I had my appointment with the breast team on the 19th July. After being told off by the surgeon for not having mammograms, I was then subjected to the examination itself which was excruciating on my right breast because of the lump. It had already reacted badly to the surgeon’s examination and was definitely not a happy puppy!
The radiographer was lovely and gave me a hug afterwards.
The ultrasound was just as bad, pressing down with a bar with cold gel on it does nothing to make you feel better!
It all came back clear – it was just a cyst and they offered to drain it there and then because of the pain. I, of course accepted, and was then subjected to the fine needle inserted into my lump which was fine until they got towards the end when it started to get really, really, really painful.
Fortunately, the lovely Stevie was there to cheer me along and tell me I was doing well – thanks Stevie.
A full vial later and we were all done. It was a bit tender, but nothing like as painful as with the lump and my breast feels better already – softer somehow.
I feel a release from worries I hadn’t realised were bothering me.
And then I got home to find a letter from the respiratory team to say that my bronchoscopy was all clear too. Now, all I’m waiting for is the blood result tests and I’m pretty sure they will be fine too.
But, and here’s the hard part to admit, part of me is disappointed – I was just starting to get into the drama of it all and was almost enjoying the images and videos my imagination was conjuring about how I would tell people, what they would say, how I might never have to work again. Looking at it now, I realise it was my inner ‘princess’ coming out, looking for a way out of having to take responsibility for my life!
In fact, I’m now beginning to wonder why I told a whole bunch of people in the first place – was it solely so I could get some sympathy, a ‘there there’ and a pat on the head saying it would all be OK.
The truth is I wanted to be ill, I wanted to be able to take to my bed with a hand to my fevered brow and act like a diva – and a bit of me is pissed off that I couldn’t do that.
Darn it, I’ll just have to do something about my life after all as illness isn’t going to sweep me up into its arms and take me away from all this ‘stuff’ I have to deal with.
(image courtesy : Dark Souls 1 @ pixabay)