Having escaped Manchester in rush hour traffic, we made it half way back up the motorway and decided to bail into a service station for an unhealthy tea (and met parentals of her little mate who had also been at the awards – we had the same idea!). We had a tired cub and very tired parents. So once we made it home the cub was bailed rapidly into her bed.
We have had the very best of days and now, randomly, watching TV to unwind, I have found another boob lump in the ‘good’ boob.
Same place as last time and the time before – which have all been cysts. But seriously, is my body and my boobs having a laugh with me. Three radio sessions in and I am on countdown mode to ending this damn journey and then this. Bollacks.
F**k my actual life.
It is a Thursday night and I know that I won’t get seen tomorrow (Friday). I’ll be lucky to get through to the department at the hospital to be honest. So I know that I’m in for a long weekend. My pragmatic head has to kick in here, and I manage to shoot it in strongly tonight. It’s a cyst. It has to be. It’s too much of a coincidence not to be. I’ve just finished chemo for gods sake. It can’t possibly be cancerous. It just can’t. I’ve 17 days left of active treatment and then I am done. I cannot do more surgery, chemo, radio. Not now. So this is just a cyst. Just a cyst. A cyst.
The man cub bails to bed, and I have stayed up as I’m wired and trying to condition my brain to deal with this latest lump as a cyst. I happen upon ‘Sex in the City’ on a random Sky channel, and it is the episode where Sam is preparing for a black tie dinner speech in front of an entire room of cancer patients. I know I laughed the first time I saw this episode aired – I mean what’s not to laugh at. But by god, it was like a tonic that I hadn’t ordered tonight. I was absolutely rolling about laughing. Living it now, with the hot sweats, the bald head, the randomness of sweating – it was so real to me and so well encapsulated in that episode. The dark humour was just what I needed.
I know that many go through this crazy menopause, whether early or as nature intended. But I don’t think it is ever talked about enough. I equated it to a scenario in my head tonight – you know when you’ve been on an air conditioned flight and step out of the plane doors onto tarmac that is 40 degrees hotter than the country you left and the sweat appears from nowhere? Yep – that’s the feeling. But it is unknown when that sweat appears. That is the frustrating bit. There is no control over when those plane doors open. Aaaaaagh.
I also realise tonight that I might actually need to do a revisit of Sam’s portrayal of the cancer journey now in ‘Sex in the City’. I don’t think I ever give it a second thought when I watched it released as was a lot younger and much more naive, but the tonic laughter I have had tonight was good. I needed that distraction.
Day 4 radio commences and my dad picks me up again. My headspace wasn’t great this morning so he dealt with an absolute grumpy mare. He also tested my limits with the following driving experiences:
- Stalled as left my house – randomly.
- ‘Is it right here’ – no Dad, it isn’t, it’s the next right, the same as it was two days ago and for the two days prior to that;
- (on the way back out of the hospital and at the same point as the previous comment) ‘Is it left here’ – again, no Dad, it’s the next left as above!
- (As someone attempts to cut us up) ‘I don’t know how people pass there test these days’ – no me neither Dad, me neither.
- Three lots of whiplash at traffic lights that are changing as we approach / changed half a mile back. Through the windscreen each time regardless!
I finally got to work in one piece (just) and put the call into Pauline. I had my big girl pants on. It’s Friday, there is no way I will get seen today. I’ll deal with the weekend. It is just a cyst.
Pauline rang me back later in the afternoon and I instigated the appointment being during general clinic the next Wednesday. At 4pm. It’s going to be a long bugger of a weekend. But the plan is to bury my head in the sand, pretend everything is ok (I’m a practiced pro now) and just get on with it.
Day 4 side effects of radio are starting to kick in now though – a dry cough that feels like I’m coughing in the Sahara (radio affects your lungs which is a lovely side effect), and it’s set my sciatica off so that every time I cough I double up like an 90 year old granny. FML. I am living my best life today.
I have this. Do I? Maybe? Possibly? Oh, dammit – of course I do. I’ve had everything else so I might as well have this while I’m at it.