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3 Weeks Post Op

I am actually writing this the day after , as yesterday , I felt too bad. Even to talk to you. It was the hardest day , bar none, and I'm not sure why. The photographs show how I look and I'm so obviously on the mend but, to me, without the initial relief of being up and about and the first flush of gratitude that the incision had not been longer or more complex, fading, I just hated the way I look. There seemed no point wearing nice clothes and, venturing out to Waitrose ( on this occasion , yes, to return some mental boots I comfort bought, then returned ) , I felt that everyone was looking at me. I was worried that I might meet someone I knew , or worse, half knew, and that I'd have to explain what had happened or, worse again, not get the chance to explain what has happened. I couldn't meet anyone's eye, I felt rude but it was preferable to registering anyone else's reaction.

Out of proportion ? Deluded? Self important ? Probably, Yes ! Yes ! Yes ! But, there it is ... It has given me the ( smallest I appreciate ) insight to those with visible disabilities . And the enormous bravery required . I have more than a feeling that there are organisations which can help with this kind of adjustment and perhaps it's a mistake to think I wouldn't qualify for a listening ear because ( please God ) mine is temporary but I'm getting a grip and watching and waiting. 

Here's me looking extremely sorry for myself. Not helped by my poor old eyes who are still smarting at even a waft of Clinique .

 

A close up. I've chopped off my chin as a Friend kindly pointed out the need for a bit of electrolysis in an earlier photograph. It's not that I don't know... Just a matter of prioritising.  I could sod it and take up knitting and organic living and then I wouldn't need to bother

 

Week end

Honestly, it has become a major highlight to schlep down into town to The Nuffield to see Dr Hussain. I even got up early to blow dry my hair and, knowing that there would be another quick raid into the City Centre and that, this time, I'd have the reassuring presence of my Husband ( not often I'm heard to say THAT ) , I thought I'd dress up a bit. This pic has no bearing on my scar, whatsoever but I wanted you to see that I didn't spend my life make upless in Comfy leisure gear before this procedure and that I don't intend to sink into it permenantly anytime soon. I wanted to feel normal

Dr S is pleased with my progress and I felt able to ask about the procedure.  He explained that, in order to prevent my face being pulled in towards the centre of my face, ( to cover the hole made by taking out the cancerous tissue ), thus distorting my nose and lip, he needed to move the tissue from my cheek inwards, to underpin that gap in effect. This is done by loosening the layers of skin beneath the surface and then stitching them into place. So that they don't slide back. Is my understanding . Apparently , there were 4 or 5 of these stitches which will dissolve in time, including the ones in my

lip. Then there were 8 stitches on the surface which have now been removed.   

When I return next Saturday Dr H will show me how to massage the scar which , he warned me, would be uncomfortable and that many people, including me it seems, initially shrink from the prospect of touching it. If it's going to help the healing , I'm definitely up for it though. 

I have noticed that around the scar itself, which is a fine silver line, the skin is a reddy colour with the veins becoming increasingly prominent. I asked if there was anything I could do to minimise this. Particularly whether extremes of either hot or cold would have an adverse effect. The answer is no. That it is inevitable but that, in time, the veins should fade. There was a proper medical explanation but it seems I went deaf at that point, Sorry. I did listen sufficiently to glean that I was overdoing it a bit on the Vaseline and that a small amount, twice a day, was enough. Not my " Snail Trail " !!!

My face  manages to feel both sore and numb. The numbness extends up my cheek whereas it's my lip that is still very sore. I continue to feel a tingling and itching sensation but am assured that all this is normal. It can take up to 18 months for the nerves to settle back down although there is a possibility of permenant nerve damage. I'm not going there yet though. 90% was the usual recovery rate ... She says confidently ! I'll confirm that for next time.

