Today I went back to see my consultant to get my stitches checked. Millie drove me up to the hospital and after a couple of hours in the waiting area, We anxiously hoped this routine check would be over and down with quickly – we had shopping and lunching in Kingston planned!! I was called in to see the consultant.

I should have realised that there was something odd when he came into the consulting room with a Macmillan nurse – but I’ve never been through this before so again, why would I notice anything odd! Mr Davies shuffled a little in his chair after sitting round and talked briefly about the operation he’d performed. He looked a little crestfallen when he said “Anna I’m really sorry but he’d received the path results and they indicated somethine else” – I had an urge to nip round the table and give him a hug! I felt terrible for him as he had done such a fantastic job to reconstruct my breast and had they managed to get clear margins, I’d require nothing further.

He then went on to talk about the ‘lump’ that had been removed and the histopathology report which said that the lump (or should I say lumps) tested not as benign fibroadenomas but as malignant phylloides tumour. A very different result and so very different in next steps.

The consultant and nurse were a little taken aback when I said that I knew about phylloides tumours and had thought that this may be what I had (albeit in a benign form) as I had done a little internet research and diagnosed myself with this – the main aspect being the burning feeling on the skin over the tumour and hot sharp stabbing pains in the breast.

They told me that as this is very rare (particularly in a malignant form) neither of them had actually seen or treated one and also told me that I had to remember that it wasn’t Cancer as we all understood it in that it doesn’t spread to other cells and is contained purely in the breast tissue. He then gave me the histopathology report with a wry smile saying that knowing that I was in IT I would need the report so that I could spell the long medical words!

The next steps advised is to perform another excision to remove the tumour and ensure that we get clear margins. Radiationtherapy may also be considered.

I was then taken to another room with the nurse to talk things through further… that’s when it really hit and the waterworks started! I just kept thinking “why me?”, “why now?”, “what next?” and a million other questions…

As I went back into the waiting area I was in pieces and poor Millie looked up from her book to see me standing there like a lemon with tears running down my face. (I since felt awful about not being in control as all the new patients with questions running through are now probably wondering if that’s going to be their result too).

The report told us the following:
Specimen
Fibroadenoma right breast
Macroscopy
Two pieces of irregular fibrofatty tissue 85mm and 25mm, weighing 33g. 7(7) krp.jc
Microscopy
Sections show pieces of a phylloides tumour which is associated with marked stromal overgrowth and slit-like compressed epithelial lumina. Frequent mitoses are observed – up to 10/mm2 including abnormal forms (tripolar). In addition there are scattered enlarged moderately pleomorphic cells present. There also appears to be infiltration of fat by the atypical stroma.

These appearances are consistent with a malignant phylloides tumour. No vascular invasion is seen. The lesion appears to reach the margins in several areas.
I don’t think I stopped crying or saying “Bollox” over and over for the rest of the day.

I decide that I’ve got to grow up and take off the dressing. I know that if I left it until tomorrow my consultant would laugh at my pathetic-ness and whip the dressing off in one sweep, probably leaving me ouchy. Millie was out for the day and so had I had a bath and soaked the dressing under a flannel. I then picked at the corners. About and hour and a half later I managed to get the dressing off without passing out! I’m great with other people’s injuries but my own – forget it!! Although I have to confess not only did I feel nauseous having taken it off but the compression plaster was obviously helping me keep it all in place so removing it meant that any movement hurt ten times more! And very very stupid considering we’ve got a drive back to the hospital tomorrow over white lines and speed bumps!

I also got a message from my Doctor’s office asking me to call in for a flu jab and medicine review. It made me giggle as I don’t qualify for a flu jab and am not on any regular medicine so suspect it’s just a way for my Doctor to get me back in and see how it all went! Bless him, now that’s service!

The next days passed with me sleeping for hours and lounging for the other hours and a few visitors but I think I was so fuzzy I was probably such a rubbish patient to visit. I am quite shocked at how tired and pathetic I was feeling after the anaesthetic. My boob was sore but I still couldn’t bear to look at it – although eventually had to. I was scared when I realised that I couldn’t feel anything, had I lost all feeling? would it come back? The compression dressing meant that I couldn’t see that much and was too scared to take the dressing off – it made bathing difficult but I wasn’t removing it!

