Encore Performances

Dr D is obviously happy with how things are progressing. Although that tiny bit of the scar on my left side has still not healed completely. As such – a relax in the pool is still out of the question. (You know with the chlorine and, ahh – tinted bodily fluid….)

My next follow-up appointment is three weeks away. At first – I go into a bit of a tailspin – I’ve seen him & Andrea each week for the best part of the last three months. In hindsight – this is actually a bit of a milestone.

He’s giving my body and me, time to get back into the day-to-day routine.

I’ve graduated from handing my dirty plates to Paul, to washing up myself. I know it doesn’t seem like a big deal, but these most mundane of tasks haven’t really been on my ‘to-do list’ of late.

As it turns out taking the washing downstairs, loading up the machine, operating the dryer (okay my carbon footprint is on the increase – forget hanging clothes and linen outside for now!), folding and carting upstairs requires a mammoth amount of effort. In fact, it took almost an entire day (between sleep/rest) to get through just one load.

With a bit of help to lift pots and pans, I’m back to making dinner etc. One of the first meals attempted was a good old fashioned roast (enough of the pre-prepared, frozen & re-heated curries etc.) Thought you might like to see Paul’s creative ‘plating-up’.

What would the MasterChef judges think?!

Seems we’d hit a nerve – quite literally.

I hadn’t coped with that ‘stabbing’ pain so well and looked a right treat on arrival for the next ‘infill’.

Dr D and my breast care nurse Andrea agreed that the extra amount must have just been pressing on a particular nerve. On my description of the pain, he reached over and placed his hand precisely where I’d been hurting.

Given my discomfort and the fact one of my scars still hasn’t healed completely, I wasn’t sure he’d pop in another lot.

He did, in the hope it may just move things around again and perhaps let everything settle.

The ‘infill’ went smoothly, but on trying to get up I again experienced that almost crippling pain.

There was no hiding it now – Dr D, Andrea and Paul all saw the tears well in my eyes.

He prescribed a muscle relaxant to ease any spasms, along with some more heavy duty pain relief. And also encouraged a bit of gentle massage.

Both he and Paul could tell from my gritted teeth that I may not be up for that just yet.

The pain and discomfort I experienced during the ‘infill’ process (particularly round two), meant I was not very sociable for the first 3-4 days after each procedure. (Okay – I was a right snot.) I then had a couple of days of feeling not too bad, before the next go.

One well-timed, laughter-filled visit is captured below.

Mick ‘the cleaner’ (just rolls off the tongue – he’s been cleaning at the station from day 1!), Ange and Keegan.

Big Mick found it just hilarious that I’d had the cast done and was slightly flushed when he asked if he could ‘touch it’? With Paul’s permission (funny that hey – not mine?!) He, well – had a feel.

We laughed lots, at many things. Including the fact that the expanders feel cold and hard. Somehow we came to agree that I (or my new cleavage) would be very handy should you need your drink kept well chilled!

My PR mate Wayne Hickson and his lovely wife Susie came for a visit.

We’d been in touch regularly so they were well across what had been done, all that was left was for me to share the remarkable results of the first ‘infill’. Quicker than I unzipped my jacket and pulled up my singlet top – Wayne was ripping off his shirt!

Through much laughter between the four of us, Wayne’s comment was something along the lines of ‘Well if you’re going topless – I should join you!’

He tells me he should have been in Manpower! Reckon he’d give Jamie Durie a run for his money?

I’ve been pretty much housebound since the surgery, venturing only to the surgeon’s rooms and back. I was determined this had to change so we could visit our favourite place – Mount Tamborine one particular Sunday.

You see our special friends Jon and Kim Heslop who own and run Witches Falls Winery were hosting their annual Members’ Day and I didn’t want to miss out!

A bit of pain relief on board and floaties in position, we set off up the hill. The run up I’d rather forget (I’m sure Paul would too!) however being able to enjoy that beautiful crisp mountain air, a bit of sunshine, good company etc. was worth it.

I know I’m holding the glass of my favourite pinot – but it was Paul’s. Unfortunately, the painkillers meant this shot was just for show!

Reconstruction of my breasts will be done in two phases. First – the insertion and ‘infill’ of the tissue expanders. Second – another operation to have permanent implants put in place.

The ‘expansion’ process is quite extraordinary. The ‘spaceships’ as we’ve dubbed them, due to their UFO-like appearance are ‘pumped-up’ once a week until the desired amount of saline has been injected. The expanders are the size of a saucer (for your tea cup), made of thick silicone which is moulded into a kind of envelope/bag, with a special chamber the size of say a 20-50 cent piece. It has a special magnetic response system which allows the surgeon to find its position, and start injecting the saline.

My Mum came to the first infill. It was like another mini-surgery by the time my chest was bathed in betadine, covered appropriately and Dr D had worked out ‘X marks the spot’.

