ANZACS, Friends, Flowers and now more tests...........This is SCANdalous.........

ANZAC DAy 2013 will be memorable for many reasons. The day dawned with nationwide services watched somewhat pedestrianly by me from the comfort of bed and lounge. Always moving, always beautiful to see such lived-in lovely old faces. But dogs wait for no man and it was off for an invigorating walk with the dogs.

Upon our return Tony and John called by, later followed by Sally & Craig and we enjoyed a cuppa (read glass of wine) and the latest installment of the Essendon Drug Scandal. Anzac Day poses a serious connundrum for Carlton Supporters. In the clash between Essendon and Collingwood, it is always extremely difficult to ascertain who one loathes more. So after much discussion, consensus was reached. It seems a tad unchristian-like to wish injury on any young athlete (it is not their fault after all, that they have had the misfortune to end up at either of these cesspits of humanity). 

So we decide that Essendon inches ahead of Collingwood in loathesomeness and we hope that the  Bombers lose (adding insult to injury, as well as tannorexia, increased libido, and  reduced body fat arising from their "alleged" use of AO9437 or whatever the peptide is called). But in the interests of balance  we wish both sides a battery of player reports for serious offences.

We have been spoilt with chocolates, homemade bread, jam, soup, cakes, (Naomi, Pauline, Viv and Sally & Andy ) an amazing edible bloom from the lovely Lexine and Heather and a delightful Coonawarra red from Craig as well as flowers from Tony and Denise. To everyone, thank you for these thoughtful gifts as they lift the spirit incredibly. But if this keeps up, I will need to contact James Hird and get a reference to obtain a prescription for the anti-obesity drug he is "allegedly" familiar with. Below are some pictures of the lovely bounty.

So as the day moved into late afternoon, Siobhan transferred all these wonderful programs that Craig and Ty had undoubtedly lawfully downloaded so that in the coming times ahead I would not have to add insult to injury and watch Ellen, the B&B or any other daytime television crap.

 The downside of the day was an Essendon victory (and no serious reports!) but a lovely day catching up with friends. Its an early night because the next day its back to Mac for a couple of scans.

With no breakfast in the tummy, I am waiting bright eyed and bushy tailed at the Diagnostic Imaging waiting room. A palatial setting as you can tell from the images below. I arrived early to make sure I got a good seat. 

The Taj Mahal it aint

In the waiting area I am provided with a litre of water like substance to drink but am unsure whether its for the CT scan or the Bone Scan.

I am ushered into Nuclear Medicine and am advised that I will need more radioactive tracer. As regular readers will know, my last experience with this was horrendous and I am still sore from where it last went into my body. But apparently this time its painless because its going into a vein rather than just injected under my skin. What a relief!!!! So they put a line into my right arm with two junctions, take some blood, flush some water through, then inject the tracer from a little lead case. No pain. This apparently will now take about 4 hours to go through my body for my bones scanning performance premiering at 12.30pm. Its just after 8.30am now. She was too efficient for me to request a photo to show you but can I tell you that had I had a spare tissue or two I would have gladly provided them to her. I was clearly channelling my mother with my level of annoyance at the constant sniffing.

So back to the waiting room and about 15 minutes later I am ushered through another walkway in this labyrith of a department. I am requested to dress for the camera and I get to sport this incredibly elegant creation from the House of Princes Laundry Services" Tres Chic non ???? Non!

After that I was seated in a recliner, provided with a vaguely sweet cup of water to drink, the line in my arm was flushed with water again and then I was moved to an adjoing room for the CT Scan. This process was entirely painless but weird. I was placed on my back and arms over my head, the line in my arm was connected to another substance that went into my vein. During the time the machine was operating and moving above me from head to pelvic area, it talked to me in an American accent, like an annoying GPS, instructing me to hold and release my breath. The mystery substance then began to take effect as I could feel a warm melting sensation move down my face, throat and chest and finally, as I had been advised, to my groin, where it would feel like I was wetting myself!! And it did. Alot.

Once the process was completed I quickly sat up and - how does one express this delicately?? I surrepticiously felt about to see whether the feeling inside had impacted on the outside. Fortunately as these good people promised it was a sensation only.

Happy and dry!

During the intervening period I headed for tea and toast with Andrea and her two lovely daughters Rebecca and Emma and toothy-smiley granddaughter Marley. We had a laugh about boobs, family and ageing and then it was back to the Mac for Part 2. - the bone scan.

Piece of cake people, what with all the prep work having been done in the morning. Just needed to remove the shoes and top and lie back for 20 minutes and it was done.

So as my day at Peter Mac drew to an uneventful close, my experiences to date  yet again positively reaffirmed by such friendly helpful and hard working clinicians (sniffy chick's nasal problems  notwithstanding),  I was left with a final observation by the doctor taking a last glance at the bone scan preliminary reports. He advised that he can confirm people that I have arthritus in both knees and in my right ankle !!! This place just keeps on giving!!! If I were a horse, they would be putting the screens up.

