The surgeon called last night at 21h to confirm that he had a date for the op - 10th September, early afternoon. It was good of him to call, especially out of hours, so I can organise my professional and personal life around this date. Of course this all brings the operation closer and with it comes a certain relief but a certain amount of worry too. I think this is to be expected.
However, I was surprised, no let's up that to shocked, to find there are a couple of very unpleasant tests to do the day before.
The first is a stereotoquiqe, répération de markers (wire localization). I found the details of this horrendous test on the internet very late at night yesterday.
http://breastcancer.about.com/od/breastbiopsy/p/wire_localiz.htm
http://breastcancer.about.com/od/breastcancerglossary/g/lymphoscintig.htm
The first is like a biopsy except they put a wire with a hook in it in my breast with a frickin harpoon on the end and it stays there until the operation. It helps the surgeon locate the tumor in the case of tumors that are slightly hidden or difficult to find. I have to submit to this test next Monday morning.
The second will be done next Monday afternoon where they inject a radioactive substance just underneath my nipple so they can inject a blue substance that reacts with the first substance to show the surgeon where the lymph nodes are.
I am ABSOLUTELY terrified of these two tests. Both involve needles in my breast (which I know is really painful as I've already been there with the biopsy, so no pulling the wool over my eyes for that one.
And so gross - having a metal rod and wire in my breast for a day. It's disgusting and awful and horrible and demeaning and just horrid horrid horrid. And I have no choice.
I'm going to ask my friends if someone can take me for these two tests - they will be in two different locations and then I have to check in to the hospital afterwards. dh has had a lot of time off work and he'd like to be with me on Tuesday after the operation.
God I cannot bear the thought of it, even though I'm truly happy and grateful that this is all happening quickly and in time for my work on 16th and I'll be more than grateful that the tumor is removed (hoping they will remove all of it and the calcifications, I'm also scared they'll have to open me up again and go through it all again but that's another post and another day to worry). BUT a frickin harpoon in my tit, an injection of radioactive liquid under my nipple! This cannot be right and necessary.
You would think, wouldn't you that I'd be scared about the operation? Well, yes of course, but I'll be asleep won't I? I'll be wide awake and panicking for these other tests.
I have not been in a good mood today, snapping and snarling and scared.
Saturday 31 August 2013
Friday 30 August 2013
A new way of life?
Just received the highly reccomended book 'Anti Cancer, a new way of life' by David Servan. It's heavy to read and scary 'in cancer's grip, the whole body is at war. Cancer cells really do act like armed bandits, roving outside the law' and it's very proscriptive - lots of lists to make your new way of life so that cancer is less likely to come back, or won't knock on your door in the first place. It's a bit like the Qu'ran in that it covers every part of your life, practical (cleaning, phones, clothes), dietary (organic, berries, tumeric, how many cups of green tea to drink) and spiritual (which is the right way of meditating?). Actually it didn't touch on sex or how many wives I could have.
Apart from giving me the image of miniature cowboys and pirates that are riding on their trusty steeds inside my breast, raping and pillaging, it also made me think about my way of life and a whole new way of life.
A new way of life - IF you want one. I was quite enjoying my last way of living and I'm not sure if I'm ready and able to switch into this anti cancer mode. Does that sound stupid, ignorant, shortsighted, even arrogant? Maybe, you'd have thought this scare has been enough to shake me out of my liking for alcohol, cupcakes and crisps. I wonder is it, really, in the long run?
I made a start anyway, buying brown granary bread, brown rice, deodorant without parabens, lipstick without all sorts of stuff (very limited range though, I guarantee this is where I will slip up first when I find myself guiltily popping a Chanel lippie in my basket one day in Sephora).
There are some changes I have always wanted to introduce into the family's lifestyle - more vegetable based dishes, granary bread all the time, brown rice, less meat, less chemicals. But I have been seriously outvoted by dh and my kids and we are in the land of the baguette! This is my chance to at least change some things for the better for good maybe. I hope dh joins me and that I'm not campaigning all by myself with the children, it will be exhausting and will not last.
I can do the green tea thing myself, nobody has to join me - apparently six cups a day is optimal in the fight against cancer.
If you believe it.
Well, I sort of believe him. He's a scientist and he's examined many many studies in the light of his own brain tumor, so I'm inclined to believe him and try some of his suggestions.
I told my friend M yesterday about the cancer and she urged me, nay ordered me to go and see her therapist Anne. She asked me if I had had a shock and that is what had caused the cancer. I told her that I wasn't looking for the cause, just the remedy right now and I wasn't going to get guilty and agonise about what I had or hadn't done to cause this shit. I may go and see Anne in any case mainly because I don't think M will let it lie and possibly because it might help now and in the future. What I really wanted to ask M is if I could go to yoga classes with her! I'll be doing that too.
So, dear readers, I do see that there should or could or that this is a possibility for a new way of life. Am I ready to embrace it fully? Not sure. Should it be an integral part of my recovery out of this crap place I'm in right now. Probably, maybe. Will I enjoy this new way of life? Hmmm, it doesn't fill me with joy, it seems to be a life full of limits and do nots and fears - most of all it seems like a life based on fear - of the return of cancer. Do I want to live in fear? I most certainly do not. I was having a great time before.
So will everything have to change now?
Apart from giving me the image of miniature cowboys and pirates that are riding on their trusty steeds inside my breast, raping and pillaging, it also made me think about my way of life and a whole new way of life.
A new way of life - IF you want one. I was quite enjoying my last way of living and I'm not sure if I'm ready and able to switch into this anti cancer mode. Does that sound stupid, ignorant, shortsighted, even arrogant? Maybe, you'd have thought this scare has been enough to shake me out of my liking for alcohol, cupcakes and crisps. I wonder is it, really, in the long run?
I made a start anyway, buying brown granary bread, brown rice, deodorant without parabens, lipstick without all sorts of stuff (very limited range though, I guarantee this is where I will slip up first when I find myself guiltily popping a Chanel lippie in my basket one day in Sephora).
There are some changes I have always wanted to introduce into the family's lifestyle - more vegetable based dishes, granary bread all the time, brown rice, less meat, less chemicals. But I have been seriously outvoted by dh and my kids and we are in the land of the baguette! This is my chance to at least change some things for the better for good maybe. I hope dh joins me and that I'm not campaigning all by myself with the children, it will be exhausting and will not last.
I can do the green tea thing myself, nobody has to join me - apparently six cups a day is optimal in the fight against cancer.
If you believe it.
Well, I sort of believe him. He's a scientist and he's examined many many studies in the light of his own brain tumor, so I'm inclined to believe him and try some of his suggestions.
I told my friend M yesterday about the cancer and she urged me, nay ordered me to go and see her therapist Anne. She asked me if I had had a shock and that is what had caused the cancer. I told her that I wasn't looking for the cause, just the remedy right now and I wasn't going to get guilty and agonise about what I had or hadn't done to cause this shit. I may go and see Anne in any case mainly because I don't think M will let it lie and possibly because it might help now and in the future. What I really wanted to ask M is if I could go to yoga classes with her! I'll be doing that too.
So, dear readers, I do see that there should or could or that this is a possibility for a new way of life. Am I ready to embrace it fully? Not sure. Should it be an integral part of my recovery out of this crap place I'm in right now. Probably, maybe. Will I enjoy this new way of life? Hmmm, it doesn't fill me with joy, it seems to be a life full of limits and do nots and fears - most of all it seems like a life based on fear - of the return of cancer. Do I want to live in fear? I most certainly do not. I was having a great time before.
So will everything have to change now?
Thursday 29 August 2013
Buying pjs
After the bank we had a rare coffee together and popped into my favourite of all shops, Monoprix. I was mooching around checking out the trans-seasonal fashion (pales, beiges, ice cream colours with a hint of citric and bold colour blocking if you want to know) and it occured to me that I should get some nightwear for the hospital. I ended up with a grey and pink striped loose top and matching grey bottoms. I figured I'll be taking my top off a lot so something loose for drains and ivs and bandages will be better, plus a nightie would have to be pulled up a lot thus exposing my bottom half. So ever the practical that's what I got - with some matching slippers.
The surgeon told me to get a cotton sports bra with no underwiring for a few months afterwards so I'll try to find one in Decathlon before the op.
I was in the bra section, fingering the pretty bras and I burst into tears. I didn't want to be the person buying pjs for the hospital thinking about drains and bandages and pain and the bras, well, I just can't see how that will work afterwards. I know I know, save your life first, don't worry about the aesthetics, but you do.
I looked at photos of pre and post op pics last night. dh thought I was crazy to do it but I'd rather be prepared before I try it for myself.
Reality hits.
The surgeon told me to get a cotton sports bra with no underwiring for a few months afterwards so I'll try to find one in Decathlon before the op.
I was in the bra section, fingering the pretty bras and I burst into tears. I didn't want to be the person buying pjs for the hospital thinking about drains and bandages and pain and the bras, well, I just can't see how that will work afterwards. I know I know, save your life first, don't worry about the aesthetics, but you do.
I looked at photos of pre and post op pics last night. dh thought I was crazy to do it but I'd rather be prepared before I try it for myself.
Reality hits.
The sticky subject of...........money
dh had (yet another) half day off for us to visit the bank and tell them about our new situation - my redundancy and my cancer.
Safe in the knowledge that I'd be doing more teaching this year, we took out a loan in May to pay to build a terrace on the back of the house (my big dream) and we were also planning to redo the back wall of the house with our neigbour so we didn't have all the big €€€€€s to do all of the work.
As it happens we hadn't started the work because the companies doing the work were all going on holiday and couldn't fit us in before the Autumn. Also, our neigbour's wife has been hospitalised for 7 months now and he is ill too, so things were put off a bit already.
When we got a cancer diagnosis, and whilst we were waiting for the results, we immediately assumed I would not be fit to work for a good while (didn't know how long, people on the internet seemed to have been instructed to take 6 months sick leave) and thus we would lose all my income and I would lose all my teaching for the academic year and have to start all over again next year. It felt very grim - if I don't work, I don't earn for my teaching. This is a real worry around cancer that nobody really addresses I feel.
So we went to see the bank. Our jovial bank adviser, Mr M was a little less jovial when I told him about the redundancy and almost (almost) speechless when I told him the other news.
However, all may not be lost. We can try to renegotiate the interest rate on our loan; he dictated the letter there and then so that might save us a bit on monthly outgoings. We had taken temporary incapacity insurance on the loan so that might be paid for us whilst I'm incapacitated. We also took out 100% insurance for both of us on our mortgage, so the mortgage is paid if we die, are totally incapacitated or in case of a 'grave maladie'. Whether this insurance policy is wasted money or not, now is the time to test it. Many people put 30% on the woman's life and 70% on the man's because blokes generally earn more than women (yes, in this day and age). But since our sil had a seriously awful type of leukemia and they had taken the 100% they had their mortgage paid during her long illness (she's ok now and has since had another child). We bought our house just after that so we did the same (although it's not the cheapest option by far).
