New bras

I also have to thank none other than C&A today!  I'd just finished my lesson and on a whim slipped into the store as there was a hot red suede jacket on the rails that I'd been lusting over (I know, I don't often (ever?) lust over stuff in C&A, but it was a nice piece and good quality and well priced).  Anyway, decided to try it on as the fitting rooms are never packed there and you can take as many items in as you want to.  On the way, I spotted the lingèrie section.  A place where I don't usually stop now (actually I usually avert my eyes and run past).  However, I did stop today to finger a particularly pretty pale pink satin bustier and decided to try it on.

As I tried it on, I realised that one of the reasons I was so disappointed about my operation was that I was absolutely dying to get out of my medical prothesis-holding bra which gives me the silhouette of a nursing bra, all saggy and undefined.  Since my weight loss, my breasts are both smaller and when I've dared to try on 'normal' bras, they ride up as I really don't have much 'up there' to keep them comfortable and stop the underwiring digging in and the back fat which was badly sewn after the op flops over the side of small bras (sorry tmi).

However, it seems that the bustier is the perfect thing!  I had to try B cups as there were no A cups to go with my back size (if you're a guy reading this, ask your girlfriend to explain this, gals, you know what I mean, don't you?)

There were lots of positive points:-
- with pre-formed cups, my tiny breast mounds sit a little lost, not exactly touching the sides but almost and a bit in some places,  but not too lost that the cups would squash and look reeeeallly weird under my clothing, they will keep their shape (I think)
- the longer size of the bustier means that it doesn't ride up, even when I don't wear my prothesis
- the higher and longer sides mean that my back fat and bad scarring is contained more or less
- the balconette type bra actually pushes up the very little that I have so it looks like a very little something
- I don't have to wear my plastic prothesis - first time in 2 years!
- I have a shape of two breast type mounds under my clothes (I tried them on under a T shirt to test) instead of a spread over my chest; it looks much neater and more feminine.
- I purchased two in the end but my favourite is the shell-pink satin one with pink bows on - so feminine and pretty.

Here they are (the pink looks a bit orange-ey but think seashell pink, delicate, pretty......

 Oh so different from my nude, baggy number with pockets that's too large for me.

Why didn't I do this before you ask?  Well, I was waiting - waiting to have the operation and waiting for that day when I had two breast mounds the same size, waiting to slip myself into any little lacy number that came my way without pre-formed cups.  I was going to spend some serious money on my first bra for my new shape.  It was going to be an EVENT!

And I didn't buy another one at the nice bc lingerie shop because I figured I would have the operation and it would be a waste of money as it would be too small and I wouldn't need pockets any longer.  Those bras are really expensive - I think I paid over 70€ for mine.  I know M&S do them much cheaper but I could never fit properly into their mastectomy bras, I did try. 

The normal bras in C&A were very affordable at 17€ and 19€ and I feel like the satin one is like a proper movie star's underclothes.

I'll be trying out my new 'outfits' tomorrow (after a dry run in front of my mirror tonight).  As I still have pain on the scars (yes, over 2 yrs on), I'll not wear them all day, I think they might hurt after a few hours, but it will feel different and I won't feel like I'm in a nursing/medical bra with the corresponding silhouette.  It will be a good step and will help me get on with the situation that I find myself in right now.

frustration and friends

Well, I think a good night out at the comedy club with my 2 lovely girlfriends did me the world of good last night.  And somehow, I think I'm starting to turn a corner on all of this.

Yesterday I spent a fruitless day off calling the hospitals reccomended by the oncologist for the biopsy.  Fruitless, yes, so fruitless and much as I'd anticipated.  I've been here before.

The first clinic, after I'd called several times, said they didn't do that kind of test.  Great.  I called the big hospital in Creteil several times and got no answer or was connected and got no answer, was cut off and finally had the receptionist who said when I asked for the MRI dept (I kid thee not) "oh, MRI department, AGAIN, there are so many of you today, it's ridiculous".  This is the main switchboard of a huge, really huge departmental, capital city hospital.  wtf, seriously.  Then the MRI department didn't answer (again).  Phoned surgeon's sec hoping to get the nice receptionist and was going to ask her to make the call for me.  Sadly came across the less nice, slightly snippy one, who, when I explained I was phoning just to update the surgeon on the latest decision, said I was to call him myself - here was the number.

And then called the oncologist secretary and asked her to make the appointment for me as I was having no luck.  She said she'd check with the oncologist tomorrow and get back to me to see if she was authorised to do that.  Well, it's tomorrow now and nobody has come back to me.  Surprise.

