Mortal terror

By the time I publish this I will be 5 weeks post surgery. My operation was about 6 hours long and I went home the next morning. I took nothing stronger than paracetamol and anti inflammatories in the recovery period. I walked for one hour every day. Immediately post surgery I felt relief and then euphoria about the cancer being gone.

I was very surprised at how well I felt.

I have struggled with this piece because although some bits of it are quite frankly ridiculous, not much is funny and some of it was downright terrifying. Rather than being clever or funny I think I am just going to have to be honest if I am ever going to finish it.

My parents came to see me when I got home from the hospital and Mum, our cat and I went for a walk down the stream path across the road. Alfie the cat was very excited and climbed a few trees. He was on his own with that I’m afraid. No tree climbing for me for 6 weeks.

Our cleaner came the following day and was shocked to see me up, dressed and pottering about. It is fair to say that I am not very good at lying around. The worst thing about the first week post surgery were the two drains I had to carry around with me.

After 72 hours my bandages could come off. There was much joking at the hospital about the bandages (which weren’t quite tight enough and kept needing to be hoisted up) being more like a belt. I was scared to look at what lay beneath. My husband helped me cut the bandages off. I was surprised. I don’t know what I expected but it was not what I saw. I expected to be mangled. The incision is below the breast so the chest is completely clean. My reduced right breast was sitting high and magnificent. My husband told me I looked like a yoga instructor, which I took as a compliment.

I texted Steve “You have done an amazing job. Thank you”.

He replied “You are so very welcome”.

Five days post surgery I noticed my armpit - or lack thereof. For those of you who have given birth, the shock was similar to noticing ”down below“ post squeezing your baby out. My armpit was just a great big swelling that extended behind to where the latissimus dorsi muscle attaches to your arm (that bit of muscle you can see behind your armpit). I freaked out and walked up the road to see one of my GP’s nurses. She examined my armpit and looked at me in a sympathetic way and basically told me I was being a hypochondriac (but in a very kind way). She said something along the lines of “You’ve had someone digging around in your armpit and removing all you lymph nodes. Some post surgical swelling is to be expected.“ I felt a bit stupid and continued on my walk.

Eight days post surgery was my first visit with my surgeon. I was expecting my pathology results. I was quickly told that they were not back yet. In a Monty Pythonesque development the pathologist had cut themself handling my tissue and would I mind getting a blood test to confirm I didn’t have hepatitis or HIV? Jeez, why not? So many needles have been stuck into my right arm what was one more? I don’t have hepatitis or HIV by the way. My drains came out. I was booked in again for the following week. I asked to see Jeremy, the radiographer, if he was free. He was so delighted at how well I looked he spontaneously hugged me.

The following week I was back for my pathology results. I also had two seromas that Jeremy drained under ultra sound. I knew I had one lymph node with cancer in it. Twelve nodes had come out of my left armpit and the cancer had spread to five of them - one right up inside my armpit. That news made me feel sick to my stomach. Arrangements were made to send me off for a PET CT scan to check whether the cancer had spread, to oncology and to physio to get my full range of motion back in my left arm and to help redirect my lymphatic system. Steve could tell I was rattled. I could tell he was rattled for me. He hugged me before I left.

The 6 days between my pathology results and my scan results were the worst 6 days of my journey so far. I was terrified. Truly it was mortal terror. Every twinge I felt was an imaginary tumor somewhere else. Once again I had trouble breathing. I also had trouble sleeping, eating, focusing and being in the present. Late at night I contemplated what it would mean to have a tumour in my brain, my liver, my bones and to not survive.

In anticipation of my upcoming chemotherapy I went and had my flu shot. I ran into my GP in the waiting room. She had seen my pathology results and was concerned and sympathetic. It rattled me further. It also didn’t help that my flu shot made me feel quite unwell.

My first physio appointment was on 1 June. Megan, my physio, explained that her appointments were nice appointments where I would leave feeling better - and I do. After that first session with Megan, 2 and a half weeks post surgery, I left with no pain. The pain I thought was from the incision in my armpit was actually cording and Megan fixed it. I have a wee exercise programme to complete each day which I usually do before my hour long walk. I surprised my work mates by visiting them after physio and took them cupcakes for morning tea. They were surprised at how well I looked. It was lovely to see everyone. I really miss them.

On 2 June I had my PET CT scan. The scan itself was infinitely better than the MRI. I was placed in a room with Netflix and watched TV while I was infused with radioactive glucose for about an hour. The scan itself took about 45 minutes but unlike the MRI it was quiet and comfortable. I was radioactive for 5 hours post scan!

On 3 June I met Sheridan, my oncologist, with my dear friend Inger. I thought it would be hard to like a doctor more than I liked Jeremy and Steve, but they have competition. She has a brain like mine (only much, much cleverer) that jumps about. She apologised for the mental gymnastics, but it was fine, I hadn’t even noticed and I had followed her easily. She was the one that delivered the news that the scan result was clear. I felt sad for Steve because he had done nothing but deliver bad news to me. He deserved to have some good news to give me. We formulated shock and awe part 2 including a non funded drug for early breast cancer - perjeta. My drug combo is taxotere, herceptin, perjeta and carboplatin.

After 3 June, when I finally knew what I was facing, I let myself grieve. For a couple of weeks I did quite a lot of crying. I cried in the car, in the shower, when people asked how I was, when opening cards and gifts, responding to messages and I made lots of ugly crying faces to my husband. The pet rock one of my quarry experts gave me made me sad and sentimental. I’m so annoyed that I am missing my quarry trial. If we had not been locked down in February that trial would have happened in March and I would have been lead counsel. I had that file for 6 years! I know quite a lot about greywacke, it’s extraction, it’s processing and the logistics of carting it about. Alas it is all for nought (except for my pet rock) - though maybe I will be well enough for any appeal.

Since my meeting with Sheridan things have moved quickly towards chemotherapy. I had some blood and urine tests to complete and an echocardiogram to establish what my pre treatment condition is. I have had a porta-cath installed in my chest to deliver chemo directly into a vein in my neck. It is a bit ouchy and weird to be honest.

On 10 June I visited the Mercy Breast Clinic, still sedated from my porta-cath insertion, to see Steve. I have healed really well and don’t need to go back for 3 months. Steve hugged me good bye and I struggled not to cry. I am so incredibly grateful for the care and compassion shown to me and for the skilled job Steve did. Julianne carried my bag to the cab and hugged me goodbye too and again I struggled not to cry. It is like when you spend months with your obstetrician, going through an incredibly intense time and then baby comes and you say goodbye one day and don’t see them again until you need a gynaecologist. I cried in the cab on the way home.

In the lead up to chemo I have had my hair cut twice. First to shoulder length and then short. I also bought a couple of wigs. In a hilarious twist Sheridan called me on the same day I’d bought two wigs to advise that they had just taken delivery of a hair preserving machine and would I like to try it? Of course I would. Here I am with short hair. I don’t hate it.

I believe I have recovered so well from surgery because of my pre surgery condition and my post surgery diet and exercise. I will write separately on exercise and nutrition. Chemotherapy starts for me on Wednesday exactly 6 weeks post surgery. 6 weeks post surgery is also when I am deemed able to resume my normal activities and I am looking forward to cracking into some spin classes and resistance training. Heck, if I can’t work I might as well work on my physical fitness and being the best, healthiest version of poisoned, nauseous, mono boobed and potentially bald me, I can be.