Saturday I felt pleased. Sunday was a different matter. I had really wanted to go to the Vogue Centenary Exhibition in Manchester  but the day was a disaster . Since my operation my skin, hair and now my eyes seem to have become really dry and sensitive . We had to stop at Tesco to buy eye make up remover . Honestly, if I didn't feel like crying before I saw my self in the mirror of the Art Gallery Toilets , I certainly did afterwards. I looked like an extra from " Watership Down " , after myxomtosis had struck. Here's a picture in which I look utterly pretentious but, in reality, those glasses were essential. Too much sunlight and I was blinded . I think it was just seeing myself out of home that upset me. As others saw me which, in the grand scheme, isn't bad. I keep saying that to ward off you judging me as a whiner !! Believe me I do appreciate that it's all relative .

My youngest daughter was then was sick and fainted in the toilets and had to be moved to the car in a wheel chair . Period pain. All the glamour. Never has the M62 eastbound seemed more like the Yellow Brick Road. 

 

Days 16, 18 and 19

Not a lot of blogging this week but I have taken photographs of the scar as the week has unfolded. Which might help. Every single day there is a change.

Tuesday ( Day 16)

Thursday ( Day 18 )

This was the morning that I went into town - Leeds - on my own which, considering I have been out and about, was a big deal. I dithered around for ages , particularly about the need to add the steri strip to my lip. As you know, in my heart I don't feel it was truly necessary but it signalled me as someone recovering from an op , rather than ... What, someone with a ' permanent problem '? I need to reflect on that, don't I ?

Anyway, I made an effort ( photo included ) , I even  Instgrammed, and set off.  What I discovered was that, with friends and family I am comfortable having modified the way I speak and my facial expressions. I have needed to restrict movement so as not to create tension on my face, presumably because it pulls on the underlying scars. I hadn't appreciated just how animated I must normally be in my non verbal communication though because, when speaking to people in shops, I felt somehow frozen. Clear ? As mud ?? All I'm saying is that, perhaps if you didn't know me , you wouldn't notice, but I was aware that I wasn't firing on all my communication cylinders !! Oh, and I guess that the snail trail of Vaseline down my nose to my lip might have been an indicator too ...

After about an hour or so I was tired. Of town. Of the shops. Me ? Unheard of  ! There must be more going on than I'd appreciated and I'm going to ask Dr H later this morning what exactly has happened to my face. Where the stitches are, why it's still so tiring.


Friday ( Day 19 )

In the words of a Friend's Husband " Katherine, really, it's not so bad ... " . Now if that was a girlfriend one would be seething, counting the ways in which you never really liked them anyway, but , from a MAN, that is praise indeed.

As to how my face feels. It feels tight on the right side. I still can't smile properly without it pulling so applying blusher is sheer hell ! Joke ! I just have to turn up the corners of my mouth but the plus side is of course that there's no need for Botox, yet ! Actually, nothing has been funny enough to warrant a laugh since early August. Crying is a no too. The only way to do it is to turn one's mouth into a most unattractive letterbox shape which means only strangulated yips can escape . One glimpse of yourself looking and sounding like that is enough to make you desist . Oh yes, I've become quite the pragmatist as far as expressing myself is concerned.

Finally, bruising. Mostly gone, certainly the discolouration , although my cheek bone is still very pronounced. My lips are almost back to normal as the photos show with a little bruising . Nothing that Mac can't disguise .

Day 15

These photographs were taken yesterday, just two weeks after the procedure . I think we can take comfort from them, can't we? The healing seems to have ' come on' ,as Granny would say, a great deal even in the last 2 days. I am even more convinced that the steri strip is serving no purpose, other than as a comfort blanket, but, as I invested in a couple more sheets at the Pharmacist yesterday, I'll keep with them.

In terms of the way the scar feels, the skin is beginning to tingle, almost prickle, which I take to be a sign of healing, when I'm feeling positive or evidence that I've somehow stretched the wound, when I'm being negative. All this time convalescing has meant an unhealthy amount of self examination - something to which I am already prone - and I can't wait to resume my busy life when I have less time for such thoughts .

I have been out and about - a brief trip into town on day 12 and a couple of 30/40 minute dog walks but, I'm a little embarrassed to say, I have felt fatigued afterwards. Maybe it's just that inactivity breeds inactivity ?? All the reading I had intended to do hasn't materialised . Loads of Internet shopping though . Not that I'm a stranger to that particular sport. It's just that I have noticed a certain recklessness, a ' life's short ' attitude which has crept in and which I need to stifle. It's not SO short that I don't need to save enough for next week's Sainsbury's shop!!

