Heart pillow: check. Boob accessible tops: check. Hot flushes spray: check. This is the weirdest suitcase I’ve ever packed. With this strange collection of things I’m headed to surgery tomorrow morning. First I have to get a needle localisation at 9:30am in the local breast clinic. This is a thin strip of wire inserted into the tumour to act as a guide for the surgeon later. Then after that bundle of fun I’m off to Haywards Heath for the surgery. I arrive at 11:30am for the pre-op process. I envision lots of reassuring uniformed people giving me massages and cuddles. I suspect they’ll just be weighing me and removing all signs of my individuality as a human being. Except my glasses, those I’m allowed to keep.
The surgeons go off for lunch. Alas I am banned from food and water. Then I’ll be wheeled to theatre at 1:30pm. The procedure was inspired by a cosmetic surgeon called Louis Benelli. They will make two incisions around my nipple, remove the bits between and lift up skin and fat. They’ll cut the tumour plus a margin of 1cm around like taking a slice of pizza.Then they smoosh the whole thing back together into a boob shape. It should be done and dusted by 3:30pm. Adam will update here with news.
Apart from the obvious niggle/terror of dying under general anaesthetic and never waking up again, I’m also most worried about waking up and singing cheesy pop songs whilst declaring love for random nurses. This is a real possibility according to my cancer mates. In classic British style I am as nervous about potential death as public humiliation. I’m OK with that. See you on the flip side lovely buds.