Walking with 'The Breast Cancer Beast'

Wednesday 6th November.

Just over 7 weeks after my diagnosis and 6 weeks after my first operation, I had an appointment today to choose a wig.

It’s surreal how your life can change so dramatically almost overnight. If someone had said to me at the beginning of the summer holidays ‘in about 3 months’ time, you’ll be choosing a wig’ I’d never have believed them.

It’s also amazing how quickly and easily us humans can adapt to change.

To be honest, I felt absolutely fine going to the appointment today. I have no choice about losing my hair (well, I could have opted for a cold cap to try and save it, but I hate being cold more than I like my hair) and so to me it was just another thing that needed to be done and so I thought I might as well make it as fun as possible.

I took one of my best mates (and my personal stylist) with me as I absolutely knew she would make it fun and wouldn’t bullshit me about how I looked. We did have a giggle as we parked in one of the designated parking bays for ‘Wills Wigs’ – it wasn’t one of our usual shopping trips (there wasn’t a Zara in sight).

In my mind I had expected a wig shop with all sorts of varieties on display (like the old Girls Worlds of the 80’s) but I was wrong. It was an office in a shared building which you could only access via a buzzer and intercom (all very discreet). We had a 10am appointment and were immediately shown into a small reception area with soft furnishing, a few pictures and a couple of wigs on stands.

At 10am we were invited into a private room which had a small sofa at one end and then a chair and mirror at the other, a bit like you’d sit at in a hairdresser. The lady dealing with us asked me what sort of style I was looking for and I showed her pictures of how my hair was before it was cut and said I wanted to stay similar to that or shorter. She went off and a few minutes to get a selection.

At that point she had seemed quite straight and serious and I was starting to think it was all a bit functional and not fun and light hearted but I have to say she did warm up, as the appointment went on, and she was very good at what she did.

She came back in with several boxes and then proceeded to put a wig cap on me which looked a bit like a neutral coloured stocking on my head (this gave me my first glimpse of what I might actually look like bald). The cap needs to be worn when you have hair under the wig, so it doesn’t slip off, but not when you are bald.

We worked our way through the ones she had chosen, with her fitting them for me and then styling them with a brush. I think I tried on three that were similar to my old-style hair and they were all pretty good to be honest. We rejected one because it was too long and heavy and the second one as the parting was on the wrong side for me, I know that’s daft, but I thought it might really end up winding me up on bad days. We finally settled on one that was strangely exactly like my old style just with a few highlights/lowlights in (which proved to me that I should have invested in some salon colour before all this). Both Lou and I were pleasantly surprised at how authentic they look and we made a decision pretty quickly.

Then, because we were well within our hour appointment and because I’m hoping not to repeat this experience, I asked if I could try a blonde one on and a long one on, just for the hell of it. Both looked utterly dreadful but made us laugh.

Once the decision had been made, the lady showed me how to put them on myself and talked me through how to care for them.

There are ‘wig rules’ – who knew?

1. Don’t open the oven door and take the full force of the heat wearing your wig – it will melt
2. Don’t sit directly under outdoor heaters in the pub – it will melt
3. If it gets rained on, let it dry naturally
4. Don’t wash it under running hot water, swill it in tepid water and shampoo
5. Only use water soluble products to juzz it up when you go out!

Once I’d had a go at fitting it myself, I purchased a stand to put it on after I’ve washed it (if it’s not placed carefully on the stand it tends to look like a rat on a flat surface!) and also some special shampoo, conditioner and a wig cap.

I was done. One wig chosen. One happy lady.

As my own very short hair underneath was sticking up vertically, from all the trying on, I decided to keep wearing it. Lou and I went shopping in Touchwood, had a bit of lunch and then I went off to the hospital for an appointment, all with my wig on.

I felt fine. No one stared. It didn’t fall off.

This losing my hair thing is going to be fine.

