Yuletide joy

It's been a day of peaks and troughs.

My poorly friend made it through the night... this wasn't a foregone conclusion, his kidneys had failed catastrophically and his family were told to prepare for the worst. It seems unfair, he's 48, has never smoked and has had a drink about twice a year in the thirty years I have known him. He's spent all his life doing "good works" - youth work, scouts, special constabulary - a really nice bloke. And it's all gone horribly wrong. I've learnt, though, in the last couple of years, that the world isn't fair, and shit things happen to nice people.
As the day has gone on, the updates have been getting slightly more positive. When they took the DNR notice from his bed, that was a pretty big milestone - a few hours more and they reduced the drugs they've given him to keep him from moving - now they are talking about letting him wake up. It's been a long slog so far, and there is a long way to go, but now they are saying that he's stable, rather than critical.  If he can get through another night, and breathe for himself, then there will be cause for real celebration upon the morrow.
He does seem to have had his usual effect on technology though - so far he's broken three dialysis machines...

On a less positive note, I saw my next-door-but-a-couple neighbour today - she was diagnosed with a cancer in her jaw a couple of months ago, which was discovered at a dental check up. She has had some chemo, but I hadn't seen her for a few weeks, and another neighbour had mentioned that things weren't going too well... It seems that the cancer is pretty advanced, and they've told her that they can't do anything more.  The surgery they would have had to do would have left her unable to speak or eat, the radiotherapy would have burnt her face painfully and it would all have only given her a few more weeks. So she's decided that she's had enough, and she's withdrawn from the active treatment now. She's very frail, and talking to me for half an hour wore her out so much she had to lay down...

So, a day of contrasts. Fear, joy, sadness... It's the longest night, as I type it's about half past midnight, and so we're about half way through the longest night.  The Solstice is at just after 5am here - when we are as far from the Sun as we will be this year - from then on, we start the slow but steady climb back to spring, when there will be new life and growth all around us.  Before that spring, we have to get through the rest of the winter... but knowing that spring is coming is what will get us through.

Whatever you celebrate at this time of year, I hope that you have a merry and peaceful one.  Sending Yuletide blessings to you all...
FFFF

It wasn't my fault

Mornings are difficult places in my life - never been very good at them, have long considered that 6am is better treated as bedtime rather than wake-up time.  However, I stopped working nightshifts long ago and the unbridled nightly partying hasn't yet started (although wandering around London in evening dress at dawn is something that everyone should experience!) so I do have to pull myself from the arms of Morpheus before repeat of the Archers is over (that's a joke, you understand).
One of the big dilemmas in our house is what station the radio is tuned to... Was Radio4, because that's where the truth is (if it ain't on the Today programme then I don't believe in it).  Then I got traumatised by being woken up by John Prescott in the morning - and face it, there are few people who wouldn't be pretty frightened by the thought of that gentleman in the bedroom... So we switched over to Radio 2, and happy times with the Togmeister.  Then Sir Terry decided to retire to Wogan Towers for the forseeable, only emerging for the odd charity show, and was replaced by Chris Evans.  Now he's funny - in small doses - but not really what I want to be awakened by.  So we're back to Radio 4, and Jim Naughtie gently bringing me the truth as I drag myself into consciousness.

So there I was this morning, gently smelling the coffee and gathering the energy to face the day... when the words started to filter through the fog.  Cancer, causes, new study published... The big joy of the Today programme is that if you miss something, you can be sure it will be back again in a few minutes.  They give you lots of warnings about what's coming up, then lots of reminders of what's just gone.  So I heaved myself up, gulped down half a pint of caffeine juice and prepared to hear the exciting new wisdom.

40% of all cancers could be avoided or prevented by simple lifestyle choices, they said.  130,000 cases a year, they said. "Many people believe cancer is down to fate or 'in the genes' and that it is the luck of the draw whether they get it.  Looking at all the evidence, it's clear that around 40% of all cancers are caused by things we mostly have the power to change." they said. Rah-rah-rah, whoopee,  light dawns, how can we have been so foolish all these years, that was the implication.  Pack in the fags, eat more fresh fruit and lose a bit of weight, bingo!
Well, whoopee-doo.
What about the other 60%?  Which group am I in? What about those of us who enjoy a glass of wine occasionally and could probably do to shift a few pounds, but try to look after ourselves.  How come it happened to us, then?  Is it my fault that I got cancer?  Did I need a few more satsumas in my Christmas stocking every year, should I have worked harder in PE as a child? Would that have made a difference?  I am carrying half a stone I'd like to lose mostly because my jeans would look better, but did that give me a dose of boob rot?  I never smoked, what did I do wrong? 