We'll see if this insurance comes up with anything - they always find an excuse don't they? When our back door was smashed in by robbers dh had a huge fight to get that replaced by the insurers. Anyhow, I think mr M will try his best at least. Ever the salesman, at the end, he did ask about the kids and then try to flog us a mobile phone for the eldest one. Where do they train them?
It would be good to have someone to turn to regarding finances, someone who knows the law well who could advise because I'm convinced this is one very important factor that increases stress when someone gets ill and maybe a few helpful pointers could just ease the worry a bit.
The surgeon also encouraged me to carry on working as much as I could as it does help recovery keeps the patient (is this how I must see myself?) occupied and positive with something outside the home. I'll do what I can.
I strongly feel that we will be ok, we will get through. dh thought we might lose our house. I said 'over my dead body' which wasn't perhaps a good way of putting it.......if I die that is the one way he will never lose the house!
Safe in the knowledge that I'd be doing more teaching this year, we took out a loan in May to pay to build a terrace on the back of the house (my big dream) and we were also planning to redo the back wall of the house with our neigbour so we didn't have all the big €€€€€s to do all of the work.
As it happens we hadn't started the work because the companies doing the work were all going on holiday and couldn't fit us in before the Autumn. Also, our neigbour's wife has been hospitalised for 7 months now and he is ill too, so things were put off a bit already.
When we got a cancer diagnosis, and whilst we were waiting for the results, we immediately assumed I would not be fit to work for a good while (didn't know how long, people on the internet seemed to have been instructed to take 6 months sick leave) and thus we would lose all my income and I would lose all my teaching for the academic year and have to start all over again next year. It felt very grim - if I don't work, I don't earn for my teaching. This is a real worry around cancer that nobody really addresses I feel.
So we went to see the bank. Our jovial bank adviser, Mr M was a little less jovial when I told him about the redundancy and almost (almost) speechless when I told him the other news.
However, all may not be lost. We can try to renegotiate the interest rate on our loan; he dictated the letter there and then so that might save us a bit on monthly outgoings. We had taken temporary incapacity insurance on the loan so that might be paid for us whilst I'm incapacitated. We also took out 100% insurance for both of us on our mortgage, so the mortgage is paid if we die, are totally incapacitated or in case of a 'grave maladie'. Whether this insurance policy is wasted money or not, now is the time to test it. Many people put 30% on the woman's life and 70% on the man's because blokes generally earn more than women (yes, in this day and age). But since our sil had a seriously awful type of leukemia and they had taken the 100% they had their mortgage paid during her long illness (she's ok now and has since had another child). We bought our house just after that so we did the same (although it's not the cheapest option by far).
We'll see if this insurance comes up with anything - they always find an excuse don't they? When our back door was smashed in by robbers dh had a huge fight to get that replaced by the insurers. Anyhow, I think mr M will try his best at least. Ever the salesman, at the end, he did ask about the kids and then try to flog us a mobile phone for the eldest one. Where do they train them?
It would be good to have someone to turn to regarding finances, someone who knows the law well who could advise because I'm convinced this is one very important factor that increases stress when someone gets ill and maybe a few helpful pointers could just ease the worry a bit.
The surgeon also encouraged me to carry on working as much as I could as it does help recovery keeps the patient (is this how I must see myself?) occupied and positive with something outside the home. I'll do what I can.
I strongly feel that we will be ok, we will get through. dh thought we might lose our house. I said 'over my dead body' which wasn't perhaps a good way of putting it.......if I die that is the one way he will never lose the house!
Night out
Hadn't had a night out for ages so a potluck dinner at Js was very welcome.
I was a bit nervous cos I'd already told the friends who were going about my illness and it would be the first time I'd seen them since. I was nervous about how I would feel and how it would be for them too. It's difficult to know how to react to bad news whether the giver or the receiver and it can make you unnatural. I needn't have worried.
We talked about everything and about cancer and everyone checked that I was ok talking about it and I was in fact, it helped to de-demonise it, perhaps for all of us. I don't think we have had ever had such a frank discussion about self examination (how do you know that it's a different kind of lump?), getting older and all sorts of related and unrelated stuff. It was positive thing and it helped me get my mind straight about certain work-related issues that had been bothering me. It was good to get some input and honesty from a very diverse, intelligent group of women.
I don't think the cancer dominated the discussion, at least I hope not. Our friend Z has just done a round the world trip so it was also a welcome home for her. Photos and stories next time please Z! We celebrated her homecoming with a glass of bubbly (pink).
I got lots of hugs last night, which was lovely. I also, very touchingly received some cancer pressies. A beautiful silver sparkly pink and purple gemstone necklace from everyone, it's so pretty, just perfect and the pink is the breast cancer colour, so it's really special and looks great on. I shall think of my friends' kindness when I wear it every time. Thanks to the one who has 'access to shops' for choosing so well!
Miss Texas brought a genuiiiiiine chilli kit complete with homemade chilli, sour cream, cheese and straight from Texas chilli powder right down to a packet of Uncle Ben's rice. dh is really looking forward to this meal, he is really genuinely excited and it was so touching that she had gone to the trouble to make it. I was also spoilt with my very first Jo Malone jasmine and mint candle in a magnificent box and ribbon and bag (which I cannot throw away) with its own special Jo Malone matches. Boy, that was too kind and a massive treat. totally unexpected. I love jasmine and mint. And there were chocolates too and magazines to read in the boring moments - Vanity Fair is always good to dig into.
Touching hugs and shoulder rubs and offers to go to appointments with me, visit me in hospital, sharing success stories, call me any time you want, I can look after the kids for you, would you like to do some extra teaching and help getting home all went to make an incredible night that left me on a real high feeling like my friends had just wrapped a warm (pink) blanket round my shoulders that I could snuggle into and feel safe.
Ironic to think that less than a year ago these were the same friends who threw me a little surprise 50th Birthday party. Through thick and thin.....
Thank you all of you. You made me laugh out loud a lot, let me talk openly and I needed that.
I was a bit nervous cos I'd already told the friends who were going about my illness and it would be the first time I'd seen them since. I was nervous about how I would feel and how it would be for them too. It's difficult to know how to react to bad news whether the giver or the receiver and it can make you unnatural. I needn't have worried.
We talked about everything and about cancer and everyone checked that I was ok talking about it and I was in fact, it helped to de-demonise it, perhaps for all of us. I don't think we have had ever had such a frank discussion about self examination (how do you know that it's a different kind of lump?), getting older and all sorts of related and unrelated stuff. It was positive thing and it helped me get my mind straight about certain work-related issues that had been bothering me. It was good to get some input and honesty from a very diverse, intelligent group of women.
I don't think the cancer dominated the discussion, at least I hope not. Our friend Z has just done a round the world trip so it was also a welcome home for her. Photos and stories next time please Z! We celebrated her homecoming with a glass of bubbly (pink).
I got lots of hugs last night, which was lovely. I also, very touchingly received some cancer pressies. A beautiful silver sparkly pink and purple gemstone necklace from everyone, it's so pretty, just perfect and the pink is the breast cancer colour, so it's really special and looks great on. I shall think of my friends' kindness when I wear it every time. Thanks to the one who has 'access to shops' for choosing so well!
Miss Texas brought a genuiiiiiine chilli kit complete with homemade chilli, sour cream, cheese and straight from Texas chilli powder right down to a packet of Uncle Ben's rice. dh is really looking forward to this meal, he is really genuinely excited and it was so touching that she had gone to the trouble to make it. I was also spoilt with my very first Jo Malone jasmine and mint candle in a magnificent box and ribbon and bag (which I cannot throw away) with its own special Jo Malone matches. Boy, that was too kind and a massive treat. totally unexpected. I love jasmine and mint. And there were chocolates too and magazines to read in the boring moments - Vanity Fair is always good to dig into.
Touching hugs and shoulder rubs and offers to go to appointments with me, visit me in hospital, sharing success stories, call me any time you want, I can look after the kids for you, would you like to do some extra teaching and help getting home all went to make an incredible night that left me on a real high feeling like my friends had just wrapped a warm (pink) blanket round my shoulders that I could snuggle into and feel safe.
Ironic to think that less than a year ago these were the same friends who threw me a little surprise 50th Birthday party. Through thick and thin.....
Thank you all of you. You made me laugh out loud a lot, let me talk openly and I needed that.
Wednesday 28 August 2013
The kids
My children are relatively young for this to happen to their Mum (although cancer has no age group of course). I've been open with them from the start but have tried to avoid them coming to the hospital and to tests with me, not knowing what state I'd be in afterwards and also wanting to concentrate on the examination in hand and not worry about them fighting in the waiting room. They fight a lot.
Loic told his mate's Mum that 'my Mummy is sick' the other day and he keeps kissing my breasts as he cuddles in and is very clingy right now and is playing up a bit right now, which is exhausting and saying I like you, I don't like you.
Théo is less expressive, more quiet and is more watchful. I've tried to explain things to him but not in a tmi way. When I got the diagnosis, I explained that this thing is called cancer and it's in my breast and it shouldn't be there so it needs taking out. He asked me about an hour later what would happen if they left it in my breast. I told him that I would eventualy get ill and die. He remembered that Angelina Jolie was in the news about her breast cancer issues. I explained them simply.
Yesterday I asked him if he'd taked to his friends about it. He said that his little mate C had asked him where I was, he said hospital, she said, why, he said for tests because she has breast cancer. Apparently C's mouth was open in surprise for a bit then she said 'Oh I'm really sorry for you'. Blimey, how mature can you get? It would be nice if all his friends are so understanding.
He also slept with me last night (I conked out at 21h) and as I was snoozing off he woke me up and said 'Mummy if they don't take this lump out how long would it be before you die?' I said a few years but not immediately. I don't know if that was a good reply or not.
I took them to the hospital today to get my scan results partly because I wanted them to see the hospital, where it was (short bus ride) and so that they are accustomed to it before they have to visit me in there. I think the most important thing for them when I go into hospital actually is that I'll be nicking the ipad for a few days:-)
I hope I get through this relatively easily and it isn't one of those things that goes on and on for years, although I know the check ups will be frequent and stressful afterwards but I'd just like this to be done and the radiation done and that's it. Here's hoping with all my heart. Then my kids don't have to live in fear of their Mum dying.
Loic told his mate's Mum that 'my Mummy is sick' the other day and he keeps kissing my breasts as he cuddles in and is very clingy right now and is playing up a bit right now, which is exhausting and saying I like you, I don't like you.
Théo is less expressive, more quiet and is more watchful. I've tried to explain things to him but not in a tmi way. When I got the diagnosis, I explained that this thing is called cancer and it's in my breast and it shouldn't be there so it needs taking out. He asked me about an hour later what would happen if they left it in my breast. I told him that I would eventualy get ill and die. He remembered that Angelina Jolie was in the news about her breast cancer issues. I explained them simply.
Yesterday I asked him if he'd taked to his friends about it. He said that his little mate C had asked him where I was, he said hospital, she said, why, he said for tests because she has breast cancer. Apparently C's mouth was open in surprise for a bit then she said 'Oh I'm really sorry for you'. Blimey, how mature can you get? It would be nice if all his friends are so understanding.