I do know not everyone feels the same though. I asked the lady dealing with us whether they’d had anyone who just couldn’t find one they liked. Her response was ‘we’ve just had people that aren’t ready’. It dawned on me then that I’m lucky. I’m pretty self-assured, gobby and not easily phased which I think helps in scenarios like today. But it did make me a little sad that the experience could be traumatic for some people during an already difficult time.

For anyone who may have a friend or family member who has to go through this in the future, please tell them from me, a bit like NHS specs, wigs have moved with the times.

I have always considered myself to be an empathetic person.

I think that’s why I cry so much. I genuinely like people and if I see someone sad or suffering, I can’t help but imagine myself walking in their shoes. This happens in real life and also when I watch TV or films (which is why I’m often a blubbering wreck at the cinema).

However, I discovered something interesting this weekend.

You can switch your empathy off.

This is probably not done consciously but it is definitely possible as I experienced it for the first time on Friday night.

You’ll be pleased to know I didn’t discover this in relation to anybody I know personally but in relation to a TV programme.

I have been a ‘Coronation Street’ fan since I was young enough to go to bed at the end of it and have watched it ever since (except for a short spell when I lived abroad). The hot storyline recently has been Sinead Tinker’s death from cancer at a very young age. I think this happened about a week ago in real time, but I have only just caught up.

I have been following her storyline but realised I could only watch one or two episodes across the week as I just found it all too depressing, but over time I have slowly caught up. I knew she died in the episode I was about to watch last Friday night. I contemplated just deleting but then I wanted to see her final hours (she has been such a good actress throughout) so I tuned in.

Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have got through that episode without a stream of tears, smudged mascara and a pile of tissues. But, on this occasion I watched her dying scenes, saying goodbye to her family, friends and baby, completely dry-eyed and largely unaffected.

When it was over, I spent quite a while thinking about how I had managed to watch that episode without a single tear.

Clearly, I haven’t suddenly lost the ability to be empathetic to others, I just think the story line was just a touch too close to home (Ok, I know I’m not as young as her and I’m not dying but you get the gist) for me to allow myself to walk in her shoes even for half an hour.

As I was contemplating all of this, I googled ‘can your brain switch off empathy’ and an article appeared entitled ‘Psychopaths don’t lack empathy: They just have the ability to turn it off at will’ so clearly this is a possibility.

I’m hoping this doesn’t prove I’m a psychopath, just that the brain is an amazing organ that has the ability to protect you when you need it most.

I think I knew this deep down, but had never experienced it.

I guess every day is a school day…….

I am very pleased to be able to report that operation number 2 has been a ‘walk in the park’ compared to the first one.

The lack of drains (my nemesis), the lack of nerve pain and only one sore boob has made this a very straight forward recovery. I’m hardly taking any pain killers this time too.

When I first came home my left boob did look at little squared off (similar to the first op – Dave and I nicknamed me ‘Sponge Bob Square Tits’ last time) but I’m pleased to say that the swelling has obviously gone down a little and they have returned to a more rounded look (thank goodness).

Dressings are still on until Wednesday, so I won’t see the end result of the surgery until the great unveiling then. I’m sure it will be fine and Ms Athwal will have done a great job making me symmetrical.

So, I feel almost back to normal now, although I do know I need to take things a little easy in order to let my body heal properly. Unfortunately, I’m not good at that bit.

I have a little reprieve now because apart from my wound check, my next big appointment is to see the oncologist on November 20th. So, I intend to have as nice a time as possible between now and then before he or she blows my mind with the joys of chemotherapy.

Oh, and this Wednesday (6th November) I have an appointment at the wig shop in Bromsgrove!

I feel sure there will be a blog after that appointment.

Wednesday 30th October

Yesterday was Op number two to get clear margins on the ‘cyst that turned out to be a tumour’ that was taken out during the first operation in September.

It felt much easier than the first time as there was no wire needed, no radioactive dye required we just literally rocked up at the Day Surgery Unit at 12.30pm and were quickly shown to a little cubicle. We knew the drill this time so knew exactly what to expect.

