Once upon a time I was considered quite bright. Once upon a time I knew how to go to bed. Once upon a time I understood about ‘Sleep Hygiene‘. Once upon a time I would have never have considered reading inflammatory material just prior to retiring. Oh, wait. Who am I trying to kid? That really is all a load of balls. Pure fantasy.
Truth: I have always been crap at sleeping. Last night I took it to new lows. Do not be fooled by perky posts and jovial writing. Let no one believe this is a barrel load of fun. When I am not laughing I can usually be found in a slimy pool of snot, tears and shredded tissues. And for the record, I am NOT brave. I am just trying to make sense of this crap the only way I know how. And another thing. You do not know that I will be alright. No one but God knows that. I am doing my damnedest to trust in him but that is not easy. Especially as much of the time I’d quite like to say ‘Wtf, God?’ Thankfully, I believe in a God of forgiveness. Heaven knows he has had much practise with me. I am delighted you are praying for me. Thank you. Please please please do not stop.
I digress. Last night. Sleeping. Or the lack thereof. Having spent much of the evening wailing (I couldn’t even eat tea! Now there, right there, is evidence, if ever you needed it), the Captain (O Captain, my Captain!) managed to distract me masterfully with a game of Carcassonne. I even thrashed him. Again. I really love that man. So newly perked up, you would think I would quit while ahead and retire quick smart? Nooo. Like I said at the start, once upon a time I was considered quite bright, but how stupid to decide 21:00hrs was the perfect time to start to decipher my biopsy pathology report. Yeah, like that was a good idea.
It has been a while since I did anything medical but I can still read some reports and more importantly, I generally know where to go to find the information I inevitably do not know. What scared me shitless (and those of you who know me well will know I am so ridiculously uptight I would rather say fuck than anything pertaining to shit so there is yet more evidence that all is not well chez nous) (or bateau nous) was the following:
Type: No special type (ductal NST)
Invasive grade: 3 (T3 N3 M2)‘
I went to bed with that flashing before my eyes. T3 I knew about (Tumour grade 3) but the other two N= nodes and M= metastases and those numbers are not good. Not good at all.
A long night following. As is often the way, some sense returned with the daylight. I would say sun but it is February. This report does not compute. In order to make this score, lymph nodes HAVE to be biopsied. Mine have not been. There has been no talk at either of my appointments of spread, lymph nodes (other than that they are beautiful) or this score. If this score was accurate, I am not convinced any fannying around would be going on. I rather suspect we would be back to the lop ’em off, fill with poison plan of action. So today, I am trying to get hold of the hospital or someone in the know to make sense of it all.
What larks, Pip, what larks!