Chapter 23
It's all comin' up boobies.
It was time to pay the remaining out of pocket expenses to Dr. Anthony. There was no turning back from here… Not that I want to, I just want it done. I rang the doc’s rooms with my credit card in hand (just had enough room to cover his fee!)... The receptionist was so lovely, she asked if I had any further questions about the procedure before she asked for my numbers. I like how they call it a “procedure”, it’s a friggin major operation, one that puts you under for hours and hours and hours… it aint no stinkin’ procedure *said in a Mexican accent*… As I read out the numbers I could hear her punching them into the eftpos machine and then the printing. When she got back on the phone to me she sounded different, there was an air of hesitation in her voice... My mind then started to run wild… OH NO!!!!... My card’s been declined… there will be no surgery… I’ve lost my place in the operating theatre… I’m not getting my operation… he’s decided not to do it… Back to the real world now and the receptionist asked me very sheepishly what the name on my card was… More things were running through my mind now, all this in a matter of seconds… no, make that milliseconds… I nervously replied “Lady Louise Canning”. She was stunned, she said she had never met a real “Lady” before and then I got the five minute spiel on how much she loved the Royal family, and how much she enjoyed watching the Royal wedding on TV, she even asked if I had gotten an invitation!!! I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I wasn’t a “seated lady” but a “landed lady” and I have to admit I did enjoy the attention. Best of all… my card was fine, the operation to restore my body was full steam ahead.
The phone calls from the hospital admissions clinic have begun to ensure I know what to do, what not to do, what to bring, what I won’t need... I’ve had my ct scan so that Dr. Anthony won’t have any little surprises with blood supply etc. The scan of all things didn’t go so well believe it or not! I had an anaphylactic reaction to the contrast dye they injected me with! I’d never had a reaction before to these scans… in a strange kind of way it was all a little bit exciting. The staff where running around, doctors were called… I guess I really didn’t know how serious this was... It started out at first with uncontrollable sneezing then that quickly turned into my tongue and throat swelling. I was so embarrassed… All this unwanted attention… Yes I said it, unwanted. They gave me some antihistamine drugs to ease the swelling and I had to sit in a little room for a few hours so they could keep an eye on me. I’m thinkin’ they didn’t want the extra paperwork an incident would cause. All the other tests I’ve had Greg has been there, this time I went by myself… After all it’s just a routine CT scan and I’ve had many before with no problem so why now? Have all the toxic chemicals that’ve been administered over the last eighteen months changed my body chemistry? Could this be the start of what’s to come?
No more port delivery.
With the delivery of my last Herceptin infusion through my portacath came cause to celebrate. With money being a little tight at the moment we chose a simple celebration of bubbles and cupcakes. I just love cupcakes with their sugary creamyness on top of fluffy sponge, decorated so beautifully… it’s almost a shame to eat them. Dr. Geoff made a special effort to come and see me. He always makes an effort to come and see his patients but this time was different. It was the last infusion he would have to order form the HOCA pharmacy for me. It felt kind of strange, after today he doesn’t want to see me for three months. Three months! WOW! What will I do without my Wednesday sesh time? Plenty I tell you… plenty. This is a day that I have played over in my head many times and now it is here. The end of seeing the same Doctor every three weeks (and for a time it was nearly every week) since December 2009. Alas, it was a good strange.
The eve.
The weeks have become days, and the days have disappeared into, well, it’s tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day that I have been waiting on for over twelve months, though dreaming about it for a full year and a half. At this point I am really not too sure how I’m feeling. I am both scared out of my brain, and excited beyond belief… What if when I get there they turn me away for some reason? They won’t of course, I will have two boobs and a flat stomach by tomorrow night! This may be too big for my little twisted mind to absorb. Greg has had to put up with my weirdness as I have struggled with the pros and cons over this for the last few days if not weeks. I must be such an unbearable toad at times. I know I have been, but I can’t help it. This is something, yet again, that I am not in control of. I am finding I have no tolerance for anything that hasn’t gone my way… In short, I’m stressed to the max. My mind is just not coping with all the what if’s? If I get sick or even have cut myself they cancel my surgery. Many times I have been reduced to tears for no reason. Another positive beside the new boob is that my portacath will be removed while I’m under. The last “tangible” reminder of what I had been through. I will wake up with one less port and one more boobie! Bring on 6am! Such an ungodly hour to be in the waiting suite, especially when your team doesn’t arrive until 8am. Well I guess I would like to know that they have had a good night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast. I don’t want them having 3 o’clock “itis” at any hour while they are with me. The Mater admissions nurse has assured me that I have the “A” team. I bloody hope so… they charge enough! But if you want the best you have to pay... She also said that I will probably be in intensive care over night, that is something I’m not too keen on. I have been in intensive care before and its awful. You hear way too much in there. Maybe with a little bit of will and mind power I wont have to be put there and I will also get a private suite like last time. Fingers crossed my friends.
As I sit here contemplating getting up and getting dressed, it has just dawned on me… this will be the last time I will ever have to stick my boob on! Or worry that unexpected visitors have knocked on the boat and I am not “fully” dressed. There will no longer be a need for a boob box sitting on my dressing table taking up room. Think of the extra room in my bag I will have when we travel because there will be no swim boob box either. I will no longer be able to take my boob off and hand it to Greg and ask for him to clean it or stick it on him arm for that matter, no longer will I have to worry about my fat guts sticking out in my clothes. How exciting is that… does it ever get any better? Hahaha the funny side… When I get a stomach ache, will I be rubbing my new boob and not where my stomach used to be? Something to ponder. I have gathered up my two beautiful wigs to be donated to a cancer wig exchange program. Wig purchases can be a very expensive exercise and mine are still in perfect condition, I know they will be loved as much I loved them. As for my boobs… because of our health regulations they cant be donated within the country, so they will go off shore to a country that doesn’t have the same opportunities as we do here in Australia. Now I will get off my soap box and try and de-stress.