First visitor to the cubicle was my lovely surgeon Ms Athwal in her full scrubs. She got out her tape measure and sharpie pen and set to work mapping out the surgery on my chest. To get clear margins she was going to have to remove my left nipple (right one has already gone so at least I match now). She used her tape measure to work out where the scar would need to start and end to match the other side. I appreciated her consideration to the aesthetics; I was filled with confidence that she would make it look the best she could. She is also great at tying up the hospital gowns to protect your modesty!

I asked her whether she’d have recommended a mastectomy on my left side had she initially known that there were two tumours in the same breast, but she said she wouldn’t have. The reason being both tumours were small and in the same quadrant (see I can even talk like a surgeon now) so a lumpectomy would always have been her recommendation.

Next to visit the cubicle were two anaesthetists. One was a lovely young smiley man called Simon who I can only presume was relatively newly qualified as he had a consultant with him. Dave had another of his classic one liners when Simon asked me ‘are we planning for you to go home tonight?’ Before I could answer Dave piped up with, ‘I hope so, she has to make the kids tea’. He always makes his jokes so seriously I think some people don’t know how to take him; it makes me giggle though.

The most interesting part of their consultation was that they realised they couldn’t use my arms to put a cannula in for the fluid (whatever it is that makes you go to sleep) and this is because I have no lymph nodes under my arms now. Apparently, if they used my arms it could cause swelling so they were going to try my leg instead, that would be different!

The nurse popped in next to do blood pressure and pulse and check all my personal details again, they do like to check they have the right person and that you are fit for surgery. I can’t knock their thoroughness.

Next to visit were two very smiley young girls who introduced themselves as 3rd year medical students who would be attending my surgery (jeez, it was going to be busy in the theatre) as part of their surgical rotation. They asked me lots of questions about my diagnosis, how I spotted the cancer, treatment plans etc. They were lovely but Dave and I did smile when they’d gone as we both agreed they just about looked old enough to be going to the pub, never mind stitching up my boob! One of them was hoping to do the suturing. Apparently, the stitches are inside and dissolvable, so I guess I’ll never know what kind of job she did.

One of my friends who works at Warwick as a theatre nurse also popped by to say hello which was lovely. It always makes a difference seeing a familiar and friendly face at times like this.

Finally, a lovely nurse came to escort me to theatre. We ended up walking through most of the hospital to get to the main theatres which must have made for an interesting sight in my gown and pumps! She assured me I’d be brought back down on a bed.

When I entered the theatre and got on the bed there were already six people present, the two students, two nurses and two anaesthetists. The nurse checks your wristband again, checks your blood pressure and then puts on the sticky pads for monitoring you whilst you’re under. She checked my blood pressure on my right leg but as it was inflating she said ‘you feel a bit of pressure on your arm’ (I guess it’s second nature to them) to which I retorted ‘I hoped you guys up here knew one limb from another’ she laughed at her mistake. Meanwhile the cannula was being inserted into my ankle which was different, didn’t really hurt but I think it took them a couple of attempts to fine a good vein for it to go into.

As the cannula started pumping the fluid in and the face mask was held near to my face I quickly drifted off.

When I woke up, I was taken back to the ward to recover. I didn’t have any tears this time, just felt a little woozy and tired but that soon passed and I was quickly drinking tea and eating biscuits. Dave arrived not too long afterwards and then Ms Athwal (my surgeon) visited me to say everything had gone well. My theatre nurse friend popped by again which was lovely and we had a chat and a laugh.

Dave and I were slightly amused at a different surgeon who visited a lady (maybe in her 60’s or 70’s) in a cubicle who had clearly had some surgery to her ‘lady bits’. We heard him say quite loudly ‘So no sex for a couple of weeks’ she must have rebuffed him and he said, ‘We’re not ageist here’. I doubt it would be her age stopping her, maybe just soreness and lack of desire!! I’ve always said those cubicles don’t provide much privacy.

After a successful wee (a prerequisite for discharge) we got to go home about 5.30pm.

