Amanda's thoughts on Monday 14th - The Day Before The Good Day....

THIS MORNING IS OFFICIALY SHITE...
As I make that statement the strong sensible positive voice in my head sighs... 'Oh how bloody melancholy and dramatic!' - and quite frankly its dead right. However, this realisation does not change the fact that today I feel like absolute utter crap.

What a difference a day can make, or for that matter, an hour, a minute, a thought or a comment.  So much can change so quickly and often it is
little more than our own rogue thoughts that are the perpetrators of our loss of control  - sneakily creeping in to divide us from a happy, peaceful, disposition.  During some of the toughest times of my life, times when my even my mind has threatened to buckle under pressure and piss off  to God knows where (but thankfully did not), I have always managed to find the strength to battle on (with of course the help of my wonderful family and friends). Since my breast cancer diagnosis, I have strove  to remain constantly positive and I think I'm fairly successful, most of the time (again assisted massively by my lovely posse).  However, I'm not perfect – who is?  I do not have the almost impenetrable defence structure of a medieval castle and so I guess I will just have to accept that the odd arrow (containing  poisonous thoughts) may occasionally break through the flimsy walls of my human fortress and cause a little damage.  However, I do have a Damage Limitation Strategy in place...  To explain; I promised myself long ago that I would not let any tragedy rob me of my personal qualities.   I have seen how loss of faith and trust in basic human goodness can destroy and devour a person and I am never going to let that happen to me. Some of my experiences have, without doubt, hardened the coat I wear to a soft armour but still, at my centre I remain fluid - focused on trust, hope and a faith in all that is good. Nuts as it may sound, I am still hopeful that all the information and medicine I need to get well can be accessed and processed through this centre, mixed together with a fresh organic vegan diet, a grand portion of exercise and double dose of day light.  Voilà... Healed...  - Please keep your thoughts to yourself on this one – Oh, unless of course you agree with me : )
After days spent in-doors recovering from surgery, deprived of any dose of day light, I was eager for some fresh air and was absolutely bloody delighted yesterday afternoon to the find the sun shining brightly in our back garden.  I rejoiced at the prospect of being able to sit outside and read a book whilst soaking up tons of healing rays.  Grabbing my bits (I mean book, cushion, drink etc., not lady parts) I rushed out to say hello to the first truly glorious spring sunshine I've seen this year.  “When did winter end” I asked the sun.  Who just went on smiling....   I looked around at the MESS that was our back yard.  I had to tidy up winter and Mark's fishing shite  before I could truly enjoy the space (I Know – I Know – I'm not supposed to be doing anything physical  - but when you have OCD and can literally see germs and fishing shite everywhere, its really hard not to tidy and sweep your yard before you can enjoy sitting in it).  Yesterday, the sun's appearance was truly fabulous.  It warmed not only my body but my heart.  I felt lighter,  yet taller and stronger. 