A bag of saline hung from a drip pole connected to a needle and he started injecting. After checking whether I felt okay he said “Now we’re going for the Dolly Parton look aren’t we?” “No way!” I exclaimed, as Mum chuckled in the background.

I felt the insertion of the needle in one breast but not the other. From here it got even more strange. Although he was injecting the fluid, it wasn’t like when you have a needle for say tetanus or pain relief. Makes sense really, the fluid was going into the bag in my body – not directly into my body. What I felt was my breathing becoming more shallow, while the skin on my chest, underarms and back tightened to a point where it seemed entirely possible it may split.

That of course didn’t happen.

Mum was truly amazed at seeing the shape of my body change before her eyes. For me, the focus was on breathing, while trying to keep as still as possible.

With two (or maybe four) helping hands I was up and adjusting to yet another unusual feeling. My top half felt compressed – like in a vice. And heavy – like there were a couple of besser blocks sitting on my chest.

These sensations persisted, but the following morning I was happy to be marking ‘two weeks’ since the big operation. (You thought I was smiling and signing peace didn’t you?)

I wont lie and say the next few days were good. They were very difficult – painful, exhausting, frustrating and overall quite cloudy from the impact of the pain relief. (and three anaesthetics in the space of a month.)

What I’m wanting to share though is how amazingly my body wove its way through the healing process.

Day 5. Back home and a big reality check to see the changes, whilst standing in familiar surrounds.

Day 6. Another run in the car, just up to Dr D’s rooms. Wasn’t much fun.

The tissue expanders were really starting to ‘settle’ into place. He changed dressings etc. and was happy. As you can see I wasn’t finding much humour in Paul’s attempts to make me laugh. It hurt to laugh!

Day 7. Staggering. Still can’t believe that only a week prior to this shot, things were so very different.

Day 5 following the surgery.

I figured if I was going to get home – I had to be able to make it to the entry/exit of the hospital on my own. So, very early, off I trotted. Actually, my walk had a kind of ‘roll’ to it. Whilst I was steady on my feet, I liken the action to a toddler taking their first real walk, as opposed to staggered steps. You know when you can just predict that one wrong step – and they’ll be flat on their face? That’s what I felt like.

It took an incredible amount of focus to stay upright and I couldn’t for the life of me work out why? Blame it on the medication. No! I should be able to make it down the corridor.

I did make it to the doors and back unassisted. It wasn’t until returning to my room and sifting through some of the information provided by the National Breast Cancer Foundation that I put two and two together. I wasn’t a ‘drug-affected toddler’, but rather my centre of gravity had changed due to the removal of my breasts. My body was working so hard in order to maintain the upright position because my balance was totally out of whack.

Reasonable – but also kinda funny when you put the reality and then the image together!

Nurse Andrea (who’d also looked after me following Operation #2) helped me get dressed (real clothes, not jarmies!) and finalised the paperwork for my release. (Sounds like I’d been in jail!)

She is one of many who showed not only professionalism, but a truly remarkable level of compassion during my time at Pindara.

I was just thrilled to be free of all the tubes etc. Paul on the other hand was exhausted.

He’d visited me before work, at lunch and after clocking off for the day. He was delirious. And this – was bound to happen!

Can’t say he wasn’t ‘creative’ in finding another use for the ‘floaties’!

Putting on a brave face is one thing, relying on heavy duty pain relief is another. I thought I was doing pretty well overall, but admit to struggling when I first woke up.

In all seriousness, it felt as though there was someone (very heavy) sitting on my chest.

Within a little while though I was up and about (and yes, looking a little like an octopus!) Check out how the expanders have settled just 48 hours out from the surgery. Amazing. I know everything else now looks out of proportion – but all I could care about was that the cancer was gone.

Dr D came to visit around the time this shot was taken. He’d just told me the histology showed the lymph nodes were clear so no chemo, and that there was yet another spot of cancer – so he thought I’d made the right decision.

I really am, one very lucky girl.

Just a day after that, I was off oxygen, the drip and all four drains had been removed. Andrea my nurse got a big thumbs up and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face – I felt like a million dollars!

Getting bored easily is one of my strongest character traits (good or bad depending on the situation!)

When unable to sleep, I was glad to be physically able to write. Although I’m right-handed and my right underarm was particularly sore from the removal of lymph nodes, I just jotted down what I could, when I could. (No thriller, or romance novel I assured the nurses! Just recording what was going on around me so I didn’t lose track).

Oh – and the special ‘pillows’ have been nicknamed ‘floaties’. Floaties for grown ups who’ve lost their boobs. I enjoyed so much comfort from this one I was given before the surgery, one of the nurses managed to find another for my other side. I was very grateful.

On the trip from recovery back to my room, the entire hospital was treated to me singing out “All gone!”

The cancer yes, and boy was I relieved. But also my breasts. The nursing staff in recovery had a hard time stopping me from pulling down the gown to have a look. No messing about here.