I called my pal who came to the MRI with me about something else, but she asked me straight away if I'd got an appointment yet. She demanded the numbers and said she'd call herself.  Awwww.

Also, posted my support on a member website where someone had just been diagnosed bc and was putting it out there.  Good for her, the only way to get through this is to be surrounded by love and I hope she gets lots of it coming her way.  I'm not sure how supportive I was as I don't feel I can really cope with someone elses pain right now, alongside my own (put your own lifejacket on before putting someone elses on otherwise you'll both drown), but I hope I helped a bit, I tried.  I felt so badly for her and remembered the shock and fear I had when I was diagnosed. 

This had the knock-on effect of putting my current situation out there to people who know me (although I didn't go into details of course) and I was really touched to receive some really supportive, kind, helpful messages, which made me feel very warm and loved.

My dear pal has more stamina than I do.  She managed to speak to someone in the MRI department and they said 'we don't just make appointments like that over the phone, we need to see your dossier', so it looks like I'll have to lose a day's pay and go to the hospital myself in order to make the appointment.  Ho bloody hum.

On the whole though, all of this came together to make me a little more optimistic today.  I've made the decision to go ahead with the biopsy.  I need to know.  The operation, well, that's very sadly taken a back seat for now, I need to be well to do it, frustrating though it is.  I'm not really convinced that it will ever happen to be honest.

Staff decision

So here I am again.  Waiting for the oncologist on my own with a waiting room full of sick people with chemo scarves on, bags of xrays labelled 'Philippe pumouns' and people getting ill in the waiting room.  I waited just over an hour this time and my appointment was over in less than 10 minutes - she had to leave as another patient fell ill during my appointment.  She did have time to tell me that the Staff wanted me to wait 4 months for another MRI to see if the 'thing' has grown.  My oncologist said that I was 'in a hurry' to get my reconstruction so they needed to propose something else (I pointed out that even if I wasn't 'in a hurry' to get the op, I would be 'in a hurry' to find out what the fuck is in my breast that shouldn't be there).  So they said I have to get a biopsy (expected that) during an MRI (didn't expect that) as the thing is so small 3,5mm.  Apparently it was 'unanalysable'.  But the thing is, when I was first diagnosed, the cancer infiltrant (the sort that moves, the sort that you don't want to have anywhere in your body, ever), was 5mm long, so what's stopping it being the same thing again, eh?

The great thing about this fabulous biopsy, which so effortlessly combines my two least favourite tests, is that it's only available in two places in Ile de France and there's a 2 month waiting list for the test (at least).  So, they are making me wait 2 months in any case.....

Frankly, right now, I feel like giving up and not getting the test, fighting for a date, dealing with doctors receptionists, getting the products, stripping off, waiting for the results, the stress, missing work, begging my dh to come with me etc etc  I have almost had enough.  I am thinking that maybe this is just not meant to be.  Maybe I am not meant to have this operation, maybe I have to stay maimed and ugly all my life.  Maybe I will never be free of this shadow that cancer is making on my life.  Maybe that's it, I've had 2 years (not carefree by any stretch of the imagination), but two years feeling positive that it's all behind me, planning for the future, making a huge effort to put it all to one side, feeling confident, losing weight, trying to re-establish my work.  And that's all I'm going to get.  The rest is the slow slope into my death when the cancer finally does the job it tried to start.  Right now, nothing seems worth doing or trying for.  My house is a mess, I have a heavy cold, my hair is a mess, my body is a mess, I've stopped running, trying.  I hate being at home, I hate being with my children, I hate my house and I can't be bothered to tidy or clean it. (Things are so bad that dh even hoovered this morning, this is rare) I can find no pleasure in anything much and I know I'm snapping at everyone.

I don't know if anyone is reading this but if you are, sorry for being down but I just can't see the point of it all any more.

Angry me

I'm angry, disappointed and scared.  Bad cocktail.  I wasn't so bothered about the change in my body, I just wanted my breast mounds to be the same size and mostly, really truly, to say goodbye to my tango with cancer and get on with my life, stop this life in suspension, go to the pool or the beach and not feel absolutely ashamed and hide myself, put my bra on without sticking a bit of plastic in it beforehand - every single morning I am reminded of that cancer.  No matter how much I diet and exercise (up to 20 mins running now, yeh!), my body still bears the ugliness and scars and my mind is frightened.  No, fellow BC peeps or non BC peeps (you non C peeps should know better than to tell us how to feel about our 'gift' that was cancer), they are not scars of 'bravery' or 'survival', fuck that, they are scars that were necessary to keep me in this world, to stop my kids growing up without a Mum.  You think I'd choose to have them?  And to have this constant worry in my life?  They are ugly and I am ugly.

