Zipped in the bud

So… yesterday was my first meeting with my new oncologist (who did ask how I found her on linkedin). Overall It was positive she feels that with the trachelectomy (still can’t spell it or say it) she is confident she will remove all the shit and hopefully I will not need chemo/radio/bracy, although the scan results aren’t back yet. I think the most stressful and embarrassing thing of the whole meeting was the dreaded ‘internal examination’.

Bearing in mind I had a very invasive operation under general anaesthetic a couple of weeks ago and the remainder of my poor cervix isn’t doing too well at all so an internal examination was not at all welcomed but needs must.

So firstly I had my oncologist, a regular nurse and my Macmillan nurse hold me down on the bed whilst I was screaming ‘I’ve had bigger things in me than this I don’t know why this hurts’, as all of a sudden my vagina recently decided to shut down every time anything tries and enters it. If it could of done that on prom night 10 years ago when I contracted the clap off the prom king I would of been a lot more grateful, but no, my vagina sure does pick its moments.

So after they managed to internally examine me it was time to put my clothes back on as you do. The morning before my appointment I decided to wear a very tricky skirt, it’s an ASOS own brand and does the job and looks very classy but my god the zips are shit! I actually had to put olive oil on the zip (after googling how to fix a broken zip) to even get it up before my appointment and I wouldn’t of dreamed of wearing it if I thought I would be having an internal examination. So you can imagine my embarrassment when the zip wouldn’t go back up after my internal exam. I called my friend the other side of the curtain and she couldn’t do it either, by that point both nurses and the oncologist were also making suggestions to loosen the zip after I told them about the olive oil situation, so the oncologist actually suggested Lube. The same bottle of lubricant that they just used up my vagina was now being spread up the zip of my skirt, my friend was holding the top, two nurses were holding the lubed up zip and the oncologist told us to ‘work as a team’ and was pulling the zip from the bottom.

What I’ve learned from this whole cancer ordeal is DO NOT buy ASOS skirts.


Today is the day

It has been an interesting few days. The wait between my last consultant appointment and my new oncologist appointment today has been filled with cocktails, gin and watching really depressing films about dying which I need to stop. A bit of advice, do NOT watch the film miss you already! My boyfriend arrived home from work to find me in a heap on the floor hysterically crying and drinking a bottle of Merlot with a straw. Other than this I have been instagramming hair replacement units and eyebrow microblading and I decided to stalk my new oncologist online as I had loads of questions that couldn’t wait until today. Had no luck finding her contact details on the convention channels so resorted to LinkedIn. Although she obviously thinks I am deranged she did actually email me back on my personal email I had left her saying that another MRI was not mandatory and that they could sedate me for any further scans and that a hypnotist wouldn’t be necessary. So like I said she obviously thinks I’m deranged.

So only 6 hours to go until I meet her face to face. Lucky her.

I hate stages

I’m in a bit of limbo at the moment after my GP initially told me it was a 1a2 it has now gone to 1b and I am now waiting on MRI results to see if gets a whole new number altogether.
After a rather rushed meeting with my consultant yesterday the first thing I was asked is have I got children yet. When I’m nervous I’m a bit like Chandler out of friends and say rather odd comments so I replied ‘erm yes! My cat’ to this she raised her eyebrows and obviously was thinking ‘oh great another nutter’. After the initial awkwardness she did say I now have a new gynae-oncologist who I’m meeting next week and they can do an operation similar to a hysterectomy called a trachelectomy (I have this word constantly on copy on my phone) as I can’t even say it let alone spell it. Basically the trachelectomy will leave just enough in so in the future if I decide I want to be more than just the mother of cats I can try and carry a baby in the tiny bit of cervix I have remaining and then be on bed rest for 8 months and then have a nice little c section to get said baby out.
Most likely this is the route I will be going down and maybe to finish off a bit of chemo and radio to really make sure I won’t be going on the all inclusive holiday I’ve booked. The problem I’m honestly having at the moment is boredom I have a few days until my next meeting and realistically I should probably be Mrs Hinching the house top to bottom as I won’t be able to clean after my operation for a while and my boyfriends version of cleaning is basically Monica’s secret cupboard out of friends. I’ve done a bit of matched football betting but now the season has ended, I downloaded an app to speak to my cat and now he won’t come anywhere near me, I’ve finished netflix , finished 600lb life , finished now tv and even decided to widen my knowledge of the law and critically evaluate the law commissions report on murder from 2006. So I think it’s safe to say if I don’t find something to do ASAP next week I will turn into Brie off desperate housewives drinking wine on my lawnmower.