Eventually everyone else woke up and the ward started buzzing. I was desperate to leave though and go home (well to Millies) to get under my duvet. I soon got a text from Millie to say that she was on her way in and had spoken to the ward sister. I was going to be released into her care and couldn’t wait. My night and this morning was still being peppered with my heart rate and blood pressure being taken regularly. I was getting quite used to just offering my arm on approach of a nurse!

My consultant had to do his rounds first before I get released and he calls round at about 9.30am. Once again he takes a peak at under my gown at my right boob – I once again look away! My consultant thinks its hilarious that I can’t even look down and is at lengths to assure me that it’s OK, I look much the same as before. He put a compression plaster over the wound keeping it all together and he said will help with the pain and construction.

I believe him and believe that nothing is different than expected.

Millie then arrives having stopped off at the ward desk to discover that I will be discharged once I have my appointment card for my stitches to be checked on the following Wednesday so we sit and wait. I’m awkward, uncomfortable and a in a little pain (but drugs are good in hospital!). Quite a while later the ward administrator pops round to say that I will now be seeing the consultant on the friday rather than a nurse on wednesday. Neither of us thought this unusual and left the ward without asking why.

The drive back to Millies was uncomfortable. Every bump in the road, even going over the white lines in a road, hurt, but I couldn’t wait to get into bed.

I’m not sure where the day went as I disappeared off for a sleep for a number of hours, was up briefly to see the children after school and then think I went back to bed for more sleep. I was so releived that it was all over and popping the paracetemol every few hours to keep the stinging pain at bay. I even worked out how I could sleep on my side using a spongey thing that Mum used to keep her neck strengthened with – don’t ask but hey it worked!

Another good friend, Nigel, picked me up at 6am and drove me to the hospital for my 7am admission. I had been quite happy to get a taxi but was grateful for the lift although sorry that it wasn’t to do something fun instead of the reality. The journey seemed like an age as I was living and reliving my night’s sleepless night’s thoughts and when we arrived at the hospital, I just wanted to run away. It took several minutes for me to pluck up the courage to go in and wave goodbye to Nigel (who was threatening to drag me onto the ward!)

I can’t tell you how nervous I was when I got up to the ward. The lights were dimmed and the other ladies in the ward were still asleep whilst I was shown to my bed to wait for whatever comes next. Shortly after I arrived another new patient was shown to the bed next to mine. Her name was Frances and was very chatty. Fortunately she’d been through this before and was, this time in for an elective mastectomy to remove her last breast (the first having been taken following breast cancer). Fortunately, that is, for me. Frances knew what to do and what to wear (or what not to wear), she also was able to put my mind at rest a little with what to expect although in some moments I wasn’t sure if I just wanted to sit and stare at the ceiling.

A short while later a nurse came by and measured me up for some very gorgeous TED socks (to stop clotting) and gave me a gown which I was told to undress and put on. I finally felt trapped in my bed… hey one wrong move and my fellow ward-mates could get a flash! And then the day long tests began – it seemed like my blood pressure and heart rate was checked over and over again. Next I saw an anaethesist who looked at my veins – or rather commented that I didn’t have any!! They’d gone into hiding knowing what’s happening.. apparently I have really low blood pressure. My heart rate however was through the roof and I got to get my pre-meds early to calm me down. Shortly thereafter my consultant popped round for a quick chat and overview of the op, not forgetting the lovely drawing he did in permanent marker so that there’d be no confusion about which boob to excise. Kindly he referred to the op as a mallowectomy which confused the trainee doctors who were accompanying him on his rounds! Fortunately he also told me that I was second on his surgery list so my wait would soon be over.

I was wheeled down to the operating theatre at 10.30am. At that point I felt completely helpless, seeing the corridors pass by and feeling a little woozy from the pre-med but not really knowing what next. What does it feel like to have a general anaesthetic etc. Anyway within a nanosecond of the canula I was being woken up by the nurses. I thought about asking why they were waking me when they hadn’t done anything but didn’t have the energy to speak. I noticed the time was 3.30pm and assumed I must have taken longer to come round from the anaesthetic. I must then have been wheeled up the ward but don’t remember this or anything for ages except the nurses taking more blood pressure tests and monitoring my heart. Also the awkwardness of the canula in the crook of my left arm attached to a drip. Annoyingly though this meant that I couldn’t bend my left arm nor move my right as I was so sore from the operation. Sounds ridiculous but I wanted to cry when I just couldn’t even move myself up the bed or reach the bed covers.