He also slept with me last night (I conked out at 21h) and as I was snoozing off he woke me up and said 'Mummy if they don't take this lump out how long would it be before you die?' I said a few years but not immediately. I don't know if that was a good reply or not.
I took them to the hospital today to get my scan results partly because I wanted them to see the hospital, where it was (short bus ride) and so that they are accustomed to it before they have to visit me in there. I think the most important thing for them when I go into hospital actually is that I'll be nicking the ipad for a few days:-)
I hope I get through this relatively easily and it isn't one of those things that goes on and on for years, although I know the check ups will be frequent and stressful afterwards but I'd just like this to be done and the radiation done and that's it. Here's hoping with all my heart. Then my kids don't have to live in fear of their Mum dying.
The Surgeon
No, alas not Derek with his L'Oréal smooth razed baby face skin. It was another creature entirely.
Pink, he was dressed in pink and his coat had a pink ribbon on it.
Dr C (or Dr Pink) is small, slight, very serious, intense, clear, firm, soft spoken, deliberate measured movements and no messing with this guy. Sympathetic yes, but if I was a car, he wouldn't be kissing or stroking me or admiring the colour, he'd be looking underneath to check the mechanics and if the lights were working properly. I guess this is a good thing in a surgeon.
We spent 90 mintues with him and he was very thorough, looking over all the exam results and taking notes, asking lots of questions. Very reassuring that he was weighing it all up.
He told us lots more information about the results and what they meant, which was useful. There was nothing new but more detail.
He asked me how I found the lump and he said that I had 'le flair'. I hadn't a clue what that meant so I asked him to explain. He meant that I had intuition and instinct and that it was not at all easy to have spotted because if it's position and shape. He congratulated me on finding and acting on it. I was proud to have looked after myself.
He examined me and did that thing you see on Doctor 90210 (what you don't watch E!TV?) when they put marker pen on your breasts for surgery. I thought he was going to whip his scalpel out there and then! He thought the same as Patrice - a partial masectomy or lumpedectomy, something he called a tumorectomie. He will take away a good 25% of the breast nevertheless, no sugar coating the news, it will be significantly smaller. My face must have fell and he just said 'we have to do it, we have no choice'. Indeed, that's all of us with no choice mate.
I looked at the marks in the mirror. I was sad.
He will also make a small incision under my arm to take a biopsy of a sentinel or several sentinel lymph nodes to check the cancer hasn't spread, this is the least invasive of lymph node biopsies and we'll have the results 4 days later. If it has spread, they will have to take a more aggresive approach and if they don't get clear margins on the tumor, again, they will have to resort to a full masectomy if necessary. They do want to save the breast if they can though.
I'm getting frightened about the day I see this change in my body. I will scream I'm sure. I just don't think I'll be able to look in the mirror like I do now.
Surgery is not yet scheduled. He wanted Friday 13th - are you kidding me?! I was pushing for 10th so that I can fulfill my teaching obligations the following 2 weeks and then it's the start of the school year and if I have to wait until October then I shall go slightly mad (der). They have a meeting of all the cancer people - oncologists, anethestists, surgeons etc next Tuesday evening so I'll know after that.
I had a chance to ask questions but he'd pretty much answered everything already. I did ask if it was going to hurt and he said not so much as the breast is not actually very sensitive. We'll see.
I was disappointed not to have a date so I can start planning.
I should be in the hospital up to 3 or 4 days, not more, which is good news. I'd like to plan for people ot take the boys to school that week and take them for lunch and maybe have playdates after school so they don't notice I'm not there.
We went to see Patrice afterwards and he noted my scanner results which showed 'pas d'anomalie significative'. Oh how I was happy to see that. I took the kids in the morning to get the results and took a peek at them in the loos. And then I cried a bit. Théo was teasing me about crying and keeping the floods from coming. He knew it was for joy and not for sadness.
I said to Patrice I'd been thinking it was all over my body, everywhere, and he laughed and said yes you go into hospital feeling ok and come out realising you have more illnesses than those you came in for!
I have to do a weird thing before the operation - I have to get an injection of dye then another injection just below my nipple (not looking forward to that) of radioactive stuff which dyes the lymph nodes blue so they can be spotted easily. Ickkkkkk.
I explained my aversion to needles but there was no sympathy coming my way from Dr Pink. He said all injections will be on the right and reassuring me that they might not be in my elbow but also in my hand - oh the joy. I explained that my kids have a cream to numb the area beforehand and could I use that? He said yes we do protect our kids and looked at me as if to say - but you ain't gonna get away with it lady, you are a grown up. I might sneak a tube of it anyway.....
Pink, he was dressed in pink and his coat had a pink ribbon on it.
Dr C (or Dr Pink) is small, slight, very serious, intense, clear, firm, soft spoken, deliberate measured movements and no messing with this guy. Sympathetic yes, but if I was a car, he wouldn't be kissing or stroking me or admiring the colour, he'd be looking underneath to check the mechanics and if the lights were working properly. I guess this is a good thing in a surgeon.
We spent 90 mintues with him and he was very thorough, looking over all the exam results and taking notes, asking lots of questions. Very reassuring that he was weighing it all up.
He told us lots more information about the results and what they meant, which was useful. There was nothing new but more detail.
He asked me how I found the lump and he said that I had 'le flair'. I hadn't a clue what that meant so I asked him to explain. He meant that I had intuition and instinct and that it was not at all easy to have spotted because if it's position and shape. He congratulated me on finding and acting on it. I was proud to have looked after myself.
He examined me and did that thing you see on Doctor 90210 (what you don't watch E!TV?) when they put marker pen on your breasts for surgery. I thought he was going to whip his scalpel out there and then! He thought the same as Patrice - a partial masectomy or lumpedectomy, something he called a tumorectomie. He will take away a good 25% of the breast nevertheless, no sugar coating the news, it will be significantly smaller. My face must have fell and he just said 'we have to do it, we have no choice'. Indeed, that's all of us with no choice mate.
I looked at the marks in the mirror. I was sad.
He will also make a small incision under my arm to take a biopsy of a sentinel or several sentinel lymph nodes to check the cancer hasn't spread, this is the least invasive of lymph node biopsies and we'll have the results 4 days later. If it has spread, they will have to take a more aggresive approach and if they don't get clear margins on the tumor, again, they will have to resort to a full masectomy if necessary. They do want to save the breast if they can though.
I'm getting frightened about the day I see this change in my body. I will scream I'm sure. I just don't think I'll be able to look in the mirror like I do now.
Surgery is not yet scheduled. He wanted Friday 13th - are you kidding me?! I was pushing for 10th so that I can fulfill my teaching obligations the following 2 weeks and then it's the start of the school year and if I have to wait until October then I shall go slightly mad (der). They have a meeting of all the cancer people - oncologists, anethestists, surgeons etc next Tuesday evening so I'll know after that.
I had a chance to ask questions but he'd pretty much answered everything already. I did ask if it was going to hurt and he said not so much as the breast is not actually very sensitive. We'll see.
I was disappointed not to have a date so I can start planning.
I should be in the hospital up to 3 or 4 days, not more, which is good news. I'd like to plan for people ot take the boys to school that week and take them for lunch and maybe have playdates after school so they don't notice I'm not there.
We went to see Patrice afterwards and he noted my scanner results which showed 'pas d'anomalie significative'. Oh how I was happy to see that. I took the kids in the morning to get the results and took a peek at them in the loos. And then I cried a bit. Théo was teasing me about crying and keeping the floods from coming. He knew it was for joy and not for sadness.
I said to Patrice I'd been thinking it was all over my body, everywhere, and he laughed and said yes you go into hospital feeling ok and come out realising you have more illnesses than those you came in for!
I have to do a weird thing before the operation - I have to get an injection of dye then another injection just below my nipple (not looking forward to that) of radioactive stuff which dyes the lymph nodes blue so they can be spotted easily. Ickkkkkk.
I explained my aversion to needles but there was no sympathy coming my way from Dr Pink. He said all injections will be on the right and reassuring me that they might not be in my elbow but also in my hand - oh the joy. I explained that my kids have a cream to numb the area beforehand and could I use that? He said yes we do protect our kids and looked at me as if to say - but you ain't gonna get away with it lady, you are a grown up. I might sneak a tube of it anyway.....
Readers
It seems it's useful, this blog, friends seem pleased to know what's going, I don't have to explain myself or dh doesn't have to field calls and everyone is in the picture (maybe more than they wanted to be - sorry if that's the case) so it's useful and the honesty doesn't seem to creep people out too much - D said it made her cry - oh love, you are so lovely, it makes me cry when I read it too
It is super useful for me to express myself, get it out and move on (to a certain extent) but I have a question why the fuck are two people in Serbia reading my blog?
It is super useful for me to express myself, get it out and move on (to a certain extent) but I have a question why the fuck are two people in Serbia reading my blog?
Macdreamy?
I'm wondering if the surgeon I'm to meet today will be like Derek Macdreamy from Gray's Anatomy. That would be interesting.
Tuesday 27 August 2013
CT Scan
I have never been so nervous about a test; even more nervous than the biopsy. I think the difference is that before I knew there could be a good outcome (although there wasn't for me) and this time I know the bad news but the outcome of this test could only make things much much worse, or the same at best.
Anyhow, I was really stressed and I don't think the operator handled it very well either.
I was seen really quickly so top marks to the busy hospital for that. However, I was shoved in a little room and told to strip down to my pants (knickers for our american readers!), take off my necklace and go into the scanner room when I was ready. I must have been standing there nearly nude for quite a few minutes feeling very embarrassed and nervous before I was told to lie down on the bed.
The scanner was quite impressive - a huge white donut with a control room worthy of an airport flight control next to it.
On the bed the nurse/operator basically shoved a needle into me as hard as she could after tapping the crook of my elbow a few times. I cried out, she said sorry and then shoved it in more. I swore at her. I have never done that with any blood test or otherwise, she was brutal. She was seriously mean or in a hurry. It's a good job I was lying down nearly naked otherwise I would have left or fainted. Yes, D, your wiggling the toes technique that Donald taught you didn't work this time although it usually does the trick!
The scan itself was easy peasy and a pleasant surprise in terms of not being uncomfortable. The donut goes over your head (to the top of my chest in this case) and something seems to be whizzing round and making a kinda whizzing noise inside it. The mean woman was speaking instructions to me all the time when I had to inflate my lungs and hold my breath for about 5 seconds.
Then they inject the radioactive product into the line that you are holding that's connected to the needle just poked in your arm and you're told you'll feel warm at the back of your throat and in your lower stomach and not to worry about it. This was exactly what happened and it was weird but not unpleasant because I'd been warned.
A few more whizzes through the donut and it's finished. The whole thing took 15 minutes and I was free. If you ever have to do a scan like that, do not worry your head about actually doing it. It is nothing (apart from the needle thing).
I have a whacking big bruise on my arm already and it's all swollen and black. I might complain about this one to the oncologist. dh said 'yes but she had to do her job'. Yes, but her job is dealing with humans and I am human, not just a body and a person that deserves respect and tenderness and kindness. Part of her job is to put people at ease and make things as easy as possible. Cow.
