment (except the Tamoxifen, which has very nasty side effects-but cancer isn't one of them). The bad is the pain I have had since the surgery, and the fact that I am still on painkillers (but I took myself off the morphine when I got home), although I will be going off those very soon. The lucky? No chemotherapy, no radiation, no cancer. No cancer. How lucky I am to have gone for a checkup when I did-we caught it just in time, before it hit the lymph nodes. How lucky is that?
But the ugly-the mangled-the mutilated...I remember how I looked before the surgery, and I look at what used to be my chest and all I can see is something that has been sliced and diced. If that isn't completely traumatizing, I don't know what is.
I've always used humor as a coping mechanism, although it completely deserted me after the gentamicin poisoning. I fought so hard to get some form of balance back, although I am aware that I won't get all of it back, since the mechanism has been destroyed. But-after two years I finally accepted my fate, although I didn't stop fighting. And now? This is something completely different. This is cancer-this WAS cancer.
On Friday my doc pointed out that I need to deal with the loss, the mourning of part of my body that is gone, the fact that I am cancer free-at least for the moment. Macmillan, the cancer people, made public the fact that by 2020 (only six and a half years away!!), 48% of the population of the UK will have some form of cancer. That is big. Very big. I did my part now, and I've been there, done it, got the t-shirt (which I can't fill anymore!), and don't want to ever do it again. I said: born with CVID, all the chest problems because of CVID, the probability of other types of cancer (CVID again), gentamicin and no balance system, so I wobble and occasionally fall over, and now a bilateral mastectomy, so no boobs either. What a catch!! I said. And her response was honest and practical: relationships are formed because of a connection. If a man can't see any further than body parts, he isn't worth my time or my emotions. He's too shallow to deserve me. That made perfect sense.
I'm waiting a few more days, until I have been out of hospital two weeks (Friday) and until I feel a bit less pain. Then I am contacting Macmillan to find a local support group. Only people who have gone through the same thing can understand the way I feel-so I will find them and join them, because I know I am not alone.
It helps that I have a friend who is like a sister (but without the sibling rivalry and the fighting), who has been incredibly supportive. But whether you have friends, or family, or nobody-just keep fighting. I won't quit-even after all I've been through (and that is a hell of a lot), I will not give up, roll over and wait to die, go to Dignitas, become a hermit...I will keep on fighting. Aren't I a big pain in the ass!
Monday, 10 June 2013
Sunday, 2 June 2013
Home is where the hovel is
I got out of the hospital on Friday evening- I felt like I'd been reprieved!! I was too tired to blog. In fact, I was too tired to eat!! I think I managed a cup of tea and a few glasses of water, and had an early night.
My last few days in the hospital were-well, interesting, and enlightening, and I'm surprised I haven't copped it from food poisoning. People kept asking why I wasn't eating-I would point to the food and say, by way of an obvious answer: "would you"? It's so nice to be able to eat things I recognize!!
A nurse came in on Thursday and told me that she knew exactly how I felt. I asked whether she'd had a double mastectomy. If you had seen her face!! She was confused...she said, no, she'd had knee surgery. Cartilage. I couldn't be bothered to even argue the point. I'm past arguing the fact that the only people who would know how I was feeling would be the people who had actually been through the same surgery. Lesson learned: never tell someone you know how they feel unless you have been there yourself. Should be obvious-but it isn't. People try to be sympathetic, they only succeed in pissing me off!!
Something that really got my back up was the slogan thing. Every cause has a slogan. Fine, if it is an intelligent one! But one of the cancer charities has now decided to put "cancer, we are coming to get you" on t-shirts. Is that a bit dumb, or what? We're coming to get you-and then what? Take you shopping? To the movies? To lunch? Does it make sense? No, it just stinks of desperation and false bravado. I can say that-since it is all about breast cancer, and now I can say been there, done it, have the huge scars and black and blues to prove it. And I'm still not finished; I won't have the histology report until Tuesday afternoon, so I don't know if I will need further treatment. I only know that I will need to take tablets every day for the next five years (as if I'm not taking enough already; so what's one more to add to the mix? Turn me upside down, shake, and I will rattle).
Oh, and the other inane t-shirt reads "cancer, we are taking you down". Down where, exactly? To the pub? Excuse me!! It's cancer that comes to "get us", and "take us down", not the other way around. According to the oncologist, 38% of people in this country are living with some form of cancer. That's a lot of people!! Sounds pretty much like in the cancer stakes, it's 1-0, and cancer is ahead.
If they are going to have a slogan, it seems to me that it should be an intelligent one. It should be short and sweet (well, maybe not sweet), should be brief, honest, and tell it like it is (like me, but without the sweet!LOL). Do I have one? Well, obviously!! And here is one I prepared earlier: Cancer sucks!!
That is it, that is my slogan. Why? Because it does, that's why. And everyone knows what it means. I think I should have that put on a t-shirt. Maybe on tea towels. Oven gloves. Tracksuits. Calendars. And, of course, let us not forget the bumper sticker!!! What a great bumper sticker that would make. Everyone would have one on their car. It beats the hell out of "I just made it through eigth grade", or "I got through sixth form and didn't stab anyone", or "I live in Essex. Don't drive near me, I've got the IQ and driving ability of a two year old". Of course, there is everyone's favorite: "eat horsemeat. What do you think happens to horses when they die? What do you think is in your burger?"
See that? Another problem solved!!
Anybody who might have considered robbing my flat would have thought that someone had already robbed it before them. My place looks like it has been hit by a couple of grenades. It should be condemned. Actually, there is so much damp and mould, it should have been condemned years ago. I wonder how many people turned it down before I had to take it (take it or risk staying in a lovely, privately rented duplex flat with stairs I kept falling down-risking skull fractures, so there's the answer as to why).
