Everyone Has A Bad Day 
When I first started this blog its main purpose was to keep people, both in Australia and here in the UK, up to date. So many of you were concerned and, especially with the time delay between here and Oz, it is not always easy to talk. I kind of thought that maybe it would be a learning curve and a way for some people to accept that a diagnosis of breast cancer is not necessarily a death sentence. My first internet search on the day of diagnosis led me to an excellent website www.BreastCancerCare.org.uk I started to read the online diary of a remarkable lady called Kelly. And I cried with relief. She spoke about all aspects of her journey through breast cancer with wry humour and wit. I thought “Thank God, this doesn’t have to be all serious business with hushed whispers and doom and gloom”. She made an immediate difference to the way I began to deal with this.

When I started writing the blog I couldn’t help but make light of the situation. Sometimes I think, in fairness to people who have experienced breast cancer or who may do in the future, I should give more details of procedures and the emotional rollercoaster ride, but laughter IS the best medicine.

However I have to tell you that I am not on a happy page today. This house is a sickbed of four patients. Ali is unwell with a cold and has stayed home, my Mum is in a lot of pain due to a benign tumour in her foot which was meant to be operated on in Australia this week, and poor Jonathan is so stressed, tired and miserable he was awake in the night feeling physically sick; thinks he may have flu. And I just have cancer. I look out the window at the bleak, grey sky and feel that, to quote a most famous poet, I have been served up a “slice of toast”.

So I am sulking all day today. Bugger off and leave me alone. My chest hurts, my side hurts, my armpit is smelly but I can’t even wash the skin because it is so tender. I just lent over to pick up the phone and nearly wrenched both drains out of the wounds. I am cold and sun-deprived and I can only stare, open-mouthed, at the prosthesis the breast care nurse pulled out of her boob bank to give me to wear. I am sure I am getting bed sores and Andi and Jeff have the audacity to disappear to sunny Malta and are, at this moment, reclining in the golden sunshine! (do they have internet cafes out there – “Come back now, joke’s over!” ) And, at 2am this morning I ate the last chocolate reindeer then spent the next 45 minutes wondering if the little golden bell around his neck would make a suitable substitute nipple. And to rub salt into the wound, specifically the large red gash running vertically across my chest, apparently there is a glossy new poster at MY gym advertising the January launch of Body Attack – the amazingly exhilarating new class THAT I AM MEANT TO BE TEACHING. That would be the same amazingly exhilarating class that my lovely boss was happy to let me GET EVERYONE EXCITED ABOUT. And that would be the same amazingly exhilarating class that my two gorgeous, young, fit (beautifully breasted) colleagues will now be launching very competently WITHOUT ME!!!!!!!! Probably about the same time that I will be beginning to competently master a left arm forward raise with a feather. Am I sounding a bit bitter? Or just acerbic? (that means direct and cruel, Glenda, (love you bridesmaid) ).

Yep, what’s worse than a slice of toast when you were expecting a roast? A cold crust with no butter or vegemite on it. Served up on a paper plate…….a dirty, paper plate….
Now I’m going to read my poem again and see if it’s late night lameness or profoundly perfect poetry. Let’s hope the next page is a better one…..Deb xxxxx


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