Astonishing splashes of colour - breast cancer style

OK - I'm just going to say this once, although the thought crops up from time to time: "I would much rather not have breast cancer and I would much rather not be contemplating all those procedures." It would be disingenuous to pretend otherwise. 

Some days the thought is never far from the surface and today was one of them because today (takes deep breath) it was time for the pre-operative assessment. My goodness, how things have changed since I last had surgery; it was 27 years ago and, in surgical terms, a much bigger operation - and profoundly life-changing. I also managed to develop septicaemia after surgery, which was no fun at all. But I was so far out of it, I didn't realise until well after I left hospital that it had all been a bit touch and go for a while. Believe me, I do not take a single day of my life for granted.

But back to today; I more or less sailed through the various tests, the ECG, the L-Dex, the BMI (you can look up the acronyms on Google if you really want to . . . ), which confirmed that, breast cancer and a few auto-immune conditions notwithstanding, I am a fine, healthy specimen of 60-something womanhood. Then it was time for the serious stuff, the one-to-one session with my breast cancer nurse when we go through everything that will happen next Monday (and beyond) in detail. And we discuss the tough stuff, the emotional and psychological aspects of breast cancer and its treatment. I have my list of questions and we go through those too.

And this is when the scale of the journey ahead hits home. Next Monday is just the start. After that the next milestone is the results appointment (speaks for itself really) on 30 September and two weeks after that, the first appointment with the oncologist and so on and so forth. I only cry once and that's when I mention the Dear Daughter and what she is doing for me.

By now I'm getting a bit desperate for some light relief and my nurse has just the thing. As part of the imminent  ultrasound sentinel biopsy, I will be injected with a blue dye. This leaves the system within 24 hours but when my daughter sees me for the first time after surgery, I may well be sporting a sort of bluish green tinge. So she needs to be alerted to the fact (which I have now done, so that she doesn't have to read it here first and fall off her chair). 

I suppose I'll bear a passing resemblance to one of my favourite birds, the appropriately-named Blue-Footed Booby, which is found in the Pacific, in particular on the Galapagos Islands.

  

Or, if I fancy a rather more ostentatious avian lookalike, what better than one of these?

 

Anyway, I shall impress upon the Dear Daughter that she is not to worry about the blue-green pallor. "After all, it could be worse," I imagine myself saying, in that reassuring way that mothers have. "At least, it's my colour." 

Comments

[colleen]

Now you'll have to remember to take in complementary nightwear...xxx

[Shelley]

I was just reading yesterday about how to tell your colour 'season' by whether the veins showing through you skin are blue (cool palate) or green (warm). Mine or blue-green, which is no help at all. Isn't it strange how the things we think about can range so vastly between significant and trifling?

[Teri and the cats of Furrydance]

Oh, Blue Footed Booby made me smile, as I am sure it did you...Warm thoughts blue footing their way to you from me...

[Zoë]

dont worry if you find you pee a delicate shade of blue for several days too, I did, amused me no end!

[Rattling On]

I don't know whether the evidence of your surgery not being immediately visible is a good or bad thing. One of mine was very obvious and left extensive scarring that needed plastic surgery later. Funnily enough it seemed to distress others more than me, I was just relieved to be there! The anticipation is the worst bit, all that mulling and over active imagining. When you get there and the routine kicks in I'm sure you'll feel more in control. My one big regret is that I took in a towelling dressing gown (old house...)and the ward was like a sauna.

[debs]

My heart goes out to you and thoughts are with you. Just a year ago I had the over 50 first mammogram and there it was - a lump. I was shocked and terrified beyond anything I`d ever felt before. More tests then surgery was organised. I`m pleased to say that the lump did turn out to be innocent but those 2 months changed my life completely. I think I used to take life/good health for granted before, it certainly made me think again just how precious each day is. Very best wishes. Alicia x x x

[60 Going On 16]

Goodness me, thank you all so much for those wonderful comments. All those stories . . .

It is making a huge difference to me.

[marilyn]

Joni has a song for you : ' Blue, here is a shell for you Inside you'll hear a sigh A foggy lullaby There is your song from me.
You 've got to keep thinking You can make it through these waves' with a little poetic re-arranging, which I am sure Joni wont mind. Thinking of you

[Dancing Beastie]

'Blue footed booby' is one of those pleasing names that sounds like an insult. I came across another wonderful one the other day and have forgotten it, which isn't much help...my memory is full of holes since my head injury (at least, that's my excuse). A lateral jump: a name which sounds not like an insult, but like a splendid swear word. It's a wine from Sicily, and if you shout its name with enough vim it is very cathartic: 'DUCA DI SALAPARUTA!!'

I'm sure you could do with using that sometimes at the moment. Hope it helps.

[Wendy R]

I love the combination of honesty, wit and wariness in your posts at present. And, being the mother of such a daughter, I am delighted you have each other in your lives. Rooting for you.
wx

[carole bruce]

Went through the same earlier this year. All went very smoothly and everyone concerned was kind and caring......really hope the same goes for you.

[Vivian]

Thinking positive thoughts for a speedy recovery - hope you are doing better and are at home now!

[Libby Cone]

I hope the blues are gone and you're feeling OK. Thinking of you.

[Jay]

My goodness - how on earth have I missed all this?? Well, I know how - I've been slacking on the blogging circuit, that's how. I haven't been visiting many people, only answering comments, because I've been busy with stuff, but I'm sorry not to have been here for the Massive Inconvenience annoucement.

Many hugs and much applause for you journey and your courage. I'm sure the blue/green tinge will suit you beautifully. Wear pink, which will not only go very nicely with it (a little glitter here and there and you'll look like a fairy princess) but will also carry the theme forward!

I'm sure plenty of people have already told you stories of survivors, but I've known four: the lady at the post office, my SIL, one of my neighbours (around your age), and my cousin Lynda. All of these people have now survived longer than the 'magic' five years and are all doing well will no relapses or problems - except the post office lady who might well be doing all of those things but who moved away. Actually, I don't know anyone who got the dreaded 'breast cancer' diagnosis and did NOT survive and do well.

[Nancy]

Enjoyed discovering your blog. Sorry to hear about the cancer junk. I am going through it myself as you know from visiting my blog. (Thanks again!) Hope you are not stressing out too much. Keep us updatded. Besides cancer, we have the good daughter connection as well as the dog one! My best to you.

[debby]

I did not actually turn blue, which didn't bother me. They were quite a cheerful out of the fact that I'd be urinating blue. In fact, they were so cheerful about it that I felt for a second like we were all smurfs, as if any moment, we'd be breaking into the la la la la la la song. I also did not like feeling as if I had no choice at all but to be laughing too. I'm not much of a crier, but I did want the option of being able to quietly digest yet another piece of surprising news as I stepped out into that strange, strange place called Cancerland. But, I was dragged along, no choice, to laugh at the thought of peeing bright blue.