I had my appointment with the plastic surgeon the other day, or rather, one of his registrars whose name escapes me. From now on, I'll be under the care of Mr Phil Brackley at Whiston and St Helens (he's a Mr rather than a Dr because he's a consultant.) It was a huge crappy day too. There are two hospitals 5 miles apart; Whiston is where I will have the surgery and St Helens is where my consult was. The appointment letter came the same day as the appointment and I'd already left for work at that point so I didn't see it in time. If I had, I'd have gone to St Helens. As it was, I went to Whiston, spent 20 minutes trying to find a parking space in the very full car park, paid £1.50 for literally 5 minutes parking because as soon as I got to reception they said I was at the wrong hospital. Back in the car, across town through rush hour, managed to park....and then still had an hour's wait because they were running really behind. And then I had to pay £3 because I was ONE minute over their free parking limit.
The registrar looked spookily like my best friend, which made it pretty uncomfortable when he had to feel my groin for enlarged lymph nodes. Also, appallingly, he looked at my calf and thought out loud that it might be big enough to close without a skin graft. Having googled skin grafts, though, that is a good thing. He says he will take off about 8cm off flesh and skin and then sew it shut.
A lovely secretary called Angela phoned yesterday to say my pre-op is next Friday (blood tests etc, which will take a few hours) then they want to admit me at 1pm the following Tuesday for X-ray and lymph node mapping. Surgery will be the Wednesday morning and I'll be released either Wednesday evening or Thursday depending on how I feel. Oh and I asked if I could sleep at home on Tuesday night and be admitted first thing on Wednesday morning, and she said yes! Providing I'm in by 8am. That means I can keep my indoor skydiving appointment on Tuesday evening. Bugger cancer, I've got some freefalling to do!
I reckon I'll be good to go when I wake up, to be honest, and my plan is to leave hospital as soon as possible. Reluctantly I've agreed to let my husband drop me off and collect me because I'd not be insured to drive after a general anaesthetic, and if the car seat rubbed against the skin graft it could rub it clean off. I really hate depending on other people to do things for me. I haven't told anyone about the cancer except him and my boss, and that was only because I need the time off work. I did consider not even telling my husband but I know he'd be really upset if I didn't. I'm not telling anyone else though. What's the point? There's nothing they can do and I don't want to upset my friends and family. My parents would just be devastated and that is the problem; people hear cancer and assume you'll need chemo or you're about to croak. People look at you differently and use terms like 'cancer survivor'. I'm not surviving cancer because thankfully it's not killing me at this stage. Unlike some unfortunate others, this isn't a 'battle for survival'. It's just annoying and inconvenient.
The registrar told me all the statistics when I asked for them. There's an 85% chance that they won't find cancer in the lymph node/s that they remove. That's why I'm not telling anyone, because there's only a 15% chance that I will need further treatment after this.
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