I need to write some stuff down but Im not sure how its going to come out as I cant even get it very clear in my head. If it comes out a bit wonky and crap, then Im sorry. Im also painfully aware of how shallow and self-centred Im about to sound, so don�t even go there m�kay? I cant cram any humour into the next few paragraphs so if you wanted knob gags and chatter about glittery knickers you may find me sadly lacking.
Im off to hospital tomorrow morning to have a �lumpectomy� and I am about as fucked up about it as a person is able to actually be.
I am not afraid of hospitals, nor of operations so none of the actual technicalities are the source of my fucked upness.
Here�s the facts, then. Feel free to stop me when I get to any bit which would make you feel fucked up too. Tomorrow�s operation is likely to leave me with at least one (but more likely two) reasonably large scars in places where I will not always be able to hide them with carefully cut clothing. In addition, I am likely to experience �some loss of volume� and there �might be a bit of a dent�. Because I also need to have radiotherapy on the breast where the lump is, it is not possible for me to have any kind of reconstruction done at the same time as the lumpectomy, and it appears that reconstruction is only really done following a mastectomy, anyway. With a mastectomy, it appears you can go to sleep with cancer and wake up with new boobs! Once I have had radiotherapy, the surgeons are unlikely to re-operate on that side, due to the high risk of infection and lack of adequate healing. Once I have had all the radiotherapy etc etc, it is possible that I can request some plastic surgery on the other side to try to make both sides match. Or, if you prefer, they will fuck up the right hand side so that it matches the fucked up left hand side.
None of this is OK with me.
I am aware that, following all that stuff, it is unlikely that I will have cancer any more. I am very grateful for that, and for the fact that I have not had to pay for any of my treatment as I live in a place where healthcare is free.
The �information pack� that I have received from the hospital has given me plenty of instructions to make sure the procedure goes as it should.
First off, I have to arrive at 7.30am but they are not able to tell me at what time my operation might be done. I can have nothing to eat after midnight tonight and nothing to drink after 6am tomorrow. I have been given a bottle of anti microbial body wash which I have been instructed to use for the last three days to make sure that I don�t take any nasty bugs into hospital with me. Im given to understand that they have their own which they are happy for me to catch, but Im not allowed any of my own. It smells like something you might use to mop the kitchen floor if you have a house full of flea-ridden dogs. I am also not allowed to wear any makeup tomorrow and have been told to remove my nail varnish. I have no hair to speak of, no eyelashes and no eyebrows.
My personality has functioned as it has for 45 and a half years as a direct result of me being pretty/hot/glamorous depending on my age. The confidence that I have been able to show to the world has come DIRECTLY from being confident with the way I look. If I looked like crap I felt invisible, insignificant and stupid. Feeling that I looked good made me feel successful, powerful and self-assured. Don�t bother to tell me how dumb that is. I know. I have been able to manage the last five months of grey skin, no hair etc etc and all the vile things that chemotherapy has thrown at me because apart from that, the rest of me looked normal. In a cocktail dress I could just play the part of Sexy Edgy Bald Woman. I have often felt like shit but I have still looked pretty hot.
Tomorrow morning, having stripped myself of the last tiny vestiges of what might possibly make me feel like a human (I wouldn�t go so far as to say �like a woman�. �Humanoid� is the best I could hope for at the moment), I have to sit for what may be several hours, hungry, thirsty and alone (nope, Im not allowed to take anyone with me), waiting to be permanently disfigured.
I am fucked up about it. I cannot listen to one more person say �you�ll be fine�, because I cannot believe that I will be. What I will be, is a person giving an Oscar-winning performance of a person who IS fine.
The untrained eye will never know.
Do not even get me started on what all this will do to my sex life and, therefore, my marriage. My husband will love me no matter what I look like � of that there is no doubt � but I most certainly will not love myself.
Don�t judge me, diaryland. I am vain and shallow and don�t need it pointing out to me.
S
x
PS I might delete this when I come out of hospital, especially if I master 'hiding how I feel' quicker than I think, so get your scathing comments in now.
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