Surf's Up

I have Stage 2 breast cancer, or so the lovely Merseyside breast consultant told me this morning...

...except it wasn't this morning because he was running 90 minutes late and my 10.30am appointment was nearer midday.

Oh the wonderful NHS.

But that's ok. I liked waiting. I got so bored waiting I forgot to be anxious.

So, Colin is 30mm and Malcom has evolved from a 'maybe' into a fully fledged cancer all of his own.

And because the collective-known-as-Malcom has made an appearance, I have to have chemotherapy as well as surgery. Hey ho...

I have opted to do the unusual. I have decided to have chemotherapy before surgery. There's no 'doctor, cut this cancer out of me right now' going on here...I am being very brave and living Colin for the next 5 months whilst an oncologist feeds my arm with a cocktail of drugs to kill off Malcom and any other lurking nasties.

Upside is the chemo should make Colin a shadow of his himself by the end of the summer, then when the lovely Scouse consultant comes to do his thang, it won't be the unkindest cut of all, rather a nip and a small dent.

I do have to a number of scans/x-rays/ultrasounds to check Malcom et al haven't spread to my lungs, bones and liver...but Scouse told me the chances of this are minimal. I believe him. Right now, I'd believe him if he told me I was Osama Bin Laden...because I am OK, but I am pretty wiped out by spending the whole day in the hospital talking about cancer.

My best friend came with me this time. I didn't fall to bits at all and was perfectly articulate and capable whilst discussing everything...but I am glad she was there, because we had a bloody good laugh and made up some more cancer jokes...

If it is good enough for Kylie, it's good enough for me...