So as you read this, I’ll be heading off to Stafford for my op. Its come around quickly – just 8 weeks from my diagnosis. I actually think that’s pretty incredible and that Breast Care in the UK is phenomenal and I need to make that clear because today I had a bad day.
Today I had to go and have an injection of a radio active substance to help Mr N, my consultant to be able to find my lymph nodes. Friday’s anesthetic for the magseed insertion was painful and so recent that I can still ‘mentally’ feel the sting of the needle. I expected this one to be bad and I know I am the sole cause for the anxiety and fear I felt. It was a long long corridor in the very basement of the Royal Stoke to an unmanned reception area. There were a handful of patients dotted about and no staff. I sat for 15 minutes (10 mins after my appointment time) in a no mobile phone area when the receptionist appeared. I then waited half an hour with no explanation (I’d have accepted “we’re running a little late” or “we’re short staffed”) though I learned this as I heard her chatting to someone on the phone.
I sat and quietly sobbed through my face mask. It felt so lonely and I was was in fact scared. No one, not even the receptionist, noticed the woman in the corner quietly trying to hide her tears as she waited 30 minutes.
The nurse that eventually claimed me as her patient, was lovely, apologised for keeping me waiting and gave me a few moments to compose myself. I guess previously I could have expected a gentle hand on my shoulder but Covid prevents that and it strikes me that the huge Covid death toll hasnt been the only loss to humanity.
“It’ll only be a slight sting”
“most women are surprised its over so quickly”
Perhaps I’m just super sensitive to pain, or perhaps my large G cups have more than average pain sensors – I don’t know but every blasted needle has hurt.
Anyway, Brett presented me with a bag of maltesers for being a brave girl – it’s funny how chocolate can always make the word right again and here I am, another step closer.
I have my instructions for tomorrow. I believe my op is at 2, I can’t remember, but I need to be there at 11.30. That’s one last needle and I’m out of it. I can do that. So once again I will pull up my big girl trousers and I’ll be fine, safe in the knowledge that Mr N is a good consultant, and when I wake up the worst is over.
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