Results tomorrow morning after 9h. I hope they don't show any more cancer. That's the scary bit people.
Anyhow, I was really stressed and I don't think the operator handled it very well either.
I was seen really quickly so top marks to the busy hospital for that. However, I was shoved in a little room and told to strip down to my pants (knickers for our american readers!), take off my necklace and go into the scanner room when I was ready. I must have been standing there nearly nude for quite a few minutes feeling very embarrassed and nervous before I was told to lie down on the bed.
The scanner was quite impressive - a huge white donut with a control room worthy of an airport flight control next to it.
On the bed the nurse/operator basically shoved a needle into me as hard as she could after tapping the crook of my elbow a few times. I cried out, she said sorry and then shoved it in more. I swore at her. I have never done that with any blood test or otherwise, she was brutal. She was seriously mean or in a hurry. It's a good job I was lying down nearly naked otherwise I would have left or fainted. Yes, D, your wiggling the toes technique that Donald taught you didn't work this time although it usually does the trick!
The scan itself was easy peasy and a pleasant surprise in terms of not being uncomfortable. The donut goes over your head (to the top of my chest in this case) and something seems to be whizzing round and making a kinda whizzing noise inside it. The mean woman was speaking instructions to me all the time when I had to inflate my lungs and hold my breath for about 5 seconds.
Then they inject the radioactive product into the line that you are holding that's connected to the needle just poked in your arm and you're told you'll feel warm at the back of your throat and in your lower stomach and not to worry about it. This was exactly what happened and it was weird but not unpleasant because I'd been warned.
A few more whizzes through the donut and it's finished. The whole thing took 15 minutes and I was free. If you ever have to do a scan like that, do not worry your head about actually doing it. It is nothing (apart from the needle thing).
I have a whacking big bruise on my arm already and it's all swollen and black. I might complain about this one to the oncologist. dh said 'yes but she had to do her job'. Yes, but her job is dealing with humans and I am human, not just a body and a person that deserves respect and tenderness and kindness. Part of her job is to put people at ease and make things as easy as possible. Cow.
Results tomorrow morning after 9h. I hope they don't show any more cancer. That's the scary bit people.
Monday 26 August 2013
friends
So, all friends are told now. There are a few who won't know yet like Mums from school who are still on holiday but that's it.
Family, L, Northwich girls, V&A, Msg pals, pal pals and that's it.
I wondered why I was telling people and I figured if this was happening to anyone of the people I've told (and it has happened to some of them like Steph's little girl getting leukemia), then I would really like to know so that I could support them and help in any way I could or at the very least show them that I care, and I would just like to know in any case. I would be well pissed off if any of them went through this and didn't tell me - be warned!
One of my friends came round with a bottle of wine unannounced, so surprising and kind.
Some people have already said, what can I do? I fully support you. I think people sometimes need to know how to support, my sis A wailed 'what can I do from here?'. There are various suggestions on the internet as to how people can help in a focused way so they feel they can contribute and I've personalised them for me:-
Send me text messages
Send me a postcard when you think of me
Send me emails of support but don't be hurt if I don't reply for the moment
Lend me old trashy paperbacks or magazines that I can read if it gets boring
Bring meals for my family and I, especially when I'm in hospital
Look after my kids when I have appointments and be nice to them or just ask them for playdates
Take my ironing basket away and bring it back ironed
Send small, small gifts for my kids
Buy me a not expensive Décleor or aromatherapy or a product that smells nice or relaxes me or a small scented candle or bring me a bunch of bananas or a bag of apples or those M&S nut selections
Come round and give me a manicure
Talk to me
Listen to me
Lend me DVDs (boxed sets in English welcomed!)
Ply me with wine whilst I'm still allowed to drink
Share others' experiences that make me feel better
Be yourself
Don't send me flowers please - I'm not dead, yet.
Basically it just matters that you are there and you care my friends. Many of you have carried me this far already. Thanks.
Family, L, Northwich girls, V&A, Msg pals, pal pals and that's it.
I wondered why I was telling people and I figured if this was happening to anyone of the people I've told (and it has happened to some of them like Steph's little girl getting leukemia), then I would really like to know so that I could support them and help in any way I could or at the very least show them that I care, and I would just like to know in any case. I would be well pissed off if any of them went through this and didn't tell me - be warned!
One of my friends came round with a bottle of wine unannounced, so surprising and kind.
Some people have already said, what can I do? I fully support you. I think people sometimes need to know how to support, my sis A wailed 'what can I do from here?'. There are various suggestions on the internet as to how people can help in a focused way so they feel they can contribute and I've personalised them for me:-
Send me text messages
Send me a postcard when you think of me
Send me emails of support but don't be hurt if I don't reply for the moment
Lend me old trashy paperbacks or magazines that I can read if it gets boring
Bring meals for my family and I, especially when I'm in hospital
Look after my kids when I have appointments and be nice to them or just ask them for playdates
Take my ironing basket away and bring it back ironed
Send small, small gifts for my kids
Buy me a not expensive Décleor or aromatherapy or a product that smells nice or relaxes me or a small scented candle or bring me a bunch of bananas or a bag of apples or those M&S nut selections
Come round and give me a manicure
Talk to me
Listen to me
Lend me DVDs (boxed sets in English welcomed!)
Ply me with wine whilst I'm still allowed to drink
Share others' experiences that make me feel better
Be yourself
Don't send me flowers please - I'm not dead, yet.
Basically it just matters that you are there and you care my friends. Many of you have carried me this far already. Thanks.
scared
Patrice (oncologist, Patrice sounds less threatening) tells me that I'll be meeting the surgeon on Wednesday afternoon, then I'll see him Patrice and we'll have the pleasure of discussing how much they are going to cut out of me. So I'll know more at the end of Wednesday about when this will happen.
He was straightforward that the scan tomorrow is to see if the cancer is elsewhere. He gets a + point for this, I'm beginning to trust him but Oh.I.am.so.very.scared. that they might find more.
I cannot take any more bad news. Enough please whoever is controlling all this. Thank you so much.
He was straightforward that the scan tomorrow is to see if the cancer is elsewhere. He gets a + point for this, I'm beginning to trust him but Oh.I.am.so.very.scared. that they might find more.
I cannot take any more bad news. Enough please whoever is controlling all this. Thank you so much.
worries set in again
Oh the breath of fresh air that was Saturday has all but disappeared.
I am scared that the scan results will show that I have more cancer everywhere 'she was riddled with it'. I am scared that my breast will be so small after the cancer has gone that it will look really awful and I'll be reminded of this every single day until I die.
I am still scared of dying. I am still scared of needles and being hurt and feeling pain. I am still scared of horrible things happening in the surgery. I am scared of getting burnt during the radiation and getting heart problems later. I am scared that he has asked for a scan because he thinks there are other things there (remember, they can look you in the eye and still lie, those medical professionals).
I am scared of being injected yet again tomorrow with the radioactive stuff, especially with the huge bruise on my arm. Théo thinks it's hilarious that I'm going to glow in the dark.
I am still scared of losing my kds. Loic went on a playdate and afterwards he cuddled up to me and said to the other mother 'my Mum is ill'. It was very sad.
Anyway, I have to phone the guy now and see if he's managed to find a surgeon who's not on holiday to see me soon.
They want to operate rapidly.
bye for now
I am scared that the scan results will show that I have more cancer everywhere 'she was riddled with it'. I am scared that my breast will be so small after the cancer has gone that it will look really awful and I'll be reminded of this every single day until I die.
I am still scared of dying. I am still scared of needles and being hurt and feeling pain. I am still scared of horrible things happening in the surgery. I am scared of getting burnt during the radiation and getting heart problems later. I am scared that he has asked for a scan because he thinks there are other things there (remember, they can look you in the eye and still lie, those medical professionals).
I am scared of being injected yet again tomorrow with the radioactive stuff, especially with the huge bruise on my arm. Théo thinks it's hilarious that I'm going to glow in the dark.
I am still scared of losing my kds. Loic went on a playdate and afterwards he cuddled up to me and said to the other mother 'my Mum is ill'. It was very sad.
Anyway, I have to phone the guy now and see if he's managed to find a surgeon who's not on holiday to see me soon.
They want to operate rapidly.
bye for now
Oncologist appointment
We had 2 oncologist appointments - one with the doctor's mate Patrice and another made by the other doctor who had helped us whilst our dr was away. He called me the day after the results were given to me by my dr so he sounded a bit put out that he got to call me second! I guess he'd been preparing his speech and he'd gone to the trouble of making an appointment at the leading cancer hospital in France, Gustave Roussy so I thanked him v much in any case and kept the 2nd appointment for Monday, today.
Dropped the kids off - they were excited to see their friends. Picked up the blood tests and sped to the hospital. On the way to the hospital I took a peek at the test results - all the levels in the blood tests were in the normal range which I supposed was a good thing.
We waited for the oncologist and eventually out came a really old man and his wife with grim faces. I think of cancer as an old person's disease, not a 'young' person like me. I hoped I wouldn't be around old people too much during this journey, I think it would be depressing.
Patrice was quite simply very nice to me. He seemed a bit 'bumbling' and slow with the computer and didn't talk about cancer for ages, instead he got me to talk about myself and my Englishness was interesting to him. He asked all sorts of personal questions, filling in his form and gradually we got down to the nitty gritty with the results as he entered them in his system, culminating in an examination where he examined me for any lymph node swelling around my neck and shoulders and under my arms.
He noted that the invasive cancer seemed to be just a smaller part of the whole thing and that of the samples, not a large proportion were cancerous. Another good thing. The scores are low which is good and it did not seem so awful as I had been thinking. There is a 'however' however - IF more cancer is found in my body in the scan and IF the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes then things will get serious.
Finally he gave me options - masectomy, lumpdectomy or chemo (maybe ending in one of these two in any case). Then 2 months of radiation 5 days a week. (I gasped, this seemed like a lot and very long) My cancer is hormone sensitive so I can take a hormone treatment afterwards in an attempt to ward off the cancer again. This will give me a menopause. My breasts are large enough to take the removal of the tumor and still have a sort of 'normal' appearance whereas the masectomy would not have the same results.
He looked me in the eye when he said all of this and I felt he was being straight with me.
I had a chance to ask questions. At last, after 3 weeks of not being able to. I had a list prepared (from the American Cancer society which was, again, useful). dh was with me and he was taking in more than me. I didn't cry or get upset, it didn't seem like the time as I needed the information and needed to be clearheaded here and he dealt with it in such a matter of fact way, like he must do all the time, that it seemed less scary.
He also said 'your life in not currently in peril with this disease Madame', words which gave me an enormous amount of relief. He also encouraged me to continue working as far as I could. The fact that he thought I'd be capable cheered me up. I don't want to stay in the house for months at a time and I need to keep my professional activity going if I can. Money will be in short supply and I need to keep the contacts I've been making recently open and active.
