Thurs 3rd March – meeting surgeon at 12.30, pre-op at 1.45, battle for right to another ultrasound scan, ongoing and exhausting. I understand that the NHS in the UK is crippled (quite probably, due to our modern day unhealthy lifestyles, often fuelled by desire and sometime greed – that's my current view anyway – like it or not!) however,
I pay my NI and I know my rights. I want one and I want it today – Good God! I sound like Verruca Salt! (wondering who the hell she is? Remember Charlie and the choc factory) Perhaps later today I too will turn purple and stamp my feet and rant like a spoilt child. Oh god! I cringe at the thought, but fear that assisted by exhaustion and anxiety, this is a real possibility. Thoughts of these appointments and the rocky climb ahead invade every corner of my mind. Sleep is forced out and I finally gave in to insomnia at around 6am. (I cannot refer to what lies ahead as a journey, as some do, for in my mind, that term journey conjures up thoughts of adventure, excitement and pleasure; somehow I do not think they will be present where I'm headed. However I do hope, with all my heart, that this experience will eventually become apart of my journey and not the end of it – and no I'm not being morbid I'm just speaking openly and being realistic – more on my views of the importance of allowing expression of your thoughts and fears later). I decide to try to meditate to calm my mind. I turn on the computer, and retrieve my newly created Meditation file from the spotify library. My my lovely daughter Robyn, who let me add is sometimes not so lovely, usually during her monthlys, when it often appears she has been possessed by an bloody horrible demon. God! Hormones have a lot to answer for – PMS, menopause and in part breast cancer; (more on that later) what bastards.... However, in retrospect, lets not forget that they provide opportunity for life; how wonderful. Looking at The world with balance is essential. As sure as we have day we have night, light – dark, love – pain, we would be foolish to think we can experience love & joy without every having to endure agony and fear..... Anyway where was I? Ah yes! Meditation. I was about to begin when I felt compelled to write instead; to empty my trash, to unburden my my mind and hopefully quieten my thoughts. For many years I kept a journal and always found it a useful tool for addressing the chaos of a troubled mind. Perhaps such a process now, used in conjuction with meditation would prove beneificial? It has to be worth a try and so here I am ranting. (God, I am truly starving, the vegan diet I'm following is fabulously health and tasty, but I find myself so hungry between meals – obviously more calories need to be consumed – hold on, I am off to raid the fridge. Two bites of a banana, a handful of nuts, seeds and berries and a glass of carrot juice and I am back). Last week, my lovely friend Lucy, suggested that I consider writing a blog and she kindly offered to help. I thought about it, but – nah, it's not my thing! plus where in this hell would I find the time. However, her comments got me thinking and I mentioned to my gorgeous husband Mark that perhaps he should write a blog. He likes to write. He's a published angling journalist. (I love saying that, it makes me proud and pleased that I pushed him to send his fishing stories to newspapers and magazines, when he had no confidence do so) He also already keeps a fishing blog. I thought it would give him an outlet for the emotions he seemed to be avoiding. He wasn't taking calls from his friends, not even his brother, who he's really close to. I knew he was struggling to balance his emotions; the shaky bottom lip gave him away. Also, although during research I came across lots of cancer sufferer's blogs which provided interesting informative, insightful information. I didn't come across much from partners, perhaps because I did not look very hard? Still, I thought that if Mark blogged, he may be able to provide a zone for others like him to chat. He might be able to positively touch other peoples partners (not literally) and that would be just lovely. At the same time, I was thinking, perhaps a little selfishly, that he could keep all our lovely friends, family and my clients informed, with one simple post a day, rather than me (actually him) carrying out dozens of heart wrenching, exhausting calls and texts. Quite insightful for a cyber- phoebe like myself who struggles to send a friend a face book message without first posting it to her own wall and then having to delete and resend. Computers shmuters..... I could be wrong about the direction Mark's blog will take though. Perhaps he will just rant and piss everyone off. I hope not, but if it keeps him sane and upbeat then that has got to be a good thing. Last night at around midnight I read his blog for the first time. I was mortified to read what he wrote about the cards and chocs. He is such a git. To everyone who thoughtfully sent me a card, please let me explain - I loved the thoughts and kind words conveyed in the cards, I even loved the designs, picture and text on the cards themselves. What I didn't like was seeing them up about the house as it transported me back to the time and emotional trauma experienced when my late husband died of cancer and I received lots of sympathy cards and then these memories evoked thoughts like I'm not dead yet.... So please don't be offended if you pop around and they're not up, I’ve kept them all, but away in a cupboard. Hope you all understand....
