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