I promise, this is as gruesome as it gets.

Okay the right one is blue from that dye I mentioned earlier, the blue tubes in the centre and to the side are drains, and the big saucer-sized bumpy things under my skin are the start of my new boobs. They are tissue expanders. A thick silicone bag – kind of like a balloon which will be filled with saline over the next month/two.

Observations complete (by myself and family) I was determined to get up and to the bathroom on my own and change before heading back to bed.

A lot of the personal accounts of breast cancer sufferers I’ve read point to many women really struggling to look at themselves in the mirror following mastectomy and feeling an overwhelming sense of grief at what they’ve lost and what’s happened. Having had a few minutes on my own in front of bathroom mirror my family and nurse were braced for me to emerge with some tears – but instead I was laughing. You see that blue dye they injected earlier in the day had to come out somehow – and for some strange reason (I’ll blame the drugs..) I found much amusement in peeing like a smurf!

20 May, 2009. Exactly one month since Operation #1, the bilateral lumpectomy.

Consent for the bilateral mastectomy signed, operation booked and they were about to come off.

My boobs had been the centre of my world for several months now and the morning of the ‘big operation’ was no different. There wasn’t a lot of talking though, just a very uneasy silence. I wasn’t sad, worried, upset – just anxious. My final shower with my boobs was quite surreal.

Dr D was planning to take a couple of lymph nodes just to check the cancer hadn’t become invasive. Without going into too much detail – the process of preparation for a Sentinel Node Biopsy was one of the most unpleasant experiences I’ve ever endured. Four syringes of dye injected around and into the nipple. Yes, I swore.

After hours of waiting for the dye to reach the lymph nodes I had some x-rays done. Then another long wait for the surgery to begin.

A volunteer from Cancer Council Queensland came to visit – bringing with her a heap of information for sufferers and those close to them. She also gave me a pink satin cushion – shaped like one of those neck pillows for travel, assuring me I’d find it very useful for under my arm when I woke up. I had visits from a couple of nurses I knew personally – Kay a family friend from way back, and Wendy who’s married to the boss of Channel Ten here on the Coast. In a sign of how frequently I’d been in recently, I was also on a first-name basis with the admissions nurse Dot!

I was off to theatre mid-afternoon. More familiar faces with a couple of the anaesthetic nurses from my previous surgeries.

Dr D came for that ‘last minute chat’, only this time he had a camera in hand, along with a big purple texta. As he took photos of my boobs I smiled “no need to pose Kate, I’m not getting your face” he laughed. Then with that purple pen he marked out where my boobs sat. Another one of those very strange life experiences.

I was starting to get a little groggy as I climbed from the trolley onto the table, but pulled the gown down for ‘one last look’, much to the amusement of all the medical professionals who now had my life (and boobs!), in their hands.

I’m glad I made use of the time I had before heading back to Pindara Private Hospital. It turned out to be quite a fun day in the scheme of things (punctuated by some of those ‘reality check’ moments) and keeping my mind occupied certainly helped curb the anxiety.

I was well aware of the seriousness of the second operation – but a sense of humour certainly helps.

My surgery was booked for late afternoon, so I had plenty of time to kill.

Given the fact I had to fast from 10am, I decided to rally the troops (family, friends, current/former workmates etc.) and have a nice big brekky at a local restaurant. Not only did it mean I went into hospital very well nourished, but I had some good quality ‘laugh’ time with them – while it didn’t hurt to laugh!

They all thought I was completely bonkers by booking a session to be ‘cast’. Yes – here’s the proof.

My dear Mum walked in to find me clad only in my underwear, with two bits of glad wrap over my nipples (to protect the still-stitched scars from the first operation).

My simple reasoning was that as Dr D worked to remove the cancer from my right breast that afternoon, I knew my ‘bust’ would never look the same again..

Three days after my initial surgery, was the follow-up consultation with Dr D. We weren’t expecting anything more serious from the pathology, so there was no obvious reason to be dreading what he might say, however my beautiful little dog signalled I needed to be prepared. As I got ready for the appointment she hopped up on my lap and ever so gently rested her head on my right breast. It was barely touching, but I wondered if her uncharacteristically sad and sympathetic eyes were a warning.

There was no “I’m sorry Kate – you’ve got cancer.” It was simply “we’ve picked up some changes.”

Those changes were DCIS, in the margins around the bigger lump in my right breast. As Paul tried desperately to take it all in, I went into ‘work mode’. The poor specialist was hit with a barrage of questions – “What do I need to know, what has to happen, who do I need to talk to, where do I need to go?”

Dr D asked repeatedly if I was okay, and commented that I was “very calm, and handling it very well considering.” He also asked how I felt. “Lucky” was the over-riding emotion and my immediate response. How incredibly lucky was I that he saw fit to remove the lumps in the first place. Had he not, those cells would not have been picked up at this early stage, but instead left to fester.

Operation #2 was booked for around a week later.