The 23rd May 2017. Back to the Hospital. This time it is in the Consultant's Breast Cancer Clinic. Apparently, last weeks' appointment was The Non Stop Shop Clinic; but this is just The Breast Cancer Clinic. The waiting room is packed. Surely, all of these people can't have breast cancer?!? Turns out there is a Urology Clinic being run at the same time, so now half of us have Breast Cancer, the other half have dodgy bladders!
There is a bit of wait before we go into to see Mr Consultant and his trusty sidekick - The Breast Nurse Clinical Specialist. He is straight to the point though. Yes. I do have breast cancer. Yes. I will need to have the lump removed. Yes, I will need radiotherapy after the surgery. No. It probably has not gone anywhere else in my body. Apparently, as Breast Cancer goes, I have the most common, the most curable, the most treatable breast cancer you can have. To Mr Consultant this is run-of-the-mill, his bread and butter type of breast cancer - hell! He's not even planning on removing it for a couple of weeks!
I question - is it growing? I'm told that not fast enough to make him want to remove it any quicker.
Apparently, the Hospital have to have a Multi-Disciplinary Team Meeting. This is where all of the Breast Cancer Team sit down, look at my tit on the mammograph, Mr Consultant outlines his plans, everyone agreed or disagrees and then the treatment goes ahead. This MDT will not be held until Friday (26th May), so nothing can happen until after then.
Then it appears that Mr Consultant and Mrs Consultant Radiologist have to co-ordinate their diaries as they will both be involved on the big day. Mrs Consultant Radiologist will inject a radioactive substance into my lymph nodes! Under a local anesthetic (fuck!), she will also mark my tit as to exactly where the lump lies within. I will then go to theatre and have a general anesthetic (yay!) where Mr Consultant will inject a blue dye into my tit. This will highlight for him some of the lymph nodes that he would like to remove, just to check that they are cancer free. He will then perform a wide local excision (lumpectomy). Job done.
After three weeks of healing, I will then have to attend three weeks of Radiotherapy - every day, Monday to Friday. Bloody hell! This is getting more and more extreme! What about my job? What about the Homeless people in Hammersmith & Fulham, they need me!
I then spend time with the lovely Breast Care Nurse Clinical Specialist, she informs me that my cancer is ductal cancer. It has tested positive for hormones, which means that I can be treated with Tamoxifen for a mere five years after my Radiotherapy. (Apparently, this is good). However, they are still waiting for the HER2 test results, if this is positive, I will also be treated with Herceptin, however, and it's a blood big however, they don't give Herceptin without Chemo! Shit, shit and double shit! I am desperate to avoid chemo at all costs. I worked on the Oncology Ward, I know what that shit does to people. Plus I am the most pathetic creature known to man, I can't even vomit without crying. OK, stop. Stop worrying about something that hasn't happened. Yet!
Lovely Clinical Nurse Specialist gives me a whole pack of information, there's a lot to take in. The thing that upset me the most, so stupid, is the Prescription Exemption Form - anyone with a cancer diagnosis gets free prescriptions. This certificate will be valid for five years. Five years! This journey will last at least five long years!
My head is spinning. Van's head is spinning too. She's not impressed when I ask Mr Consultant, if he finds it has spread and it is actually not a small 2cm lump, could he please just amputate my whole tit? Van's horrified at this suggestion (she's such a tit girl!) and Mr Consultant kindly tells me that he would not do this anyway, he would wake me up and tell me all of the results and if necessary, he will operate again.
So, when we leave, we are both a bit stunned, this shit just got really really real. We are no longer in control and that's not a nice feeling to be honest.
