It is the morning of the D-Day appointment. I have two hours to go until they officially tell me I have breast cancer...and perhaps some more information on what happens next.
The 'problem' with the 'perhaps' bit is the Multi-Disciplinary Team (that is, all the healthcare professionals who deal with cancer...surgeons, radiologists, oncologists blah blah) have their meetings-to-discuss-new-cases on Tuesday mornings. My pathology/histology results came in Tuesday afternoon. Thus, they haven't discussed me and Colin...and the surgeon/consultant I see this morning to give me the 'big news' might not wish to discuss options with me until he has spoken with his comrades...
The reason I logged on this morning is to tell you an interesting fact about breast cancer:
The more affluent a woman is, the more likely she is to get breast cancer.
I am not particularly affluent. I earn about 40 grand a year and I have a degree. I don't own a house, I have no pension and I don't holiday twice yearly in the Maldives. I do own a few Mulberry handbags and the odd bit by Missoni, but that hardly makes me 'affluent'.
If I earned less, was brought up in Tower Hamlets and lived in a high rise ex-council flat, which the producers of The Bill like to use for outside scenes for the apprehension of crack dealers and toms, I probably wouldn't be writing this blog....
Go figure....
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