Two nights of nearly 8 hours of unbroken sleep... I hadn't had more than 4 hours unbroken since falling pregnant with the young PS. Wow!
The DH and young excited PS had packed up and were ready for the trip. The older PS was longing for his peaceful 2 days and off we went, in 2 cars (because I have to go to Hobart Thursday afternoon to see the Breast Surgeon) which enabled us to take 2 boys And 2 bikes. I felt a bit deceitful, but it was better than spoiling the young ones fun and upsetting the older before we had enough info for his inevitable questions.
Yay! The trip was just long enough to be exciting but short enough for the boys to jump into action almost as soon as we arrived. And because they were 2, we were redundant. Yay!
It is an absolute requirement for my DH to go shop investigating whenever we go away. He cannot settle until he has been to the nearest supermarket and checked out the resources we might need should disaster strike. So after a while off he went and our needs were secured, and he could join me in relaxing.
The steroid treatment I had in early January revealed me for the true superwoman of high energy that I am. The fatigue I had felt before that was surely due to my asthma, but now that I've started sleeping, and have breast cancer, I felt suddenly tired all over, and gave in to it.
Thursday afternoon chugged in and then I was back on the fast bits. I still felt like I needed to be very smart to see the surgeon, but I had only packed camping clothes so arrived looking like a scruff and drenched in perspiration, because it was Hobart's Hot Day. Nerves had nothing to do with it. I was called in by Steve Martin.
Yes, Steve Martin is the double (or was) of my Breast Surgeon Supreme, Prof S. The best in the business I'm told, and I believe it. I had to hop up on his bed, strip off and lie still and unseeing while he examined my breasts and sweaty armpits. I could not look at him - that Steve Martin face made me want to laugh.
I had to hold the laugh in even more as he drew two round eyes on a piece of paper for me. "These are your breasts" he said. Lips sealed tight, I focused on my " eyes". He drew a funny squiggle next to the nipple on the left at half past 2 (Clearly this man knows his stuff). "this is your tumour. These are satellites of the tumour" and he drew a few moons around the squiggle. Now I know we have Nuclear Medicine, but this was looking like a Batllestar Galactica mission plan. He explained that the tumour and satellites take up about 3 cm and that he would have to take at least a centimetre around the tumour to ensure he gets "it" all. "You will have a sizeable divet (they use that word for potholes here by the way, and that image immediately came to mind) in your breast, and you will lose the nipple, but I think I can save some of your breast. We try to do breast conservation these days". "Take it off, I said quickly, "it offends me" (as in 'if your left (breast) offends you....) Take the other one off too while you're at it!"
"No" he said in a 'don't be greedy' tone. My attempted cajolement of 'two for the price of one" and feeble humour of making a clean breast of it had no effect on him. I was beaten, but I held out for full removal. I had seen on the scans the polka dots of cysts in the breast, which I now knew could turn nasty on me any time.
He briskly organised referrals to the Breast Cancer Association, and put in a request for the Breast Care Nurse. I signed a consent form for a full left breast mastectomy, to happen on 15th February, my 48th birthday.
I left his rooms and drove back to Gumleaves, feeling a lot better now that I knew what was going to happen.
The boys were roasting marshmallows and DH and I relaxed and chatted and read, then went to bed, sleeping tablet slipping me under.
The next morning was a fairly relaxed scramble to get ready to leave. We were a bit tense, though, epsecially because it was going to be Tell the Boys day. We left about 10.30 and drove merrily along. It was near lunch time and the boys were getting restive. Obviously sensing this, DH in his car ahead turned into Barilla and we bought and ate pies. We left, DH ahead as before. We were driving out from the parking lot across into a busy road, and DH clipped a passing car. Bang! I asked DH about a week later if his life flashed before his eyes. Ever pragmatic, he said "no, bits of headlight flew up before my eyes!" Praise God, it wasn't worse, and the other car wasn't even damaged. It was probably shock but my weird sense of humour could not help but see a parallel in that my DH's car had lost it's left headlight and his wife was losing her left "eye".
Half an hour after we cleared up from the accident we were home. DH had obviously given some thought to the matter and offered to tell the older PS himself first. I leapt at that kind gift, and left him to it while I took the young PS's friend and bike home. Then I took the young PS to the beach and told him what was happening. "so, you mean you've got breast cancer? " he said. "Yes, how do you know about that?" "Oh Mom, it's always on the news" and he hopped back into the car and we went home.
DH had told the older PS who took it bravely and I was sweetly comforted by his care and concern. He is gentle and compassionate like his father - marshmallow on the inside those two !
and so the roller coaster came to a screeching halt until the 15th.
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