Goodbye to all that…

I finally made it to the long awaited oncology appointment! They have probably never seen someone so cheerful bounce into clinic. But then most newly diagnosed patients have not been via ‘Lung’. It was a relief to be talking breast cancer and the whole tone and prognosis is much more upbeat. My treatment will consist of two pills every day. A blue one and a red one. Only kidding. A hormone treatment and a targeted therapy and occasional bone strengthening drugs. No chemo as one imagines it. No radiotherapy yet and then only if the bone pain gets bad. Not too many side effects (apart from moodiness, joint pain and fatigue which the husband told them is normal). But pretty high risk of infection from reduced number of white blood cells so I may have to get a little less sociable and stay away from the office. Which would be a shame as I look forward to seeing my wonderful colleagues on Thursdays. Cancer involves so many small and unexpected losses other than the obvious. The grief I felt in the first few weeks was as much for my imagined future as anything else. But that future is not and was not ever written. It was just what I expected or wished to happen. It’s strange to feel grief for something that never was but we do it all the time. Now there is only…now. And that brings a strange sort of contentment. It’s new for me. I rarely dwell on the past but I have always lived for my imagined future.

There were unexpected things that came out of today. Firstly, I have had to stay in overnight to have an emergency scan or two and to have the first injection to have my ovaries shut down. Just like that. Years of fighting to be fertile and then tonight I’ll get an injection in the stomach and boom…over the next month this baby making machine (!) will shut up shop. Thank fuck. About time. I thought there might be grief or a sense of loss with menopause. I hear things can get a little rough brought on so suddenly but I’m glad. After three or is it four operations for endometriosis I am tired of it. As they say, if men had periods they would have found a few more treatments. I heard there was a new drug they were rolling out to 1000 women with endometriosis. That’s it. Let’s not pretend there is any equality in healthcare.

Now boys, if you are uncomfortable with period talk go to the pub or watch sport or something. My periods started at an outrageously early nine years old, before my mother had even had a chance to tell me what was coming. Nine! We were on a slightly miserable rainy holiday in Norfolk and I spent my 10th birthday in bed thinking I was dying. And my periods and endometriosis resolutely continue at 51. On time, heavy, painful and unrelenting, managed by a drug regime. And despite this extravagant show of something like fertility I had to have IVF twice and twice my rampant hormones have gifted me… cancer. I am an oestrogen MONSTER. So goodbye, and good riddance, to all that. And thank you (I suppose) to my hormones for behaving sufficiently well for two crucial years, just long enough to give us three beautiful children (between operations to remove some space junk and a couple of shopping trolleys etcetera etcetera).

They are also keeping me in for this urgent bone scan because I mentioned some back pain and they want to check for spinal compression as it is radiating in a band from my T12 where one of the tumours is on my spine. Honestly I am pretty sure I just did a few too many over enthusiastic pulldowns in the gym yesterday after a two week break. It felt great to exercise and I kept it light but here we are. I’m actually having quite a pleasant time in a very quiet ward in Charing Cross hospital with a magnificent view over London. The husband brought me a chicken katsu and green tea and a book from Oxfam. And I can nap. What else does a girl need eh? Very little. A nice man is making me tea.

In other unexpected news the homeless guitarist Nas managed to get in touch via FB as someone he knows saw my post on Brentford friends appealing for a guitar! Amazing huh. I hadn’t seen him since and was reluctant to collect the guitar until I knew it would be used as we have five in the house already. Before hospital I picked up the free guitar from a nice lady in Isleworth, restrung and tuned it. It’s a well loved but pretty decent yamaha. I have the same model. Needs a slight fix to the tuning head but otherwise good to go. His ‘friend’ who showed him the post asked me to call him. He was not so cool, asked me if I could get him a guitar too, told me he was an alcoholic, came on to me in spectacular fashion and threatened to throw himself off a bridge when I said I was 51 with three kids and no thanks. I blocked him of course but that (and my dear husband’s warnings not to put myself in danger through my do-gooder tendencies) reminded me that there is a limit to kindness, and risks in being a compulsive helper. ‘So I was talking to this homeless guy the other day who’d had his guitar stolen….’ ‘oh God!’ he says. It had occurred to me that Nas may sell the guitar for drugs or booze or god knows but that’s his problem. So on Friday I will complete my promise and deliver the guitar to him with my security detail in tow. And go back to worrying about myself. I hope the helpful, hapless alcoholic has not thrown himself off a bridge.

UPDATE: Ooh my blog just tipped 5000 all time views. Bet you all enjoyed hearing about my periods 😂😂😂🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️ thanks for sticking with me xxx