I don't want to be brave any more.  I don't want to have to be brave any more.  Let me get off, please, let me be weak.

I had a horrific dream last night and I woke up crying.  Thought I was dealing but am not, evidently.

Back to oncology

dh came with me to the appointment.  We waited 2 hours.  2 friggin hours of my life wasted in that dull little room on those uncomfortable chairs fretting away.

Anyhow, finally got to see the lady.  Explained the situation.  She took my previous mammo, MRIs etc to the radiology appointment but, as luck would have it (and honestly, I don't feel like I'm getting much of that), the head of Radiology was on holiday.  She gave me the line of 'please don't worry, it's probably nothing' - let's hope it is, I really don't want to prove her wrong, I want her to be right.  Examined me and we had a chat.

In her favour, although she must have been desparate to get home (I was the last meeting of the day) she took the time to listen and I explained how I felt about the meeting of the Staff - they had wanted me to get a mastectomy and cancelled the original surgery I had planned which really devastated me at that time, they told me I had to wait 2 years for this op (which looks like it's never going to happen anyway) when I had already waited a year and had been told that this was enought time.  Don't hold out much hope they will give me any good news, frankly.  I explained that they don't know me, they just have the facts in front of them (which in retrospect might be the very point of the Staff, but I was too far frantic to acknowledge that).  She said that she was my advocate, and that felt reassuring.  I told her I wanted (well, not really wanted like I want a pair of Uggs slippers or the new Chanel nail varnish but y'know...) a biopsy to put my mind at rest, I definitely didn't want to wait 6 months for a follow up, only to find that the bright spot was exactly like it was the time before (3,5mm), I wanted to know if it was a problem and to deal with it or I wanted the ok and the go ahead for the op - soon, so I can turn the page.  She was listening but I'm not sure that my 'wish list' will have much truck with Staff.

We'll see, won't we?

To cheer this post up, here is a picture of the Chanel nail varnish that I want (but not in the same way as I want a biopsy)

Fucking bloody blood test

OK, so I was worried about the MRI injection, knowing my adverse reactions to them, but that went surprisingly well.  The thing I wasn't expecting was for my pre-oncologist appointment blood test to be a massacare.  It was the owner of the laboratory who took the blood and she really should have known better.  I asked her to use a baby needle, as it was usually necessary.  She said 'we'll see' and proceeded to jab the fuck out of my arm.  This is the result - and this is one week after the short blood test.

Look, pretty isn't it?  And no filters!  I went back to complain, showing them the MRI very faint bruise next to it.  I explained I had asked for a baby needle but they had ignored me, too much in a hurry methinks.  Of course, there was nothing to do but say sorry, which the receptionist did.  I shall not go back there, despite that it's such a convenient place.

Surgeon pre-surgery (not) appointment

Luckily I had an appointment with the surgeon the day following the upsetting MRI.  He decided to postpone/cancel the operation and to seek the advice of Staff (the Cancer Committee for my area).  I thought it was the right decision because:-

a) If he had gone ahead and injected fat into my breast mounds, the bright spot would relocate and possibly be lost and never analysed.

b) It would cause me more worry in the long term than pleasure in actually having the same-sized breast mounts again.

c) Although he thought the MRI doctor was covering his arse (his words were kinder), he had to cover his too.

d) Although he thought it was 'probably nothing' (yep, heard that one before haven't we?), in the classification the dr had given me - BIRADS 3 - there is still room for a (albeit small) doubt about the findings.  If he had classified it BIRADS 2, the surgery would still go ahead.

I cried - with frustration and fear - as he started talking about having to have a mastectomy and chemo if anything was found - as if I'd got away lightly last time (guess I feel that I did in fact).  And there we were, kindly ushered out.

His secretary was an absolute LOVE.  Without really knowing what the situation was, she effectively dealt with cancelling all aspects of the operation and made me a speedy meeting with the oncologist.

I walked out knowing in my heart that although this was a feckin disaster for my morale, it was the right decision.

MRI merde

So the day arrived.  My lovely friend and colleague, Louise, offered to accompany me as she lives quite close to the Centre.  dh had to look after the children (apparently).  So, she picked me up and we raced to the centre.  And waited.