Thankfully a very kind friend had made my boys tea, so I didn’t need to.

Psychologically I feel ok about the surgery. I’ve already come to terms with losing one nipple so I don’t need to mourn the second one (I can’t see it anyway yet because of dressings). Also, after the last surgery this is a walk in the park. My plan now is to recover and get my strength back up for when the chemo starts.

I also see it as obstacle 2 of 11 done.

That’s 18% of the way through this journey as I know it, it sounds more as a percentage!

So, it turns out normality is great, but can dupe you into temporarily thinking nothing is wrong.

I had a lovely day yesterday seeing my eldest son off on a residential school trip (although he was moaning profusely about the weight of his bag and would only give me a hug in the side street) meeting a friend for coffee and doing some jobs in town, all very normal.

By the evening time I checked some emails and found a couple from friends imparting some really useful information for me about various different aspects of Breast Cancer. I was genuinely grateful for the information and the positivity in those emails. The problem was it got me thinking about the cancer (which I had successfully ignored all day) and what lies ahead. It also directed me to a couple of different websites which offer information and support – again great tools to have in your locker.

“What is the problem with that?”, you might ask.

The problem is I can’t decide whether it’s better for me to gen myself up on all the relevant procedures, treatments, options and side effects or to head straight into the next 12 months slightly blind and just deal with each thing as it comes.

My intelligent rational side says that I should skill myself up on all the treatments and options so that I can ask all the right questions and maybe even challenge decisions if I feel it necessary. After all, forearmed is forewarned. However, my emotional side tells me to stay away from all of the information available and just deal with one thing at a time, because every time I read up on something, I inadvertently find out something depressing I didn’t know before.

That’s what happened last night when I dipped into some websites.

I only read a couple of pages to learn a myriad of delights such as kids with parents who have cancer are more likely to suffer from depression to tamoxifen in pre-menopausal women may lead to osteoporosis.

In the end I had to stop.

I ended up having a bloody long cry with Dave, it all felt too much, too overwhelming and too miserable.

I wanted it to go away.

As in innately positive person I think I am struggling with the relatively bleak horizon. I know there are some positives and some good news stories and that this whole journey will teach me things, but last night I had a moment of not being able to see any of that. I guess that’s normal and to be expected.

I’m in better spirits again today. A long walk to the university and with a good friend on a lovely autumnal day has re-set my equilibrium.

I still don’t know the answer to my dilemma, but I am hoping it will become clear as I move through the process.

So, I haven’t written a blog for a few days now because I’m pleased to say that temporarily this week my life returned to normal (normal being pre-cancer).

I met my boss on Monday, he travelled up from Bristol to see me and how I was doing and so that I could update him on the latest details of my treatment plan. I am SO lucky that I work where I work. I work for a big blue-chip company and so far, they have treated me exceptionally well, especially seeing as I have only been working for them for 7 months. I agreed with my boss that I would return to work for 2 weeks before my next op and this week has been the first week.

It felt so good to put on work clothes, attend a meeting and not have to go to hospital or get my tits out for anyone! It also made me realise that we all moan about work from time to time (me included) and this is completely normal. However, when you find yourself in a position where the choice to work has been taken away, you suddenly appreciate that being able to work is a privilege.

Dave was still in South America this week (he came home yesterday) so it meant I was kept really busy with work, meals and running the kids around.

Normal life.

It continued into the weekend too. Back in June I had booked tickets for my Mum and me to see ‘Calendar Girls’ at The Winter Gardens in Blackpool so I decided I was well enough to go and didn’t want to miss out. I’m so glad I did. The show was fantastic and very funny but I did have a few tears, (no surprise there) after all, it is about a man dying of cancer and his friends raising some money to buy a new sofa for the hospital. The irony wasn’t lost on me! A brisk walk along with sea front and some quality time with my Mum was the icing on the cake.

Unfortunately, the ‘normal’ week was punctuated with a letter from the NHS (sadly I think I’m competing with my Dad now for the award for ‘who’s at the hospital the most’) telling me the date of my meeting with the oncologist – November 13th.

