Apparently Oncology meet every week in a board meeting to discuss patients. A few days after my CT results, there was a weekly review and the clinic were concerned about an anomaly in both my breasts. My surgeon phoned on a Friday at 4pm, I have to say this phone call was the start of my fan club for this man – I love the stereotype British eccentric (probably because both my parents (and therefore me) have elements of absurdity if not downright madness).
However, despite the bad news coming I was more delighted at the fact that during the call he used the words ‘boobs’ instead of breasts. My surgeon explained that apparently the ‘boob doctor’ has reviewed the CT scan and had some concerns. My surgeon said he was not a ‘boob specialist’ and I was to ask the ‘boob team’ when I have further tests done next week. I was highly amused, until the news hit me after the call – I was on my own, working and when I hung up the world went black.
I remember speaking to a friend on the phone hysterically, the news had hit me – not just the bowel cancer but everything. Breast cancer is serious – how can I be so poorly and feel so well? As always throughout this process, my mates and family rallied together, I was constantly being checked on through texts or calls – my friend came to stay with me that weekend, a combination of good wine, bad TV (Selling Sunset) and a catch up quelled the dread in my stomach. Unfortunately, she was also taking Bobbi back to my other friend, so my little furry distraction was going – the experience made me realise I’m now ready for my own dog. Having Bobbi reinforced my decision that I now have room and capacity for a dog in my life (less stress than boys). The problem was when?