When I was younger my mum used to sew and my nan used to knit. A lot. Which meant that for most of our childhood, my sister and I were dressed in handmade pinafore dresses, trouser suit outfits and argyle cardigans. We matched a lot of the time as we were basically ‘cut from the same cloth’.
When I started high school, although I was finally allowed to buy an off-the-shelf school skirt, my nan was designated as chief knitter of school jumpers.
By the time I reached the fifth year I had long given up on being able to join the clique and wear a polyester V neck from the British Home Stores, so had started to embrace the uniqueness and began to pick out designs and opted for a big chunky sloppy Joe.
I loved that knitted sweater. It was warm and comfy and sufficiently baggy to cover a teen girl’s body issues comfortably.
One day heading down from the second floor of the school building however I managed to catch a loose thread on something sharp and unbeknown to me, as I trotted down the flights of stairs, the jumper had begun to unravel
My friend Beverley who was a flight or so behind me spotted the runaway yarn winding around the banister and frantically began gathering it up as she chased after me.
By the time I reached the ground floor my bum-length sloppy Joe was almost a crop top as Beverley appeared panting behind me with a jumble of tangled wool held triumphantly in the air. Other kids on the stairs cheered and in that moment we went from fairly quiet unknown fifth formers to legends!
As cancer invades my body some 40 years later, and I feel my life unravelling like that sloppy sweater, I seem to have a troop of Beverleys patrolling behind me gathering up my lost yarn.
So thank you all for the stream of messages following the Big Op. To update you I was at the hospital at 8am yesterday (Tuesday) and whisked through and prepped in mere minutes. Was slightly worried when they asked what type of operation they were doing. And then which side! And as they felt-tipped a big cross onto my right breast I did think I needed to don some scrubs and write down instructions. Felt like I was in an episode of House. Is it Lupus?
Then onto the theatre bed where half a dozen nurses busied themselves around me and hooked me up to various machines before I was anaesthetised and the rest is a two-hour gap I thankfully won’t get back.
Woke with a startled jump to a male nurse shouting my name! Were they not taught to gently ease patients out of their slumber? I was then wheeled up to the main ward for an overnight stay due to a drainage tube from my armpit whilst my baps were strapped up tightly like a swaddled newborn baby.
The worst part of the whole experience was when the family of the old dear in the bed next to me arrived and I overheard the son-in-law asking if he should ask the ‘hombre’ in the next bed if it was ok to turn the lights on. Wife corrected him, whispering “it’s a woman”. I mean know I was bald, make up less and exhibiting squashed breasts, but at this point I had to check all my feminine bits to make sure I’d had the correct operation!
Sent home mid-morning today (Wednesday) after a quick lesson on how to empty Derek the Drainage bag which I have to become acquainted with as need to cart him around with me for a week! Attractive. Found a handy pan hook in the kitchen so he is now dangling off my waistband as I potter around the house hands free and currently trying to find a decent tote bag for trips outside amongst the public who do not want, or should not, be witness to such delights.
Back to the hospital on 7th October for a consultation to see basically if they got ‘it all’ out and details on the next steps. But this is Stage 2 complete. Tick that box.
On the plus side the scar is pretty neat and tidy and hardly noticeable as tucked away to the side – info for those who will never see my breasts. Although to be fair most of Malaga has seen them recently so who cares at this point? And pain has been so minimal I haven’t had any meds. Offered drugs to help me sleep last night which I didn’t need. And again at 6am this morning when woken with bright lights and a flurry of nursing activity attending to my needy roommate.
“Would I like something to help me sleep?” asked the nurse when she spotted me stir as she waved an IV bag of drugs in my face. Errr no – because I WAS asleep until you woke me with Blackpool illuminations!
Meanwhile people keep asking me about my hair. Seems it’s the highlight of post-chemo discussion! Yes, something is going on but there seems to be some division in the ranks. So I am shaving my head until there’s total collaboration in the hair follicle department. We ain’t doing patchy. It’s all or nothing folks.
However leg hair appears to have received the re-growth memo and has arrived in the form of very blonde baby fluff. Typical, as I was enjoying being hairless in certain areas. Maybe hair renewal is starting from the bottom of my body and moving upwards. I am more concerned about the lack of eyebrow and eyelash growth at the moment as being mistaken for a ‘hombre’ is so not the look I was going for.
two steps freelance 