Another day

A year ago today I met a fantastic woman who has become a brilliant friend.  Although our journeys have been slightly different, we started in the same way, under the surgeons knife in Wycombe Hospital.

Today is the anniversary of my op.  I have, for some obscure reason, found this morning tougher than the anniversary of my diagnosis.  I cannot fathom why this would be as I have never really been THAT concerned about having it lopped off as you will already know.

Any wobbles I can only put down to not having a day out with the children planned to distract me - the trip to Woburn on the 10th was a militarily planned operation - tickets purchased in advance, cloak of mystery developed to tease the children and everything prepaid so no need to worry about anything.  This is not to say I did not wobble at all on the day - I had one slight hiccup when I could not find the entrance to the Sea Lion theatre for the 3 o'clock show.  The disabled access to the theatre is practically non existent and I ended up at the bottom of the theatre with a long steep flight of stairs between me and the entrance.  For some reason it became the most important part of the day that we did not miss the sea lion show.  Yeah yeah, I know it is just a sea lion show, we've seen it 100 times at Whipsnade but it became absolutely imperative that I did not fail at this.  I think it is one of the most mortifying moments of my life that when a member of staff came up to help, having been alerted by a colleague that I was looking for assistance ,I was in the middle of a flood of tears.  I was so embarrassed and there was NO WAY I was about to explain!  The gentleman very kindly let us into the theatre through the bottom fire escape, brought us our 3D glasses for the cinema experience after the sea lion show and there we sat for a slightly-squirming-with-embarrassment half an hour as the show didn't start until 3.30pm...

Note to self: NEVER EVER have another meltdown in public. 

I think if I am totally honest, my slightly more fragile state of mind is due to the fact that my fabulous Dad is currently residing in hospital having had an enormous operation to remove a cancerous tumour from his pancreas.  This involved the removal of half his pancreas, his entire gall bladder and some of his small intestine.  He is doing brilliantly, now back on solids and the surgeons seem to have reconnected him properly as everything is now working again.  Sorry.  Was that a bit too much information?  Anyway,  I am sure if you know my Dad you will join me in wishing him well. 

I think it is perhaps a little too close to the bone to have my Dad going through surgery and chemo within a year of my journey starting and this is why it is dwelling in my mind so much.

Having said that, and rambled on about my anniversaries this is not to say I am in any way cowed by this.  I got through it.  So can he.  Plus, although I have marked two significant anniversaries this time, I have no intention of a repeat performance in future.  They will again become just ordinary days and I will, in years to come, have to think hard to recall the dates of it all. 

Having said that, I reserve the right to feel extremely nauseous on 18th June.

One year on

A year ago tomorrow I received the potentially earth shattering news that I had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  As I said at the time, nothing changed in that moment except my plans for the next few months and to a certain extent that still stands.  My only addition to that would be that I now live in fear of various tweaks and aches and, through personal experience I am much more aware of how this disease can ruin and destroy lives.  Not just those of the patient but their families and friends. 
I've just read that back and it is wrong.  I do not live in fear insomuch as that implies it is governing me and ruling my life.  I am just more aware of these things and I get them checked out.  Sometimes this is bordering on the neurotic but then I think that it is better to be safe than sorry.
Good things have come out of the last year.  A greater appreciation of the little things in life.  A rearrangement of priorities.  For example, and this is just picked out of thin air because it has just leapt into my head, I am embarrassed to admit that I used to set a lot of store by Valentine's Day.  It was incredibly important to me that I was shown love and appreciation on this one day above the others either side of it.  Whether this was brought about by years spent at all girls schools where the florist made regular trips to the front door, alas never for me, or an inherent insecurity in my own attractiveness I shudder to think.  This year, I found it so unimportant that I even failed to get Ian a card!!!  Unheard of.  If I need reminding that he loves me every day, regardless of which Saint is being celebrated (or massacred) all I need to do is remember his support, kindness and unwavering love during my treatment and recuperation.  One thing that sticks in my mind is how careful and gentle he was when helping me walk to the loo (yep, dignity is something that vanishes pretty fast) when clobbered by chemo.
Another thing I have noticed is the different ways people deal with a diagnosis and subsequent treatment.  I know I have been VERY upfront about mine (although slightly less frontage these days, oops and the dark humour is still there).  Having said that I have fiercely protected my children from knowing exactly what was going on.  We have not referred to the cancer by name in front of them, the chemo was called bad medicine and they helped pull out my hair when it started falling out (even though in retrospect this was not a great idea cos it made my scalp very sensitive for at least a fortnight!).  Now I know not everyone is going to agree with our method of dealing with this in relation to the children but i do cling to the knowledge that each parent knows their own children the best and we knew that they were too young to fully grasp the situation so we talked them through the whole thing in stages as each thing came along. 
The main reason we avoided calling it cancer in front of them was in case they went to school and mentioned it and another child said "oh yeah, my [insert any relative of your choice] had that and they died" thus completely freaking out a small person whilst at school where necessary reassurance was not immediately accessible.
After all.  Two of the main reasons for fighting so hard were my children.
Well.  That and my natural bloody mindedness.
I have recently filled in a form to detail other family members who have been affected by cancer.  This entailed one full set of grandparents, an uncle and an aunt all on my Dad's side.  I filled out the form and gave it to my doctor to send off.  Two days later I had to phone them up to add my Dad to the list.
He is OK.  He has to have a big operation and then chemo but at the moment the doctors seem pretty confident that they have caught it early which is incredibly lucky as his particular cancer is normally symptomless and usually only causes visible issues once it is too late.  Thankfully Dad's one tumour blocked his bile duct so the gentle orange hue was a good indicator!!!
So 2013 is not going to go quite how we thought either....