I had a prescription to pass in a scanner and I forgot to ask why so that it now stressing me. He also gave me an information leaflet about radiation and all the dos and don'ts and a document organiser with blank leaves in which to put my results in choronological order and a lot of very useful information sheets - some a bit scary about breast prothesis and so on, some less, like taxis that are reimbursed by the social security, useful numbers etc etc. I felt like I'd been taken in hand and felt myself relax slightly.
We decided to go with this guy, despite that fact that he's not attached to Roussy or Maire Curie hospitals because he'd gone to a lot of trouble and spent 2 hours with us and then when we saw his card, we found out is is attached, in fact, to Gustave Roussy, so my case will be discussed with the oncologists there.
Dad phoned me later (this happens once in a blue moon) and he said he was proud to hear me speaking positively and that I was managing to stay upbeat. It meant a lot to me to hear that, but he doesn't really know how I feel inside I was thinking to myself.......
Anyway, this was a better day all in all.
Dropped the kids off - they were excited to see their friends. Picked up the blood tests and sped to the hospital. On the way to the hospital I took a peek at the test results - all the levels in the blood tests were in the normal range which I supposed was a good thing.
We waited for the oncologist and eventually out came a really old man and his wife with grim faces. I think of cancer as an old person's disease, not a 'young' person like me. I hoped I wouldn't be around old people too much during this journey, I think it would be depressing.
Patrice was quite simply very nice to me. He seemed a bit 'bumbling' and slow with the computer and didn't talk about cancer for ages, instead he got me to talk about myself and my Englishness was interesting to him. He asked all sorts of personal questions, filling in his form and gradually we got down to the nitty gritty with the results as he entered them in his system, culminating in an examination where he examined me for any lymph node swelling around my neck and shoulders and under my arms.
He noted that the invasive cancer seemed to be just a smaller part of the whole thing and that of the samples, not a large proportion were cancerous. Another good thing. The scores are low which is good and it did not seem so awful as I had been thinking. There is a 'however' however - IF more cancer is found in my body in the scan and IF the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes then things will get serious.
Finally he gave me options - masectomy, lumpdectomy or chemo (maybe ending in one of these two in any case). Then 2 months of radiation 5 days a week. (I gasped, this seemed like a lot and very long) My cancer is hormone sensitive so I can take a hormone treatment afterwards in an attempt to ward off the cancer again. This will give me a menopause. My breasts are large enough to take the removal of the tumor and still have a sort of 'normal' appearance whereas the masectomy would not have the same results.
He looked me in the eye when he said all of this and I felt he was being straight with me.
I had a chance to ask questions. At last, after 3 weeks of not being able to. I had a list prepared (from the American Cancer society which was, again, useful). dh was with me and he was taking in more than me. I didn't cry or get upset, it didn't seem like the time as I needed the information and needed to be clearheaded here and he dealt with it in such a matter of fact way, like he must do all the time, that it seemed less scary.
He also said 'your life in not currently in peril with this disease Madame', words which gave me an enormous amount of relief. He also encouraged me to continue working as far as I could. The fact that he thought I'd be capable cheered me up. I don't want to stay in the house for months at a time and I need to keep my professional activity going if I can. Money will be in short supply and I need to keep the contacts I've been making recently open and active.
I had a prescription to pass in a scanner and I forgot to ask why so that it now stressing me. He also gave me an information leaflet about radiation and all the dos and don'ts and a document organiser with blank leaves in which to put my results in choronological order and a lot of very useful information sheets - some a bit scary about breast prothesis and so on, some less, like taxis that are reimbursed by the social security, useful numbers etc etc. I felt like I'd been taken in hand and felt myself relax slightly.
We decided to go with this guy, despite that fact that he's not attached to Roussy or Maire Curie hospitals because he'd gone to a lot of trouble and spent 2 hours with us and then when we saw his card, we found out is is attached, in fact, to Gustave Roussy, so my case will be discussed with the oncologists there.
Dad phoned me later (this happens once in a blue moon) and he said he was proud to hear me speaking positively and that I was managing to stay upbeat. It meant a lot to me to hear that, but he doesn't really know how I feel inside I was thinking to myself.......
Anyway, this was a better day all in all.
The day after
The day after I had a blood test to prepare me for the oncologist appointment where I cried cos the woman taking blood asked me why I was there. I also detest blood tests, I have tiny weeny veins and not many of them in the crook of my arm. It is pointless taking from my left arm and she explained that they will not do that now as the cancer is on the left. She was kind but it hurt like fuck and four days later I have a huge bruise on my arm with another needle to come tomorrow.
I was looking after the kids, they waited beautifully in the waiting room so we had cakes and a coffee then went for a walk round a local park. It was good to feel the strong sun on my face whilst they were whizzing around me on their scooters like a racetrack. They kept talking to me about their latest game craze - Clash of Clans - and kept explaining why and what and oh it went on. I wanted to say, shut up the cancer is in my head, I cannot listen nor concentrate. I just want to sleep. But I didn't, I nodded and tried to be enthusiastic and they gabbled on excitedly like kids do.
I waited until Laurent was home to retire to the bedroom to call my family and tell them all the news.
I'd already texted L in UK the day before but had been putting this off as the kids were there and I knew I couldn't text my family. Reactions were different, some crying, some depression, some sadness, some positive thoughts needed. I felt bad bringing this to them.
I was looking after the kids, they waited beautifully in the waiting room so we had cakes and a coffee then went for a walk round a local park. It was good to feel the strong sun on my face whilst they were whizzing around me on their scooters like a racetrack. They kept talking to me about their latest game craze - Clash of Clans - and kept explaining why and what and oh it went on. I wanted to say, shut up the cancer is in my head, I cannot listen nor concentrate. I just want to sleep. But I didn't, I nodded and tried to be enthusiastic and they gabbled on excitedly like kids do.
I waited until Laurent was home to retire to the bedroom to call my family and tell them all the news.
I'd already texted L in UK the day before but had been putting this off as the kids were there and I knew I couldn't text my family. Reactions were different, some crying, some depression, some sadness, some positive thoughts needed. I felt bad bringing this to them.
The long night
After the dr, we went for a drink in a bar and I called my friend V asking her to look after the kids during my appointment on Saturday. There is nobody else around - it's August. Luckily she'd just come back from her holidays and said come round now or I can come to you. She was the first person I had told.
We ended up drinking lots of tequila and eating pizza whilst the kids had a ball together. We listened to how fantastic their holiday was and it was good to have some normal funny conversation. We talked about the cancer eventually. V's dh, A, had had a tumor taken from his lung area so he kind of knew what was going on. V, however, explained that her Dad had died from cancer, and many other people she knew. She was pretty hard about the whole thing which upset me later. She said so what if I have to take pills for the rest of my life, so what, there are people who have to do kidney dialysis for the rest of their life, I should count myself lucky, I have contracted the 'best' kind of cancer. Being as her Dad died not so long ago from a strange cancer, I think this informed what she said. Everyone has a take on it informed by their own personal experiences.
Something she did say was that there is no standard about cancer, it is particular to the person and you can't compare yours with anybody elses and you can't know how yours will react until you know, nothing is able to be predicted in advance. This rings more and more true to me.
As I have been telling more people about my illness, they all have stories of people they have known, people who are dead or cured or living with. I know they tell me those stories to make me feel better and reassured and to an extent it does reassure, but it is so personal and you are so individual, whatever happens will be different from other people. If you have a broken leg, you have a plaster, you get physio and it gets better usually. Cancer is not like this, it is unpredictable, sneaky, malicious and quiet as fox in the snow. It reminded me of this poem The Thought Fox by Ted Hughes that we studied at school
http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/ted-hughes/the-thought-fox/
It was a long night. I slept fitfully on the sofa at 5am finally. I just played stupid games on the ipad and looked at cancer sites again and again, trying to find news - hopefully good, but whatever. I did contemplate killing myself it has to be said, but I didn't really want to. I was pretty low.
We ended up drinking lots of tequila and eating pizza whilst the kids had a ball together. We listened to how fantastic their holiday was and it was good to have some normal funny conversation. We talked about the cancer eventually. V's dh, A, had had a tumor taken from his lung area so he kind of knew what was going on. V, however, explained that her Dad had died from cancer, and many other people she knew. She was pretty hard about the whole thing which upset me later. She said so what if I have to take pills for the rest of my life, so what, there are people who have to do kidney dialysis for the rest of their life, I should count myself lucky, I have contracted the 'best' kind of cancer. Being as her Dad died not so long ago from a strange cancer, I think this informed what she said. Everyone has a take on it informed by their own personal experiences.
Something she did say was that there is no standard about cancer, it is particular to the person and you can't compare yours with anybody elses and you can't know how yours will react until you know, nothing is able to be predicted in advance. This rings more and more true to me.
As I have been telling more people about my illness, they all have stories of people they have known, people who are dead or cured or living with. I know they tell me those stories to make me feel better and reassured and to an extent it does reassure, but it is so personal and you are so individual, whatever happens will be different from other people. If you have a broken leg, you have a plaster, you get physio and it gets better usually. Cancer is not like this, it is unpredictable, sneaky, malicious and quiet as fox in the snow. It reminded me of this poem The Thought Fox by Ted Hughes that we studied at school
http://www.poemhunter.com/best-poems/ted-hughes/the-thought-fox/
It was a long night. I slept fitfully on the sofa at 5am finally. I just played stupid games on the ipad and looked at cancer sites again and again, trying to find news - hopefully good, but whatever. I did contemplate killing myself it has to be said, but I didn't really want to. I was pretty low.
The results
Was hoping to get them much earlier but my (real) dr thought that 10 days was optimistic. He was right. So exactly 2 weeks after the biopsy, he called me on my mobile. I was looking after the kids by myself that day so I went into the hall and pressed my face against the door so they couldn't hear.
Immediately I was trying to gauge the tone of his voice to know what the news would be. He was not upbeat, it did not bode well. I had cancer cells in the biopsy. I was compus mentus enough to ask for an appointment with him later in the day and then just melted. I was so disappointed. I thought he could give me the best gift of my life - news that I was well. But he couldn't. It was worse than when you're expecting a certain type of toy for your Birthday when you're young and you think you've given enough hints to yoru parents so they understand exactly what it is you long for. Then on the day, they give you a different toy - similar but not the exact one you had your heart set on. All things are relative, when you're young this is a catastrophe. And so I experienced my own little catastrophe in my hallway.
I sobbed loudly and ugly, sunk to the floor. My kids came racing through, they thought they had hurt myself. "What's the matter Mummy, what's the matter?" God, how to explain. I just said it as it was disappointed by my test results and that I had something growing in my breast that shouldn't be there and that it was called cancer and now we had to make it better, but that I was 'malade' for the moment.
I don't remember much afterwards. I don't remember calling my dh to give him the news, I don't remember. I do remember making a list of questions to ask him about the results though from the American Cancer Society website. It really helped to be armed.