It brought back some horrible memories, fainting in the reception, shouting at the receptionist to get an appointment for a biopsy without two weeks wait, needles, needles and more needles.  It was emotional to go through the doors again.  Thank goodness I had my friend with me.  I told her that it was brave to accompany me as it wasn't a slam dunk that there would be good results.  She was positive and told me I should be too.  I am very cautious about positivity where cancer is concerned.  I don't have many positive stories to tell after my testing experiences, although I have had a good two years of clear mammograms and relative peace of mind, so, yes, positive.

The same guy injected me as before.  He was just as nice as ever, explaining what would happen, asking me how I feel, what I was worried about, what I remembered would happen.  I had remembered quite well in fact.  He injected me very cleanly and it only hurt a bit (although I have a whopping big bruise now 2 days later).  He ushered me through and I was face down on the machine and told not to move.  I had ear plugs and earphones to protect me from the noise and I took my friend's advice and counted backwards whilst it was all going on around me.  Honestly, it passed fairly quickly and uneventfully.  He helped me down, head spinning a bit but, really fine.

Then the shit hit the fan.  He informed me that the doctor wanted to do an ultrasound afterwards.  I said 'why, what's wrong?'  he said, it's ok, he just wants an ultrasound.  Alarm bells started ringing loud and clear.  Back into the situation I knew so well - more tests because there's something wrong but nobody will tell you why.  I went through to the ultrasound room close to tears.  Not again, not again.  Doctor breezes in.  I asked him outright what was the problem.  He said they'd just found a bright spot on the MRI (and we know what that means, don't we?)  I asked him if this would stop me from having the operation and he said absolutely not, I should go for it.  Then after a speedy ultrasound I had to have a mammogram too.  By this time I was in tears and once I got into the changing room, I was crying good and proper.  He popped his head round the door and said 'ok mammogram clear, no need to worry, you just need to be checked up on in 6 months with another MRI'.  Bam, he'd gone.

I stumbled into the reception in tears.  My poor friend didn't know what had hit her.  To her great credit, she insisted on having another word with the doctor so he could explain properly what was going on.  She asked the questions, I was too tearful to speak.  She asked good questions and the doctor was as honest as doctors are (ie, not very) but he was very reassuring and said by all means I should go ahead with the operation, he just couldn't let me go without suggesting a follow-up in 6 months, it was probably nothing blah blah blah.  I felt (stupidly) reassured because little did I know, he was about to sign the death warrant on my longed-for operation.

My friend kindly drove me home and tried to talk some sense into me, get me to calm down, be zen.  I feel so grateful she was with me.

I felt numb and bitterly disappointed and very scared.  I haven't slept so well since.

Operation prep

I haven't blogged for a while about my personal situation because I was waiting to talk about my reconstruction operation and the successful injections of fat into my breast mounds, and my new flat stomach and the new page I can turn in my life, I didn't want to blog as I didn't want to jinx the operation.  Well, needn't have worried - my body has jinxed it all by itself.

I had a meeting with the surgeon in December.  We fixed the date of 9th February which fitted me perfectly meaning I didn't have to miss too many work commitments and would have around 5 days to recover before teaching again.  Perfect.  I had to do an MRI beforehand to check all the cancer was clear before the surgeon pumped a load of fat into my breast area (if there's any cancer there, an injection of fat can, apparently, accelerate the development of cancer.)  He was very pleased with my big weight loss and made a joke that I shouldn't lose any more as he won't have any fat to take - ha ha ha!

Braved the snippy telephone receptionists and managed to get an MRI appointment on 3rd February - very close to the operation date but do-able and nothing available earlier.  I didn't have any choice as to where I did it as the surgeon wanted me to go back to the same place I had one before the cancer was confirmed.

Had a meeting with the anesthesiologist in the hospital where my oncologist is based as that's where the surgeon operates now.  She was absolutely lovely, didn't insist I had a  blood test before the operation as I'd already had several operations, and even went as far as asking me how I was feeling on approaching the operation - stressed was my answer - but she reassured me and was just lovely.  Can't say the same about her bitcvh secretary nor the same in admissions.  I ended up saying 'I hear you, I understand you, you do not need to shout at me'.  I felt really bruised when I came away, those women are in such powerful positions and if they were nice it would really change the patients' experience.  Shame they mis-use their power.

Next stop MRI.  Asked the centre to fax the prescription to the chemist so I could pick up the product for injections and the special syringes.  Took a while for the fax to arrive - several phone calls and the chemist had lots of questions about the products so I ended up picking them up just before I went off to the test.