Soldier On Good Friends. Lest we forget.

Kellyxx

Invasive Carcinoma - No Special Type (NST) My Arse!!!!

Good Evening Lumpsters,

Siobhan and I popped into Peter Mac today for the post surgery follow up. It was a happening day in outpatients. It was a bit like the old days footy finals series where you needed to take your fold up stripey patterned nylon chair and  stake your claim in the queue between the rabid knitting nannas and the old blokes reliving lost youth and coodabeen legendary status, and sleep out for the night before the tickets went on sale! Seats and patience in Outpatients were as rare as an undercover seat for a GF between Geelong and filthy Collingwood.

Waiting waiting

Now front of the queue!!


So to put this into context about what we were about to find out - its been just under a week since I had the surgery and I am here to be informed about what the plan is for treatment, if any is required. I have cut a paragraph (see below) from a previous post to revisit the elements under consideration. All this gobbledy gook is second nature to me now but I know for you, dear readers, that it may as well be latin. Its amazing how quickly all this  non-conversational medical crap can sink in but I cant seem to remember where I put my car keys!! And just to gross you out I have taken two happy snaps (breast and underarm) to let you know that I am healing well. The Surgeon removed my bandages and was tres happy with my healing capabilities! Just in case its not perfectly clear - the healing breast is the first photo below. A boob at this angle does look a tad odd.........

Just to take you through the next bit, here is the selection criteria, so to speak, when one finds oneself with a confirmed breast lump then the following provides a nifty plain speak summary of what you need to look and hope for..........if the lump is small, say >2cm, with no cancer cells in the lymph nodes and the  cancer cells have hormone receptors and the cells are HER2 negative and the cancer grade is low and the surgical margin is clear then the cancer is LESS likely to come back or spread. If they are the opposite of that, then it is likely to come back or spread. 

So we head into my appointment with my Surgeon and my Breast Nurse (that is the worst nomenclature for a clinical title I have heard since someone floated the idea for a Nurse Unit Manager - a NUM to be called a Business Unit Manager!!!) Its like my left breast has its very own Nurse..... sorry I digress.

In the Histopathology report I was given, my cancer is beigely described as Invasive Carcinoma of no special type (NST). Can it get any more bland? From the wide local excision of the left breast they took a tumour 16 mm x 10mm or 1.6cm x 1.0 in size - so far so good - its a small lump. The cancer cells in that tumour were highly hormone receptive  scoring an 8/8 for oestrogen and 5/8 for progesterone. So that also is a good thing. I have always been a high achiever!! The test as to whether it is HER-2 negative requires a further genetic test because the 'first glance" microscopic test isnt entirely conclusive, but it is suggesting that its negative at this stage - also a good thing - so far folks its three for three and yay for me.

Then we get to the not so good bits. The surgical margin isnt totally clear as there appears to be DCIS (ductal carcinoma in situ) in one of the margins. The tumour has been removed but these other little dudes if left to misbehave in the margins by themselves would get bored and turn into fully fledged cancer cells. So they need to come out. Secondly they discovered cancer cells in both the sentinel node and another lymph gland that they took out in the first surgey so I need to have all the lymph nodes taken out from under my left arm. Finally, the histopathology report grades the tumour - albeit only small, as a Grade 3 tumour. And I have to quote the report because perhaps one day someone, years into the future, will be able to translate this complex language of medicos and it will be because of my blog that us mere mortals will know what the fuck these people are talking about!!

"There are nests, trabeculae and cords of tumour cells with rare tubule formation and central sclerotic stroma (still with me??). The tumour cells have markedly pleomorphic nuclei and there are 15 mitotic figures per 10 high power fields placing it into Grade 3."

So what does this all mean ? Well first step is another date with the surgical team at Peter Mac next Thursday. What will follow is definitely a course of radiotherapy and in all probability prior to that because the tumour is Grade 3,  a course of Chemotherapy, and also a whole pile of pills. If the HER-2 genetic test comes back early next week positive or the lymph nodes that are removed next week have more cancer cells then I am definitely in for chemo. If, when they revisit the margin where the tumour was in the breast and they find more DCIS, then we will be discussing more radical surgery as an option. 

So not the trouble free news we were hoping for but it did lead me to formulate some future hair plans. Siobhan and I had a great laugh about what coiffure opportunities this could present. So  dear Carlton Football Crew, in the event that I have to have chemo and I lose my hair, I want you to buy me a tasteful wig as my birthday present for this year. Note the use of the word tasteful,  hence Craig, you will be in charge (with some consultation from Pauline and Viv) and I had better not end up looking like a drag queen (given that many people believe I already sound like one!!!) 

In the mean time I am off to Peter Mac the day after Anzac Day for a Bone Scan and a Cat Scan - it seems that they get to a stage where they like to do a total once over just in case any of these mischevious little cells have done a runner and migrated into the different landscapes and territories of my body and become what vile Tony Abbott calls "Illegal Refugees". 

Trust me, it would be the one and only time I would ever agree with that bastard !!!