Stuck between an Instagram Vegan Diet and Getting absolutely hammered every night

I’ve came to realise that when you have a cancer diagnosis you suddenly become very popular… I mean I’ve been for lunch like 4 times this week alone! To put in perspective my cat has been my best friend for the past two years and suddenly I feel like Regina George after the bus crash. I think cancer is an interesting thing, it makes friends and family feel like they are helping, it makes your partner feel like they are helpless and it makes you feel like you’re not even involved in anyway (well at the start anyway).

About a week ago I got diagnosed with Cervical Cancer, I had already had the laser treatment and experienced the joys of how pissed off a nurse gets when you accidentally kick her in the face after she pulls an injection out of your vagina. I had already had to go and beg my nail technician to take my nails off and then put them back on for free 3 days after my cone biopsy under general anaesthetic and I optimistically thought that would be the worst of it and the big c surely couldn’t make an appearance in a 26 trainee Barrister.

That was my first mistake.

I thought Cancer couldn’t happen because I was me. I live a nice life, my boyfriend and I have a Persian cat, a nice apartment and we get pissed 1-3 times a week. I go to Law school, I have a good job, I get my lips done bimonthly and I buy a Louis Vuitton or Mulberry ad hoc throughout the year. I thought this would be it for me , I spent 7 years in university and worked my arse off. The plan was (health permitting) qualify as a Barrister and live in a sex and the city/ backwards Bridget Jones lifestyle and live happily ever after. Dave and I would have 3 little children and 2 more Persian cats, Dave would retire when I got QC and we would buy a few holiday homes in the Algarve.

After my laser and cone biopsy (basically removing ‘pre cancerous cells from your cervix’ ) I was told that I would be contacted by letter to discharge me back to my GP and it would all be fine as no one ever actually got cancers and it was a minuscule unlucky percentage. Now when the Dr said that my memory shot back to my Duke of Edinburgh award, I always remember my group leader saying even when there’s a storm it’s a tiny percentage who actually get struck my lightening and yet that weekend I got struck twice and spent 4 days in a hospital in the middle of Wales and even now I can’t look at a tree in the same way.

So as you can probably guess I opened my letter box and I didn’t find the discharge letter that I was expecting, however I did find a letter referring me to a gynae-oncologist suggesting that I bring a family member or friend with me for support. I have to admit it wasn’t the best invitation I had received to date and my boyfriend was already a bit pissed about having to go to my friends wedding so I wasn’t quite sure how much more appealing an invite to a gynae-oncologist could be compared to a free bar and free cake. The appointment said the 17th May (which is today) I got this letter 8 days before and they expected me to wait 8 days not knowing… not a fucking chance!

I was around 8 days ago I can honestly say that my GP most likely considered a restraining order against me. But who can blame me I knew the hospital wouldn’t give me the results before my appointment (I tried 9 times) I even vaguely remember putting on Phoebe Buffet’s Swedish accent for some reason to try and obtain the results, it obviously didn’t work and luckily I didn’t get sectioned but I knew I needed to get them for my own sanity! I then realised that they send my GP the results and the Histology reports so it seemed like a good idea to ring my GP surgery 93 times and leave constant messages. She eventually called me back and she told me to come in to the surgery and her exact words were ‘ I know if I don’t tell you today , you won’t ever leave me alone’.

a GP and a psychic that women!

Next time: I hate Stages!

(any grammatical or spelling errors are due to me being constantly drunk at present))