'Touched by Fortune.'

'My dear niece, you are very valued in this family and you have all our strength. I am sorry that I cannot give you more company than these words, being so far away, but I know positively that special people like you are touched by Fortune.'

Touched by Fortune. My dear Aunt! She did it because she meant it, and she steps into my mothers shoes because Mum cannot do this. In fairness, I told her a while back but she forgot or she is busy scratching at her phone and ignoring the whole thing. It's a sorrow that she cannot support me but it would be agony to have her screaming in hysteria begging me not to have the op. So I get my Aunt's strength instead. It's a great gift. The house is full of gifts, flowers and seeds and messages and poems, even a lovely review of my book, The Spiders Bride . This last was one of those things that appears out of the blue, the universe being superkind.

The night before the op I had a dream. It's the kind I take notice of, untouched by digestion, no food or drink or anything else. I dreamed I was in a red gallery with a whole bunch of pictures/movie clips of myself as a Roman legionary/centurion. One was of me with the big breast plate, but I couldn't see well enough to know what kind of lorica it was, because it all looked huge, and there was some cloak across the front. My hair was cropped and my head looked small sticking out of the top. Not ridiculous tiny, cute and adorable tiny. It made me smile. The face was very much still mine. Then there was one part that kept repeating, like a gif. I was sitting somewhere, still in Roman armour though wrapped in blankets, with a companion. We were side by side as people might sit in a car, watching something. I turned my head to him without taking my eyes off whatever we were observing, and this gesture seemed to be on repeat. Now my hair was long and I looked even more like myself as I am, though I noticed a slight difference around my eyes. I wondered who else was in this gallery and looked up to see people drifting in. A woman smiled saying;

'You must admit you -' Then the alarm went off.

Could anything say more clearly that this was time to soldier up? Ridiculous hyperbole but dreams don't get embarrassed. We made our way to the hospital.

In my gown, sitting by the bed, along came everyone for many pre checks and questions answered again and again, consent forms signed, all that mularky. Then the anaesthetist, then the bear hugger thing that makes you so warm. My appointment was for 7.30, but they had to wait for the dye to turn up, so it was nearer 10. Consultant, surgeon, anaesthetist again, nurses, nurses, pills to take the edge off my phobic responses, off to the gurney carrying a pillow they gave me but I don't recall using, then the cannula. I recalled my cousin-in-law's puzzlement over NHS nurses and cannulas; when she was working at St Thomas' she was the only nurse on her entire ward who could administer one. It's a standard part of nurse training in Spain, for some reason not here. The freezy thing did not work.

'Urgh,' I told them, 'I feel thattt...'

Then I didn't feel anything for a good long while.

I slept for ages, and woke later and drowsier than they all expected. 'Your bloody pressure is low,' said the nurse, 'You must keep drinking water.' Every time I turned around there was a nurse offering me water. I drank. My sleep was long and dreamless, not a Roman in sight. Then came the surgeon to talk about how it had all gone OK. Then came the anaesthetist again. Then came the consultant.

'You were under in 4 seconds,' he said, 'very good response, veins easy to find.' He smiled at me as though this was something I had control over. 'No washing unless it is with perfume free soap, don't touch the dressing, no deodorant or anti-perspirant, no alcohol and no painkillers.' This last confused the nurses when I told them, as they were trying to work out what medication to give me to take home. Why no painkillers? They all clustered around some screen and stared at it.

'You've had a lot of opioids,' one told me, 'this must be it. So nothing today, you probably won't feel much anyway, but if you do...' and then she gave me a load of instructions I couldn't remember plus three separate packs of painkillers, a leaflet and the instruction that if anything went wrong I was to contact the breast clinic immediately. I asked her to repeat all this to my husband, and she smiled saying she would and that he was in the waiting room. More instructions about not taking off the surgical stockings they had given me until the morning. More instructions about things I can't remember. I have an overnight bag stuffed with instructions.

I could dress myself, though so stoned it was possible to see Mars from my window. Collected everything, but not allowed to carry anything at all. Was taken to R in the waiting room, no better sight in this world. We went home.

Later I noticed that one of my nipples is bright blue. This is the dye. What the hell is it doing there? Isn't this the ever so slightly radioactive stuff for identifying the lymph nodes? When I asked during the follow up call yesterday, they said yes, and don't try to scrub it off. It's under the skin. It will fade out. Estimates range from 6 weeks to 2 months, though surgeon pall tells me its more like 3 to 6 months. Touched by fortune? It's been a day and a bit now and I'm still waiting for my radioactive powers. My superhero name is the Blue Booby.