Day 11

A visit to Dr Hussain to check how it's going. He seems delighted so it seems churlish not to be too. He positively beams as the seri strips are removed but it flashes through my mind that this is precisely the expression my hairdresser made after a truly awful colour and cut - willing me not to notice by the sheer force of her determination ! O ye of little faith ! As it turns out !

After he's cleaned it up a bit I take a look. I don't always appear this mournful but, grabbing a quick pic whist he nips out of the room for a moment is a bit of a stress !

A scary close up ! Must book some electrolysis at some point !

Really not bad, not bad at all.





I mentioned at the start of my appointment that I thought I would find it easier to meet people with the wound covered with steri strips or a dressing. That the real challenge, psychologically ,would be when the actual scar was on show. With that in mind perhaps, I am instructed to keep most of the scar covered in Vaseline ( apply twice a day ) and to keep one thin steri strip on just above my lip. Perhaps a Dumbo's feather, but I'll grasp it.

Finally took a look ...

Yesterday , after showering, I could avoid it no longer and had to acknowledge that the edges of the steri strips were lifting. They were no longer doing the job of providing support so, they had to be replaced. I was unprepared for my reaction to what was beneath.

It is virtually impossible to weep without screwing up your face and mouth. I had to cry quietly and as still as I could so as not to pull on the stitches. I will post the picture at the bottom of the post as soon as I'm able ( to bribe a child to do it ).

My Husband thought it was amazing. That in just over a week it had recovered and healed to this extent. My rational brain agreed but my emotional side just saw a mark which wasn't there before and which, well, I'd rather not !

The wound has not oozed but , particularly near my lip , is raised and red. This is normal. So why am I sad? I'm just going to ' go with it '. If I feel sad, that's up to me. Whatever I think or feel is normal. It has dawned on me that the confidence with which I have met people and ventured out was built on the wound being covered. I think it's going to take another kind of courage to actually expose myself ' in the raw '.

One note of caution. A good friend took me to our large M&S in the morning . It felt great to dress up and go out . A rummage through the dreg ends of the sale always lifts my spirits but.. After 3 hours out , I was exhausted. My lip was throbbing, the site of the stitch actually painful enough to make me reach for the paracetamol which I haven't needed for a week. I'm angry with myself and vow to take it easy today. From the outside it might seem to be over cautious but , well, it's my face and I'm the only one ( bar Dr H ) who can protect it.

One week on

Hi, I haven't posted since Saturday as there's nothing new to report really. My scar is still covered by steri strips and I haven't yet had the courage to remove and replace them. In fairness, the two horizontal ones are still in place . All I've needed to do is put two more vertical ones on.

I have to confess that I have just now e mailed Mr Hussain's Secretary to ask him if the strips should be changed, regardless of ' lifting ' at the edges. I don't want to be a high maintenance ( read " pain in the ar*e " ) patient but .... I'm apparently willing to risk it for the sake of my face ! I will report back.

The bruising on my neck and face is fading from a violent yellow to a pale primrose and the swelling on my lip has reduced considerably . My black eye has receded and I finished the course of anti biotics yesterday. 

The worries of everyday life which, for survival, were mercifully suspended in the early days following the operation , now return with a vengeance . I won't explore them here only to say that the sentiment that, as a Parent, one is only ever as happy as one's least happy child, is so painfully true. Yet, I still feel somehow wounded, not back up to fighting form , struggling to balance my own need for recovery with the compulsion to take up the reins and begin ' sorting ' out ( or attempting to ) , again.

I went through an odd thought process about the bcc and the op this week end. I began to minimise it in my mind. To think that I had, perhaps, overreacted, made a big deal. That the people who had seemed only mildly moved by my fears might be right . I know that is wrong and if anyone is reading this, and waiting to see what the day of their operation will actually bring, I do need you to know that your concerns are valid. Not in the sense that you are right to be worried because what will happen is dreadful, rather that it is natural to be deeply anguished about a procedure of which you do not know the outcome and which will affect your window to the world - your face.

