Normally, I don't drink. I like the idea of drinking, but after one glass of wine I'm usually asleep. During that period of waiting, I will admit that the combination of housework, tidying and adrenaline seemed to counteract the normal sophorific qualities of alcohol.
So, I'll admit that both my husband and I drank more than we usually would, and talked. A lot. Which made a nice change from the normal routine which is work work work work work, children children children....you get the drift.
We also did a lot of research, and tried not to panic.
The wonderful DW Mafia held my hand over the interweb, and great deliberations were had over whether to tell anyone else or not.
Rather helpfully, my boss had been away for the 10 period when I'd had my appointments so I hadn't told him, and as you know I'd been avoiding calls from my parents for nearly two weeks.
We decided that as I'd got more appointments coming up and could potentially be quite upset after the next one I'd have to tell my boss on the Monday, the 6th August.
We went for a long walk with the children on the 5th and I decided, whilst checking on the horses, to tell my parents. It was really difficult to know when to call as I wanted them both to be at home at the same time and to ensure that Dad wasn't about to get in the car - he does a lot of miles for work.
I also needed to make sure I could tell my sister the same day and as she's hardly at home due to work/travel committments, I think that the Sunday was the only window I would have for another week.
Having told friends on the Friday, the words "I've got breast cancer" were less impossible to say than I thought.
I don't think I told them in a particularly compassionate way. I tried to be as gentle as possible, but it was very hard. I had never imagined having to tell anyone such bad news. I hope to goodness I never have to hear anything similar from either of my children.
Obviously my parents were upset, but I think that the upside of me having to tell them was that by this stage I had become very focused and very positive about the things that there were to be positive about, i.e. I'm throwing up odd results, but they are in my favour because it hasn't spread.
At the back of my mind I've got the word "yet" echoing around and around, but I'm certainly not going to tell them my worst fears.
We have a long conversation, I tell both of my parents in turn and go back to each of them again for more questions. We have relatives in the USA, many of whom are doctors, and Dad of course wants to ask them for their opinions on my treatment. I agree, but strictly on the basis that I'm not going over there to be seen, I'm staying firmly in Norfolk.
Life as far as I'm concerned is going to continue as normal. After all, it's only fucking cancer.
Later on in the evening I also tell my sister, and we agree that as I'm far more stubborn and awkward than her, I'm going to kick it into touch, and run the London Marathon in either 2013 or 2014 depending on my treatment, reconstruction and her potentially having children!
At some point in the evening I also talk to my cousin, to whom I have not spoken in over 15yrs. She used to be a radiologist and has friends who have either had cancer, or who run specialist breast cancer clinics in the US - just like here, it's a hot topic. Fortunately, she agrees that my consultant seems to know what he is doing (always a relief), but has offered to look over histology reports etc as and when I get them, which is very kind.
One of the biggest differences in treatment methods from here to there is that in the US, everything gets blasted with Radiotherapy or Chemo to reduce lump size before surgery. Mastectomy is not a popular technique. Go figure.
Typically, when we go through my notes, we deduce that it is the fact that I have micro-calcifications in all four quadrants, as well as lump size in relation to breast that means a mastectomy is really the own way forward.
This is strangely reassuring. Not because I want a mastectomy, but because at least now I know my parents aren't going to get pressure from the US about how awful the NHS is....... as far as I'm concerned, it's bloody marvellous.
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