When he came home we went to the doctor's appointment. I think the dr had come in specifically for me, so I really appreciated that. He had the test results. I asked him some of the questions and it seems that there were the two types of cancer - infiltrant and in situ. The infiltrant was the type I was hoping to avoid - this is the dangerous wandering type. Both grades are low and the SBR Elston Ellis is on the low side (this was good). Out of all the samples taken, not all of them were infected so I guessed that was good too. To be honest I did a better analysis of the tests using the internet when I got home than the doctor.
He was distressed for me, he's known me for 10 yrs, and I know he wanted to do his best. But I could see he was struggling. I could hear my kids fighting in the waiting room, I couldn't believe I was here listening to this. I sobbed. dh and doctor just looked at me.
The dr got me an appointment with a cancerologue he knew (he was tutouying him, so he knew him well) on Saturday morning, which was great. The other person who deals with cancer that he knows was, predictably, on holiday. Marie Curie Institute was constantly engaged with too many calls. So we went with Patrice, the drs mate as he was attached to a hospital near us.
The dr prescribed some tranquilisers for me for moments of stress and I have to be careful not to be addicted to them. I haven't taken any yet but they are there if necessary. He's also applied for a special Carte Vitale health card which means that all my health related prescriptions and examinations are reimbursed immediately at 100% so I don't need to advance the money nor claim the remainder from my health insurance. The card will take 3 weeks to come though, so in the meantime I'm subsidising like mad. My biopsy cost was 250€ alone. He also prescribed a blood test to ready me for the appointment with the oncologist. The dr also examined me (yes, getting my breasts out is a 'whatever' now, I have no shame but I still find it humiliating. He thought that it was not so easy and obvious to spot the lump, so I was fortunate to have felt it and acted on it.
We left with a 'bon courage' and a handshake.
Immediately I was trying to gauge the tone of his voice to know what the news would be. He was not upbeat, it did not bode well. I had cancer cells in the biopsy. I was compus mentus enough to ask for an appointment with him later in the day and then just melted. I was so disappointed. I thought he could give me the best gift of my life - news that I was well. But he couldn't. It was worse than when you're expecting a certain type of toy for your Birthday when you're young and you think you've given enough hints to yoru parents so they understand exactly what it is you long for. Then on the day, they give you a different toy - similar but not the exact one you had your heart set on. All things are relative, when you're young this is a catastrophe. And so I experienced my own little catastrophe in my hallway.
I sobbed loudly and ugly, sunk to the floor. My kids came racing through, they thought they had hurt myself. "What's the matter Mummy, what's the matter?" God, how to explain. I just said it as it was disappointed by my test results and that I had something growing in my breast that shouldn't be there and that it was called cancer and now we had to make it better, but that I was 'malade' for the moment.
I don't remember much afterwards. I don't remember calling my dh to give him the news, I don't remember. I do remember making a list of questions to ask him about the results though from the American Cancer Society website. It really helped to be armed.
When he came home we went to the doctor's appointment. I think the dr had come in specifically for me, so I really appreciated that. He had the test results. I asked him some of the questions and it seems that there were the two types of cancer - infiltrant and in situ. The infiltrant was the type I was hoping to avoid - this is the dangerous wandering type. Both grades are low and the SBR Elston Ellis is on the low side (this was good). Out of all the samples taken, not all of them were infected so I guessed that was good too. To be honest I did a better analysis of the tests using the internet when I got home than the doctor.
He was distressed for me, he's known me for 10 yrs, and I know he wanted to do his best. But I could see he was struggling. I could hear my kids fighting in the waiting room, I couldn't believe I was here listening to this. I sobbed. dh and doctor just looked at me.
The dr got me an appointment with a cancerologue he knew (he was tutouying him, so he knew him well) on Saturday morning, which was great. The other person who deals with cancer that he knows was, predictably, on holiday. Marie Curie Institute was constantly engaged with too many calls. So we went with Patrice, the drs mate as he was attached to a hospital near us.
The dr prescribed some tranquilisers for me for moments of stress and I have to be careful not to be addicted to them. I haven't taken any yet but they are there if necessary. He's also applied for a special Carte Vitale health card which means that all my health related prescriptions and examinations are reimbursed immediately at 100% so I don't need to advance the money nor claim the remainder from my health insurance. The card will take 3 weeks to come though, so in the meantime I'm subsidising like mad. My biopsy cost was 250€ alone. He also prescribed a blood test to ready me for the appointment with the oncologist. The dr also examined me (yes, getting my breasts out is a 'whatever' now, I have no shame but I still find it humiliating. He thought that it was not so easy and obvious to spot the lump, so I was fortunate to have felt it and acted on it.
We left with a 'bon courage' and a handshake.
Friday 23 August 2013
me
Did I tell you about me? I'm 50. I hated being 50 and now I know why. I felt old, past it with nothing good to look forward to. I was dead right. They say 50 is the new 40 but it's not. It's old. You get ill, you get old, you get slow, you get the menapause (not there yet but probably the drugs I'll be taking will take care of that). Too old to be employed.
An old Mum with two growing boys of 8 and 10 yrs old. The apples of my eye. We are close, I took a lot of time off to be with them when they were young. We have no family here in Paris so we are really close and do most things together.
I feel guilty that I had my kids late now, if I'd have done it earlier then at least they'd be going through this thing older and more able to understand. Instead they have an old codger for a Mum who's getting sick like old codgers do.
An old Mum with two growing boys of 8 and 10 yrs old. The apples of my eye. We are close, I took a lot of time off to be with them when they were young. We have no family here in Paris so we are really close and do most things together.
I feel guilty that I had my kids late now, if I'd have done it earlier then at least they'd be going through this thing older and more able to understand. Instead they have an old codger for a Mum who's getting sick like old codgers do.
The wait
They said 8 - 10 days for the results. My hopes were up on Monday. But remember my friends, the medical profession does not always tell the whole truth. 14 fucking, bloody, horrible, heartwrenching, agonising, sick making, miserable, sometimes positive, snappy, bad mood, shouty, internet surfing, frightening, howling, interminable, crying days later the results were in.
In 14 days I manged not to have the word 'cancer cancer cancer' in my head for about 3 waking hours.
In 14 days I manged not to have the word 'cancer cancer cancer' in my head for about 3 waking hours.
The meltdown
Day after the biopsy I was sore but mostly vv tired. mil was still staying and she was hard work. She doesn't mean to be but doesn't take the initiative. I'm not confident enough with her to say do this do that and I kind of expect her to know what's needed like my Mum or my sisters would. My expectations are too high.
Which is why I found myself dragging my tired body and kids and mil across town to get my cheque book (to pay all those lovely medical bills) and deciding what we'd eat for lunch and dragging us back then making the lunch. For gods sake.
I put a video on the tv for the boys in the afternoon and slept on the sofa and forgot mil.
Finally dh came home and took them all out and gave me some peace and quiet. Did I sleep? Read? No, I did not I got those results out and scared myself stiff. The results (as much as I could understand them) were seriously scary. I saw a mass of 7cm, a rating of 5 now which meant there was something and it was more than likely serious. How I howled and raged and cried. Finally time to let it all out.
My poor, faithful friend L bore the brunt of it. I just haad to speak to someone and she has been supporting me all the way with texts every day and positive thoughts and just being my friend. She has unfortunately plenty of experience in this particular illness and is happy to advise me and carry me through this. I gulped and sobbed my way through a long conversation with her. She handled me like a pro with kid gloves and firmness and the right amount of positivity. And we both ended up crying! That was a real low point and she carried me through. Thank you
I'd also been in touch with my sisters and Mum and they had been with me all week, it was really helpful for me to talk. It's not for everyone talking but it is for me.
You need a gang of people around you, not too many but just enough to feel supported.
I'd also been exchanging private messages with a member of an association that I belong to - she had been through the whole thing and was really helpful practically and positively and anonymously, I still don't know who she is but she got me through too and answered my questions clearly and honestly and is still supporting me, god bless her.
Which is why I found myself dragging my tired body and kids and mil across town to get my cheque book (to pay all those lovely medical bills) and deciding what we'd eat for lunch and dragging us back then making the lunch. For gods sake.
I put a video on the tv for the boys in the afternoon and slept on the sofa and forgot mil.
Finally dh came home and took them all out and gave me some peace and quiet. Did I sleep? Read? No, I did not I got those results out and scared myself stiff. The results (as much as I could understand them) were seriously scary. I saw a mass of 7cm, a rating of 5 now which meant there was something and it was more than likely serious. How I howled and raged and cried. Finally time to let it all out.
My poor, faithful friend L bore the brunt of it. I just haad to speak to someone and she has been supporting me all the way with texts every day and positive thoughts and just being my friend. She has unfortunately plenty of experience in this particular illness and is happy to advise me and carry me through this. I gulped and sobbed my way through a long conversation with her. She handled me like a pro with kid gloves and firmness and the right amount of positivity. And we both ended up crying! That was a real low point and she carried me through. Thank you
I'd also been in touch with my sisters and Mum and they had been with me all week, it was really helpful for me to talk. It's not for everyone talking but it is for me.
You need a gang of people around you, not too many but just enough to feel supported.
I'd also been exchanging private messages with a member of an association that I belong to - she had been through the whole thing and was really helpful practically and positively and anonymously, I still don't know who she is but she got me through too and answered my questions clearly and honestly and is still supporting me, god bless her.
Bloody biopsy
I go to work in the morning. Just me and A in the office. I break down and tell him. He is lovely. Meet dh (he really deserves the 'd' in dh by this time, if not before) after much faffing about on the metro and RER (the one day the RER shuts down between Auber and Nation thank you very much).
Am seen very quickly. At this point, can I also give thanks to the inventors of Candy Crush? I have emptied my thoughts and stilled my soul with endless, mindless games of CC. Level 110 where I am now is too hard so I've given up on in but enjoy going back to the lower levels trying to get 3 stars on each level. Only fellow CCers will relate to this.
Manage to tear myself away from my addiction to popping sweets to get my kit off yet again and go in for the biopsy. Highlight of my week. Have read my information sheet given yesterday very thoroughly It was really useful. Also the trusty ipad has given me much information about this special test.
Oh no it's the brusque nurse again! She has the temerity to mock me whilst I'm lying one tit through a hole in the bed. 'Oh doctor, Madame doesn't find the position very comfortable'. No she fucking doesn't. Table raised, doctor gets underneath like a car mechanic and gets to work pricking the hell out of my breast with an local anasthetic. Lots of owwwss coming from my side of the table and after, nothing, no feeling, just horror at what's happening unseen and the sucking noise coming from the machine. Lots of 'breathe, don't breathe, breathe, don't breathe' from brusque bitch as xrays are taken and who manages to break machine it seems. Doctor not happy with samples so he comes and goes to make sure he's got all the calcifications. Lots of samples are taken. Then brusque woman really breaks machine.
Real doctor is quite, well, tender with me and puts his hand on my back to reassure me from time to time. They don't want to hurt you and it occured to me that it's no fun for them doing this, so they have my sympathy (but not BB).
So, now it's a second biopsy with an ultrasound. Bloody hell. Large plastic plasters are slapped on my breast which, from this moment on, I now consider as a piece of bad meat that smells. It will never be anything else but that again for me. Finished as a sex object. I do not want anyone else to ever touch it again with lust in their eyes. I can now barely touch it myself. I can barely bring myself to put a bra on and my back is well turned when put my nightdress on.
