Number Six: The Best One

I’ve just arrived home from another appointment at the Breast Care Unit, this time for a wound check. I skipped out all pleased with myself having been told my wound is healing beautifully. Something you must understand about me is that I’m a sucker for praise (and a twist at the end of a film) there is nothing more likely to make me beam than being told I’m the best at something! Beware mothers to be- this is where I came unstuck- the mummy role is difficult enough to do full stop, let alone be the best at! So it wasn’t the fact that my wound was doing so well that made me happy but the feeling that I had sailed in and out of the appointment so smoothly… Uh-oh, it’s happening again… I know this elated feeling… I’m pleased because I think I’m the best breast cancer patient!  I’m so setting myself up for a fall! I then remembered what I had said to Rob as we left the previous appointment. ‘I’m really good at breast cancer!’ (I know, I can be a dick!) I did have good reason to be pleased with myself that day though and here’s how I justify it- I had my drain removed with absolutely no pain or fuss. I had been assured that it was an unpleasant procedure and had got myself a bit worked up about it- this coupled with the fact that the drain was the cause of much of my irritation- put bluntly having the drain put me in an ‘effing bad mood! It was the constant worry of it getting caught or pulled- slightly more likely when you’ve got little ones! And when I wasn’t worrying about it I was forgetting about it and catching it on things myself! Under the computer chair, down the side of the sofa and under my own foot in the shower! So my pleasure at having the drain removed was two fold- one: the straggly, tangly thing was gone and two: no one has ever done it better than me! (I make this brave claim with no evidence what so ever and I don’t care!)

Bye-bye catchy, grabby drain.

So far I have raved on about my positive frame of mind and how well I’m coping- so much so that I’m on the slippery slope to thinking I’m the best one, but there is a worrying sense lurking that everything is going a little too well. You know in a film when everything is so rosy and you just know that someone is about to get kidnapped/stabbed/invaded. This worry was compounded recently when in the middle of a trailer for a dreadful looking film in which all the actors were having a blissful time on an island, I turned to my lovely girl M and said ‘Something bad is about to happen!’ The sentence had not even finished leaving my lips when I thought; Oh god, that’s me too, it’s all gone a bit too well so far, hasn’t it? It’s going to get really horrid isn’t it? And I know exactly what it is that’s coming to spoil my rosy scene setting… Chemotherapy! This is the part that I’m dreading! Even though I’ve have totally butchered my hair (I may be the only cancer patient looking forward to losing her hair) I’m not sure I’ll be able to cope as well as I hope with having a bald head. Also, I hate feeling sick and moaned on and on about nausea during pregnancy (attempted to combat this by eating a truck load of salt and vinegar crisps- hence the weight gain!) I get mouth ulcers at the smallest sign of stress (or late night!) I am Bonjela-ing it up as we speak! The only silver lining here is that I might lose some weight! Don’t go thinking I’m going all body conscious on you- I’m not- I would just love to be able to fit my wedding ring back on my huge sausage fingers! (I’m sure steroid bloating will put pay to these plans!) It’s my own fault really for wanting to be the best bride with the best wedding! I was too skinny for my own good, now I flatly refuse to have my rings resized because maybe just maybe they’ll fit again one day- imagine how much more pleased with myself I’ll be on this day compared with the day I get the larger versions back from the jeweller! I don’t normally like to wait for anything but for this I’m willing to play the long game! I’d like to say wearing no wedding ring means I get flirted with more often (it doesn’t) but it did the make the first breast cancer nurse ask if we were married so it hasn’t gone unnoticed. Rob on the other hand lost his wedding ring after about six months of marriage (just as he started at a new school- read in to this what you will…) he’s not known for his organisational skills and often loses/forgets/misses things (need we mention the loss of the passport that meant we missed our honeymoon?) but the wedding ring does play on his mind and he’s even woken up and searched in bizarre places having dreamt he’s found it somewhere in the house!

So I may be the best breast cancer patient but only so far and as the pre-op lady said (in the strongest northern accent known to man) ‘It’s a long road, and there’s many ‘urdles along the way, you just gotta take ‘em one at a time.’ (She also referred to Rob as ‘usband – clearly she didn’t need to check for rings! This I found hilarious and called him ‘usband myself until the novelty wore off!)

Now, I haven’t watched Eastenders for about ten years but I think I’ll recognise the duff, duff, duffer, duff moment when it hits me. For now I’m swimming along all pleased with myself for being the best one… dun…dun…dunnnn!