No time for rose tinted glasses

18^th September 2009

I feel loads better and the pain is still there, but I try to ignore it as best I can. Still taking pain killers and have an appointment to see the nurse at my GP clinic for my dressing to be changed. Maybe once the nurse has changed the dressing today it will not be has irritating. The way they have put the dressing on at the hospital is dragging the skin. This has made the area under my arm feel really sore. Either that or I think I am reacting to the dressing.

The nurse was rather humorous she did say the area was neat and clean that there was no inflammation or swelling to be seen just normal reactions to the operation that I had done. The nurse put a fresh dressing on repeating what had already been told to me. No lifting and to leave it a few more days before removing the fresh dressing.

I explained to her that I’m in the two percent bracket for getting this disease.
“That’s like winning the lottery!” The nurse replied.
It is a cold way of explaining a percentage to someone, but my sense of humour kicks in. Even I had thought of it that way when it was explained to me. I could see her point of view and I thought so do I get any cash for that. She stroked my arm and apologised for speaking out of turn. But she is right this is the breast cancer lottery and I had to see it as that.
I go to reception to make an appointment to see the doctor the following week.

The next day I take Sophia to Queensway, Hyde Park. There is a play park there with a pirate ship that is every parent’s nightmare. The Princess Diana memorial play park for children. I take a seat and watch Sophia playing on the pirate ship.
(On the 29^th of July 1981 I was celebrating my eleventh birthday and so was my husband in Trinidad. People find it odd that both I and Steve are forty on the same day.)
Princess Diana was a complicated individual with pressures she did not deserve. She accepted her role, but not the baggage inflicted on her. The very man she admired loved and looked up to. Was hiding a deep secret that she was suppose to except as part of her role within her marriage.

We all want to be princesses, but at what cost. She was not much older than me now when she met her untimely demise. She left two young sons not just princes. To an establishment she found to be dark and secretive. Which wanted the public to believe she was paranoid and sick? Personally I think she was a woman to be admired and a rose with many thorns. I think if she saw her sons now she would be proud of what they have achieved with the occasional chuckle at her younger sons slip ups.

A young woman takes a seat beside me. She has a new born baby in a pram with her. The baby is itching for a feed and she grabs a muslin cloth out of her nappy bag. I did the exact same thing with Sophia so I know she is about to breast feed. I try not to stare, but your eyes are drawn in. The fact is I’m about to lose my breast and one thing that defines your femininity is your breasts. You look at life with rose tinted glasses and the innocents it brings. Until the one thing that you cannot imagine happening to you actually happens. The warmth of a breast and its purpose becomes obsolete, redundant. I move from the seat leaving her to comfort her child. I look at Sophia praying she will never have to experience this disease. The soreness I have under my arm is a constant throbbing reminder. I shout Sophia that it is time to go. I want to avoid the rush hour on our return home on the tube.

But a nagging question remains, what will happen to my two daughters if this diseases catches me out?