When I started this blog, on a steroid high after a ruined Christmas thanks to my first chemo, I defiantly called it “It’s just a disease,” I still maintain that. It doesn't carry the helplessness of a dementia diagnosis but it carries a lot of stigma, dating back to the inability to do much except cross your fingers in the 1960s. Recently, I’ve felt like changing the title to “It’s a way of life”. There’s barely been a minute when I haven’t had a reminder that I had cancer - annoying doctors referring to it, painful joints, sagging upper lip and lisp, nasty saliva, clumsiness...all chemo-driven, despite the fact that I finished it officially in March 2019. Two years ago.
And two years on, I learn that I still have breast cancer - in the lump in my eye socket. Sorry friends. I really wasn’t expecting it, although I had unpleasant moments of being realistic. I was completely thrown but my manners were better this time. I just said “I really wasn’t expecting that”. And yet again, I heard an expert in his field say “Nor were we”.
How do I manage to be so effing unique? A clear mammogram. A breast surgeon telling me he didn’t think I had anything to worry about. A clear MRI January 2020. Two clear MRIs January 2021 but with reference to the “indeterminate mass” that “in retrospect” they can see has grown since 2020 in the eye socket. No one mentioned it in 2020. It doesn't feature in the radiologist’s report. Dr U is going to ask the radiologist to talk him through the two scans but it looks very much as though something was there and they would have kept their eye on it - I would have kept my eye on it. Meantime, it’s grown, it’s had 15 months to do whatever this cancer chooses to do. I want to be angry but I need to know it’s justified.
But in an eye socket???
Same with my GP practice. I didn’t bother them about it till August when I saw that real live doctor. I asked her to look at it. That’s all she did, literally, from her seat safely 2m away. If she’d examined it, that would have perhaps been 6 fewer months. But she didn’t. Nor would the practice refer me to Ophthalmology as the optician recommended early in September in those glorious post-lockdown days, not till November when it was visibly worse and I had to send those photographs. The upshot of the referral was a letter saying the team were considering it and would let me know the outcome. I make excuses for that GP but, if the facts support it, I shall have to make an official complaint. Same with the radiology report. I’m just looking for someone to blame. Sigh.
Meantime, I have to struggle with my phobia - the vomiting husband has emerged again. I could deal with an anxious and stressed husband - I did for most of yesterday - but I cannot deal with this. Don’t I have enough to handle? Blood tests and an ultrasound on my neck next week, then a CT scan as soon as there’s a slot. Results from histology - which of the two cancers is it? Is it the hormone-driven one (I’d be very surprised as I don;t feel I’ve a hormone in my body)?
It’s just bad luck. I knew I was high risk without the regular reminders, I’ve moved from che sera sera to ‘it is what it is.’ I don’t know quite what that is so I’m not going to jump the gun. I got through it last time. Let’s hope...
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