NO!
Let's all shout this out loud.  BREAST CANCER IS NOT MY FAULT.

Is there a causal link like the one between lung cancer and cigarettes... a product that the government in this country took £8.7billion in revenue (that's just the tobacco duty!)  from in 2009-10?  That's a known killer, but it's ok because it raises a lot of tax money.  No, there isn't any such link.

Breast cancer doesn't earn the treasury anything.  Neither do brain tumours, the bone cancer that's eaten half my neighbour's face recently, or the lymphatic cancer that put a good friend through hell a couple of years ago.  There is no real evidence to say what caused any of them.  Sometimes there's a faulty gene you can point at, but even then the relationship isn't one-to-one - some people with the BRCA genes don't ever develop cancer at all - so what triggered it in the ones that do?  Was it all our fault?

NO!

I want to go and shout it down the street again.

MY CANCER IS NOT MY FAULT.

LISA's CANCER IS NOT HER FAULT.

ROSE's CANCER IS NOT HER FAULT.  

KATH's CANCER IS NOT HER FAULT.

OUR CANCER IS NOT OUR FAULT!

Don't get me wrong.  It's great that we're identifying things that are responsible for cancer.  We know that tobacco smoking makes people die, we write it on the packets and if they still choose to buy it then well, they're adults making a choice I guess.  We know that the Human Papilloma Virus is a big factor in Cervical cancer, and I am glad that we're vaccinating young women to protect them - my oldest granddaughter is just coming up to that age and I hope that she will never have to worry about that particular threat.  It's good that we can find the lifestyle factors that put us at risk and let people know, so that they can make informed choices.  But it's not good to proclaim all this news to the world in such general terms, with such fanfare, that the message that hits the waiting ears of the eager Radio 4 listener is that it's easy to avoid cancer by just following all this good advice.  It's not that easy.  I know.

Rant over now, thank you for listening.
Actually, no, just one more thing.

GETTING CANCER WASN'T MY FAULT.

One of those letters

Remember the best letters ever... the ones that you treasure, holding it close to the heart, kissing the signature, knowing the thoughts that went into the composition and blindly worshipping the hand that wrote it. Or the fingers that typed it... Or the voice that dictated it...
Whatever.
However it was created I am going to treasure this one - frame it and hang it on the wall so I can see it every day...
I know that there's nothing in there that I didn't already know... but it's so good to see it written down. "The cancer has been completely removed and the glands are clear" - the words I longed to hear...

I am just off to sit in a corner and blub for a few minutes, whilst hugging the letter...

More coffee please...

Guess what - I am still here...

The Great Man arrived this morning just after nine (I was up, washed and sat smiley in the chair by ten to eight this morning after he arrived at the same time as breakfast yesterday!), without any sidekick or followers at all! However, he said that he really wants to get the drain out, but I appear to be still leaking. There comes a point where the risk of infection caused by having the drain in starts to outweigh the problems caused by taking it out... and it appears that he thinks that point will be tomorrow. If I am still leaking and the drain is removed, the fluid will build up into a Seroma which will have to be aspirated (drained) with a syringe. That would be dull, but we will see how the fluid builds up in my funky handbag today. It would be nice not to have this thing to carry around any more, I have to say. At least he said that the fluid is a nice colour... sort of orangey with bits of blood in it, not to my taste but there you go.

Here's a nice picture of my new best friend!

Anyway, hopefully I will be out of here tomorrow some time.

A recruitment agency rang me this morning asking if I was seriously interested in a job I sent a CV for yesterday... I filled in the application as much to see who the employer was, as the location is close to where I worked a while ago. The salary offered was a bit lower than I would have wanted. OK, actually his opening gambit was actually about fifteen grand lower than I would have wanted... although he managed to revise his initial estimate up a fair bit while we were talking. However, having chatted to the agency this morning, the job actually sounds rather fun, and the money isn't that far off the mark if the work is interesting - so I have asked him to put me forward for it, stressing that I would intend to stay in the role and not leg it for something with more dosh at the first opportunity.