A while later my consultant’s assistant popped round to check my wound. I looked away whilst she had a look as I didn’t want to know what was left or rather what was missing.

When Frances came back on the ward I noticed that she had a drain as well as a drip. Throughout the night the nurses checked her drain and I was grateful not to have one. Somehow not having one made my operation quite small and insignificant. I already felt sore and was struggling with if my scars would change me and how I looked. Ridiculous I know but still something playing on my mind.

The night was really uncomfortable and I’m not sure if I slept at all. I couldn’t move becuase of the canula and drip on my left and my surgery on my right and besides I sleep on my right side or front… slightly difficult! My left hand had swollen up so that I couldn’t bend any fingers and felt every pulse throbbing in my fingers. I felt miserable and tearful and wondered what had been done whilst I was in surgery.

Kingston hospital have summoned me to be tested for everything and importantly to ensure that I won’t bring any MRSA into the hospital. Actually, it was good and calmed me down a bit by being at the hospital, able to talk things through with the nurse, and see the ward that I’ll be on for my op.

I’m finding it incredibly draining and tired all the time waiting for the operation. I’m pleased it’s only a benign lump that will be simply sorted out but I’ve never had a general anaesthetic and been in hospital. I’m anxious about it and also in pain so can’t wait for it all to be over. I’m hating the waiting but knowing also that my hospital and doctors have been brilliant at rushing me through – I am grateful but no matter what it’s still too long and it hurts and I want my Mum.

Today I went shopping for pajamas that do up at the front and a post-surgery bra. Usually I would be looking fo some lovely matching lingerie and choosing the prettiest or sexiest instead I found myself looking for comfort and practicality. I left the first shop in tears as all that was on offer was hideous in style, harsh in material and utterly practical. I then head to M&S as I’d read that they stock post-surgery bras. I have never been so embarrased or humiliated in my life. I couldn’t see any suitable, practical, front-fastening bras so asked an assistant. She shouted across the shop to her colleague about what we were looking for and why so everyone looked at me. The new colleague then said to me ‘oh yes we keep some samples but they’re not very nice and they’re probably at the bottom of the cupboard’. She rummaged around and then dumped them on the counter in front of all queuing and announced this was all they had and I’d have to go somewhere else if these weren’t right. I left, shuffling out of the shop, hating the fact that I had to look for one any way but didn’t need to be treated like a second class citizen. I didn’t do anything bad to need this operation. It wasn’t my fault. Next shop was Debenhams where the young shop assistant said ‘we don’t stock those things’. I left with nothing feeling totally battered.

Is there any reason at all why lingerie manufacturers can’t make post-surgery bras that are pretty and attractive? Can’t the shop assistants understand that this is a trying and difficult time? Perhaps post-surgery bras should be provided by the hospital to save us the humiliation.

It’s difficult being focussed on anything. I’m either trying to handle Mum’s death, sorting out the many tasks that we need to do to notify companies and people of Mum’s passing or stressing about my impending operation – being reminded the whole time by the pain I feel in my breast which still catches me off guard. I’m still finding it difficult to sleep and can’t get comfortable anymore as I sleep on my right side or my front – neither of which is an option without waking me up ouchy.

I arrived at the hospital in plenty of time and took a seat in the waiting area. I anxiously looked up every time the door opened and eventually my name was called. As I entered the consultants room I realised that I was easily memorable with my very red hair (hey I needed some colour in my life!) and waited. My consultant and a trainee doctor entered the room and the consultant and I had the usual banter about me being in IT and him using long medical words that a ‘natural blonde’ couldn’t understand! At least however we don’t have cancer in our family history and I’m just lumpy bumpy.

The tests confirmed that the lump was a benign fibroadenoma and can be removed with a simple lumpectomy. I once again reminded the consultant that rather than calling it a mastectomy or lumpectomy, both of which sound harsh and painful, we should call the operation a mallowectomy which sounds sort of squishy and much less painful. The intern doctor looked on and slightly shook his head at our joking about something so serious. We talked a little further about the operation and he explained that he would go in with a cut around my nipple to reduce any additional scaring and ensure that any scaring was along a natural line and therefore hard to see. I was releived with this and pleased that he was so not only concerned with the type of lump but also the cosmetics of the operation. It sounds so silly but this was a really huge thing for me, and I believe most ladies, as the first thought I had about my current situation was life without a boob. I love my boobs!!