My next operation is on 30th October. I have 10 days left to be normal (well as much as I can with nerve pain and sore armpits) before the cancer train leaves the station again.

My God, I’m going to make the most of them.

Kindness is something that I have truly learnt the value of later in life.

In your 20’s I think most people are essentially selfish (quite rightly) and focused on career, love, fun, everything you should be focused on. In your 30’s I think you still have your eye on your career and fun with maybe a leaning towards settling down, buying a house and possibly having children. (Obviously these are generalisations, but I think they probably fit the majority of people.) By your 40’s I think you are more reflective. If you are parents, you’re working out your own style verses how you were brought up and if you’re not parents, you’re probably still having a lot of fun, with way more money in your pocket!

Either way, I think most people start to realise who they really are and what’s important in life by the time they reach their forties. (If they haven’t realised it by now there probably isn’t much hope!)

If you get to your 40’s without anything negative happening to you, you’ve done well. But even if you are in this fortunate position, you start to realise that ‘shit happens’ and lots of people go through difficult times caused by things like illness, grief, divorce, redundancy and debt to name just a few. I have learnt that the best way to help anyone who is struggling is to offer them kindness, not judgement.

I have to say I’ve had a pretty cushy run up to this point in my life (and I have always sat in gratitude for that) but as I face a difficult time I have been truly overwhelmed with how kind people have been to me and my family.

I have had everything from lovely messages, flowers, cards and gifts to visits and offers of help. Different friends have offered their various brilliant skills from physio and reiki to knowledge in bio medicine and cooking. Just this week alone (whilst Dave is away on business) the boys and I have been invited out to tea three times which has been amazing. Those who are too far away to physically do anything to help have been keeping in touch, checking in on me and sending me positive vibes.

I can’t thank my friends and family enough for all the support they have shown so far. As one of my good friends said to me today, ‘it will be a long road, hard at times, but it will never be a lonely one’ and I can’t tell you how important that is to me. I am a social animal and I love people.

I feel very loved and very grateful. I also feel like I am going into battle, not on my own, but with an army of supporters behind me and I know that will make a massive difference to my personal fight.

So, whilst this is only the beginning, I do want to say thank you to everyone who has supported me, Dave and the boys so far. Your kindness has been life-affirming.

As Oscar Wilde said ‘The smallest act of kindness is worth more than the greatest intention’

Tuesday 8th October.

I am thinking that I might need to change the name of this blog to ‘Boxing with the Breast Cancer Beast’ because it feels as though it keeps delivering a blow that knocks me off my feet, I get up again, fight back mentally and physically and then it delivers another blow and I’m floored again.

That’s what it did to us today.

It’s exactly two weeks since my operation and I’m recovering but still very sore. I feel as though I have something permanently embedded under the skin in my arm pits and my arms are sore to touch. I probably only have about 30% of the range of movement I had previously although I’m confident this will return in time and through diligently doing the physio exercises. (If you saw me doing them you’d probably laugh as they seem so simple yet my face is contorted with discomfort throughout.)

We had a 10am appointment with the surgeon today so that she could take me through the results from pathology of all the bits they’d removed during the operation. There were 5 of us in the room, Dave, myself, the surgeon, the breast care nurses and a student nurse. The surgeon took me slowly and carefully through each breast and the findings. Good news on the right side, the tumour was exactly the size (15mm) and grade (2) they thought it was. She got clear margins around the tumour indicating she got it all out. She took out 19 lymph nodes and only 1 was positive for cancer. This is good news as it means it is less likely to have spread beyond the lymph nodes.

The left breast was a similar good news story, the tumour was the size (10mm) and grade (1) they thought it was and again she achieved clear margins. She removed 20 lymph nodes on the left and again only 1 was cancerous. So far so good (in cancer terms anyway).

Then came the blow.

‘There was one thing we weren’t expecting’ she said to me ‘The cyst we removed actually wasn’t a cyst but a third cancerous tumour’.