I am a bit concerned about all the drugs I am taking. I have paracetamol, which I am happy to take for a while, and some codeine, which I would rather not be taking as apart from anything else it tends to bung up the botty rather... There is another little orange one which is a different painkiller (can't remember what it is, see, I will take anything they give me!) (update - it's diclofenac, which is another painkiller) and of course there is the new stuff, pregabalin (which sounds like an expectant dwarf to me)... This is supposed to do wonders for the numbness in my arm and back, but has a long list of warnings - including "do not take with alcohol". Now I am not a complete lush (honest!) but I would like to have a glass of wine on Friday evening, and since I am not permitted to drive for a bit I thought I would take the (somewhat rare) opportunity to do so... but now I don't know if I can! It might be that alcohol will increase the possibility of drowsiness, so if I am not driving and am going home to bed then it will be fine, but it might be that it will actually make me ill, as is the case with antibiotics like metronidazole! Hopefully, Anaesthetic man will arrive and tell me all about it - I guess that will be tomorrow rather than today though. It also is reputed to bring a risk of weight gain... but then so does everything.
I was sort of hoping that the Great Man might be back with some histology results today, after their big meeting, but no sign. They did say it might take a bit longer than that... but you wouldn't expect me to be patient, would you?

Back to the library books I guess. I wonder how I will survive at home when there isn't a steady stream of coffee delivered... I can't help thinking that it probably isn't so good for me. At home I have one cup of proper coffee first thing and then drink water - here I am putting about two pints of the stuff away over the course of the day (and eating a small mountain of biscuits) and it is probably why I can't get to sleep at night and am sat reading at midnight. Good think I am not on a ward disturbing other folk!

Library fever

Well, this morning I was mostly reading the John Le Carré novel that I had hidden in the bottom drawer for emergencies...
I woke up this morning in real pain - I felt as though I had been stabbed in the shoulder, which I suppose isn't that far from the truth! Some poor innocent came in to ask if they could take my blood pressure and was very nearly bitten for her pains... I could barely think, and the idea of being messed with was most unwelcome. However, once I had remembered that I needed to breathe as well as whimper and swear I managed to roll onto my back and submit to the various prods and squeezes required to determine that I am still alive... Fortunately the process of "doing the obs" was swiftly followed by the much more helpful process of "dishing out the drugs". This had two beneficial effects - to swallow the pills I did have to sit up, which actually proved to be more comfortable than lying down, and the cocktail of assorted painkillers which was supplied did promise to kick the pants of whatever was making me feel so rotten.

The Great Man and Sidekick came to visit at just after 8am - I don't know when these guys have any time for a personal life, or sleep, they seem to be here all the time, including all over the weekend... The drain was prodded, the boob was poked and much murmuring took place. It seems that the odd bit of skin on my boob which isn't covered in a dressing is a little pink and maybe a bit warm - so rather than wait for an infection to develop to a point where it's obvious, they decided that I should start some antibiotics just in case... seeing as how my immune system has been battered to heck by the chemo over the last few months, it doesn't seem like a bad idea.

I decided I was going to start asking questions this morning - I haven't really had the energy in my brain for the last few days, and there have been a few people coming in to talk at me when I haven't really grasped what they have said. It shows that I do need DH to be with me all the time, he listens and absorbs the stuff when my brain can't produce a more sensible response than "meh"...
I've been reading another blog, by the astonishing Lisa Lynch, who hasn't just had to deal with a simple dose of breast cancer, she's found that she has the ba&tard gene which gives her and family a hugely increased chance of both breast and ovarian cancer. She's gone on to have her remaining breast and her ovaries removed to try to prevent any further problems - all at the tender age of 30! Her blog is brilliant, I won't use the soppy words like "inspiring" - suffice to say that I have found many of her experiences to be painfully familiar and have laughed and shuddered in equal measure. If you go to look, be aware that she is a bit prone to the use of language that might offend... but even her Dad seems to have got over worrying about it now!
I have a daughter and a niece, and there are four little girls in the generation after that, so the possible presence of that ba&tard gene is a bit of a worry. So I asked the Great Man about BRCA-2 screening... The NHS won't screen anyone who doesn't meet certain criteria - and that generally means having two or more close relatives with breast or ovarian cancer, or having breast cancer which was diagnosed before age 30 or so. I don't meet those criteria. My sister died when she was in her twenties, so we can't say what might or might have happened to her, but my Mum lived to 80 and the cancer that got her was from smoking. Both my Grandmothers lived to a ripe old age, and I have never heard any reports of cancer from the various aunts and cousins on either Mum's or Dad's side. So on the whole I have to agree that it seems likely that my cancer was a "sporadic" case and that the next generation aren't likely to be at any increased risk. And while financial aspects are the least concern in situations like this, the test costs about two grand, so I can see why the test is only done where there is evidence of a family history.

