It started yesterday with a visit to Oncology Rehabilitation to see my favourite physio, D, who I last saw in February. By the time we got there, I was jiggered. Maybe radiotherapy did affect my puff after all. Maybe, the grounded me thinks, it’s simply lack of exercise. Fortunately we had a long wait so I was back to normal by the time D called me in. Normal? For some reason, I felt quite anxious, even nauseous.
We got off to a great start, with D introducing herself in her jolly way, as if we’d never met. But maybe that was a good thing because she took a broader remit than before and went through all the exercises I’ve been given over the phone, assessed what I needed from each and adapted the exercises and showed me ‘short cuts’ and aids for when I find them too painful, as an alternative to not doing them. She also assessed the arm I hurt when I fell in the early summer which has never really healed. She diagnosed referred pain from an injury to the socket. Exercises for that now!
Then she looked at my left arm and the problems I have with my scar and absence of breast muscle, which can make movement/exercise very painful. I’m doing the massage right (well done). I ought to be able to stretch further (exercise avoidance), and although I have some swelling, it’s not sufficient to indicate lymphodoema (thank god for that). Then she parked me in front of a mirror and I saw my full scar for the first time. That’s TWO years of not knowing exactly what’s going on. It hasn’t been avoidance, more practicalities: we don’t have a mirror like this. I look down on my scar, I see part of it in the bathroom mirror, but I’ve never seen the full route. Now I was intrigued to see how far it swept under my arm, to notice that it IS a clean sweep, not the tangle that I prod and massage. I’ve only felt it, not studied it, and it feels shorter than it is. I was also shocked to see how deep into my ribs it goes. No wonder those ribs feel so sore.
Then I burst out laughing. It wasn't quite what she’d expected. Maybe she expected tears? However, I suddenly thought about the idea of having a reconstruction. If I’d opted for one (I don’t think I had the option at the time because the margins were so tight but, 2 years on, I probably could now), if I’d had one in 2018, it would have been a 34B and I’m sitting there with this solitary boob looking like nothing I’ve ever seen on my body, weighing in at a generous 36D. I’d have had a severe boob imbalance!
So why the wail? I asked her opinion about the pain in my joints and muscles and she said I needed to regard it as permanent, something that might improve with exercise but, in her experience, I’m not likely to end up pain-free after all this time.
So I am terribly upset, made all the harder because I don’t want Dennis to know how upset I am. He’s ‘shocked’ but accepts it and, when I said about how I didn't want him to be waiting on me hand and foot for ever, he said he didn’t mind. I suggested we get a cleaner. Nope. Mind you, he didn’t say anything when I suggested we get a gardener. A glimmer of hope.
When I started this blog, I was optimistic in calling it “It’s only a disease.” But I did really believe that. I still do. However, upon reflection, with the value of hindsight, in retrospect, whatever: I’ve refused to adopt the cliché of ‘the cancer journey’ but it is a long, winding road with pot-holes and giant boulders to navigate round, It’s littered with side roads, some of which sweep round to rejoin; some are exits to something better, some are booby-trapped (no pun intended), some are dead ends. I assumed the road would lead back to good health. I would compromise and settle for OK health. But if this is the best I can hope for, it’s pretty shitty and not at all what I expected. I AM grateful I’m cancer-free and I know this is a blow I’ll recover from. I know too that I could be ill with a lifelong condition like rheumatoid arthritis or MS and I’m not, so things definitely could be worse and for that I’m grateful. I just feel really, really pissed off that the cancer treatments have done this to me. I’ve not read about it anywhere. Mind you, I’ve only read some leaflets - I have several books about breast cancer but I’ve never felt like reading them.
It’s a Hydra and I’m no Heracles.
And I want to yell “IT’S NOT FAIR.”
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