On sight of the picture he'd posted of the lovely little (yes little, not non-existent) tattooed breast, I felt surprisingly annoyed. Mark had forwarded me a copy of this very pic earlier in the day and to which I had cyber-narked (if there is such a thing) “I thought you didn't like tattoo's and anyway she still has a breast to tattoo (lumpectomy job, I expect), don't deluded yourself Mark I am not going to look like that. Get used to looking at the frankenstein-esque mastectomy pictures”. I felt angry. I thought “he's so bloody stupid”. I now realise he was just trying to be positive and inject me with lovely healing rays of hope. That or he just liked the look of her tit. Either way, I know he means well. I just inserted but quickly removed a photo (that's a pho-eee to Kate-Anne x) of how I'm really going to look if I opt for a mastectomy It's a harsh and disturbing reality that turns my stomach and raises my anxiety levels further. I know I wouldn't look Frankenstein-esque (I apologise now if that sniglet offends, it's simply what comes to mind when I see a fresh scar) forever, scars heal and reconstructions are possible. I know all this!... Still, it appears there is a mental hurdle I must cross before I can agree to the procedure. I need to try to overcome my intense dislike of hospitals, my fear (absolute terror) of having surgery and my pathetic squeamish disposition. To give you an example, when after last weeks biopsy the time came to remove the dressing and clean my wounds, I descended in to blind panic and I had to ask Mark to do it for me. When I saw my wounds I felt stupid, pathetic. There was very little to see, some bruising and a couple of very small scabs. The thought of dealing of having to view and clean a mastectomy wound renders me temporarily disabled – ridiculous, I know! I think I have always been really squeamish. I find it really difficult and quite disturbing to view anything physically outside of the norm. Burns victim, ulcers, wounds – they all freak me out. This is no a quality I am proud to admit and it's one I'd like to overcome. So the answer begs, how am I to overcome this weakness and deal with my own wound, my own dis-figuration. I don't know yet? But I am hopeful that if a mastectomy is the route cancer forces me to take I will find the strength within to cope. What choice do I have! Anyway enough about that wretched procedure and back to Mark's blog. Although there are things I would probably prefer Mark had not said or does not say, its not my place to dictate. For then the blog would cease to a release for him. So I shall just resign myself to the fact that sometimes his views and comments may clash with mine and slightly irritate me. Just as he will have to resign himself to the fact that I may bark at him sometimes for putting fruit pulp in my juice when I didn't ask for it. Not that I'm fussy! I'm just a narky, hormonal, stressed out cow right now. Sorry Mark!
8.06am and I'm off to meditate to some lovely relaxing Meditation Spa music with a healing stone that my friend Susie gave to me. She also gave me a book on clearing Chakra's, a spiritual healing process I have read about and practised before. However, not for sometime. Life's been so good and my stress levels have been fairly low, so I haven't felt the need. I guess some might say I have neglected my spiritual well being in favour of mortal pleasures. Would they be right? Perhaps, to some degree they would be. I believe keeping balance between the two is essential for well being. Am I a little of key? Are such views odd? Perhaps to some (Mark included). But, does keeping balance through such spiritual processes help to rebalance a person and reduce stress and anxiety levels? For me, the answer is Absolutely!
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