The way I felt before the operation remains more to the forefront of my mind because my very dear friend is preparing for the same procedure in a few weeks time. Her bcc is midway on the side of her nose though, to the edge of her eye socket . Her preoccupation and understandable wish to talk about this means re living that same , hellish, time .One of the hardest parts, for me, was to disguise that all consuming anxiety for what was to come. Maybe it was wrong?

Stitches out -Day 6

Saturday morning, six days after the procedure. I have been assiduous about applying the Vaseline, and this is what my face looks like, just before I leave to see Mr Hussain to have the stitches removed. The bruising has turned a fetching shade of ochre, and I decided to co ordinate my colouring with my clothes - gold moccasins and a yellow and white Breton top. My jeans are pale grey and my paisley wrap a mixture of brown, gold and blue . How I laughed - inside of course. I didn't want to stretch those stiches !

I suffered my usual bout of catastrophizing en route to the hospital, worrying that the scar line would have drifted, be thick and raised, that I had been deluding myself on what seemed like a promising healing process.

The deep, slow breathing taught to me by the Psychologist (Dr Maggie Bellew at Spire )  helped to control the effects of beginning to hyper ventilate. I'm so dramatic. Ridiculous ! I will come back to the offer of Counselling pre and post op in a later blog.

Anyway. Removal of the stiches involved lying down on the bed (is it called a bed ?? A misnomer if ever there was one, no relaxing here ). Mt Hussain then gently removed the Vaseline and began to snip the stitches. I tried not to breathe. It was fine. The scar was then swabbed with a cold, antiseptic smelling fluid which also allows the steri strips which were to be applied, to stick.

I was concerned that, without the aid of the stitches, my skin would pull away, downwards and that there was a risk of the suture line opening, meaning a wider scar. Mr Hussain explained that, in fact, it was the stitches beneath the surface which were doing all the work. That they took the strain and were holding the opening together. However, in order to support the surface layer of skin, now that the top layer stitches had gone, steri strips were placed, upwards and inwards from my cheek. It feels more reassuring to have that support I have to say.

Instructions for the next few days include continuing to take it easy with no activity likely to raise my blood pressure or send blood pumping to my face. This sounds like a golden ticket but, frankly, I'm watching the household routine dissolve around me and I'm dying to get stuck in. Despite vowing to follow the advice to the letter, I have already shoved a load of darks in the washer (head up, no bending ) because Monday morning WILL come and the bleating for fresh uniform and sports kit is a certainty !

Also, although beginning to eat normally will come, I am still very chary of really chewing. My dreams now are of crusty loaves and a big fat steak ! All in good time I guess. Upside is my weight is going down, despite the best efforts of my Long Suffering and very dear Mum. If she mentions 'Complan' again I am , however, going to have to strangle her.

Right, time for a nap I think. I finally managed to capture my eldest daughter for long enough to help me insert the photos (ie she did it and I watched like someone on Peter Kaye's 'Thick Table' ). Exhausting. I hope the photos help though ?

Practical Advice

Hi

After a really quite low day yesterday , when, for some reason I was absolutely shattered , I was glad to get up and about this morning. After ladling on the Vaseline I braved the shower and washed and blow dried my hair. "That's interesting ", I hear you cry, " Tell me about the time you let your library tickets !" . Well, I'm only telling you because I think that's not bad only 4 days after the op although this procedure does seem to drain my battery faster than I would have imagined.

Anyway, I still haven't managed to get either daughter to sort out the photo problem, but I will. Then you will see how things are healing. And it is amazing how things move on.

Well, I'm clearly not in a philosophical mood so I thought I'd tell you a couple of things I've found useful. They are perhaps only of interest if your incision affects the mouth and lip area but...