I have done a bit more research about the new painkillers that the nice pain-specialist/anaesthetist gentleman prescribed. The Great Man was talking about them this morning, and when I commented that they hadn't made much difference he said that they take about four or five days to start working... Now it's not like me to take a pill before I have googled it, but as I said my resistance is pretty low at the moment and I would swallow rabbit droppings if someone carrying a stethoscope handed them to me in a small paper cup. However, I did the due diligence bit today and discovered that Pregabalin is indeed used to treat epilepsy, but has shown great results in the treatment of "neuropathic pain" - and since I have a great deal of numbness and tenderness in the area of my arm and back near to where the various incisions were made, it sounds like it could well be just what I need. Interestingly, it seems to have been used with some success in the treatment of Fibromyalgia, so there is someone in my family to whom I will be speaking upon the matter quite soon... Anyway, I will keep taking the tablets and see how things go over the next few days.

Can you tell I have worked out how to put hyperlinks in my blog now?

It's been a longish day. DH arrived mid-afternoon with a huge pile of library books, enough to keep even me occupied for a couple of days at least - including one which I had already got out last week but had forgotten about. He'd also spoken to our super neighbour, who turned up this evening with a bag of books for me - she also happens to be a nurse on a stroke unit and understands how normally placid people can go completely loopy when trapped in a hospital with no reading matter and only the telly showing Dead-Enders, the X-Factor and the barrage of reporting about Royal Weddings.
On that subject - I wouldn't volunteer to be Queen Catherine, the last three didn't do very well - Katherine of Aragon married the older brother, he died so she married the younger brother Prince Henry who became King Henry VIII, but was set aside for Anne Boleyn, Katherine Howard lost her head after getting caught playing around and Catherine Parr had a narrow escape when she was found to be reading subversive literature... Hmmm... we shall have to watch out in case history starts to repeat itself... I wish the girl the best of luck, she will need it!

A long day...

The registrar and SHO arrived about 9.30 this morning to tell me that the their leader would be around after lunch, but was busy operating at another hospital... The drain is still draining, and the dressings were all looking a bit manky. The amount of blood in the drain, as well as my consistently low blood pressure, meant that they want to examine my haemoglobin levels and such like... So after they left the nice nurse came and investigated the dressings, of which there seemed to be about five layers, all stuck together with a bit of blood and a lot of sticking plaster (or rather the modern replacement). She cleaned it all up and I got to see my newly relocated nipple for the first time - actually it looks exactly as it did, albeit with a scar all round now. It's all pretty numb, not just the nipple but the whole boob, most of my upper arm and quite a lot of my shoulder. I am assured that the sensation will come back as the bruising goes down and the swellings subside - I jolly well hope so!

One of our lovely Breast Care Nurses also came to visit this morning, which was nice, and she said that it was time for me to start doing the recommended post-operative exercises as outlined here... It all looks a bit trivial on their information leaflet. The first one is effectively "shrug your shoulders seven times"... OK, can manage that. Then "lock your fingers together in front of you and bring your arms up level with your shoulders - seven times". That was a bit more taxing... then "put your fingers on your shoulders with your elbows pointing forward, lift elbows level with shoulders - seven times"... Hmm, this was actually pretty hard work! I have to say that it was as much as I could do to get through the set... but hopefully repeating these regularly will improve the circulation and flexibility quickly. Lovely Breast Care Nurse came also said that exercise bikes would be a good idea to improve general fitness, and that walking (even on a treadmill) would be good all round, getting upper body movement going, but that the cross-trainer would probably be a Very Bad Idea... After a week of the cross-trainer I am inclined to agree with her!

