See those letters on my chest? Here’s what they stand for:
- R-WLE: Right Wide Local Excision
- SLNB: SentineL Node Biopsy
Yep, it’s two operations in one go. The first means removing the cancerous lump and the area around it; the second means removing one or more lymph nodes.
There were five of us booked in for the afternoon surgical stint, and each of us was shown to our own (very) little cubicle. Darn it – if there had been six of us, I’d have been able to make my ‘dozen tit’ joke again.
Clothes off, gown on. Visit from the doctor. Questions. Explanations. Letters written on chest. I now feel reassured that not only will they carry out the correct procedures but that they will carry them out on the correct boob.
I signed a form donating my tumour to the science geeks so they can use it for research. Hopefully, my lump can play its small (2.8mm) part in increasing our knowledge of breast cancer, preventing it, detecting it and curing it. Of course, it would help if the government were to fund cancer research adequately rather than relying on charity fundraisers to fill the yawning gap it leaves. But I digress …
My next visit was from the anaesthetist. Very nice man. Asked me the usual list of questions. When I answered that I had had general anaesthetic six times previously, the most recent being less than three months ago, and none with any problems, he seemed most reassured. I told him I had a false eye and offered to take it out, but he said there was no need. Nevertheless, he was very pleased that I had told him, as he would now not panic if the pupil of my right eye showed no response.
Then the surgeon came round, took a good look at my boob and drew on it the lines where she would cut. She says that the enormous size of my breasts makes her job a lot easier – which kind of makes up for that enormous size meaning that the cancer had gone unnoticed until it was quite big.
A couple of Kakuros later, it was time for the op. I am one of those people who copes with difficult situations with banter, so I babbled away to the anaethetists while they popped needles in my hand and adjusted the operating table like a deck chair. I suspected they had finally had enough of my weak jokes and waffling when they put an oxygen mask over my gob.
How had I forgotten how glorious the anaesthetic makes you feel just before it knocks you out?! Bloody marvellous.
The next thing I knew, I woke up on the recovery ward, just too late to see the SuperMoon through the window (though due to the cloud cover, everyone else missed it too.
Tea, toast and blackcurrant jam has never ever tasted so lovely. A visit from the doc, a check of my vital signs, and a pack of painkillers and leaflets, and I was home in time for Home And Away.
My next blog post will be about recovering at home – but the fact that I am writing this one a week after the events that it describes may give you a clue that it has not been all fun and games!