- As I have stitches running down from my nose and some in my lip, the aim is to disturb that area as little as possible whilst it heals. Opening my mouth to any degree clearly impacted on the  site. My normal toothbrush was way too robust and bulky . I got a child's toothbrush - teeny tiny, Thumbelinaesque. It's great and avoided the plaque vs open wound dilemma. Top tip.

- I used cotton wool buds to apply the Vaseline. More control and less mess.

- Used straws to consume soup, yoghurt , tea, anything that I could eat and which didn't need too great a vacuum to move upwards. If you have to pull too hard it's going to cause a strain on the lips. I'm sure there's a joke there somewhere ....

- I got ( or more accurately, my lovely Mum got ) a hand blender and mashed up whatever was hanging about. I made the mistake of turning my back yesterday and left a delicious mix of potato, feta, ham, asparagus and plain yoghurt within reach of my Cavapoo. Very little left unless I was willing to wipe it off her beard - which, hungry though I was, I wasn't ! Happy dog though .

-Frozen smoothie boxes from Sainsburys , mixed with apple juice , were a less cloying alternative to the pre prepared bottles and were, initially, all I could manage.

I think I'm scraping the barrel now. I'm ready for some more Anne Patchett's " Commonwealth " and an early night. Tomorrow morning the stitches may come out. I'm not looking forward to that but, as its Mr No Nonsense Hussain , I will get a grip and behave like the 54 year old I am , rather than the 8 year old I feel.

A peculiar calm

I slept  well last night for the first time in weeks, without the aid of a chemical cosh. I feel calm this morning although I appreciate that it will be months until the effects of Monday's adventure recede in any meaningful way.

Fear of the unknown is so debilitating. The thought of my forthcoming procedure was always present in my mind, pressing for attention, no matter what situation I found myself in. I worked towards the date, 3rd October, as if it was to be my last.

 I planned exciting things to do - visiting a dear Friend in London. We squeezed in so much - Georgia O'Keeffe at Tate Modern, a walk round Spitalfiels, supper at Ottolenghi . Next day, striding through Battersea Park, Cheyney Walk, The Kings Road and The Ivy in Chelsea. Wonderful stuff. Yet in the midst of that I had moments of feeling so grim, so sick, so tired, so overwhelmingly sad that I could have lain down in the middle of Peter Jones and wept. I was frightened . And I felt alone in my fears.

Friends have been very supportive. What could they really say that I wanted to hear though? The suggestion that we grow through adversity , become more insightful and other worldly, infuriated me. I didn't WANT , I don't want, to become a better person, I didn't ask to 'grow' in any way whatsoever . This had been inflicted on me and it just isn't FAIR .

In fact, like a child, that was one of my first responses to my diagnosis - that it wasn't fair. Rather embarrassingly I blurted that one out in the Consultation rooms. I don't sunbathe, have used a high sun factor on my face for years, haven't used a sunbed since the 80's. Why me ?

Another response was, am I being punished ? For being vain, for placing too much value on appearances, for being bad in some way ? I'm not Catholic but these thoughts of judgement and retribution were very real. I felt singled out and I needed to find a reason. Then felt almost immediate guilt when I thought of others with 'real ' cancer ( because that's how a bcc diagnosis can make you think ) . How dare I complain when my form of cancer could not kill me and for others it really is a death sentence ?

Complicated isn't it ? I hope I don't sound like a spoiled brat but one's responses are rarely rational and I need to be honest about the way it felt and feels. The emotions I experienced are, generally, considered unattractive , we spend a lot of our energy, it seems to me, disguising what we are actually experiencing, and at times like this,the effort is almost too much to take.

And so... Of course you continue doing what you always do,with a rictus smile on your face, and hope that the cracks in your persona don't rupture too publicly - like the insides of the heated Camembert ( although what comes out there is, of course, a welcome sight ! ) .

The best responses came from friends who did not try to get me to look ahead, to see anything positive in the situation, but who acknowledged my horror and fear. They were the ones who really imagined how it would feel FOR THEM. They empathised without trying to parcel it all up and move it on. And, invariably , far from being weepy onlookers , they are the ones who, in the last few days have offered practical help.

