A couple of weeks ago I had my first post surgery mammogram. It was 4 months after the radiotherapy had finished; not before because apparently the effects of the treatment are still going on for that time and at 4 months, normally the tissue has settled somewhat. True, I've still been having pains in my left breast as during the radiotherapy.
I decided to go back to the Centre where I had the mammogram and ultrasound where the cancer was discovered, not because it's great service (they are always running late, even at 9h) or because of the atmosphere - it's a very basic place, no frills and a bit depressing to tell you the truth. I went back there because I have a history there and they have all my previous exams stored, so they can do a good comparision. And, after all, they did discover the cancer so they must be doing something right.
dh kindly said he would take a half day and accompany me for the mammo; it was a tense time for both of us so we were both hoping to get some comfort from each other.
I finally went into the examination and did the (pretty painful) mammo, although I had pre-warned the receptionist when I made the appointment that I would be very stressed and possibly upset, so the operator was nice and told me to stop when the machine hurt (and she did stop). She left me to look at the clichés and I slipped my top on. After a long wait, she returned and said that more xrays were needed. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that there was a problem and they'd seen something. She said not, but my breasts were so different (just a bit!) than the previous xray that they needed more pictures to gather a new batch for a control group.
More pics taken and I was left to wait again. It was really long, I walked around the room, stressed, cried a bit, got scared, hyperventilated, played on my phone, tried to read a book. All the time thinking that she'd come back and say 'we found something, you have to do more tests'. I imagined myself going through another biopsy, another operation, chemotherapy. In short, I imagined the worst in that cold room.
Then the doctor came back, not the operator, and said that the xrays looked clear. You can't imagine the huge sigh of relief that I gave. I felt like I'd run a marathon, my body was weak.
I did, however, have to come back for an ultrasound which I hadn't even noticed was on the prescription so I made an appointment for 2 weeks time.
Which was yesterday.
I waited one hour to be seen, playing Farm Heros Saga, trying to read. The tension mounting. Then I was in. It was the same place where I'd found out that I had something suspect, the same view from the bed, the same lighting, the same white wallpapered wall next to my face, the same coat peg. Everything was etched on my mind.
The ultrasound lasted over 30 minutes. There were a couple of times when the Doctor left the room to consult my previous test results, in particular the ultrasound I had in January to check out the right breast. It was extremely painful on the scar tissue and I was wound up like a spring. I thought I'd be a bit less stressed as I'd already had a good mammo result, but I was more stressed. I think it's the bad memories of the ultrasounds I had had when I was pregnant or miscarrying. I don't have many good memories of ultrasounds in my life. The bad ones have overshadowed the joyful ones, that special time where you see a foot, a hand, a face and movement of your baby. For me they have mostly been about bad news.
It seems that the 'ball' in my right breast has diminished in size slightly, which is good but apparently it's not going to go away the doctor thought. I also have all sorts of calcifications, nodules, fibrous bits, just a lot going on down there.
The final conclusion however was that there was nothing 'méchant', nothing bad.
I walked out stunned and hurting a lot on and in my breasts and with a headache. I think I was in some sort of shock about the whole procedure, never mind the result.
I waited for the written results and like a knight in shining armour, dh came through the door as I was about to leave. I'd told him I needed a drink, he said 'I'll bring a bottle of water', I said no 'a drink', a real one.
Most of all I wanted to be home with a headache pill. I cried so much in his arms when we got home. I hadn't realised how much I was scared of a bad result. I'm crying while I write this. I hadn't realised how much I really didn't want to go back to that cancer situation, the tests, the needles, the hospital, the fear. I didn't feel joyful at all about the result, I just felt numb and like I'd had a reprieve, but for how long this time? I know too that next time it's a mastectomy and chemotherapy, not just radiotherapy and a lump removal. It hangs over my head, like I'm glad I escaped but I don't really believe that I have escaped. The cage door is open but I can't step out of it.
I know this is a point where I could start to turn the page and I'd like to, but I'm scared to. It's like tempting fate to say 'yes I had cancer but it's all over now'. How do I know?, how can I be sure? How do I live on with the knowledge that one day there might be a little unexplained ball, it's happened already could it happen again? In short, how to reconcile the possibility of falling ill with the will to live a happy life. Must it always be there like a black cloud on a sunny day? I thought I was doing ok, I had had moments when I didn't think about cancer at all, when I could logically see that it was part of my past and not part of my present. But it sort of will be part of my present for ever now.
I understand now why women say 'take off my breasts'. I never understood that before, but I do now, it's the most radical kind of surgery for breast cancer but I understand why they would want to be rid of those two lumps of fat on their chest that cause them so many problems. I totally get you, Angelina.
The lovely ladies on our closed FB page who have all gone through this were a real source of comfort last night, I know they understand, they have been in my shoes. Glad they are there.
And while I get myself primed for thinking about a reconstruction (which I'm feeling very ambivilent about right now), I guess things will get better with time, as they say about most traumas. It's just not time yet.
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