I just want to blitz every room, and start throwing stuff out, putting other stuff away, making charity shops very happy with so much stuff I neither want nor use. But I am only one week out of surgery, so I have been warned to behave myself and not lift anything heavier than a lettuce leaf (dressing on it is okay, I presume).
I had a bit of a funny turn last night, and I'm sure that most (maybe all) women who have had mastectomies feel the same way at some time or another: I got very depressed, and I looked at myself in the mirror (always unwise anyway) and decided that I have been mutilated. For life. It was a very unpleasant feeling. I have really tried very hard to be upbeat and optimistic, and the feeling of "oh my god" came out of the blue and hit hard. I decided to put it down to the fact that I took myself off morphine when I left the hospital. They gave me a week's supply (and it was only 5ml, not like I was shooting up), but I decided not to take any. It helped the pain, but made me glassy-eyed. I'm dizzy enough as it is, I don't need more help!!
So, there we go...I've started walking more, and I will do some more, then - I'm going to lie down!! After all, I only had major surgery last week. I had cancer.
And, unless someone tells me differently on Tuesday, I don't have it any more!! Yippee!!!!
My last few days in the hospital were-well, interesting, and enlightening, and I'm surprised I haven't copped it from food poisoning. People kept asking why I wasn't eating-I would point to the food and say, by way of an obvious answer: "would you"? It's so nice to be able to eat things I recognize!!
A nurse came in on Thursday and told me that she knew exactly how I felt. I asked whether she'd had a double mastectomy. If you had seen her face!! She was confused...she said, no, she'd had knee surgery. Cartilage. I couldn't be bothered to even argue the point. I'm past arguing the fact that the only people who would know how I was feeling would be the people who had actually been through the same surgery. Lesson learned: never tell someone you know how they feel unless you have been there yourself. Should be obvious-but it isn't. People try to be sympathetic, they only succeed in pissing me off!!
Something that really got my back up was the slogan thing. Every cause has a slogan. Fine, if it is an intelligent one! But one of the cancer charities has now decided to put "cancer, we are coming to get you" on t-shirts. Is that a bit dumb, or what? We're coming to get you-and then what? Take you shopping? To the movies? To lunch? Does it make sense? No, it just stinks of desperation and false bravado. I can say that-since it is all about breast cancer, and now I can say been there, done it, have the huge scars and black and blues to prove it. And I'm still not finished; I won't have the histology report until Tuesday afternoon, so I don't know if I will need further treatment. I only know that I will need to take tablets every day for the next five years (as if I'm not taking enough already; so what's one more to add to the mix? Turn me upside down, shake, and I will rattle).
Oh, and the other inane t-shirt reads "cancer, we are taking you down". Down where, exactly? To the pub? Excuse me!! It's cancer that comes to "get us", and "take us down", not the other way around. According to the oncologist, 38% of people in this country are living with some form of cancer. That's a lot of people!! Sounds pretty much like in the cancer stakes, it's 1-0, and cancer is ahead.
If they are going to have a slogan, it seems to me that it should be an intelligent one. It should be short and sweet (well, maybe not sweet), should be brief, honest, and tell it like it is (like me, but without the sweet!LOL). Do I have one? Well, obviously!! And here is one I prepared earlier: Cancer sucks!!
That is it, that is my slogan. Why? Because it does, that's why. And everyone knows what it means. I think I should have that put on a t-shirt. Maybe on tea towels. Oven gloves. Tracksuits. Calendars. And, of course, let us not forget the bumper sticker!!! What a great bumper sticker that would make. Everyone would have one on their car. It beats the hell out of "I just made it through eigth grade", or "I got through sixth form and didn't stab anyone", or "I live in Essex. Don't drive near me, I've got the IQ and driving ability of a two year old". Of course, there is everyone's favorite: "eat horsemeat. What do you think happens to horses when they die? What do you think is in your burger?"
See that? Another problem solved!!
Anybody who might have considered robbing my flat would have thought that someone had already robbed it before them. My place looks like it has been hit by a couple of grenades. It should be condemned. Actually, there is so much damp and mould, it should have been condemned years ago. I wonder how many people turned it down before I had to take it (take it or risk staying in a lovely, privately rented duplex flat with stairs I kept falling down-risking skull fractures, so there's the answer as to why).
I just want to blitz every room, and start throwing stuff out, putting other stuff away, making charity shops very happy with so much stuff I neither want nor use. But I am only one week out of surgery, so I have been warned to behave myself and not lift anything heavier than a lettuce leaf (dressing on it is okay, I presume).
I had a bit of a funny turn last night, and I'm sure that most (maybe all) women who have had mastectomies feel the same way at some time or another: I got very depressed, and I looked at myself in the mirror (always unwise anyway) and decided that I have been mutilated. For life. It was a very unpleasant feeling. I have really tried very hard to be upbeat and optimistic, and the feeling of "oh my god" came out of the blue and hit hard. I decided to put it down to the fact that I took myself off morphine when I left the hospital. They gave me a week's supply (and it was only 5ml, not like I was shooting up), but I decided not to take any. It helped the pain, but made me glassy-eyed. I'm dizzy enough as it is, I don't need more help!!
So, there we go...I've started walking more, and I will do some more, then - I'm going to lie down!! After all, I only had major surgery last week. I had cancer.
And, unless someone tells me differently on Tuesday, I don't have it any more!! Yippee!!!!
Tuesday, 28 May 2013
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.
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.
Wednesday, 22 May 2013
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!!
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.
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.
Tuesday, 21 May 2013
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!!
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!!
Sunday, 12 May 2013
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....:)
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....:)
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