WTAF?

As Dave said I’ve managed to achieve a hat trick – 3 cancers in 2 breasts – what are the bloody chances? At least you can’t say I do things by halves.

Nobody thought the cyst was a tumour so when the surgeon removed it she was not thinking about getting clear margins which means I need further surgery to ensure that all of the cancerous cells have been removed. As the cyst was on the edge of my nipple she will need to remove half of the nipple in order to get clear margins. What’s the point of half a bloody nipple? Now that will look odd so basically we agreed it would need to go, at least I’ll be symmetrical now.

The second (but expected) blow of the morning is that I’ll need to have chemotherapy and as I am young it is likely they will give me between 6-8 sessions that will take around 6 months. Dave did make us laugh later on when we were with the breast nurses discussing the chemo and the time frames and realising that it is likely to start before Christmas. ‘Chemo is not just for Christmas’ he piped up, we both fell about laughing and the breast nurses said ‘I really want to laugh but it feels inappropriate’. ‘Laugh’ I said, sometimes it’s all you’ve got.

The third blow was linked to the gene testing they have talked about before. Due to my age, background, current health and the fact that I have 3 cancers present they suggest that I get tested for the BRCA gene. This testing will probably happen as I am going through the chemo. If the result shows that I do carry the gene it is likely they will recommend a double mastectomy and a bilateral oophorectomy (removal of both ovaries). Hideous as this sounds Dave and I could not stop laughing at the term ‘oophorectomy’. I think by this stage it was all so surreal we were like two kids laughing at something totally inappropriate. This surgery would involve more bloody drains which are my nemesis (although by that time they will probably be a walk in the park).

Lastly, at the end of all this palava they will give me drugs to send me into the menopause (my cancer is hormone receptive meaning hormones can make it spread) just to add insult to injury. ‘Will the symptoms be similar to a natural menopause or worse?’ I asked. ‘Probably worse’ she replied, of course she did today was clearly not going to be a day for good news.

The breast nurses are wonderful and spend as much time as you need going back over anything you may have questions on. To be honest I think we had so much information given to us that we didn’t know what we didn’t know, or what we wanted to ask.

I left the unit with another raft of information on chemotherapy, radiotherapy, gene testing, pathology and a whole pack on hair loss along with a prescription for a wig! Hard to believe that my life was totally normal only 3 weeks ago.

Talking about this later in the day with a friend, there is one thing I’ve realised from today that is making me really sad. It isn’t the loss of my nipples, my hair or even my boobs or ovaries, I can deal with all of that. What I am really struggling to come to terms with is that aged 48 the healthiest years of my life are behind me.

I will recover from cancer.

I will live life to the full again.

But I also know deep down that my health will be changed irrecoverably.

I have always been a crier. I can’t help it, when the tears come (happy ones or sad ones) I just can’t stop them.

My friends who know me well are fully aware of this and often rib me about it. I remember being at Max’s reception Christmas nativity almost 8 years ago and some of the tiny kids had learnt to play a carol with hand bells. The teacher stood up and held up the letters they needed to follow and the little kids concentrated so hard that when the firsthand bell went up, the tears started rolling down my cheeks. I wouldn’t care, it wasn’t even my child playing them! It was joyous to watch and I just couldn’t contain my emotion. My mates have never let me live it down.

I also cry at films. They could be kids’ films, serious films, it really doesn’t matter if an emotion is stirred in me tears will generally follow. The most recent one I cried at was ‘A Star Is Born’ (I’m an old romantic at heart too) and I went with a girlfriend. She managed to remain as cool as a cucumber whilst I didn’t just cry, I sobbed all the way through the end of the film.

So, as you can imagine, I am 3 weeks into this cancer journey and I have cried, a lot. You can probably count the number of days I haven’t cried on one hand. I don’t cry for long, it’s generally a little wave of emotion that comes over me when I am least expecting it and then it’s over just like that.

