Pathology, Panties and Petrol.

It's been a week since my operation. My boob is still massive, tight and swollen but now its size matches the other 'normal' breast.

It's the little victories that now matter the most, begin able to tie up my hair, being able to open a jar of jam with my right hand, stretching, not needing pain killers and then there is the stuff I miss, sleeping on my tummy, my nipple, my dance class, going for a run.

I even feel guilty listing the things I miss, I am so fortunate so far in all the things I can do.

I walk around now not wearing a bra. I would never go out without a bra before.

I think perhaps in loosing my boob, as replacement therapy, I have magically grown a pair of balls!

I perhaps will dare more.

My new boob still has the right shape, kind of. I was worried when I glanced down at my chest the day after my operation that it would be flat, as if plained away, a dip in the middle of my chest; vacant. But when I looked, it was flippen massive, bigger than before, swollen of course, but I gave a silent 'Yipeeeeeeeee', I still have cleavage.

Today is Pathology Day. Should I be excited or nervous, it's like the big unveil.

I've even bought new pants, in preparation. They are purple and pink, girl boxers, with a toothy hippo on it stating 'Peace, Love and Hipponess'. A bit naff, I know but I thought they were humourous.

So I don the panties and walk to the hospital, (wearing other clothes as well, of course) listening to Diva music to give me a bit of courage. There's nothing like a bit of Beyonce in preparation for pathology results.

The good thing about having Cancer is that they don't make you wait in chairs for too long. When the surgeon calls my name, I see a lot of women and some men, glance up. I have long hair and am fit and healthy looking and I have two breasts, this confuses them and you can see the look of puzzlement fret across the faces. If anything, I'm not the norm.

That too is evident in my pathology report.

I have to take small victories where ever I can get them.

It's 6cm in diameter (Little silent cheer - they said it was approximately 7cm, one less than expected).

It's grade III (No cheer for that as it's kind of shite).

Its ER positive (Again, no cheer).

Its PR positive (Two positives and not in a good way).

Nodal involvement 4/14 (Cheer, that's a good score, go on the lymph nodes, hearty warriors, holding out against marauding cancer cells, only 4 fell at the last hurdle).

It was close to the skin and the chest muscle. (Gulp)

I feel a squeeze of panic. The surgeon looks at me and says sternly, 'Forget this fertility business, my advice to you is to start your Chemo... NOW!' She is fierce, and would kick Beyonce's butt in an instant.

I nod my head and concede.

I had been mulling over the whole prospect of eggs and harvesting a great deal whilst sitting up in my hospital bed, draining into my three bottles and had silently and weakly admitted to myself that all I want to have to think about is getting better, not pushing out babies.

The eggs will have to wait. I can't think of anything but my cells at the moment.

The surgeon eye balls me from across the table.

'Yes. When do we start?' I try to sound proactive but the echo of my own false bravado sounds strange in my ears.

We talk dates and she tells me I will be booked in for my first expander session soon. She says that she has left some air in the expander.

I glance expectantly at my fake breast.

An appointment for saline solution, three weeks time.

I ask a question, which I know she hates, she seems adverse to questions, adverse to sharing too much information. I feel like I'm in school again, asking stupid questions but I go for it anyway.

'Does the air come out when you inject the saline?' I hold my breath, expecting a rebuke.

'It doesn't matter what you put in there, you could put petrol in and it wouldn't come out.' She gathers her papers up and exits in a flurry, attempting to arrange multiple appointment for me as she goes.

I sit for a minute and imagine myself hooked to the petrol pump at the local garage, filling my expander implant.

If anything can go in there, then maybe I'd prefer a nicer liquid.

Gin maybe?

If only.