My usual bonhomie has bu**ered off.
I'm not saying it was done on purpose but it was damn well preventable. On Monday a stereotactic core biopsy was taken from an unanaesthetised area of my breast. I think I did well to scream only the once. I doubt it happens very often but I'm peeved. It hurt like hell for the best part of 36 hours and it's still extremely painful and tender. And the dressing covering both boobs punctured on Monday has caused sores where it's cut the skin. I have had enough. I don't care whatever reason they come up with next, I will have no more biopsies. Whop them off and damn well get on with it.
I will be honest, my resilient just get on with it and stop winging mindset is also being tested by my inability to stop winging and just get on with it. Yesterday I sat in front of an accounts balance sheet and was completely unable to remember a six digit number for five seconds, no matter how many times I tried or how many cups of tea I drank. My attention span has become that of a gnat. More than the cancer, this makes me inordinately angry. Add to that the seemingly impossible ability to sleep past 4am and the crushing fatigue that hits like the marathon wall every afternoon at 3.30pm. Finish that off with a long daily commute and I'm officially a grumpy cow. Give myself some slack? Not bl**dy likely.
And I'm utterly fed up with people asking nothing more than "what's you're prognosis and what treatment are you having, and when?". Only two people have asked how I'm coping emotionally, nobody wants to hear about the inner torment. When I retort that I don't have a support group, to the official who is asking, they look speechless. I recently moved to my area, commute long hours to work, am single and have no immediate family. "Oh we think you're handling it so well" they say. Am I b**llocks I say; in my mind.
Right back to shed talk. On that front I should be happy. I really should. I have yet another stupendously gorgeous fabric haul to play with. This week I've fallen asleep over the machine twice. In years gone past that took a whole bottle of prosecco, not any more. If you're wondering where my missing post "Bags of Pleasure" went to, it was removed by Macmillan, understandably as selling on the site is not permitted. I'll populate my Etsy shop at the weekend if I can stay awake long enough.
I'm going out there now. Half an hour cutting is better than nothing done. Things to do, bags to finish. Naps to be had. It might even cheer me up.