Whenever I cry, I generally end up apologising to whoever is on the receiving end of my tears, but really, I know I shouldn’t. Crying is good, it’s a release and it saves bottling up emotions. I am trying to teach Max to do the same with his feelings, to recognise them, sit in them and if the tears come, let them flow. I know he will feel better if he can achieve this, but it’s hard and I know even for some adults this is difficult.

Today, I had a bloody good sob. Joe asked for my phone this morning so he could look at his spellings (I’d taken a screen shot of them). When he opened the photos, my iPhone had done one of those little videos where they take a selection from your camera roll and splice them together into a video. It was called ‘Summer 2019’ and had Maroon 5 ‘Memories’ playing in the background. It was a visual reminder of what a cracking summer we’d all had, with both boys’ birthdays, Dave’s 50th and two lovely holidays. It was a stark reminder of how, as a family, we have lived life to the full over the summer, making the most of every minute. I am so grateful now that we did do all those lovely things, but it also served as a harsh reminder that the next 12 months will not be anywhere near as fun.

The boys see me cry all the time (almost weekly at Britain’s Got Talent or something equally ridiculous) but I didn’t let them see my tears today, I saved them for when they were at school. Whilst we need to face this cancer together and get through it as a family, I am desperately trying to get the balance right between honesty and protection. I don’t want to have to always but on a brave face for them because that would be disingenuous, but equally I don’t want them to see me when I crumble and frighten them to death.

I am hoping that I get the balance right naturally without having to think about it too much.

After all, as I said at the start, when the tears come, I just can’t stop them.

Today has started in a much more positive way than yesterday ended.

I had probably my best night’s sleep since the operation a week ago. It’s funny, I’ve never been a fan of sleep or truly appreciated its powers, as a kid I used to say, ‘it’s a waste of time’ and as an adult I feet similar. However, now I am slowly (and reluctantly) starting to appreciate its benefits, much to my husband’s delight who has been a sleep advocate for decades.

I think the new tablets probably helped me to sleep soundly and have dulled the nerve pain just enough at the moment to remove my reluctance to stretch my arms in any way. I even made Dave a cup of tea in bed this morning!

The third positive of this morning is that my drains had less fluid in them! Yay! It’s hilarious how, in just a week, the things that excite me have changed! The fluid levels on each side were half of yesterday’s readings and this means they are one step closer to coming out!

I still have a slight issue with a less than pleasant odour under my arms, but I am going to try and address that again this morning.

I can just about manage a shallow bath I can’t allow the water to reach the dressings under my arms. It feels amazing to be in warm, nice smelling water but really I just want to submerge my whole body and head which is impossible right now. I’m making this sound pretty pleasant, but the harsh reality is that Dave has to hold my drains behind me as I gingerly step in and out of the bath. I then dry off, reposition my drains and he washes my hair as I lean over the bath.

My husband has gone from my friend and lover to my carer in just a week. I guess this is the part where the ‘for better or worse’ vows come into play?

My friend Heidi took me out this morning for breakfast which was just lovely. We headed off to a farm shop/restaurant up on a hill with gorgeous views and sat and ate a lovely breakfast and chatted. It is these kind of little trips and visits from friends that have kept me going. I’m undoubtedly a social animal and seeing people has kept me feeling connected and not allowed me the time to wallow. I had another visitor in the afternoon who also made me laugh – laughter is a great medicine on its own.

Around 3.30pm I needed to head back to the Helen Clark Suite as one of my drains was malfunctioning – air was seeping into the bulb part somehow and this meant the suction was reduced. The unit changed the bottom section for me and sent me on my way. Much as I hate these bloody drains, they are doing a job and the sooner they’ve finished doing it the sooner they can come out.

I ended the day with a second meal out (extravagant I know) with Dave and my eldest son Max. We have a tradition in this family that if one of the kids are away on a school residential the other one gets to choose where we for out for dinner one night. Although there have been some massive changes to this family over the last week which have been unavoidable, we need to keep as much normal as possible for the sake of the boys.

Finally, today has been a day without any tears! Result.