25 packets of ham

Today, once again I sat in the Green Bucket chairs. My routine six month appointment with my surgeon. I am always nervous waiting to go in, hoping that my surgeon won’t find anything strange or unusual when he does his check. Every week I have a little poke and prod at my wound area and of course the lonely boob.. I really only need to check once a month but once a week keeps me sane. No matter how well I know my scars I still from time to time panic, thinking that something has changed, no matter how well I know the Lonely boob I still panic, and if I really really panic I know my Breast care team are there to help me.

And sitting there today I thought of my recovery post surgery. It is so strange, I don’t remember this as being an awful time, I don’t remember terrible pain, I don’t remember crying or complaining.. (Well only one night when I was fed up with the drains stopping me sleeping.) But otherwise I simply remember strangly relaxed days, the food chanel and Love Island. Yes happy clappy days, in my own bedroom, newly decorated, with a new tv and all the channels ready for me to recuperate as organised by my husband. Yay to pain killer’s. 🤗

My bedroom became my haven. I had visitors, plenty visitors, with a big family as blessed as I am, you will never be short company. They came and went. I was fairly high on the happy drug’s and sat in my bed telling funny stories and really entertaining the visitors. But in hindsight I know their hearts were breaking and they were putting on the smiles and laughs.. Without the pain killers.

But the lows came, when the heavy duty drugs were finished with and I was down to the bog standard drugs , reality got a chance to butt in.

Horrible. Sick feeling days. Thinking the worst. What if I didn’t make it, what if this was going to end bad, what if I had to leave my two teenagers. And all that time what was foremost in my mind was 25 packets of ham. If the worst was to happen I would ask my husband to make sure there were always 25 packets of ham in the fridge. At least then I knew if there was always ham and bread my children would always be fed.

I sat in bed.. Walked to the kitchen and sitting room as much as I could, and did my best to help myself along the way.

Another area of worry was to make sure the beds were changed, I lay in bed one day thinking I must tell my sisters to make sure the beds are changed or my children will get scabies. These were my worries, the silly simple things but important no less.🙈

After 10 days I could have a proper wash. My two sisters arrived. We decided we would do a wash and hair wash.. Down to the bathroom. Seat ready for me. One sister holding the drains, the other sister with the face cloth attempting to wash as gently as possible while I slowly went green and it looked like I would hit the decks. Carried back to bed, the whole room spinning, cold sweats and sisters so upset at the fact that they were trying to wash me. I slowly came around, lying on the bed in a towel, weakness gone and saying to my sisters ” well that went well”.!

And today, after all the nerves my surgeon told me everything was perfect, nothing to be worried about in all those place’s that I poke and prod. I would be referred for reconstruction. After much ado and thinking about the pros and cons I decided I wanted to go ahead and get the new boob.And so a letter will be sent to a plastic surgeon in Dublin. He will put me on his waiting list and one day i will meet him, I can’t wait to meet him and discuss my future, me and the Lonely Boob.