All these breast surgery jokes have me in stitches. Oh well, suture self.
Blog: The Big J vs The Big C
Making the breast of a bad situation ...
On 4 October 2016, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. This blog will chart my progress through treatment, and continued enjoyment of life, love and friendship.
Expect humour, irreverance, occasional sadness, and staunch defence of the National Health Service.
Btw, that picture is not me. :-)
Take this basket into this stall
Waist upwards: off with it all
On with the gown
(No, the other way round)
This is what we're going to do
OK with you?
Into the room, off with the gown
Lift your breast and lay it down
On this plate, stand like this
Shoulder back, hand on hip
This might squeeze a little bit
I had something of a setback today, as the MRI scan results showed a second lump.
It's in the same breast, and is pretty small - 4.5mm compared to the 27mm of the 'main' lump. It may not even make much difference - hopefully, they can whip it out during the surgery along with the other lump. But it's not really what you want to hear, and it can't help but bring a feeling to mind of the cancer spreading.
Today was the day (Booby Tuesday) to have an MRI scan. That's Magnetic Resonance Imaging, and it produced a much more detailed image of my tumour and breast than the scans (mammogram and ultrasound) I have had so far. It made maps of my baps.
- Cup A - Radiotherapyhead
- You're the Breast Thing - The Style Council
- Inspect Yourself - The Staple Fingers
- Mammogram Mia - ABBA
- Ultrasound of the Suburbs - The Members
- Boops of Fury - Chemo-cal Brothers
- Simply the Breast - Tina Turner
- Booby Tuesday - Rolling Stones
- Mammaries - Brabra Streisand
- Dangerous - Bust-a Rhymes
At last I have something in common with Angelina Jolie. We're both having trouble with our Brad Pitts.
They said they'd have to remove part of my breast, but I reckon they're just making a molehill out of a mountain.
When the nurse had given me the lump lowdown, she asked me if I had any questions.
I didn’t want to ask about medical stuff – they had already told me loads and the rest was in the book or on the end of a phone. So I blurted out pretty much the only question I cared about: How do I tell my kids?
When I checked in at the breast clinic, they told me to sit in the waiting room with the udders.
Being me, I fucked up even attending the appointment. Got the time wrong (thought it was at 10:40; it was 10:20) then spent ten minutes in a queue I didn't expect to be there.
We'll see if we can squeeze you in, they said, and squeeze me in they did. I expect there is going to be a lot of squeezing in - and some squeezing out - over the next few months.