Slightly get revenge on brusque woman asking her to clean my back as it's brown where the antiseptic has run down. She scrubs hard so it's 2-1 to her. Damm
Y'know the biopsy in itself wasn't that bad, really. it was lacking dignity and unpleasant but all in all I saw nothing (there was a curtain over my breast during the echo part of the biopsy and in the magic machine, everything is underneath like the underside of a car. So if you ever go through this and you are very frightened, as I was, by the idea, well please know that for me it was not as bad as I thought. And I am a BIG BABY!
Am seen very quickly. At this point, can I also give thanks to the inventors of Candy Crush? I have emptied my thoughts and stilled my soul with endless, mindless games of CC. Level 110 where I am now is too hard so I've given up on in but enjoy going back to the lower levels trying to get 3 stars on each level. Only fellow CCers will relate to this.
Manage to tear myself away from my addiction to popping sweets to get my kit off yet again and go in for the biopsy. Highlight of my week. Have read my information sheet given yesterday very thoroughly It was really useful. Also the trusty ipad has given me much information about this special test.
Oh no it's the brusque nurse again! She has the temerity to mock me whilst I'm lying one tit through a hole in the bed. 'Oh doctor, Madame doesn't find the position very comfortable'. No she fucking doesn't. Table raised, doctor gets underneath like a car mechanic and gets to work pricking the hell out of my breast with an local anasthetic. Lots of owwwss coming from my side of the table and after, nothing, no feeling, just horror at what's happening unseen and the sucking noise coming from the machine. Lots of 'breathe, don't breathe, breathe, don't breathe' from brusque bitch as xrays are taken and who manages to break machine it seems. Doctor not happy with samples so he comes and goes to make sure he's got all the calcifications. Lots of samples are taken. Then brusque woman really breaks machine.
Real doctor is quite, well, tender with me and puts his hand on my back to reassure me from time to time. They don't want to hurt you and it occured to me that it's no fun for them doing this, so they have my sympathy (but not BB).
So, now it's a second biopsy with an ultrasound. Bloody hell. Large plastic plasters are slapped on my breast which, from this moment on, I now consider as a piece of bad meat that smells. It will never be anything else but that again for me. Finished as a sex object. I do not want anyone else to ever touch it again with lust in their eyes. I can now barely touch it myself. I can barely bring myself to put a bra on and my back is well turned when put my nightdress on.
Slightly get revenge on brusque woman asking her to clean my back as it's brown where the antiseptic has run down. She scrubs hard so it's 2-1 to her. Damm
Y'know the biopsy in itself wasn't that bad, really. it was lacking dignity and unpleasant but all in all I saw nothing (there was a curtain over my breast during the echo part of the biopsy and in the magic machine, everything is underneath like the underside of a car. So if you ever go through this and you are very frightened, as I was, by the idea, well please know that for me it was not as bad as I thought. And I am a BIG BABY!
Radiology centre next to outlet shopping village
I spent the night gulping for air, sobbing and afraid. I literally could not breathe. I'm frightened the cancer will not only be there but had spread to my lungs already. We still don't know about this one.
I started meditating again. Meditating, once you've learnt how to, is just like riding a bike - you never forget how to do it. This did calm me a little although I am far from the nirvana out of body experiences I had when I was meditating 15 years ago. It did quiten my fright a little. Thanks TM! To be honest, I quite fancy an out of body experience and the rainbows and bliss that come with it right now. I don't much like the body I've got at this minute.
Mil and kids and dh and I piled in the car. Left mil and kids in the aquarium whilst we went off to do the serious stuff. Would have preferred to be feeling the rays in the tank to feeling the x rays on my breast but there you go.
Mammo done with a brusque woman who kept having to repeat procedures and squeeze harder and harder on my poor breast. Echo done by doctor who was equally long as the first time around clicking, measuring. He was the first person who actually asked me if I had any questions. Not that he had the answers to those particular questions but still, it's nice to get to ask them.
I was just about to put my top back on (note to self, wear loose baggy tops you can get on and off in a flash, you will be showing your tits to everyone all the time, even more than Holly and Kendra in the Playboy Mansion). and doctor casually mentions he'd like me to do a MRI before I have my golden ticket to lie on the magic biopsy machine.
Big fight at the reception to make MRI and biopsy appointments. These women on reception, where do they train them? The Gestapo have nothing on them. A week Friday ok? wtf. NO. Claire makes a little fuss, doctor comes out and orders madam to fit me in this afternoon for the mri and biopsy tomorrow. See lady, you can do it!
Came back to see the kids and mil who had suffered no harm in being left on their own for a couple of hours, quick coffee and back again for the mri.
Was seen really quickly. They are v efficient at this centre. Young kind good looking guy comes up, not much older than my students and tells me to get my kit off but keep my knickers on and put this flimsy navy gown on which doesn't do up at the front. Whaaaaa? And he'll give me a little injection. Waaaaaaa 2? Why? He explains and expertly, painlessly fits me with a thing where you can put needles in to your arm and I have a very very unpleasant experience on the mri table.
I climb on board the table, and have to fit my tits through two holes. Oh the shame of it! I am fitted with earplugs whaaaaaa 3?and for 15 minutes my ears are assulted with very loud sounds, my chest is pressed hard against a flat board so I can't breathe properly, only through my nose. The young boy comes in half way through and injects something into my arm which is immobile above my head, I can't see him as I'm stuck in a tunnel with my face down and then it begins again. Do not move I am told. Some fuckin chance stuck in a tunnel pushed down hard barely able to breathe. I finished up by counting and counting and closing my eyes tightly. It helped to make it pass.
Shaky legs getting down, kind nurse and young boy. Stagger into reception and promptly nearly pass out. Oh the shame of it twice today! Led off to a sideroom by kind nurse and given sugared coffee.
Pay bills, cheerily say 'see you tomorrow' like we were going to have a ball tomorrow. Reach car. Cry.
Refind children and mil. Children have very cleverly manged to get mil to visit FNAC, Apple Store and Toy Shop! Bravo children! They are rewarded with their ingenuity by a big lego kit from a guilty, sad Mum.
Mummy also manages to fit in some outlet shopping 'because I'm worth it' and picks up two Antik Batik pieces for less than 30 Euros. Seriously, they are lovely but the original price of 190€ is pretty steep. Anyway, hi ho it's home we go with my pretty tops and the thought of maybe no breasts to fill them out one day.
I started meditating again. Meditating, once you've learnt how to, is just like riding a bike - you never forget how to do it. This did calm me a little although I am far from the nirvana out of body experiences I had when I was meditating 15 years ago. It did quiten my fright a little. Thanks TM! To be honest, I quite fancy an out of body experience and the rainbows and bliss that come with it right now. I don't much like the body I've got at this minute.
Mil and kids and dh and I piled in the car. Left mil and kids in the aquarium whilst we went off to do the serious stuff. Would have preferred to be feeling the rays in the tank to feeling the x rays on my breast but there you go.
Mammo done with a brusque woman who kept having to repeat procedures and squeeze harder and harder on my poor breast. Echo done by doctor who was equally long as the first time around clicking, measuring. He was the first person who actually asked me if I had any questions. Not that he had the answers to those particular questions but still, it's nice to get to ask them.
I was just about to put my top back on (note to self, wear loose baggy tops you can get on and off in a flash, you will be showing your tits to everyone all the time, even more than Holly and Kendra in the Playboy Mansion). and doctor casually mentions he'd like me to do a MRI before I have my golden ticket to lie on the magic biopsy machine.
Big fight at the reception to make MRI and biopsy appointments. These women on reception, where do they train them? The Gestapo have nothing on them. A week Friday ok? wtf. NO. Claire makes a little fuss, doctor comes out and orders madam to fit me in this afternoon for the mri and biopsy tomorrow. See lady, you can do it!
Came back to see the kids and mil who had suffered no harm in being left on their own for a couple of hours, quick coffee and back again for the mri.
Was seen really quickly. They are v efficient at this centre. Young kind good looking guy comes up, not much older than my students and tells me to get my kit off but keep my knickers on and put this flimsy navy gown on which doesn't do up at the front. Whaaaaa? And he'll give me a little injection. Waaaaaaa 2? Why? He explains and expertly, painlessly fits me with a thing where you can put needles in to your arm and I have a very very unpleasant experience on the mri table.
I climb on board the table, and have to fit my tits through two holes. Oh the shame of it! I am fitted with earplugs whaaaaaa 3?and for 15 minutes my ears are assulted with very loud sounds, my chest is pressed hard against a flat board so I can't breathe properly, only through my nose. The young boy comes in half way through and injects something into my arm which is immobile above my head, I can't see him as I'm stuck in a tunnel with my face down and then it begins again. Do not move I am told. Some fuckin chance stuck in a tunnel pushed down hard barely able to breathe. I finished up by counting and counting and closing my eyes tightly. It helped to make it pass.
Shaky legs getting down, kind nurse and young boy. Stagger into reception and promptly nearly pass out. Oh the shame of it twice today! Led off to a sideroom by kind nurse and given sugared coffee.
Pay bills, cheerily say 'see you tomorrow' like we were going to have a ball tomorrow. Reach car. Cry.
Refind children and mil. Children have very cleverly manged to get mil to visit FNAC, Apple Store and Toy Shop! Bravo children! They are rewarded with their ingenuity by a big lego kit from a guilty, sad Mum.
Mummy also manages to fit in some outlet shopping 'because I'm worth it' and picks up two Antik Batik pieces for less than 30 Euros. Seriously, they are lovely but the original price of 190€ is pretty steep. Anyway, hi ho it's home we go with my pretty tops and the thought of maybe no breasts to fill them out one day.
False start
Off we go, dh and me, to the local hospital and joined the queue for the appointments. Not too long for a hospital. We were sent away after leaving my results and they would call me back. The sceptic in me said they wouldn't call. I was wrong - they did - late afternoon saying that I needed a specialised biopsy called a Mammotone and guess what there are only 3 centres in Paris who do them! And, it being August, 2 were closed. Evidentally the radiographers are not those who can't afford a holiday either. Tough shit if you're ill in Paris in August.
Anyway, speak to dh. I scream at him cos I've 'wasted' a day waiting for this call from the hospital. He calmly asks for the number of the 3rd place, promptly calls them and makes an appointment for the next day. You rock husband!
Only thing, I have to go through the same procedure again - mammo, echo, in order for them to contemplate letting me lie on their special magic biopsy machine.
Did I tell you how hot the ipad was after I'd looked the fuck up all the possible sites for this test? I wanted to know something. I wanted to at least be in control of something. Nobody was explaining shit to me. I was in a vortex whirling round and round.
Anyway, speak to dh. I scream at him cos I've 'wasted' a day waiting for this call from the hospital. He calmly asks for the number of the 3rd place, promptly calls them and makes an appointment for the next day. You rock husband!
Only thing, I have to go through the same procedure again - mammo, echo, in order for them to contemplate letting me lie on their special magic biopsy machine.