Just as a post script to this rather lengthy post, I also managed a long week end in Barcelona with my long suffering husband. He went along with my urgent imperative to see, to do, to taste , to keep on moving til the last moment. But sadly, for us both, the tentacles of anxiety and anticipation were wholly effective in strangling the possibility of romance. I was like the Buckaroo Mule, completely wired - one brush and I'd explode !!

Face Day 4

Dressing off

So... I'm back from my appointment with Mr Hussain. I felt violently sick in the car on the way to the hospital, shaky and faint. It was also my first encounter with anyone other than my family and friends. I avoided enquiring eyes - real or imagined - in the Reception , but, fortunately didn't have long to wait until the ever sprightly Mr Hussain called my name.

I went into the room with real trepidation , tears springing unbidden , but promptly reabsorbed in the face of Mr Hussain's efficient and brisk demeanour .

Removing the dressing was painless. He then put Vaseline on the stitches with a long cotton bud, declaring that it was an excellent result. That my non talking had really helped with the recovery and was to be continued for as long as possible.

He then asked me to look in the mirror. This time , tears of relief. Very little swelling and bruising, two black eyes for sure, but nothing as grotesque as I had feared. The scar runs from the top of my right nostril to my lip, on a slight slant to the right. I could have needed stitching right down and along my lip , bending towards my chin. I can see that I've been lucky.

I need to sit down to digest what I have seen.,saying thank you seemed inadequate. I really wanted to embrace Mr Hussain but he's not the type, brushing off my effusive gratitude.

Instructions are to cover the stitches with Vaseline twice a day, avoid scrubbing them ( as if ), but a shower is fine. Come back on Saturday when the stitches may be removed. Relieved and pleased just touches the surface.

On way to have dressing removed

Revealed

Revealed

Anticipation

One of  hardest parts of this entire process has been the anticipation - of the extent of the tumour, the consequent extent of the surgery, the degree of my response to the visual effect of it. I have been terrified and there have been many times so far ( and no doubt in the future ) when I have wept for the pity of it all.

I have tried to hold on to what I ended up calling the Two Pillars of Comfort. The first being, of course that a basal cell carcinoma is non malignant and that, with treatment it will not spread to other organs of the body. A 'lucky ' cancer as the Nurse said, although it didn't seem very lucky at the time.

The Second Pillar is my Surgeon himself - Mr Walyat Hussain who my GP described as The King of Facial BCCs. The MOHS technology he uses and his extensive and impressive experience means I could not ask for a better person to work on my face.

My face. That's the real crux of the terror. One's face is one's identity no matter how other worldly we pretend to be, talking of the inner self, the value of a good soul , the transforming power of wit, humour , kindness. Your face is the World's first perception of you as an entity. All sorts of assumptions are made on its basis. It might be wrong , it might be misguided - and how many times have we been proved wrong in our judgement of others led only by our gut reaction to their appearance? Still. An entire literary tradition flourished on the correlation between outer and inner beauty and, truth be told, Petrach's ideals, still hold true.

So, this facial bcc is complicated, psychologically , by the insidious conviction that one should not complain too much - for God's sake it won't kill you - and the mournful voice of your Senses which grieves for this part of you which is your first defence, your armour against the world.

During the weeks of waiting for the operation, each time I applied my make up, my face, tears filled my eyes. Trying to fix my visage, as is, in my mind, in case , post op, I don't recognise my real self again. I took hundreds of photographs and took every opportunity to be out. I visited a good friend in London, packing every moment and secretly gauging the response I triggered in others . Self absorbed ? Definitely , but maybe you could indulge me ? It was like imagining saying goodbye to a friend , agreeing to be another person ( to a greater or lesser degree) but never having set eyes on them. Knowing they would be LIKE you but less so .Patched up.