I'd much rather "Cell"ulite!!

Kellyxxx 

Radioactive Needles + Chemically Enhanced Nanna Nap = Boobie Smurf!!!

The day has dawned and we head to Peter Mac. Tea and toast before 7am, and admitted by 9am. I say good bye to Siobhan with her wonkily best brave face in place, and head upstairs to Day Procedure. Ubiquitous vinyl chairs and crap TV awaits you. Surprisingly after mastering the free wifi, and just about to settle into some browsing, I get called in to a cubicle for the following to be taken- blood pressure, temperature and name/D.o.B.confirmed yet again. 

Do I know about what is going to happen to me today? I respond, an injection of radio-active stuff and then off to theatre. I say I have been told the needle hurts a little. 

Not so simple says young Nurse Ratchett. She kindly points out to me that this "injection" isn't so much an injection but a procedure that takes about 45 minutes - after I metaphorically pick myself up off the floor and digest this soupçon of information, she is at pains (no pun intended), that it doesn't hurt so much, as burn - a lot!!! I bet you all can just feel the love in that room that I was emitting at this stage peoples. And then she tells me the injection isn't under the arm - it's in the nipple area!!!! "Don't shoot the messenger" is my first thought - actually I lie. My first thought was a four letter word. 

Apparently this stuff ( called radioactive tracer) needs time to course it's way up your breast so that the sentinel node and/or lymph glands under your arm can light up like a cheap set of christmas lights made in China that blink on and off in a code that signals " here I am, here I am and I have those naughty little cancer cells right here with me!! " This in turn then serves as something akin to a Google Map to locate said nodes. Is it just me or do others find it not particularly reassuring that an experienced surgeon still needs a map to find stuff under a patient's arm????

But before we get to that fun stage, she provides me with a rather fetching outfit of a blue wrap around gown (which if I was a size 22, would have fitted perfectly). And to complete the ensemble, is a pair of baby blue paper booties (no heels peoples!) with a very becoming matching hat. Sort of a Gowns-on-the Gurney  equivalent to Fashions on the Field.

They way I am dressed I could do a shift on the canning line at SPC.  

So I am then walked around to nuclear medicine for quite a wait. Seems that Thursday is very popular with the radioactive crowd. Some time later am called through and meet a Nuclear Medicine Radiographer. Lovely girl. Explains what is about to happen and eloquently prepares me for the process on a recliner rocker in a small room. She kindly ( stupidly) offers her hand for me to hold.  The Nuclear Medicine Radiologist comes in with the stuff. Surprisingly he isn't wearing a Homer Simpson outfit of a space suit with a Darth Vader-esque helmet nor carrying a "glow-in-the-dark" stick of radioactive poison. Rather its a rather underwhelming lead container and in it is, a relatively speaking, inoffensive needle with bright greeny-yellowy liquid. 

He feels the lump and then directly above the lump, places a finger on my nipple. He begins to slowly (and I do mean painfully slowly) inject this stuff. At first I feel nothing. I must be super strong I think to myself.......and then it hits. If only I had been bitten by a spider before this radioactive injection, it could have then rationally explained my immediate vertical leap onto the ceiling from where I needed to be scraped. I repeated the same swear word in ascending volume over and over in order to have a goal instead of screaming out in pain. It was horrendous. It lasted for about 4 minutes which is the equivalent of a lifetime. I was drenched in sweat. 

In order to promote the tax payer funded journey this poison was making in my breast to Sentinal Node Station, I was expected to massage said burning breast for about 8 minutes. Now for most of us, this is not an unpleasant undertaking (gay boy readers, this clearly doesn't apply to you) but god, what an ask. It was burning, it was hot and it was painful. After about 12 minutes the burning sensation stopped and it was tolerable. It's amazing how the feeling of pain can so quickly recede. The brain and our body is an amazing thing. 

So next it was off to have more happy snaps of the trip this tracer was taking in my left boob. I was expecting a little scanner maybe on a trolley, but I walked into this "Arcticley"  chilled

room and what met me there was a machine the size of the Starship Enterprise. It does a number of things. I had to lie on the skinny bed and be mechanically moved part way into the tunnel and the two screens positioned either side of my breast were used to take films, front and side on. You stay in place and the machine barrel turns - I felt like one of those blue dudes being transported in Avatar- little did I realise how true that would turn out to be!!!!

From there I was taken to theatre and laid on a gurney. I met my lovely Anaesthetic Nurse who prepped me for theatre. He generously placed on my legs (embarrasingly non-waxed and a tad furry) some fetching compression stockings which they provide for all their "breast ladies" and introduced me to my Anaesthetist and his offsides- both of whom looked about 18!!!! My anaesthetist ran me through everything and was so engaging it was a stand-out. My Visiting Fellow then arrived and after what may have been a bit longer than genuinely required grope of my breast- he autographed, yes autographed my left breast with his name and an arrow in green texta. Protocol apparently, the autographing, not the extended groping. 