Did I tell you how hot the ipad was after I'd looked the fuck up all the possible sites for this test? I wanted to know something. I wanted to at least be in control of something. Nobody was explaining shit to me. I was in a vortex whirling round and round.
The Precipice
btw don't think I'm doing this so I can get a book deal or a film where Julia Roberts triumphs through adversity baring her teeth, tossing her hair at everyone. I'm sure there are many more heartrending and inspiring blogs about this subject. There is no vanity in this blog, just expression, news and honesty. One day maybe someone will be going through the same thing and if they can get an idea of what I've been through and what it feels like and that their feelings might be the same as mine, then it might make them feel better and make their life a bit less stressful.
So Monday comes and the echographie. Did I mention that I hadn't told my husband about the lump until after the mammo on Friday when I screamed it out to him in the street after the appointment? yep, classy communicator me.
It took ages, it was painful. You know when there's a problem when the operator starts clicking and measuring things on the screen and going over and over again on the same spot. Tears were trickling down my face by this time. I asked what was going on which was difficult in my position, face pushed onto the vinyl bench arm over head (god did I shave my armpits?) The operator gave me a whole load of medical speak and I said no, in ordinary terms what do you see? A mass in the milk ducts but she didn't think it was dangerous, just benign because it didn't have any pointy bits coming out reaching to eat up the healthy cells was what she said.
Oh how these words got me through the 14 day wait for the results, hoping that this young woman was correct and that her diagnosis was just as good as anyone elses. But no my friends, the medical profession lies! It was not the case at all. She reccomended a biopsy (what?) just to be sure, nothing will be found, just a precaution. Another lie my friends. My left breast was officially classed as a 4 (something there, needs looking into but probably ok).
I needed to get a letter from my dr to get a biopsy.
Broke down in tears in the waiting room, called husband who came immediately to drive me home.
Spent half an hour ringing round doctors, my dr one of those on holiday. I wanted this bipsy ASAP and I didn't want to wait for a dr appointment. But again, doctors must be earning a crust too, opposed to the 50% of Frenchies stuck at home, the majority of them were also sunning themselves in Marbella or whereever drs go to chill.
Eventually I reached a dr who was pretty cool and said come now. We did. Luckily mil was here to look after the kids so we didn't have to drag them round with us.
So, dr rings around for a biopsy appointment - mistakenly saying 'I'd like a cancer biopsy please', after trying so hard in our conversation not to mention the C word. Eventually tells me to go to the hospital in a nearby town to get an appointment. Biopsies are done on Wednesdays. My hopes were high for a Wednesday appointment.
Go home, cry in the bedroom not in front of the kids and mil. Tell mil at night when the kids are in bed. She's never a ray of light and true to form managed to put a negative spin on it. This is where I needed my Mum or my sisters here.
I feel like I'm now on the edge of precipice and about to jump down into freefall, losing control of my destiny and choices and life.
So Monday comes and the echographie. Did I mention that I hadn't told my husband about the lump until after the mammo on Friday when I screamed it out to him in the street after the appointment? yep, classy communicator me.
It took ages, it was painful. You know when there's a problem when the operator starts clicking and measuring things on the screen and going over and over again on the same spot. Tears were trickling down my face by this time. I asked what was going on which was difficult in my position, face pushed onto the vinyl bench arm over head (god did I shave my armpits?) The operator gave me a whole load of medical speak and I said no, in ordinary terms what do you see? A mass in the milk ducts but she didn't think it was dangerous, just benign because it didn't have any pointy bits coming out reaching to eat up the healthy cells was what she said.
Oh how these words got me through the 14 day wait for the results, hoping that this young woman was correct and that her diagnosis was just as good as anyone elses. But no my friends, the medical profession lies! It was not the case at all. She reccomended a biopsy (what?) just to be sure, nothing will be found, just a precaution. Another lie my friends. My left breast was officially classed as a 4 (something there, needs looking into but probably ok).
I needed to get a letter from my dr to get a biopsy.
Broke down in tears in the waiting room, called husband who came immediately to drive me home.
Spent half an hour ringing round doctors, my dr one of those on holiday. I wanted this bipsy ASAP and I didn't want to wait for a dr appointment. But again, doctors must be earning a crust too, opposed to the 50% of Frenchies stuck at home, the majority of them were also sunning themselves in Marbella or whereever drs go to chill.
Eventually I reached a dr who was pretty cool and said come now. We did. Luckily mil was here to look after the kids so we didn't have to drag them round with us.
So, dr rings around for a biopsy appointment - mistakenly saying 'I'd like a cancer biopsy please', after trying so hard in our conversation not to mention the C word. Eventually tells me to go to the hospital in a nearby town to get an appointment. Biopsies are done on Wednesdays. My hopes were high for a Wednesday appointment.
Go home, cry in the bedroom not in front of the kids and mil. Tell mil at night when the kids are in bed. She's never a ray of light and true to form managed to put a negative spin on it. This is where I needed my Mum or my sisters here.
I feel like I'm now on the edge of precipice and about to jump down into freefall, losing control of my destiny and choices and life.
Hello
Hello friends. I say friends because I'm pretty sure this blog is not interesting to anyone other than my friends or family, but if I don't know you, hi! If I do know you, hi and thanks for visiting.
I've set up this blog because I just found out that I've got breast cancer and I wanted to find a way of expressing my feelings and keeping you in touch with what's going on.
I'm lucky (not because I have cancer, no spin doctor could convince us of this, even Alistair Campbell, really) but because I think I have lots of nice people in my life who give a shit about me and my family and I think they'll be wanting to know how I am and how the treatments are going. So, instead of repeating stuff again and again and leaving my dh to explain everything again and again, I'm writing it down here. That way I'll leave the phone conversations for the important news like has it been raining and what did you have for dinner.
To be honest, it's theraputic for me too. I enjoy writing and it helps to get stuff that's circling around like a bee buzzing in my head.
Warning - I am not going to pull any punches on this blog. There will be a lot of swearing and negative thoughts. If you don't like it, don't read it. It will be honest though and bear with me through the rants and ramblings. I'm sure they will get worse and then better and then worse......
This is my story so far (and I'm hoping it will be a short story, not becuase I'm going to die soon - which is something that has crossed my mind many times in the last 3 weeks - but because I would really like this to be over ASAP):-
Showering I found a strange lump in my breast. My breasts are big and sumptous and have always been kinda fibrous. But this lump was different somehow. It should not have been there, it was new.
Strangely my sis S had just had a lump scare and I met someone I talk to on the rer in the street the other day and she told me she'd been going through breast cancer treatment so I think those two factors got me to take the lump more seriously. I am a big one to sweep things under the table - particularly medical or financial stuff. But I thought I should face this one head on.
So I panicked! This is France in August. Everyone is on holiday. They say that only 50% of the population can afford to go on holiday because of the 'financial crise', but I can tell you the mammogram bods must be earning a packet cos they were all sunning themselves somewhere and definitely not in their offices squeezing breasts and taking photos.
I called 7 places and eventually someone took pity on me and said come right away, I can fit you in in 30 mins. Being a lazy cow, I was still in my pjs and it took a whirlwind to get me and the kids out in 5 mins and on a well timed bus to the centre. I didn't even look up the address so my iphone location came in handy, the blue spot got nearer the nearer the red spot and we made it in time.
Any woman will tell you a mammogram is never pleasant and often uncomfortable, so this was done efficiently. I got a little inkling that all was not well when I heard the dr speaking softly to someone on the phone in the next room and somehow I knew she was speaking about me.
She asked me to come back for an ultrasound asap because my breasts were 'dense'. I kept saying - but everything's ok isn't it, isn't it? No answer.
This is when I remembered how the medical profession LIE to you. They don't want to tell you the bad news so they lie or they expect someone else to do the shitty work and make you cry. This happened when we had a Downs Syndrome pregnancy. Nobody would stick their heads above the parapet and tell us the truth. 'Oui madame le nuchal est un petit peu grand mais vous allez voir avec le amnio'. Putain.
So I just got on with the weekend with mounting anxiety about what might be found on Monday. Did I tell you that I went to this appointment with my two beautiful shiny golden haired boys?
I've set up this blog because I just found out that I've got breast cancer and I wanted to find a way of expressing my feelings and keeping you in touch with what's going on.
I'm lucky (not because I have cancer, no spin doctor could convince us of this, even Alistair Campbell, really) but because I think I have lots of nice people in my life who give a shit about me and my family and I think they'll be wanting to know how I am and how the treatments are going. So, instead of repeating stuff again and again and leaving my dh to explain everything again and again, I'm writing it down here. That way I'll leave the phone conversations for the important news like has it been raining and what did you have for dinner.
To be honest, it's theraputic for me too. I enjoy writing and it helps to get stuff that's circling around like a bee buzzing in my head.
Warning - I am not going to pull any punches on this blog. There will be a lot of swearing and negative thoughts. If you don't like it, don't read it. It will be honest though and bear with me through the rants and ramblings. I'm sure they will get worse and then better and then worse......
This is my story so far (and I'm hoping it will be a short story, not becuase I'm going to die soon - which is something that has crossed my mind many times in the last 3 weeks - but because I would really like this to be over ASAP):-
Showering I found a strange lump in my breast. My breasts are big and sumptous and have always been kinda fibrous. But this lump was different somehow. It should not have been there, it was new.
Strangely my sis S had just had a lump scare and I met someone I talk to on the rer in the street the other day and she told me she'd been going through breast cancer treatment so I think those two factors got me to take the lump more seriously. I am a big one to sweep things under the table - particularly medical or financial stuff. But I thought I should face this one head on.
So I panicked! This is France in August. Everyone is on holiday. They say that only 50% of the population can afford to go on holiday because of the 'financial crise', but I can tell you the mammogram bods must be earning a packet cos they were all sunning themselves somewhere and definitely not in their offices squeezing breasts and taking photos.
I called 7 places and eventually someone took pity on me and said come right away, I can fit you in in 30 mins. Being a lazy cow, I was still in my pjs and it took a whirlwind to get me and the kids out in 5 mins and on a well timed bus to the centre. I didn't even look up the address so my iphone location came in handy, the blue spot got nearer the nearer the red spot and we made it in time.
Any woman will tell you a mammogram is never pleasant and often uncomfortable, so this was done efficiently. I got a little inkling that all was not well when I heard the dr speaking softly to someone on the phone in the next room and somehow I knew she was speaking about me.
She asked me to come back for an ultrasound asap because my breasts were 'dense'. I kept saying - but everything's ok isn't it, isn't it? No answer.
This is when I remembered how the medical profession LIE to you. They don't want to tell you the bad news so they lie or they expect someone else to do the shitty work and make you cry. This happened when we had a Downs Syndrome pregnancy. Nobody would stick their heads above the parapet and tell us the truth. 'Oui madame le nuchal est un petit peu grand mais vous allez voir avec le amnio'. Putain.
So I just got on with the weekend with mounting anxiety about what might be found on Monday. Did I tell you that I went to this appointment with my two beautiful shiny golden haired boys?
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