BraveFace . Diary of a facial basal cell carcinoma ( bcc): Good Morning - Day One

BraveFace . Diary of a facial basal cell carcinoma ( bcc): Good Morning - Day One: I took the third diazepam which my kind GP gave me last night and slept well until almost 6 this morning, waking only periodically to prop myself back up on the mountain of pillows I was advised to use in order to keep upright. I am however hungry . Soup through a straw and the juice from rice pudding ( the grains get stuck in the tube !) last night. Not enough.Whats putting me off being mire adventurous is my hugely swollen lip. Which I have absolutely no desire to mistake for a piece of doughy bread or a very juicy blackberry and break into., unknowing, because it still seems to be under the influence of the anaesthetic !

My face is beginning to throb gently, insistently , but I'm confident that the paracetamol I was instructed to obtain, will deal with it. My greatest irritation is that I've just dropped my tea ( drunk through a straw ), all over my bed, particularly where I'm lying.  Clean sheets. My best sheets. Very vexing. What's worse is that I really don't have the energy to strip the bed and such exertion is verboten. So, I've fetched a towel and now look as though I've added incontinence to my ailments !!

Looking fed up !

BraveFace . Diary of a facial basal cell carcinoma ( bcc): How it was before the op

This morning I feel that a great deal of tension has gone. I may be deluding myself as I have no idea of what is beneath the dressing or how I will react when I see it. But, for today, I can be glad that the anticipation, which has been so all consuming, is over .


 It's done and what tomorrow brings can wait, for this brief moment of time.


Reaching a diagnosis of a bcc seemed one of chance and circumstance. I was talking to a friend who had had some lesions removed from her face and was the waiting for the results of a biopsy from a mark on her face .

I had been aware for a long while of a small spot below my nose, to the right of my lip.It bled intermittently but was so small and seemingly innocuous and covered up with concealer, mostly I could ignore it. After the chat with my friend I decided to mention it to my GP .I might have done it sooner but, at this stage in life there always seems to be some fresh medical issue to raise, and I relegated my spot to the bottom of the list each time. Ridiculously, I didn't want to be written off as a middle aged hypochondriac! Mistake.



She diagnosed it as a bcc on a Tuesday and by the Wednesday I was meeting Mr Hussain, the Consultant Specialist in this field, at Nuffied Leeds. He too felt it was a bcc and organised a biopsy for the next Tuesday. Although he explained the possible ramifications , my mind clung to the hope that it was nothing, just sun damage.



The results of the biopsy felled me and Mt Hussain's patient explanation was lost. Pushed out by the weakening sensation of all my body and a rushing sound in my ears. The low howling sound,so distracting to the process,was, it turned out, me !



My Husband tried to usher me from the room but I could move. Shock and horror mixed with snot and tears as I tried to digest the diagrams of where my scar would be. I wanted to rewind . 20minutes ago this wasn't true, this wasn't my life ,there was a mistake. This was not me. I'm busy. It's not fair. Why me ? I haven't sunbathed for years ? What did I do to deserve it? Am I too vain  and this is a punishment?? All these thoughts whirling round my brain whilst I listen and dismiss chemotherapy and angle for the earliest operation date.

The intervening weeks have been some of the hardest in my life. Maintaining an outward show of composure but on the inside the desperate maelstrom of Top Withens.

BraveFace . Diary of a facial basal cell carcinoma ( bcc): Round One

BraveFace . Diary of a facial basal cell carcinoma ( bcc): Round One: Back in chilly Recovery room. What happened ? I was taken to the operating room, signed the consent forms. Gowned up and laid on what looks ...

Round Two

When I was called in a second time it was a repeat performance, but this time to remove two tentacles, one growing towards my nose, the other downwards. Only small I was reassured. Returning again with a huge pad,on my lip,  I was urged to eat   but my yoghurt got everywhere over the bandages, making me feel truly disadvantaged,so I gave up.

After lunch for the theatre team I went back for a final time for the reconstruction . Because the hole was smaller than expected I had the option of an incision round my nostril and straight down as opposed to the incision across my cheek and down. I went for the first, new option, and prayed it wasn't an experiment of Mr Hussain !! Although this part took quite a long time - perhaps an hour or more -it is not painful and at times, when I forgot myself, I could almost drift off.