I am deemed ready to go so into theatre I roll. The surgeon is running a few minutes late so they give me a little something to make me drowsy. I talk to the nurses, the Fellow and the anaesthetist asks me whether I am getting drowsy. I say no. Now perhaps he wants to shut me up but I like to think that the surgeon was making her way into the theatre and he needed me under. Anyway don't recall a thing from here on in for the next 75 mins. I have two incisions the first is under the left boob and the second is under the arm - hope the hairy pitts arent detectable.

Next I know I am waking up in recovery. And I feel bloody tremendous. My recovery nurse asks me how I am. I say I have had the best sleep ever and that I am starving. She seems a tad surprised but says she will get me something to eat. I sit up and check out what's happening around me. Clearly not everyone has the good fortune responding to general anaesthetic that I do. Whilst munching on a ham and salad sanga and a much needed cup of tea, I observe my fellow theatre goers. Lots of moaning, vomiting and even some crying and swearing. Can't wait to get out of here. I don't think my sunny disposition is helpful in this instance! 

I get wheeled back to Day Surgery after a bit. Get the run down for not showering for 24 hours otherwise the wounds will bleed, rest up - no house cleaning or vacuuming for 10 years (might be a slight exaggeration there) and come back next week to discuss treatment plan options with the BCCC meeting - see earlier blog in the archive listing at the left hand side of the page. 

As we leave I feel quite perky, Siobhan is very happy and relieved to see me looking so well if a touch pale. 

I feel abit disappointed though. I didn't take a "selfie" when I had had the radioactive tracer - a bit distracted by monumental pain perhaps but I missed the opportunity to show you what a True Blue Trooper I am (or at least was for a brief time). All I have now is this pic of the last vestiges of when I was a Smurf wannabe. Apols to all the gayboy readers out there for whom the sight of a female nipple may be less than palatable!!

 

So I head home to the care of Siobhan and the team from the West Highland Nurses Agency !!! I am a very lucky patient indeed!

Thank you for all your words of support and kindness. It has been greatly appreciated. Next Wednesday I will have choices about what will happen from here.

Lotsa

Kelly x

Timing is Everything....2 Funny Broads and the 86 Tram

It seems a nifty piece of cosmic timing that whilst learning about this cancer parlarva, that the Melbourne Comedy Festival is currently underway and some very funny humans are providing the good citizens of Melbourne with some seriously good belly laughs.

Siobhan and I have been going for many years. For me the standard one hour performance is one of the best concentrated and focused times when human nature with all its foibles and idiosyncratic ways is served up to you on a plate. You get to empathise with, be embarrased for, admire the comedian's courage, be astounded by their openness, be charned, be revolted, be shocked and sometimes even horrified. But mostly you will connect and just laugh your head off. And  all this, for a bargain basement price of usually twenty or thirty bucks.

In the past few weeks we have seen Charlie Pickering and the wonderful Waleed Aly and their take on climate change. Sounds dry and boring I know.....but quite frankly folks it was intelligent, thought provoking humour at its very best.We also saw Hannha Gadsby twice. Once, doing her Art Show at the NGV on Nudes, (preferred her previous show on the Virgin Mary in Art) and the second time performing her standup gig " Happiness is a Bedside Table. This show was briliiant. This woman can rock a neck to knee lycra swimsuit like you would not believe. She made the audience howl with laughter.So glad we didnt head to Tracey Morgan, I have it on good authority that it was terrible.

Having been to Peter Mac on the Thursday, we were heading to the Princess Theatre the next Saturday to see two veterans - Denise Scott and Judith Lucy. We frocked up because we were heading out to dinner afterwards and to ensure safe travels opted to take the 86 tram to and from. Now Ms Scott is a Thornbury local but I can honestly say Siobhan and I  didnt expect to be sharing a Myki swiper-on-er-er as we (all) headed to the Theatre. We did a double take, continued to stare at the poor woman, then thought - how uncool, and moved onto the tram.

Fast forward a couple of drinks on the rooftop of Siglio's Bar (upstairs of the Melbourne Supper Room overlooking the house where Pontificating Pollies commit hyperbole and bellicosity and get well paid to do so........and we head to see Misses Scott and Lucy. Row G middle of the row, stalls.

Denise Scott begins with a rap about public transport and her love of the 86 tram and the people who travel on it and says she noticed two gals travelling to the same destination as her self and calls out to the audience  the question as to whether they might be in the audience. Naturally I scream and wave out in the affirmative, whilst Siobhan shrinks into her seat. She asks us our name and I yell out KELLY. She asks Siobhan her name and in a voice coming from near her boots Siobhan offers up her name!! Denise Scott says  she suspected as much as we were her demographic because ladies of a "certain age" frock up when heading out. Can I share with you that Siobhan wasn't all that enamoured with being described as a lady of a certain age.......

