One Year On...

Now then, I know that I did say I was signing off until I was rebuilt and fully boobed up again, but turns out that’s not quite the speedy process I was expecting. Considering it took a grand total of 3 weeks for the NHS to chop the bloody thing off, it doesn’t half take a while for them to slap it back on again. And so, for anyone who’s been missing a bit of boob based hilarity in their lives, I thought I’d say hello. It’s been a year since I last posted, so I guess this can be considered a bit of an anniversary special. So, as they would say on Big Brother, here are my best bits…

Things have all been going relatively swimmingly. Herceptin finished way back in February (although such was my dedication that I turned up for an extra session and had to be sent home to go and sit on the sofa and wonder what the heck I was supposed to do with myself without an afternoon of drug-induced sleep). Heaven forfend I should live in the absence of needles though, so now I have a hearty shot of Zoladex every 4 weeks, which suppresses my oestrogen (mine being one of those pesky oestrogen sensitive cancers). Thing is though, that Zoladex is a cream implant that’s designed to disperse over the 4 weeks. Which means that it needs to come out of a pretty big hole. Which in turn means that once every 4 weeks I essentially get stabbed in the stomach with something that doesn’t look a million miles off a bic biro. That’s fun. I also had the charming experience at half 9 on a Friday morning of a nurse I’d never met before grabbing my belly to stab me, then tilting her head to one side to say “so you’ve put on quite a bit of weight then?” Joy.

But the main thing that’s hanging over me is, of course, the reconstruction (or, currently, lack thereof).

So, a few weeks ago it was back to the hospital for a check up with my new consultant (the divine Mr W has since retired, leaving me bereft). And wasn’t that just a treat.

First things first, the tamoxifen. “Are you taking any vitamin D supplements?” Umm… no. “No?!” (he couldn’t have sounded more horrified), “but tamoxifen is VERY bad for your BONES! Did nobody TELL you that?” Umm… no. Right, so I’m prescribed Vitamin D and Calcium tablets (that are “chewable” in the loosest sense of the word, and the size of 50p pieces. Yummy).

Well then, now we know my bones are probably shot to pieces, let’s look at main feature shall we? That is after all the most interesting bit. Particularly, as I’m quickly told, because the scar is in the wrong place. My consultant actually tuts. He tuts! He tuts because the scar which cannot be corrected and cannot be moved, is in the wrong place and after the reconstruction will be visible if I wear any sort of low cut top. So there is nothing I can do about that. So let's not even talk about it shall we? Good good. Moving on…

And so I get dressed and sit down to talk about my options. Having, as I do, “generous boobs” he suggests the best option is to get a DIEP flap – they take the fat from your tummy and pop it up on your chest, rehook up the blood supply and bob’s your uncle – a tummy tuck AND a new boob. All in one! (I’m fairly sure I invented this after leaving the appointment, but in my head, he clapped when he told me about the tummy tuck. Actually clapped.).

Well that sounds just dandy – a tummy tuck and a new boob. And do I have enough fat for this magical operation that will supply me with the waistline of an 18 year old, a new boob AND 5 days of morphine?

“Oh yes. You have more than enough for a double D.” Wham. More than enough? More than enough???

And how long, pray tell, do I have to wait for this.

“Well, the average waiting time is a year.” Pow.

A fricking year.

It’s pretty hard not to cry when you’ve been without the sodding thing for 18 months and someone tells you that, I’ll tell you that for nowt. Especially when it’s combined with a metaphorical jiggle of your belly fat…