To be or not to be…now I have my answer

15 months…check. Boom.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting Dr L (damn I knew I should have name checked you!) who after introducing herself, promptly told me how much she liked my bag. The Mulberry had its first hospital outing today.

We chatted for a bit and the usual questions came up;
‘Bowel ok?’
‘Yep’
‘Bladder?’
‘Well, actually, the urgency to go for a wee is a bit more now but manageable’. She explained how this was a lasting effect of the radiotherapy I had and completely normal. Also doesn’t help that I have had a baby and any Mama knows your wee patterns are never quite the same after you have had your little darling…

It was then time for the main event…the physical examination.
Whilst chatting about how cheeky our ‘threenagers’ are especially when it comes to ratting you out about your alcohol consumption, Dr L, did a thorough internal (which still has me wincing despite all the treatment I have encountered – you never get used to a doctor with a plastic tool up your hoo-haa) and made a couple of comments (which I will spare you dear readers, but it was very reassuring) and gave me the delightful news that the fuckwit, cervical cancer, was still being kept at bay…for another 3 months at least.

Boo – fucking – ya! 15 Month check – nailed it.

And actually breathe again and nearly pass out from holding it in.

Throughout my appointments, throughout all the questions I am asked by doctors, nurses and other medical professionals, there is one question I have been been too scared to ask. I’ve not wanted to know why because knowing would take the last smidge of hope away.
But today, today I had the courage to ask because I need to move on to the next part of my life and stop tormenting myself.

I sat with a tissue in my hand, my head concentrating on my lap and with Dr L leaning forward to try and hear what I wanted say through the tears already falling from my eyes.

‘I know I can’t have anymore children, but I want to know why’

I know its a silly question, we know why, but I needed to know in black and white. I needed the facts, however hard it is to hear.

‘There are two parts; part one your ovaries would have been in the radiation field and therefore the eggs would be damaged; part two your womb would also have been in that area and not able to accommodate a baby’

As soon as she said that, it was as if a weight was was lifted.
A simple clarity to assist in dissipating a lifetime of heartache.
That horrible thing your body does, tricking you into thinking something could be happening because you recognise a niggle that ‘ooo might possibly’ be ovulation pain…can be just swept aside now.

We have a very amazing friend, so amazing that she offered to be a surrogate for Pete and I, but now, knowing what I do now about my eggs, its made it easier for that decision to be discounted, but be forever in her debt for thinking of doing something so selfless.
Even Dr L got a bit emotional about that. I love Dr L. She’s a Mama. She knows.

So the next step…maybe now we can actually talk about the next step. Whatever that maybe.

And maybe now I can take some comfort in the fact that I might not carry anymore children, but I am here and I am well.

Once the tears have dried of course.

To be or not to be…now I have my answer.

Comfort

I’m sitting here in my chair, admiring the nails I’ve just had done and their gorgeous purple hue.
I’ve got some purple stocks gracing a vase and some Sweet William to add to it with the most violet petals.
I’ve planned my purple outfit and in my head are the words I’ll put as Facebook statuses and tweets.

Tuesday the 20th May will be the day when I see my fabulous Bart’s team again for my 15-month check.

15 months??? How is that possible? I very nearly forgot this appointment. We went to book a holiday and it popped up in my calendar. Although it’s never really far from my mind, I am beginning to let it go and not dominate my life as much anymore.

I’ve had a few people ask why I like people to show me there purple clothes every 3 months; the truth is I can’t really remember how is started, I think it was a tweet about being part of an army when I started my treatment and it just gathered from there. And now I ask people to do it because it brings me comfort. For one day every 3 months, I get people send me messages, tweets, Facebook pictures and emails with all the creative ways they can conjure up purple for me. From babies in handbags to lilac badges to purple knickers. Yes I have had several underwear photos sent to me. All done tastefully of course.

It makes no sense and the cynical realist I have become knows it doesn’t really mean anything to any tests that I have, or , to the outcome of that little appointment that I have on Tuesday.

But for a few hours every 3 months, I have a group of people (#purplearmy #fransarmy) who are willing to let me know they are thinking of me and support me. In all seriousness, it’s those few hours that help me forget the build up of tension and anxiety each appointment brings.

It’s my army who get me through.

And I want to thank you all for doing it in the most imaginative ways possible!

I love you all.

Send your prayers, if you pray.
Send your good thoughts and vibes, if you have them.
Send your love, luck and hugs.
And send your pictures of you in purple.
That gesture alone is worth so much to me.

Totes wanting to show off my tiny tan I have…