The show is literary in nature, both comedians having recently published a book. I would like to share two good lines from the show. Firstly at a writers festival Q&A, Denise was told by a lady that "She was a huge fan" and that "she simply loved Denise's self-defecating humour". Second, as Judith Lucy paced across the stage she told the audience she was a member of a discussion panel at another writers' festival and that fellow panelist Peter Carey (famed Australian two time Booker Prize winner) called her a C@$%........ The audience took this collective audible gasp and then the theatre was totally silent. Judith stopped pacing middle stage, peered out into the audience, lent forward and said...... 

"But it maybe because I called him Wayne"...............the audience went wild..............

They stripped off and performed some hysterical dance moves in nude leotards complete with texta- drawn on boobs and pubic hair - though a tad too bright due to the stage lights, these brave gals invited photos being taken because they were happy with whatever attention they could get. 

So with the ravages of middle age being played for such laughs by two talented ladies ringing in my ears, I prepare for Peter Mac. No longer taking HRT, I am having so many hot flushes of such magnitude that  I could power a steam engine. 

When you combine these industrial strength heat surges and my radio-active substance injection I am to receive, there is a strong possibility that  could become Thornbury's very own Fukoshima nuclear power plant.!! 

Surge on Good Friends as I warm your hearts and light up your lives - literally.

PS; Peter Mac, drugs and surgery up next so stay tuned.

Kellyx

Introducing the B Triple CCC...........

So all the Easter Eggs are gobbled up and the last long stretch of consecutive public holidays are behind us. Its two days after Easter Monday and we are off to Peter Mac to meet the team of people involved in deciding what will happen next.

A big plus is the discounted car parking one receives if one is a patient because as anyone who frequents the G will know that parking in and around East Melbourne is a total  bitch. We arrive a tad early and so Siobhan shouts me a coffee - surprisingly it is quite good proving once and for all that Melbournians, regardless of their current mental or emotional state, are still pretencious coffee tossers!!

The here-named B Triple CCC is the Breast Cancer Consultative Committee. (note the branding use of the colour pink!!) No self-respecting Industrial Relations Practitioner misses the opportunity to create, name and establish a working party - particularly in the health industry!!!!! And so we head around to Clinic A where I am to meet this multi-disciplinary team.  I am bombarded with forms to complete before the consult. What is it with Hospitals and forms ? They look like they were designed by a Grade 3 schoolkid using carbon paper and a ruler (Peta, ask Jo what carbon paper is). I complete two bundles of these requesting the same info over and over again. I would give my right boob (well possibly not) for the electronic medical records to be fully funded and completely implemented!!

So there we are killing time (probably should refrain from the use of such expressions given our current locale)  in the waiting area. Rows of horrid plastic framed chairs with commercial grade hideously patterned upholstery. Having recently completed an upholstery course, I find I am now strangely evaluating  hitherto ignored infrastructure with my newly acquired knowledge!! It fails the Minogue quality assessment dismally.

We are welcomed into the consult room by a visiting Fellow - for those not familiar with the strange & secret employment practices and customs of the clinical world, this is not some random jovial guy passing by the Hospital window, gave a wave and a smile and invited himself in for a chat. No, this guy hails from elsewhere (interstate & overseas) and he is here at Peter Mac learning from the team. He is qualified but he needs more "hours" kind of like a Learner's Permit arrangement to be able to go back and put out his shingle with the alphabet soup configuration after his name.

He is cruisy, informed (as you would expect/hope) but most importantly, he is responsive,  patient, inclusive, exhaustively detailed and welcomes me bombarding him with a barrage of questions. I have not spent my time idly people - I have researched everything from hormone receptive types of cancers to HER2 -positive and HER2-negative, mastectomy v breast conserving surgery.

For future reference; if the lump is small, say >2cm, with no cancer cells in the lymph nodes and the  cancer cells have hormone receptors and the cells are HER2 negative and the cancer grade is low and the surgical margin is clear then the cancer is LESS likely to come back or spread. If they are the opposite of that, then it is likely to come back or spread. What they dont or possibly cant tell you is how many of these elements or characteristics or what percentage they each contribute to being able to forecast the probability of the return of cancer. Crack that formula and I imagine you would be collecting a Nobel prize.

But it does provide for a nifty and concise summary of what I need to be evaluating as we proceed.

Midway through, the Breast Nurse comes and joins the discussion - a lovely woman with the most beautiful Irish accent. We look at the family photos of my breasts under lights and identify the offending little sucker. She also puts me down for a "lovely" (her words not mine) bra and diary that the Breast Cancer Association provide to all diagnosed woman. Take a look at this thing below. I could use it as a bloody parachute. It is a marvel of reinforced engineering.

The breast surgeon also joins us and she advises that it will be two weeks before I can get a reservation at the best table and a further week before we will know what the surgery will reveal. We go through a range of stuff together but fundamentally, this op will provide the team with the cells to put under the microscope and identify those elements raised in Paragraph 7. they come togther and then with me determine the best treatmnent plan based on type, size, location, spread etc of what they found.

