Choices

[smokingboot]

A hard morning with the surgeon today. The choices are:
To carry on with letrozole for some indistinct while.
Pros
I can just keep going
It stops my mum screaming at me re avoiding surgery
It has worked so far
Cons
Tumours can develop resistance to letrozole
Maximum impact seems to peak then dwindle at the 9th month which is around now
It's pretty awful in terms of side effects
This last includes bone fragility, particularly bad for those with a family background of osteoporosis, ie. folk like me.
I can't be on letrozole for the rest of my life, apparently.

Surgery
Pros
Kind of done - except for follow up treatment see cons.
Getting it out means examination which might impact treatment of the other two (these are tiny and probably nothing much)
Life and energy back... after a few months.
Cons
Scars/sense of disfigurement/serious threat to mental health
Radiotherapy which further feels rough as hell and adds to disfigurement.
Potential chemo, let's not go there now.

I told the nurse and the doctor about the lady on the train and my sense of shock at seeing her surgeon's work. My surgeon reassured me that he would do his best but... 'your breasts are not going to be the same,' he said with a directness I really appreciate.

'You can hide it you know,' wittered some nurse, 'T shirts and bras...' I eyeballed her, and even now am not convinced I successfully disguised my exasperation.

'I know about T-shirts and bras,' I replied, 'if it was just a matter of covering up in public, it wouldn't be an issue.' What do you think I wear every day? I almost added, do you think I am dismayed at not being able to flash my marvellous nawks to the multitudes of Scotland on their way to work? Bloody idiot! Fortunately, this charming monologue stayed in my head tempered by the realisation that she probably meant other and definitely meant the very best and gentlest she could.

'It's what I see in the mirror. I like my breasts and I want my husband to enjoy looking at them.' I continued. The nurse looked a bit abashed. She caught up with me afterwards. 'I can send you brochures so you can see the scars and how to deal with them,' she said. I tried to be polite. 'That would be wonderful,' I said, ' thank you, I would greatly appreciate it...' I suggested that we go through this at my next appointment.

'Well, after you've decided,' she said, 'we don't want you to look at the pictures and be put off!' Hells teeth, doesn't that basically admit that the solutions don't solve much? Those pics must be something else if she doesn't want me to see them before an op.

I came home. I comfort ate a lot. This May day has been full of mist and strangeness. You'd think my recent adventures would fill me with a kind of zest, able to face anything, but I feel furiously angry and can't make a decision. I must do what's best for my health, mental and physical; it wouldn't do for me to die any time soon lest I find myself in south-of-heaven plummet for punching the Almighty on the snoot. Hard to avoid the suspicion he's asking for it.

Comments

[bleodswean]

HUGS HUGS HUGS.

[smokingboot]

Thank You So Much X

[mallorys_camera]

Sending you lots and lots and lots of love.

[smokingboot]

Thank you for that love, it means a lot to me XXX