The Great Man arrived just after lunch (mushroom soup - mmm) and pronounced that he was happy with the progress so far, but was less happy with the amount of fluid coming out of the side of me... There's no way the drain is coming out for at least a couple of days, he's thinking I might be out of here Thursday (THURSDAY!?!?!) all being well. Actually when pressed he thought Wednesday might be feasible, in fact he will push the lab for the histology report on the tissue he chopped out so that he can get those in time for their Multi-Disciplinary Team meeting on Wednesday morning so that he can come and see me in the afternoon, discuss the next phase and then let me go home. That sounds like a plan... So I then had to faff around finding numbers for the insurance company to ring them and let them know that I would be in here for a couple of days longer than planned. The nice lady there was most amused that I was worried enough to call them immediately - "We're not about to tell them to throw you out after the three days originally planned, you know! You just get better and I will talk to the hospital direct, don't worry about us!" So Customer Service brownie points to an insurance company beginning with A who are based in the county town of Norfolk.
Happy nurse has just brought me the afternoon drug instalment - confused me completely by replacing the little round orange tablet with a slightly bigger triangular white one... but they are exactly the same thing from different manufacturers. Proved I was checking though!

Before he left, the Great Man put my little discomforts into perspective. He will be round to see me after lunch tomorrow - in the morning he's doing a bilateral mastectomy. That means that some poor woman either has cancer in both boobs, or has discovered that she has the BRCA-2 gene, which means she has an 80% chance of developing breast cancer, so is having her breasts removed as a precaution. That must be a really awful decision to make - at least all my decisions were easy and obvious, not having the treatment was not an option!

Dear Husband arrived on way home from work, all tired and worn out, bless him... bearing fruit & nut chocolate and emery boards to tidy up my battered split thumbnail. He left with most of my book stash and a list of things to bring back in the morning... I sent him packing fairly quickly as he looked all in, poor lad. He's eaten all the flapjacks and most of the bread, will be reduced to buying such things if I am in here much longer - I am not really a domestic goddess but I have managed to provide bread for his lunch recently and I feel quite bad that my stay in here will be longer than the supply of bread I put in place!

My right arm is a bit swollen and puffy - I am hoping that this is just a result of the trauma from the operation and not a sign of long-term lymphoedema... my biggest fear at the moment is that, once it sets in it never goes and I have had two-thirds of the nodes removed on that side, so there is a risk... they say it's a 20% risk, so hopefully I will be lucky, but I have got off so lightly with other bits of the treatment so far that fate might just be saving this one up for me! Fingers crossed, eh?

Think it's time to see if I can get my head around the Duchess Eleanor again, since all the nice fluffy novels are finished and gone...

Tiny steps

Slept mostly well, which was good, until about 6am... winter is drawing in fast, it was still dark when I awoke. Feeling pretty mangled, but they are keeping the pain drugs coming. The Great Man arrived just after 9 to see me, seemed pretty pleased with his handiwork still, and not too bothered by the slight bleeding from one of the assorted wounds. The drain still has a lot of blood in it, so there won't be a rush back to the full dose of the anti-clotting stuff for a few days.
Just had a visit from another doctor who seems to be a pain specialist, who said that he's going change the pain medication, and add a new drug which is better at sorting out "nerve pain". I thought all pain was nerve pain, but he meant pain caused by some rat sticking a knife into flesh and cutting through nerves... a fine distinction! Anyway, we shall see how it performs, he said it can make one drowsy but we will see how it goes.
Lunch was very nice soup - it would be very easy to get very fat in hospital where one is routinely offered breakfast and then two three-course meals each day - this being Sunday I could have two roast dinners with sponge pudding for afters... however I was good and went for soup and an apple for lunch.
I will be in here for at least one more night, which in a way is a comfort, my blood pressure has been a bit low and I would like to feel that I had completely got over the anaesthetic before I go home. DH will be at work tomorrow and I feel better being here with people around me, which is a bit wimpish but I don't really care. My brain is still pretty mushy and so I will take all the support that is being offered.
Time for a little snooze, I think, all this thinking is wearing me out!

The next phase commences

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!

The condemned woman eats a hearty supper

Well, I won't be allowed breakfast! It's Friday, which is traditionally the night when someone else cooks my supper... the nice chef at the pub. We have a regular date with a mate at his local, the pubs round our way all have big signs promising 48 inches of Sky Sports, which isn't quite our cup of Earl Grey... The in-laws have invited themselves along tonight as they won't see me over the weekend as I will be locked away in the arms of the hospital... so hopefully we can hitch a ride in their car which means that I will get a glass of wine - this hardly ever happens on a Friday as I generally drive home.

