Twenty past midnight.
I really should get some more sleep.
Went to sleep two hours ago on the futon on the floor in the boys' room, woke up because my right arm had gone to sleep. Very annoying, and uncomfortable. It's still tingling.
David was angry and tearful again about the imminent loss of "leftie," and I messed up the explanation of the reconstruction process because he picked up that they might do something to the right one as well.
My friends used to joke that David would be asking for "bitty" as an adult, like in the Little Britain sketches, I fed him for so long, and he was so reluctant to be weaned. Nathaniel, on the other hand, weaned himself one night when he was unwell. He simply slept through and wasn't interested in his nightly feed, and when he regained interest, the milk was dried up. Possibly transformed itself into resentful ductal cells at the rapid loss of demand for its supply - the left was my best milk producer, favourite side for both boys. The side that sometimes squirted milk in thin powerful streams if a drinking baby took their mouth away too quickly, the side that sometimes produced so much milk that they struggled to swallow it all, the side where I could press on the skin and squirt milk onto their little faces, which would screw up in a tickley giggle.
Thanks for nourishing my two beautiful boys for seven years, left breast. You served above and beyond the call of duty. I'm sorry that you chose to keep on producing, but the wrong type of cells. I wish you'd chosen a quiet retirement. I did call on you for seven continuous years, I know, and you were remarkable in your devotion to duty, continuing to produce throughout my second pregnancy, swelling with your twin to embarrassingly large proportions when Nathaniel was born. I took advantage of your willingness to serve because I thought that this prolonged tour of duty would prevent the risk of the very thing that will see me say goodbye to you in 13 hours time.
I'm sorry we will have to be parted, but I need to live for my two young boys, and for all the other people I hold dear. I would have liked you to be there when I get my letter from old King William in 55 years' time, but as you've led a cellular mutiny against my body, you have to go. I will be sending your twin to follow you when the time comes to rebuild your empty covering.
I never fancied a boob job. My breasts were one part of my body I was fond of, despite the occasional monthly aches. I even enjoyed the resistance to gravity that your density provided, little knowing that you were hatching a plot to punish me for not letting you continue to feed my children. I didn't want to stop feeding him, I wasn't ready, but you withheld your milk after only two days, and even though he sucked as hard as he could, you refused to let any more out.
So thanks for the memories, my babies nuzzled at my breast, the thrill of a lover's caress, the cushioning of little heads as they snuggled next to me. You've done a fine job, and I know it's not your fault, maybe you have as little control over those ductal cells as I do. So I'll spare you the ignomy of being labelled a traitor - perhaps you have also saved me, in holding the cells for as long as you have, and in preventing them from spreading into regions more difficult to treat. Thanks for all that you've done. I'll always remember you.
A blog started in 2013 to inform family and friends about my treatment and progress for early breast cancer. Then I went and got two brain tumours,,both GBMs, completely unrelated to the breast cancer, so the blog continues.
Background and overview
I learnt more about the health system from being an inpatient than I had in 20 years of working as a neuropsychologist. I was unexpectedly diagnosed with two brain tumours on 4/9/13. They turned out to be grade IV Gliomas (glioblastoma multiforme (GBM)). After removal of the right parietal and left occipital tumours, I received the standard treatment under the Stupp protocol (combined Temozolamide (TMZ) and conformal radiotherapy 5 days/week for 6 weeks), but the TMZ had to be ceased after 5 weeks because I had started to develop pancytopenia, where more than one of my blood counts had begun to drop. By Christmas 2013, I had become anaemic and needed a couple of blood transfusions. I ended up in hospital for 3 weeks of the 2014 new year after experiencing my first seizure (suggestive of a right temporal lobe focus) on 31/12/13). They were so worried about my bone marrow, they did a biopsy. Luckily, it was all clear of any nasty disorders. It had just been suppressed by the TMZ My blood counts slowly returned to normal with daily injections of GCSF, which stimulate bone marrow function, for several months. For 17 months I was doing better each day, without any physical impairments or major cognitive problems A third brain tumour was found in the right temporal lobe on 2/1/15, and removed 6/1/15, only to reappear on 17/2/15 after I started to feel vague symptoms at the end of 2014. I had my 4th round of brain surgery on 1/3/15, followed by stereotaxic radio surgery of a residual, inoperable, tumour, on 17/4/15. I've been feeling like my old self again since that highly precise form of radiotherapy, and it feels fabulous.
My way of coping.
I choose to live in hope that everything will work out for the best. I've learnt that even though things are sometimes unpleasant, life and love go on forever. I put my faith in the life force that created and unites us all in love, across all time, space, and dimensions. I refuse to succumb to fear, which is an invention of our imaginations. There are an infinite number of things to fear, both in this world an in our imaginations, and most of them never eventuate. I choose not to dwell on them, and to focus instead on counting my many blessings, current and past, and to have faith and hope that if I look after the present moment, the future will look after itself.
If you're reading, and haven't been in touch, please don't be shy, send me a brief private message using the contact form on the right. It's nice to know who's out there. Blogging can leave me feeling a little isolated at times (I used to have recurrent dreams of being out on a limb over a canyon, or of starting to strip off in a crowded waiting room). Your emails are appreciated, although I can't necessarily answer all of them.
