|Love letters to and from the Inland Revenue|
See that picture? That’s the correspondence I’ve had with the tax office over the last six weeks. It’s a long and dull story best summed up as they are doing my bloody head in! I am battling on and think I might be wearing them down as the latest letter from the powers-that-be said, amongst other things, that they were ‘sending me kind thoughts’. Sweet, but I’d prefer it if they just got my tax right.
I’ve got a seroma (collection of icky fluid at the operation site). Maybe don’t click on that link if you’re about to eat. Too late? Oops sorry. I had the fluid drained on Friday by the surgeon but by Friday evening it was back. I thought I was tremendously brave putting up with it all weekend and called the hospital on Monday morning expecting them to rush me in to mop my brow and drain the gunk. They were unimpressed. I have to wait until Wednesday to get it drained again. Meanwhile I’m walking around with what feels like a small water bed on my chest. This in turn has put the kibosh on my radiotherapy planning appointment (also scheduled for Wednesday). I spent all day yesterday (apart from the two hours I spent composing my latest letter to the tax office) trying to phone the radiotherapy department to reschedule my appointment. The phone rang and rang and rang and rang. No-one answered all day.
I’m still pathetically tired. I walked for 10 minutes yesterday, had a major (and embarrassing) coughing fit in the post office then walked 10 minutes home and had to have a lie down.
I’m persisting with the grotty post-mastectomy exercises as instructed by the physiotherapist. They hurt and make me even grumpier.
Building work on the kitchen starts on Monday. There is still So Much To Do Before The Work Can Start. And Cyril (three-legged monster cat) is not helping much with the packing.
To cap it all I’ve opened a new tub of margarine when we already had an unfinished tub in the fridge. Argh. As John Shuttleworth says 'two margarines on the go, it's a nightmare scenario'. See below for his musical masterpiece:
With all the ranting I forgot to update you on my recent surgeon and oncologist appointments. The surgeon is happy with my progress (the seroma problem is common and nothing to worry about). Sufficiently clear margins were taken out around the tumour so I don’t have to have more surgery. The main tumour itself was a bit smaller than expected and the other cancer in the breast found during biopsies a year ago was nowhere to be seen. The surgeon suspects it was zapped by the chemo. The oncologist (the one that looks like Smokey Robinson, he’s my new favourite) decided I should have radiotherapy because, although it will not help with secondary cancer, it can reduce the risk of a recurrence of a new cancer in the same area as the first. So pretty good news all round. I really shouldn’t be so grumpy, but I am.