Frustrations

I feel as though I’m pretty qualified to write on this at the moment, as my arm is giving me a bit of jip again. Anyway, enough moaning about things which are right now. Why does this post come straight after the last? Because I learnt an important lesson pretty quickly after my first operation, which was that this is a long game, not a quick fix, and whilst it is important to keep pushing forward; sometimes you have to accept that things are out of your control and they will take as long as they do. 

I do still push, and then accept how things need to be after, I figure it’s better that way, as it means you don’t have the regret of not having tried. I mean, the flare up of my arm, might just be because of the gym last week (where I was not lifting very heavy things, because I promised the hospital I wouldn’t - well done me).
Well, as I was saying, at the gym let week, I thought I’d see whether I could do the monkey bars, from one end to the other. These arms aren’t really designed to hold up this comfortable body, so it wasn’t easy, but I did manage. All the way. I had hoped that I might look like a long lost gladiator from the TV show of the same name, a Saturday teatime favourite in my house growing up. If you don’t know, it was a series of physical challenges on a sort of assault course, and one round involved swinging from rings hanging from the ceiling. The gladiators were so graceful, missing out rings and gliding towards the usually hapless contestants. My monkey bars weren’t like that, but I did get across. I doubt I’ll try it again, my arm is infuriating, but I’m glad I pushed and did it once. I am more laid back now, more accepting when there really is nothing that I can do. It’s no surprise to hear that I spend time looking for ways round first though!

When I’d had my first mastectomy, I was amazed to find how quickly I recovered. After all, I was home the same day, and pottering about the house within another day or two, feeling very pleased with myself. I followed the instructions and did my exercises, but I was ok. Hurrah! I went for my two week appointment to see how things were, and to get the results of my sentinel lymph node biopsy. A very quick explanation, this is where you’re injected with a dye once anaesthetised and then the lymph nodes which turn blue first are removed and biopsied to check them for cancer cells. It’s a routine procedure whether your nodes looked clear on scans or not. The lymphatic system is how some fluids travel round your body, so cancerous lymph nodes are not cool, as they could be making their merry dance all over. 

Anyway, I rocked up, greeted my smiling consultant, sat in my pink twill kimono. I was examined, he was pleased with my recovery so far. I redressed and sat at the desk with him. The results were back. One of the three nodes removed had some cancer cells in. I felt my face flush, the anger and heat rose from my collar. When it reached my eyes, I started to cry, because this wasn’t fair. I was ready for chemo, up for the fight. I didn’t want to have to stop here, not take £200, not pass go, do have another operation. 

It was a precautionary measure, in part as I was so young. I was fed up. More waiting. More recovery time. We weren’t even up to chemotherapy yet. More sickness time from work. I raged and screamed inside, while on the outside I calmed myself down and started concentrating, and planning again. A new plan, a new timescale, let’s work with that then, I thought. That was what happened, exactly, and it sounds too simple now, but in the whirl of everything that was going on, it was all I could do. I also ate cake, and played music, and saw my mates, and asked them to come and see me. We all deserve to do things that make us feel good. After that operation, I had to recover again, and do the shruggy shoulder exercises, and wait some more. 

That was frustrating, and so is my slight lymphoedema which appears to come and go now. There are other things too, like not being able to exercise like I did, the struggle to find clothes that fit my shape now, the monthly checking myself, the ongoing medication, the side effects. But I try not to think about them too much. After all, once you get started - I mean, I can’t hold my drink like I once could, I’m not as flexible as when I was twenty, my hair has just started going grey, I can’t eat anything and not put weight on, and all those things are just side effects of getting older, and that can only mean one thing. I’m still here. I’ll take that.