Today, I realise that yesterday even with it's wobbles was a great cancer day.  How do I know this?  I know this because today by comparison is OFFICALLY SHITE - I feel as if I have swallowed an extra large gob-stopper, with a too sickly sweet candy covered coating of grief, anger, fear and spirit dampening pain, and the gob-stopper is stuck, lodged in my windpipe sending waves of nastiness cascading through me. 
As if it wasn't rotten enough that my own frigging' body turned against me and conjured up a nasty cancer PAC-man in my right tit - which resulted in reluctant agreement to extermination of the space invaded tit -  I now have to deal with an aftermath of  hideous physical and emotional side effects.  The down side of the possibly life saving breast castration - On the physical weather front we have; A thick covering of constant dull grey throbbing pain over the whole of the wound site;  Intermittent, unpredictable black stabbing pain due to the extensive bruising (what the surgeon did while I was under his spell to cause such bruising, I shall never know but, I'd probably give up my other tit in exchange for a private viewing – I reckon that either I died during the operation and he had to punch me in the chest several times to bring me back to life or, he just gave me a few good whacks for being so difficult and uncooperative prior to the op) and last but far from least, the  most problematic; Sharp, shocking, searing electrical lightening striking pain as a result of damaged nerves.  It's these disrupted damaged nerves in the armpit that are giving me the most jip.  Pain killers (lots of them) are doing their damnedest to numb the surgical induced pain, but down there in Right Pit Dip,  where approximately  20 lymph nodes used to reside, they are failing miserably.  These Lymphs have lived there my whole life – 'happy as lymphs in pit'.  A right tight knit family unit I reckon. Until along came the removals expert,  Dredge (formerly known as the surgeon) to evict some of them.   During a pre-op consultation I was informed that it's  'hospital policy to take four nodes' for testing – an attempt is made to take the  sentinel node or nodes; the leaders so to speak.  I pleaded for less to removed.  Perhaps just two, as the fewer nodes taken the lower the risk of later developing Lymphodemia (a nasty painful permanent swelling of the arm). Dredge agreed to keep my request in mind, to take extra care in that area and take as few nodes as possible.  I was later to learn that he had in fact, evicted five or six. Five or six!!!  That is three, possibly four more than I agreed to part with.  I am furious.  How very dare he.... Surely he knows whether he took five or six – surely he can bloody count... My guess is the thieving sod took six, possibly even seven, and is now trying to play the robbery down.  I guess the resentment I feel towards this man is rather odd, especially when you consider that he has just removed a cancerous tumour from my body. According to most, himself included, I should be hailing him as my possible saviour.  I have to admit that I am in fact more than a little  embarrassed and confused about my feelings towards him.  Still, however necessary his assault on my body, the fact remains that it was brutal.  I apologise to Dredge and anyone else who is offended by my lack of gratitude, but that is all I can do - apologise.   I can't change how I feel to please others. I suppose I could lie about my feelings.  Perhaps it would make me seem a nicer person, more grateful, more humble, but what's the point – I'd know the truth and because I'm a rubbish fibber, so would everyone else.  Anyway I hate lies, even if they are small white ones created to cover up offensive truths and save embarrassment.  So here I am shamefully admitting that Dr Dredge (the surgeon with a small s) is not my favourite person.  I am not a fan of his work and No, I do not think I would recommend him for an award, or even to a friend. Now, all that said, or rather typed right here on the page to read – I feel totally ashamed – absolutely bloody wretched. Why is this? I can only assume that grief is involved and that I am experiencing the very normal stage of `Blame!'  Currently all fingers, are pointing at Dredge. I probably don't want to blame the cancer for taking my breast because God forbid, I'd then have to spend as much time thinking about cancer and being cross with it, as I do thinking about Dredge.  In truth, not only is Dredge better looking but nor can he cause me further pain or distress. At least, not without my signed consent. Anyway, this is all very analytical, hypothetical and bloody confusing so I'm going to leave it right here until my mind has further processed and sorted out what is really going on.....  “Dr Dredge may get off the hook yet!” 

So with pain claiming first place as No.1 problem of the day - what else is going on to make this such a bloody miserable day?  Well, lack of sleep is a definitely a very close second.  In fact, I reckon pain and insomnia are in this together, like two team mates - both wrestling to cross the finish line first.   What else?  Minor stuff really; like waking up this morning in a pool of goo - `menstrual blood'.  Bloody Great! More mess, more washing, more oestrogen, more emotions, just lots more of what I don't bloody want.  And finally, there is 'glass arse' – for those of you that don't know what that is? - Tough.  I may be half-tited but I'm still a Lady and I'm not about to share the details of this problem.  So as you can read, you are now aware that I, today, am officially more miserable than sin itself (who said so?  Me!) I'm just down right 'Pissed off!'  MOAN – MOAN – BLOODY  MOAN...

'Right. Enough of this misery please' – it's stifling. I need a solution to all this crap? How about - 'Get lost cancer, get lost pain, get lost period, get lost glass arse, get lost bad mood and come back sleep - simple as that!'  OK - so here's the rescue plan; today I shall allow myself a good old massive moan.  I shall get everything off my sore, single breast chest.  I shall shamelessly and  selfishly off load on to this screen and anyone who chooses to read this rant. Then I shall get a good nights sleep and start tomorrow with a smile.  Yes, that is exactly what I shall do for all this bloody moaning is exhausting.  Sorry for moaning - Thanks for listening.