In short, I head to Nuclear Medicine, they inject radio-active gunk into my underarm WITHOUT any anaethestic people and in the most deadpan and understated way, the Breast Nurse does say that it is going to hurt. She thinks it's better that I know now!!! Then when I go into theatre this stuff under a certain light will identify the sentinel node - which they take out together with the lump. This sentinel node is important because IF the cancer has headed or is heading into the lymph glands, it will show up here. Then they sew me up and I go home later that day - its day procedure folks - no swanning around in hospital for days - its like a Macca's Drive-Through. The upside though - cant vacumn or house work for weeks!

Oh, a side bar point for your enjoyment. Apparently, a possible side-effect of this radiactive stuff is that I could develop a temporary but lovely blue hue to my skin tone - I could end up looking like a F@$%ing Smurf good friends. I am already short and dumpy- so this will just complete the look. If there is a God, he has a bloody evil sense of humour!!

Together with my breast surgeon, breast nurse and Fellow, I will have a a pathologist, radiologist, radiation oncologist, radiation therapist, medical oncologist, oncology nurse, psychologist, social worker, plastic surgeon and genetic counsellor - depending on how things pan out. I will not want for attention. Perhaps we will all sit in a circle and sing "Kumbuyah My Lord"

The BCCCommittee is now in session. Take the minutes please.

Kellyx

The siren sounds......& so it begins

It's the day before Good Friday. The jungle drums are vibrating. There is a building sense of excitement in the air as the countdown to the Victorian start of the AFL season begins. Now as a Carlton supporter, I had no shortage of coverage in the off season about how the Blues, with Head Driver, Mighty Mick Malthouse, was an express train to September finals with no stopping at any other stations along the way. But I should add that after less than stellar appearances in the "Who Cares Cup" I seemed to come across quite a few passengers jumping off this Mickey Train!!! - including, it has to be said, Mick himself, who when being courted for the job, was very comfortable with the depth and capability of the line-up. In the weeks before the season start though, he seemed to be creating some wriggle room in the event of thwarted expectations.

Is it just Siobhan and I who think that Mick didn't really want to coach Carlton per se ?  That really he just wanted to prove to Eddie that other clubs still saw him as an attractive and virile coach capable of still getting it up- oops sorry, getting Carlton up into the finals.........Clearly Mick wasn't ready to be relegated to the viewer wasteland of late night footy talk shows with poor production values populated by portly middle- aged men who are hirsutely challenged ? Let's talk again at Round  Six Craig,  about how effective this coaching coup has turned out to be shall we??

So in my preparations to meet the footy gang for a per-match dinner and discourse, I get a phone call mid afternoon from my GP with the results from my biopsies. The Imaging place had kindly put a rush on the results from the tests done the day before. She originally tells me its both some good news and some bad. The good news being that one of the lumps tested has no dodgy cells but that in the other lump, that I have DCIS - ductal  carcinoma in situ - a pretty good thing as far as it goes because these cells are not quite yet cancer cells - still need to be treated but its relatively good.  So we exchange a little yeah and we tee-up an appointment for after Easter.

Fast forward a few hours and I am at the Baden Powell Hotel with Siobhan waiting for the Carlton crew and I get another call from my GP. She explains that she went into the surgery and read the report in detail (her first reading was done via the phone because she actually wasn't working on the day) and she advised that she had some more bad news and that was that there was also some fully fledged breast cancer cells  associated with the lump as well as the DCIS. So it was a bit more serious.

So, I put this news to one side for a few hours. I can process it later. I will be able to have some influence and shape how I will deal with this cancer caper after Easter. Tonight the pressing challenge of Carlton v Richmond was in the hands of one Mick Malthouse.

Is it wrong that I felt more apprehension about this one?

Go Bluies!!!!!

Kelly

(And can someone tell Mick to lose the "flavour savour" - it is so Boganesque - fine for Collingwood 
but he is with Carlton now!!) 

One Lump or Two.....

So Lumplings,


I head off to Medical Imaging land with only
a very vague concept of what constitutes a core biopsy. Now sometimes it would seem that ignorance is bliss. As it turns out, anything to do with this nasty little procedure, is one such time.

I am neither weak stomached nor do I have a low threshold for pain. But this was, my Breasted Brethren, quite frankly - just plain icky. I will not regail you again with the numbing beige-ness of the waiting room. I proceeded quickly into a large-ish room complete with a guerney and lots of blinking machines and computers on wheels and the ubiquitous Crash cart - what happens in these rooms I ask myself??

I am briefed by one RN. My name, date of birth and address feature again a few times in questioning - clearly a recurrent theme. Is it possible that a whole bunch of strange and odd people just outside the building who are seriously trying to sneak in and get a free biopsy on the public purse and the staff have to make sure that the only one getting that particular prize today is Ms Minogue from Thornbury ????? She asks me what I know about my cancer, its type, grade, state etc. I reply that I know nothing as yet. She advises that there are many types of breast cancer (who knew - it comes in all fashion colours and sizes it would seem) and that this process wont take too long.

