Breast Cancer Clinic

So, I was woken up, on the morning of my appointment at the Breast Cancer Clinic, in a strangely ironic fashion.

The news on the radio was that Dame Sally Davies (the Chief Medical Officer), while giving evidence to a Commons select committee, said the public should contemplate the risks of cancer before drinking alcohol.

"Do as I do when I reach for my glass of wine - think Do I want the glass of wine or do I want to raise my own risk of breast cancer?" She old MPs. "I take a decision each time I have a glass".

(By the way, The Sun newspaper headline on this topic reads: TOP DOCS BARMY ADVICE: IF YOU WANT A GLASS OF WINE, JUST THINK CANCER. They are obviously not, yet, on message!)

Well HURRAH FOR SALLY in flying the flag for non-drinkers. In my case it's rather like slamming the stable door after the horse has bolted. But this is not the case for the majority of you, so pay attention!

I made my way to the clinic where I was greeted like a long lost friend by all the nurses - bless them.

After a stint in the waiting room, checking out the newbies (poor little mites), I was called in by the genius-surgeon-with-terrible-bedside-manner.

He did a recap of all my stats: 23mm, grade 2 invasive lobular carcinoma, negative lymphs, 92% chance of non-recurrence, blah blah blah, after which he invited me to remove all my clothes above the waist.

So, I'm sitting there, with the doc and the breast nurse, half naked, when he decides to have a discussion. He tells me, at what felt like some length, that he wants me to talk to a journalist about my whole breast cancer experience.

I agreed swiftly, just to put an end to the whole half-naked-chitchat thing, and because some warped logic told me that if I was in the news as being 'cured' of breast cancer, it was even more in their interests to keep me alive for as long as possible...

I may live to regret that one. I hadn't planned to become the poster girl for breast cancer, as well as the (secret) one for sobriety.

Anyhow, he copped a feel, which he seemed happy about (in a medical sense, you understand), and told me that I need to come back every April for the foreseeable future for an ultrasound. In addition, I need to come back every October for a mammogram.

AND, on top of that, there's a new blood test for ovarian cancer, so they took a vial from my arm, and told me they'll repeat that one every twelve months too.

Oh, and I see my oncologist every May to have blood tests to check for cancer markers.

So, on the upside, I am going to be monitored to within an inch of my life.

On the downside, every time I go in for one of these tests I have to deal with the flashbacks and anxiety....

....which is why my post tomorrow (inspired by Ulla) is on Managing Anxiety - Sober.

Thank you all so much for all your comments, thoughts and best wishes. It helped hugely knowing you were thinking of me.

(If you're new to this blog, and want to read about my breast cancer 'journey' (hate that expression) from the beginning, then start with this post from October: I Need Help! Or, if you'd like to read from when I first quit drinking then start here, from March: Mummy Was a Secret Drinker)

Love to you all,

SM x

Scared

Back in October and November, when I was a newbie at the breast cancer clinic, and still going through the am I going to die? phase, I used to watch the 'graduates' breeze into the waiting room with a huge degree of envy.

These were the ladies coming back for their check ups. Often they sported short, gamine, post chemo hair styles. They looked confident and healthy. The breast nurses would greet them by name, give them a big hug and make a fuss of them.

Meanwhile, I'd be sitting, pale faced and traumatised, waiting for the results of my MRI scan, or lymph biopsy, or whatever, thinking one day, maybe, that'll be me: through the worst and out the other side.

Well, today it's my turn.

I have an appointment with my consultant, who haven't seen for two months.

The way the whole cancer thing works is like a conveyor belt. Your consultant surgeon does the initial diagnostic work and the operation. They then hand you over to the oncologist. They, in turn, pass you over to the radiotherapist, and when they've done with you, you get sent back to the consultant surgeon again for 'check up and sign off'.

I've been looking forward to it. Because once this one's out of the way, I don't have another hospital appointment for six whole months. I'd been planning to take chocolates for the nurses, and make a mini party out of the event.

But now I'm scared.

What if I don't graduate? What if I discover that I've failed, that I'm not 'all clear' and I have to start again at the beginning?

I've just started to move on from the whole cancer thing. It's been feeling a bit like that episode of Dallas, where Bobby steps out of the shower and realises that the whole of the previous series has been a dream. It all feels like the last three months all happened to someone else.

My lefty is all healed, and looking pretty good (well, it wasn't perfect to start off with, but at least it doesn't scare the children if they walk in when I'm having a bath). At the moment, I seem to have virtually no Tamoxifen side effects. I'm pretty much back to 'normal'.

Right now, I have that familiar knot of anxiety in my stomach (the one that feels very much like an alcohol craving). In fact, if it wasn't ten thirty in the morning I'd crack open a Becks Blue.

I'd reassured Mr SM, breezily, that he didn't need to take time off work to come with me, as it was all 'routine.' Now I'm regretting that.

I can't go over it. I can't go under it. I have to go through it.

Wish me luck.

SM x

Sober House Party

Saturday night was a friend's birthday party.

She'd invited fourteen of the old University gang to her house in the country for dinner, and to stay the night. We'd all managed to offload the children, so it was a rare 'grown ups only' event.

I took a six pack of the trusty Beck's Blues down with me, and stashed them in the hostess's fridge.

And you know what? I've pretty much cracked the whole partying sober thing.

For a start, it really helps when you feel physically good, which after eleven months off the booze you do.

(Click here for more on quitting drinking and losing weight).

I didn't feel totally 'hot', but did feel, at the very least, 'warm.' I wore a red lace dress, and, according to Mr SM, everybody said I looked great (admittedly, they hadn't seen me since the whole cancer thing, so their expectations were probably pretty low).

I happily drank my AF beers before dinner. Then, once we'd sat down, I let them pour me a glass of red wine, but just drank the water. (People feel edgy if their dinner companion has an empty glass. So long as it's full, they don't care, or notice, if you drink it or not).

I had great fun at dinner catching up with old friends, then I won a table football tournament hands down (easy when the opposition are all drunk), and did lots of silly dancing.

Plus, I discovered that I have a new role at parties. People want to talk to me. They offload. They ask advice. This hasn't happened to me for years! No-one wants an in depth conversation with the out of control lush....

I talked to one friend about his insomnia, another about her new business ideas and yearning to escape London, and a third about being a step mum. Proper, life enhancing conversations that I still remember!

Then, at about 1.30am I sloped off to bed, knowing that no-one would notice, and that the only bit of the party I was missing was the bit that no-one would recall clearly.

And the morning!

A house full of hangovers. What a treat. I tried really hard not to feel smug, because that would be mean and unsympathetic of me.

I failed.

As I left, the hostess gave me a hug and said "I feel awful. I think I may join you on the whole no booze thing...."

We picked the children up from my parents' house, and took them out for lunch.

I was eulogising about the fact that Pizza Express have started stocking alcohol free beer (Vive La Revolution!)

#2 piped up "Mummy, how long has it been since you had any wine?"

"Nearly a year, sweetheart," I replied. "Why? Do you prefer it when I don't drink wine? Am I different?"

"Yes," he replied, "you're more....."

We all waited in anticipation, while he searched for an appropriate adjective. Beautiful? Patient? Kind?

"......Mummyish," he concluded with a flourish.

So, there you have it. Quit drinking. You'll still have a ball at parties, and you'll be more.... Mummyish.

Love SM x