NB – not to be confused with Prof Stephen Hawking’s (probable**) masterpiece “A Brief History of Time (** I haven’t actually read it…).
I love a nice neat table. A tabulated schedule so you know exactly where you are and what you’re up to…. So I thought I would take a look back at what’s happened so I can start fresh when the chemo kicks in and I forget my own name.
OCTOBER
| 2 | Find the lump. Nah, not I. I must have pulled a muscle clambering in a tree at Center Parcs. Of course I must. |
| 6 | Off to the doctor. Scaring children and old folk alike with my snivels before properly bursting into tears on my GP when I have to say “I’ve found a lump” out loud for the first time. He didn’t seem to hold much truck with the crying thing – said it was likely to be a cyst and referred me to my choice of hospital (my choice – like it) |
| 7 | Call from the hospital to book in my appointment. Speedy! |
| 12 | Off to the Breast Clinic to see my first consultant who thinks it could be fibroids. But we’ll check it with an ultrasound. That’s fine – I can cope with fibroids. Hmm. Ultrasound looks a bit confusing – let’s hop into the MRI scanner for good measure. And introducing my first encounter with the open backed hospital gown… Lying on a bed with my boobs hanging through specially cut holes while the machine makes noises that sound like a bloke standing in the corner making the noises that boys seem to find it necessary to make; whaaap whaaaaap whaaaap, crrrrrrooooo crrrrrrrrroooooo crrrrrrrrooooo, oooooEEEEE oooooEEEEE. Luckily, Magic FM is on the radio so the sounds drown out Daniel Bedingfield. |
| 19 | Results are back from the MRI. But it’ll be fine – it’s just fibroids right? No point in taking anyone with me cos then it’s turning something and nothing into something right? Apart from it is something. Potentially. It could be fibroids, but they’d be a bit unusual. So it’s cancer then. |
| 22 | Off up north to tell my mum and dad. One of the most awful things I’ve ever had to do. Especially as my sister and I said we were going up north for a party so as not to worry them… Tears, hugs, gin & tonic and Strictly (my family is terribly pragmatic). Mum tells me she thought I was going to say I was pregnant. I point out that if and when I do get knocked up I’d rather it didn’t prompt sobbing from either of us. |
| 24 | Diagnosis Day. But you know about that already. Spend the rest of the day telling people in a ridiculously chirpy way that I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer. Anything to avoid the dreaded and sympathetic “but ARE you OK…?”. |
| 25 /26 | Friends come round for dinner and give me pressies. I feel like a proper fraud. I don’t feel ill at all. So that cashmere rug seems like a crazy idea… |
| 27 | Fare thee well Judas boob. Cue wittering incoherently and non-stop at anyone who’ll listen. My friend Alan; “What’s it like being on morphine?”. Me; “Dunno, I just feel normal really”. My sister; “Are you kidding?! You can’t focus and you haven’t shut up for half an hour…”. Have I mentioned how much I love morphine?? |
| 28 | Horrible registrar tries to send me home doped up to the eyeballs with two drains hanging out of my non-boob connected to two jam jars that are filling up with my “fluids”. I sulk. Lovely consultant comes to the rescue and tells me I can stay in til tomorrow. Immediately I’m sweetness and light and as charming as one can be on a cocktail of morphine, tramadol and ibuprofen. |
| 29 | Home. I LOVE my cashmere rug. |
November
| 7 | Back to see my consultant to check on things. I compliment him on his handiwork – the scar’s terribly neat. In fact, it looks a little bit like my boob’s winking at people. I also look super thin on that side. |
| 14 | See my consultant for the last (sob sob) time. Scream at the removal of one stitch and immediately apologise for being a bit of a girl. I’ve dealt with everything else, but the one stitch?? I make a right fuss. Off to see the oncologist. Turns out my lump was 7cm. 7cm!! Not far off the height of your average mug. I know I’ve got fairly big boobs, but how on earth have I been hiding that bad boy?? Busy day today – after the oncologist there’s an echo-cardiogram and a bone scan. So I see my heart and my bones on the telly. Medical people are dead clever. And I know more about my body than I’ve ever wanted to or thought I would. Each test is something else for me to ask questions about – I may as well know as much as I can about what’s going on. |
| 23 | First meeting at the Reproductive Medicine Unit. Forms, forms and more forms and no, I still don’t have a significant other thank you very much. Happy birthday me. |
| 28 | The injections and oestrogen inhibitors begin… So my jolly hockeysticks idea of them slinging me up in stirrups and just grabbing whatever’s in my ovary is a little… um… naïve? The injections continue for another 10 days, and after 3 days a second one is thrown in for good measure. The injections I can cope with (I become quite the chemist), but the soluble antibiotics?? Yuck. Soluble tablets remind me of being 5 and choking down soluble Panadol. Revolting. The scans start today. One every other day in my stirrups with my eggs growing by the hour and a doctor ferreting around my nethers. Today the immature egg follicles are teeny tiny – the size of map pin heads on the screen. |
| 29 | Off to The Haven in Fulham for the day. An amazing, amazing resource for women with breast cancer – they offer complementary therapies to run alongside your other treatment and today is an introductory day. Meet some amazing women who I hope will be friends through this whole shoddy affair and beyond. |
December
| 7 | By today, the eggs are massive – like the size of 2p’s on the ultrasound screen. And it feels like it. Mainly I feel bloated, but as soon as the doctor tells me I’m probably quite tired I immediately decide I am. Tired, sooooo tired, so very, very tired.... Until after 20 minutes of moping around I realize I’m not actually tired at all and really should start being less suggestible…. So off I march to the wig boudoir. |
| 9 | The eggs are out! Feel like I’ve been kicked in the ovary, but all in a good cause eh? 14 mini half me’s waiting in a lab in Kings Cross to take over the world. |
| 11 | Which brings us to today. And the chemo’s not even started yet. Cor blimey…. |
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