Of course the wait for the appointment is endless. I am weirdly calm about it all but still - by the beginning of the following week I come to a decision - if it turns out to be cancer I am going to do what I want and even if it doesn't, we're going away for two nights NOW to pass the time. So we do and it's all very pleasant and I feel that I have some how taken control of the situation.
D Day comes and I we go back to the breast clinic. My partner knows the receptionist and they have a long chat about how they haven't seen each other for ages...
I tell the consultant that between the steroid cream from the nurse and the Eurex that he recommended my itching has got a lot better. He smiles but, of course, I knew. I knew because someone would have phoned me up to give me good news - his time is far too valuable to waste on that pleasant job. His job, and the job of the breast care nurse, is to give bad news. It is bad news, but not as bad as it could be. One of the areas they found was, indeed, benign but the other is an 8mm grade 2 invasive tumour, caught really early. He will remove it and I will need radiotherapy and hormone blockers and it will just be a blip...Then - and this is the bit that really sticks with me - he gets his diary and books me in. Boom. Done
He tells me that I could have a mastectomy if I wanted but he thinks that a lumpectomy will be enough along with the radiotherapy. He takes time to explain to me what he will do and how I will be affected. He is matter of fact and reassuring, as is the nurse. My partner asks questions about success rates - it is all very positive. I spend more time talking to the breast care nurse - Pauline - and then we leave.
I phone my daughters and sister and everyone is supportive but not panicking. I fancy a ham and coleslaw sandwich for lunch.
