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Friday started early, I had to get my light breakfast done by 7.30am - and more importantly my last cup of tea!

By now I was getting quite casual about this 'need to be on time' lark and I got on my bus at just gone 11am (appointment was 12.30pm but I'd been told so many times that I was last on the list and that I should bring two books to keep myself entertained with that I wasn't sweating this one too much).

by 12.10 I was in the hospital and being taken down to the ward - where I retained my obnoxiously cheerful demeanor while one of the ward support staff took me through the questionnaire (you are asked your own date of birth so often that after a while you start to doubt yourself!), followed very quickly by the anesthetist (who apparently had been looking for me at 11.30am!  If I'd known that I would have been on that early bus!) and then one of the surgeons who would be assisting (this one was a lady, which was nice to see) - I confessed about my early history of a heart murmur (nothing to worry about but I wanted people to know in case something happened - mostly so they would know it wasn't their fault ... I'd not taken any drugs, honest!) and my worries about a period that had been due to start the day I was given my diagnosis but had since vanished - scared off I assume by more important concerns.  

Oh yes, which reminds me about the first real laugh - you have to take a specimen in so they can do a pregnancy test (all women between 12 and 55 if being operated on need testing - which is a sobering thought) - the support nurse looking after me came back from having done the test with a slightly solemn look;  'it's negative, I'll retest it in a moment but it seems to be negative'.   'Thank goodness!' I almost shrieked in her ear, ' it's SUPPOSED to be negative!'

Having talked to three different people and received my completed set of paperwork (including a note for work - very efficient!) I finally got to the joy of taking off all my clothes to put on the infamous hospital gown and a pair of paper knickers ... oh and then the addition of a fetching pair of knee high pressure stockings to stop my blood pooling in my feet ... there really is no way to maintain your dignity when they're about to put you out cold and open you up!  I think it was about this time the surgeon and his assistant arrived - I managed to stumble out some words about him doing his best work and how beloved the rack is ... he managed to remember that it's the smaller one he'd be working on and made a joke about me giving him grief for that - so I think he knew who I was ...

All of this had taken about an hour, possibly an hour and a half, so I perched on my chair, trying not to flash anyone and got my book out.  Two pages in another man came over to say 'I'm here to take you down', to which I (quite naturally in my mind) said 'can I take my book?' and looked shocked when he said 'no'.

He was there to take me to the theatre ... 'but I'm last on the list', 'yes, that's now' - poor thing must've thought I'd completely lost it!

I put on my specially purchased robe and new slippers and was walked down to the anesthetists room - where a total of six men sorted me out (one of them had changed profession from electrician to nurse - good chap!)  ... robe and slippers off, gown untied as I lay on my back, discrete slipping of one arm out of the gown so a monitoring cuff could be put on, then the other arm, then a mask over my face with oxygen.  All beautifully done, not rushed but not much chance to think about anything, very respectful - and then I was out like a light.


Coming round was odd - I sleep on my side so being propped up on my back wasn't good for me - I'm afraid I might've been one of those moaners ... not in the good way, but in the whimpering way - just couldn't get comfortable.

I was dozy for a while and I'm pretty certain in that time the surgeon came round to say they'd got it all and that there had been nothing in the lymph nodes in the armpit - but I'm guessing that will be confirmed at the follow up in two and a half weeks - plus I was still pretty out of it so I'm not entirely certain what was said.

There is very little that can be more welcome, delicious and just generally great than the first cup of tea and a plain digestive.  It's when you finally start to feel human again.

There's more paperwork (including a note for my GP to explain what's happened 'Routine, clear Axilln, No concerns' magic words) instructions about what to do when I get home, a packet of drugs and then it's time to phone the friend who's picking me up.  (Oh and I put my own clothes on again of course!)

Poor love, she was just pulling into the hospital when they rang - so of course it rang out and they thought she was MIA.  She was actually about to come through the doors onto the ward with immaculate timing.

So I'm home now, a another friend stayed the night on my sofa to make sure I didn't do anything silly and generally ran around making me tea and food - bless her.  I'm taking painkillers and starting on the stretching exercises while watching a bit of bad TV.

Throughout this entire experience (eight days from the delivery of diagnosis to the operation) I can only praise and thank the amazing staff of the NHS - every appointment was quick and efficient,  every nurse, every doctor, kind, generous with their time, patient with their patient. 

And all my friends both near and far who have rallied round with support and kind words - you are all much loved and I'm a very lucky person to have you all in my life.


There will be follow up appointments, radiation treatments and generally time to heal - and I'll keep a few notes going on these pages as a record of what happens - but I absolve you all from the need to read any more if you don't want to :-)