Perhaps the most interesting and yet reassuring bit is that the nurse asks at least five times which breast the biopsies are to be performed on - this is one time that I dont resort to humour and say - "you choose"! She outlines the process and advises that the doctor will be in shortly to perform the procedure and she is whilst mid-sentence, another RN appears.  It would seem I am straddling the afternoon shift change-over time. So dear readers, please go back and re-read paragraphs three and four and that will approximate my experience in readiness for this yet to appear Doctor. (Love that Nurses Hand-Over Time!!)

Doctor arrives, he is a chatty fellow very pleasant. Comments on my tattoo - calls me Kylie, then calls me Kerrie. He rolls me onto my side with a foam block underneath my back to place me on a raised angle from the bed surface and then proceeds to puncture my poor left breast not once, not twice people but with each biopsy, reloads this little gun thingy inside the needle and takes FOUR - yes FOUR samples for each biopsy. As he was 'aerating' my breast I could feel a warm trickle of blood running around and down my back.  Finally the good doctor manages my correct Christian name as he instructs me to firmly hold a small cloth against where he has performed his needlework to stem the bleeding. He advises me to wait about five minutes, that the nurse will pop a little frozen saline cold pack into my bra and that I can then go. With that, he snaps of his latext gloves and heads out of the room. 

Below right is a jaunty little happy snap of his work. 

The after -effects on Day Two from the 2 biopsies. It got a whole lot blacker!!!

Hang in there folks

Kelly xx

We can't go on together.......with suspicious minds.....er.. lumps

Do lumps hang out with a dodgy crowd ? Loitering in front of fast food venues selling questionable methamphetamines? Are they helping police with their enquiries?

What constitutes suspicious?

So I head to my  GP's rooms the next day. Perhaps its not appropriate that I reveal her name in such a forum without her express permission. Besides even if I did reveal her name, you can't get an appointment because she works in a surgery in the inner north that is no longer accepting new clients. Apparently a common occurence these days.

But she is wonderfully level. A good thing. I have an early morning appointment and we get straight to it. She advises me that not only is there the lump that I already felt  but there is also another one in the same breast (the left) and another little bugger in the right breast. But from what she tells me, this right breast one isnt "suspicious" at all - its more of a Carrie Bickmore -all form but no substance.

The two in my other breast however, are what are decsribed by medical parlance as suspicious. According to the mamogram and ultrasound the signs are not promising and I will need to have a core biopsy of each lump to determine the extent and type and the results will also determine the next procedure that I may need. We talk about many things and I am extremely conscious of the need to remember and recall all that she is imparting.

I tell her that I am balancing what she is saying at the same time as metally preparing myself to ensure that I continue to hear everything. My mind is concurrently chugging down two distinctly separate but parallel tracks. I digest the information. She tells me somewhat drily - which I appreciate enormously, not to rush out and rewrite my will that very afternoon but to prepare for the significant possibility of bad news post biopsy and to try and emotionally get to a place where I could hear that further treatment will be required.

I deliberately raise the worst case scenario situation (not death - though I guess that is probably the worst case outcome but to me that seems highly impropbable in this day and age), I do this not because I am a drama queen - though many of my dear dear friends would have you think otherwise.......but because it helps me process and plan. It's what I do with all major issues. Think the worst, process and plan for the that and then anything of lesser impact or outcome can be readily (and more easily) managed.

So, to me the worst case would be a final outcome of requiring a double mastectomy, but not for vanity reasons. And it is at this point that I think there is an interpretation issue for clinical person versus lay person.

A double mastectomy for me is not the worst case. I understand that reconstructuive surgery is terrific these days (and who at my age wouldn't want some firmer more northerly positioned bosoms - unless you were a bloke of course??)  My greater and greatest fear is psychologically and emotionally let alone physically having the strength to bat up for a series of procedures based on the principle of doctors seeking to minimise harm but being unsuccessful in those attempts and thus more invasive work is subsequently required.

At this stage of the process and indeed if and when I start it, I wont know how awful it will be or how bad I will feel. But fast forward, -  and if I had to face it a second or third time knowing in advance how awful it is and how crap I am going to feel will be so much harder. I may not know many things but I do know my limitations. And whilst I will be stoic first time around - I would be a total mess in a dress the second time on the merry go round. Hence I told my GP I am not a fan of episodic processes or euphamistically speaking, death by a thousand cuts. I want to know if it is perhaps better to go more radical in the first instance and blow the bastard right out of the water. Like all good doctors - she said we can discuss these options when we had a firm basis upon which to weigh such options.

Its abit of a bitch because we are two days from Easter which could mean a bloody long wait for the results and that isn't all that flash. So we book the core biopsies for later that same afternoon. I am to head back to East Melbourne where I have a date with needles, an ugly waiting room and more bad daytime television. As I leave her surgery I reflect on how I feel.  For me, there isnt any drop in my stomach, nor the white noise whooshing sound. I am clear and I am lucid. I have research to do.

Google on Readers

Kelly

The Mammogram - A Misogynist's Playdough Machine?