I have a bag packed - new jim-jams! I haven't owned such things since I was about 15, I do own two rather fine Victorian-style white cotton nightdresses, but it seems that these will be unsuitable as they will rather restrict access to the boob area and the bit where the drains will be sticking out... so finest supermarket jim-jams with a little vest top with stringy straps - the fetching sports bra will spoil the effect but what the heck, I will have to keep my dressing gown on. Bearing in mind that I am a) bald with no eyebrows b) at least a stone heavier than I should be and c) having a socking great lump ripped out of my boob, I figure that fashion is low on the priority list today.

Dear Husband went off in the car this morning to pay a short visit to his old employers, where he's worked odd days over the last however-long since he left there - he never had a P45 as he never officially left, so his new employers can't get a tax code for him. The lady he spoke to on the phone seemed to think that if they gave him a P45 he couldn't then work part time for them... However, once he got to talk to the lady who knew, she gave him a P46 to fill in and give to the new boss and all is hunky dory again. However, in the meantime he got talking to someone, then went and lent a hand with a problem somewhere else, then bumped into someone he hadn't seen for a bit... in short, "I'll be home lunchtime-ish" turned into "Just leaving now and will pop and do a little job on the way home" at about 3.15... and it's about 45 minutes drive without any little jobs... This turned the normally mild-mannered bald half of this marriage into the screaming harridan bitch from Hell! I had not only got extra soup out of the freezer so that there was enough for two - none of which was going to be eaten as it was far too late in the day to start having lunch when we're going to have supper at 6.30 - but I as I was waiting for him to get home before I had mine I hadn't actually had anything to eat at all since a slice of bread at 8am, so I was pretty ratty to start with. Add to this that he'd gone off in my car leaving me with no way to get to the gym or the library, and probably wouldn't be back in time to get to the library which shuts at 5 on Fridays. Oh, and the tiny issue that I have to go into hospital for surgery under a general anaesthetic at 7am, and that I am actually quite nervous about this, I don't like being made unconscious, it frightens me something rotten, and I had rather hoped that he'd be around to spend the day with me (not to mention helping me rearrange the furniture in my office so I will have room to set the sewing machine up so I can amuse myself with that next week) and instead he'd spent the whole @*%@** day with his @*%@** mates!!!
When I called him back and asked him to try and get back before 5 so I could at least get some books to take to the hospital with me, he pointed out that the 2CV was sat on the drive and the keys were there (in his shoe) (no, I don't know why he keeps his car keys in his shoe either) if I wanted to use it. In truth I didn't as I haven't driven the 2CV for ages and it takes me ages to get the seat sorted out so I can see over the steering wheel (I am only little!), so he said that he would do his best to get back in time. Nevertheless, I was pretty hacked off and ran around the house ranting about the fact that I had no books (apart from the thousand or so on the bookshelf), that I hadn't been to the gym, that we never go anywhere on our own and our social life consists of going to the pub with his mate and having Sunday lunch with his family, and that (worst thing of all) HE WASN'T HERE!!!!!
I knew that I was being unreasonable and very silly, but things get that way when stress gets stacked up, and eventually it has to blow out somewhere. After I had finished slamming things around and banging cupboard doors all over the place (sorry neighbours!) my eyes (and fingers) landed on the bottle of Rescue Remedy, and calm and common sense returned in some small measure. I did the washing up, ran a bath and had a little weep with frustration. True to his word he was back on the stroke of 4, I have no idea how he managed to get back that quickly - he drove me to the library and back and apologised profusely for not being back for lunch. Poor thing, he takes all the flak when I get screwed up and he bears it all stoically (is that a real word?). I don't know quite what I would do without him, which is possibly why I get all bent out of shape when he doesn't appear when he says he's going to.

Anyway, I am calm (ish) now and I have got myself pretty much organised for tomorrow - just need to throw the laptop into its bag and I will be there. If his parents are joining us for supper then I can guilt-trip them into driving so I can get a glass of pinot grigio, which will be nice. I can eat and drink until midnight, and have water until 5am, so at least I don't have to sit around fasting all day. I knew there had to be some advantage to being first on the list and booked in for theatre at 8am!

Next update will hopefully be tomorrow afternoon some time, when I should be lump-free and thus a giant leap closer to the edge of the big dark scary forest... fingers crossed!