The staff were as gentle as ever, handling me with care in my cocoon. Job done I now have my right nostril blocked with antibiotics and dressing and a ginormous pressure bandage over my nose. It was declared a success by Mr Hussain, my skin co operated . I do however look like a character from ' The League of Gentlemen' , with huge cheeks and pig like nose peaking out from the wrapping. My top lip looks like a twisted inner tube - from what I can see.

No lifting, no talking , no jobs at all for at least a week . . Just rest, upright to prevent bleeding. I can do that, although talking is already a challenge. I need to direct operations .

I'm having problems downloading the photos to show you - before and during total . But once I find a willing 6 year old, we're on !

Just before leaving, after the reconstruction

Round One

Back in chilly Recovery room. What happened ? I was taken to the operating room, signed the consent forms. Gowned up and laid on what looks a little  like a dentists  chair , but lower . The local injection was put inside my mouth, beneath the tumour and, I can't lie, it stings. Toe curling but I hang  on to my breathing and remember it is only a moment in time, soon to be gone.

I have a deal with Mr Hussain, Mr Mohes, not to cry. I'm sticking to it as best I can but the body has its own ideas and big , fat salty drops escape, unbidden ,down the side of my face. A reverberation begins in my stomach which will give me no peace but as we English do, I try to squash it. By thinking of the washing on the line and how much there is to do.

What I notice is how very important small acts of human kindness are when we are this vulnerable. Someone holding my hand, another gently drumming his fingers on my forehead to distract me from the discomfort as the anaesthetic goes in, a word of encouragement about how I'm doing by Mr Hussain. Who is now the equivalent of God to me today.All I want to do is please him.

I do not witness the removal of my facial flesh , the area of which has already been marked out in pen , as , with my permission my head is wrapped and my eyes are covered,it's a relief. A lot of pushing and pressing but no pain. Followed by the disconcerting smell of burning flesh as the veins are cauterised. What  I'm left with is a very fat and distorted lip, covered by a large pressure bandage,, I shuffle back to the Recovery a Room,gently aided by one of the nurses, and Graham is here,,waiting. Thank goodness.

A kind lady with a pressure pad beneath her nose looks on sympathetically and makes me a cup of tea. To be drunk, cool,,with a straw.

I'm ready for bed but I have a nasty feeling that this is just the first shot over the bow .Never mind , there's weeks worth of ancient 'Hellos"'. Who'd have thought that the Kate Middleton girl was still seeing Prince William,?  Wouldn't it be exciting if they got married?!!

Waiting

We arrived on time - naturally, but have spent the last 20 minutes filling if forms,,about ethnicity and disability and are now  sitting in Old People's home chairs , thankfully without the accompanying dampness , but never the less very definitely  from '  Kettley's ' - before the make over.

This is designated the ' Recovery ' room but it's not the least how I had imagined it- with candles, a gentle breeze lifting the curtains of the day bed and soothing smells and sounds. No , we watch as the cleaners crash by and I'm sharing with two others whose facial pads of snowy cotton wool make them front runners in any audition for Santas helper . I do note that they are managing to eat - custard creams - but my insides revolt at the though of adding anything more to the mix - of toothpaste, porridge and Diazepam .

How did I end up here ! Well, by ignoring a tiny spot below my nostril ,for OVER2 years! It seems fantastical that I rated a fungal infection on my toe higher on the list to bother my GP with than a bcc. Lesson learnt but horse had gone ! Going in now ...

11th Hour

I had my basal carcinoma ( bcc ) diagnosed weeks ago, back in early August, yet it's taken til now, the morning of the operation to finally decide I needed to blog about the experience. Whilst blow drying my hair and a mere hour away fron my induction . Why? Because I still can't believe it..

A bcc OM MY FACE, between my nose and lip . After thanking the God that it's not malignant and my good fortune for such a competent Surgeon - Mr Hussain - I can feel nothing more positive and fortunate about it.

I will fill you in on the diagnosis and build up, retrospectively. With photos of me before and after and, maybe, together,we can see the process through.

Need to go - running late. My usual. Maybe speak later or after its all done... Think of me

Pic of me after biopsy but before op



 
 
 

Pic on the way to hospital