Tuesday 24^th September – it came around pretty quickly, probably because it was only 8 days after our diagnosis. You certainly can’t knock the NHS for their efficiency.

It was a dark, wet and miserable day and the traffic was heavy around the hospital, but I did console myself with the thought that it was probably a good day to be inside all day, even if I was about to be butchered! I felt a little apprehensive about what lay ahead but knowing I would be under general anaesthetic, I felt ok. I knew I wouldn’t feel pain and if I didn’t wake up, I’d never know!

I was instructed to go to Coventry hospital at 8.30am to have a wire inserted into my left breast (gross right?). As the type of cancer in my left breast does not show up on ultrasound a thin wire is inserted into the breast to guide the surgeon to the tumour. In this day and age of high tech I have to say I thought it sounded like a pretty primitive method but it’s quite scientific. They insert the wire using the mammogram machine. So basically they sit you in a chair, inject some anaesthetic into your breast, squash it within an inch of its life and then insert the wire. It shouldn’t really hurt (even if it does sound like torture) but the doctor warned me it may be a little sore due to bruising from the previous biopsies. She inserted it and then took several images and then moved it around until it was in the exact position she wanted. Whist it didn’t really hurt it was a strange sensation and when I finally opened my eyes, I came over all hot and then only went and bloody fainted!

The same lady that inserted the wire had done my biopsies a couple of weeks before and I took the opportunity to thank her for being so vigilant that day and thoroughly checking my right breast – if she hadn’t I may never have known it was in both breasts. There are times when just doing your job really well is important – this was one of them.

She also told me that my case would become a study case for teaching in the University mainly because the cancer in the left breast hadn’t presented as it normally does, apparently it normally glows bright on a mammogram and mine didn’t. I am really lucky I did not fall under the radar and I am pleased that my case will be used to train others in spotting this particular type of cancer. You can normally find the good in a shitty situation if you’re prepared to look hard enough.

After the wire had been inserted (hilariously they leave a long bit coiled on your chest under tape) I had to head to the Department of Nuclear Medicine just along the corridor. Here they injected both breasts with a radioactive dye that shows up your lymph nodes. The nurse doing the injections had a trainee with her and asked me if I minded – of course I didn’t, everyone has to start somewhere. The most amusing part of this process was the description of my breasts she gave to the trainee. She said, ‘This lady is a perfect patient for you to watch, she is not so young that her breasts are firm and pert (rude) and she is not so old that they are saggy (better) she sits right in the middle’. I had a wry smile to myself and wondered if that’s what they say about us when we’re there, what do they say about us when we’re not? Although an injection in both breasts sounds awful it was actually fine, she was very skilled, very quick and I was soon out of there with my ready brek glow!

Dave and I had a few hours to kill then before we needed to be back at Warwick for 12.30pm. We went for a coffee in town, well Dave did as I was nil by mouth from 11.15am, and I watched him drink two lattes and eat a blueberry muffin!

We arrived at the day surgery unit in plenty of time and were shown to an individual cubicle where we sat amongst others waiting to have their bunions done, knees done etc etc. It always makes me smile that the medical staff pull the curtain for patient privacy, yet the person next door can hear every word of their consultation.

The first person to come and see me was the surgeon. I thought it was going to be the same male consultant who had given me the diagnosis but apparently he was on holiday (I later learned he was at the World Cup in Japan and I have to say, I’d rather have been there too) so instead I had a lovely young woman. She spent a good 15 minutes with me explaining the whole procedure in detail and making sure I understood clearly what was going to be done. Dave was highly entertained when she asked me to strip off and started drawing all over my chest with a sharpie. I had arrows, acronyms and dots drawn all over the various sections of my breasts. Similar to having a baby, when your lady garden is fair game for everyone to examine, the same can be said for breast cancer. Frankly I’m happy to whop my tits out for anybody these days.

Next up came the anaesthetist, he double checked all the pre-op questions I’d previously answered and at the end exclaimed ‘you’re a picture of health’ to which I retorted ‘well I was until about a week ago’.

Finally, a young theatre nurse came to escort me to theatre. To make conversation on the walk down the long corridor I asked him how many theatres there were in day surgery to which he replied ‘three’ just as he pushed open the door to ‘theatre four’, another wry smile.

I got onto the bed, the anaesthetist said the words ‘sharp scratch’ as he inserted the cannula into left arm and then he held a mask close to my face and told me to breath normally.

That’s the last thing I remember.