It seems like it's been a long day, which is a bit odd since I have spent the bulk of it asleep. I was already awake at 6 when the radio leapt into life, but most of the stuff I needed to do was done - just a case of stuffing the laptop in the bag and getting dressed. I was deeply unselfish and made coffee for DH, smelling it was very painful, knowing that I couldn't have any. When we went outside it was clear that someone on the street was having bacon for breakfast, which was really mean of them!
I have to admit to being pretty nervous about the whole thing, particularly as when I plugged my music player into the laptop to charge last night it leapt into life with Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" - a pretty poor choice, in my not very humble opinion. This was particularly painful as it played exactly the same track when I sat down in the waiting room the day I came in for the biopsy. However, since I seem to still be here, so...
We arrived at the ward on the stroke of 7, which was unusually punctual for us. I was told that I was scheduled for "knife to skin" at 8 and would expect to be going down to theatre at about 7.30. In the end it was rather later than that - the clock said 8.40 as I was wheeled past.
The surgeons arrived to talk to me - the Great Man and the Sidekick - I hadn't seen the Sidekick since he took the biopsy that fateful day all those months ago, so it was nice to see him again. There was much drawing of lines and dots on the relevant boob, which tickled rather, and I was struggling not to burst into fits of giggles. He seemed rather pleased to discover that my left nipple was (and presumably always has been) a centimetre higher than the right - so he promised to line them up perfectly. How cool is that, fifty-some years and I will have even nipples!?!?
The surgeons eventually left, and after a few minutes trying to distract myself with Alison Weir's book about Eleanor of Aquitaine I shuffled off to the loo. This worked like a charm as always, I got myself settled and there was a knock at the door, which was the anaesthetist. He was most charming and helpful and not a bit like Dr Guy Secretan (which was an enormous comfort!), doing his best to put me at ease and explaining what was going to happen. He eventually left and within a few minutes the posse came to take me away...
The theatre staff all wear scrubs in a colour which is apparently called "Raspberry", along with fetching pink crocs on their feet... all very cheerful and clearly a happy team, another great comfort... it must be said that watching Green Wing before surgery is probably a bad idea, though. After a few minutes all the team were assembled and I was wheeled into the anaesthetic room. (embarrassing detail alert, IB1 you have been warned!) There was then a bit of a delay while the impatient patient became impatient to have a pee... cardboard bedpans don't work very well if they aren't supported by a solid one, they get crushed, but they are far too wide to wedge between the legs for a standup pee. Add to this the embarrassment factor if one gets it wrong and ends up with either a wet bed or a puddle on the floor - all very traumatic. However with help from a kindly raspberry nurse all was well and the anaesthetist was allowed to get on with his job.
It's just occurred to me that raspberry-clad nurses are probably appropriate when the target for the attack is a nipple... my readers in the US and beyond might have to ask a Brit to explain that one!
Anyhow, after the moment of panic as I felt myself letting go of consciousness, the next thing I knew was a feeling of immense sickness as I heard my name spoken. This brought a number of feelings to the surface - mostly an immense relief that I was still alive! But also (starts sentence with preposition HAH! Yah boo Mr Evans, I have waited thirty-odd years to do that in quite such a public manner!) the realisation that the tumour is gone and that there should be no active cancer growing in the boob. OK, I know it's not quite that simple, but boy, does it feel better!!!!
The next hour or so passed in a haze of sickness and different drugs to try and control the nausea, but eventually I was wheeled back up to my room at about 1pm.
The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same vein, with the nausea slowly fading. I rang my daughter to reassure her that she wouldn't be getting her inheritance just yet awhile, and number one Granddaughter who I know was worrying about me - she's had a few bad experiences with hospitals and gets very nervous about this sort of thing - and left messages for others in the family who were unreasonably out enjoying themselves or working or some other unsuitable activity! DH arrived just before 5, having had a jolly day playing with his new toy - the "project" 2CV, dating from the early 1960s. This is a rebuild project someone else has started and is basically a kit for him to assemble - although to add a challenge there are a few bits missing and he has spent today trying to identify the gaps! Naturally, dinner arrived at the same time as my beloved, so he was treated to watching me eat. By this time I was feeling almost human and ravenous, so the haddock and pasta was most welcome.
Eventually the nurse removed the drip, as I am now drinking water properly and don't need the extra hydration, and switched off the oxygen supply which I was given to help me come round properly.
The Great Man arrived to examine his handiwork about 6.30, and said that he was quite pleased with it all, and would be back for another look in the morning. I can't really tell myself what it looks like, as there is a big white pad over most of it and a load of sticking plaster which appears to be holding my right nipple on - although I am sure it's firmly fixed underneath! It's rather sore and feels a bit battered but I have had some co-dydramol which should keep the pain in check - it's all just a bit bruised. (note to self - where did I put the arnica tablets?)
DH organised getting the laptop out for me, and neatly arranged the elderflower cordial, music player and everything else for me before he left at about 7 to go home and eat the soup that he was supposed to have for his lunch but didn't as he had a houseful of 2CV enthusiasts who contented themselves with eating us out of house and burnt flapjacks. Guys, next time I make flapjacks I promise that there will be less charcoal and absolutely no smoke and flames involved!
There is now a cup of hot chocolate heading my way, possibly more drugs and I think I will abandon the joys of the interweb thingy and return to the Duchess Eleanor for a while. Before I sign off, however, I would like to thank everyone who has emailed, texted, facebooked and sent me messages of support - it's been a huge help to know that there's a small army of folks sending their prayers, healing magic, reiki and general positive vibes my way. Thanks to you all!
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