So off to that most hallowed suburb East Melbourne, I head. But not this time to the G to watch those Bluies try for more traction this season, nor to the Rod Laver Arena for our yearly pilgrimage for world class tennis and not-so-world-class but corporate sponsored wine.

Into a well proportioned and well built  but anonymous building I go. Having submitted the first of what will be at least 3 million forms with my name, date of birth, and address (and should the treatment prove unsuccessful, only one of these key details will change anyway - so why I ask you?) I then sit in the ubiquitous waiting room with others waiting this or some form of testing.

Is it not enough that these Medical Imaging companies force you to sit in uncomfortable seats in ugly waiting rooms with bad art, where to kill precious time you flick through old magazines that would have you believe that really bad perms are still de rigeur? No. In your most vulnerable state they subject you to all this ugliness but even that is not enough. They have an enormous TV screen that seems to have sucked the colour from all the waiting room patients and redirected that colour onto a nuclear coloured "Ellen" and her stupid stupid guests banging on about some 'weight loss journey' and then doing a badly executed jig.

So like the local deli, my number is called and off I trot to the room. A brisk and friendly registered nurse (as it should be) runs me through the process. Throw on the robe, leave my gear over there. Stand and wait. Ms Minogue, this is a new maching, two of us will be with you today as I am learning how to drive this. Apparently it takes pictures, films, whatever,  from all cross sections of the breast enabling a more complete assessment. The science or mathematics is lost on me. No problem.

Now it may be a new machine wherein a barrel section of this large machine turns and snaps the boob at creative angles. Nonetheless, the basics remain the same. They take your lovely (and for me fortunately, ample-ish bosom) and pull it onto an innocent looking glass plate. The fact that it is still attached to the rest of your skin near your rib cage seems to escape the nurse's attention. She is determined to get as much of my non-stretchy bosom onto that plate as is possible. I have not had kids, I have not breast fed. All things considered, my breasts are reasonably buoyant and dont take too kindly to being manipulated like a piece of pizza dough. The nurse positions you as close as possible to said plate, drapes your plated boob arm around the machin in some kind of weird loving embrace  and then with a swift foot, pushes the descending plate glass down onto your Bosom Entree and squishes it til it resemblems something akin to a very wide piece of homemade pasta!!!!!! It isnt pleasant.

I am pretty sure that if the penis required some medical imaging test, the machine that was designed to do this would not be like the one they use for breasts.

She takes the odd few pics and then proceeds to do same with the other breast. The two nurses partake in a conflab, consult with the doctor to see if more images are required, come back and then tell me I am good to go. And then I head for the ultra sound. Along the corridor in my unflattering robe I head. Fluorescent lights make me feel both a little queasy but also more tellingly, slightly vulnerable. I hate their harshness, they make me feel exposed and drained of all naural colour and spirit.  I wait in a nasty little cubicle awaiting the ultrasound. Some 20 minutes later into a darkened room I venture. Up on the bed couch I hop. A Radiologist I presume performs the ultra sound. She does not tell what she is doing or why. Apparently us mere mortals dont need to be told. So I ask and she is disconcerted.

She spends quite a bit of time locating then entering data. The gel is warm. The process is very easy. She  sends the films to the doctor, tells me to wait to see if more is required, comes back and says I am good to go. I pay a king's ransom and I leave. Tomorrow I head to the GP to find out the results.

As I leave, I can see into the waiting room. Ellen is again doing her stupid dance.

Smile for the Camera.

Kelly

The Shower Scene..........

Routine weekend ablutions commenced early saturday morning three weeks ago. Without going into the relative merits of a herbal Ph balanced shampoos and conditioners or that big looming consumer question of shower gel v soap, it all went to plan as one would expect a usual shower to do.

Discovered a small pea like lump located at 6 o'clock on my left breast whilst soaping around. Not 6am or 6pm according to Eastern Daylight Savings Time (who showers at that time anyway ) mind you - just imagine, if you will, that my breast is a clock face....now are you following?

So having had a few lumps and bumps appear in previous years - I didn't over react. Despite what some may say, I didn't run screaming from the shower doing a hysterical Lady Macbeth with my own version of "Off Damn Spot, Off" These things can come and go and I do have, as once was beautifully described by a former colleague - when talking of her own breasts, that they were quite "ropey". I like that description. It tangibly describes the oft changing or shifting thickness of the breast tissue.

So I didn't bother for a couple of days but kept checking intermittedly to see whether I could readily feel the 'pea'. In a previous experience, I discovered a lump in my other breast that was more 'globby' and it turned out to be a cyst that simply needed to be drained - by, I might add the most bloody scary needle I had ever seen up close and personal.

But this was different. Felt different. So I booked into the GP and was there having it confirmed two days later. My GP was all over it like a fat kid over a cupcake. She confirmed its existence and booked me the next day for a mammogram and ultrasound, and also to be back with her in 48 hours in the event that it was problematic.

And so the treadmill begins........

Remember, lumps in boobs, like in cooking, should be removed.

Kelly x