I’m sitting in the breast clinic looking at two dust balls gathering under a dark brown coffee table. I wonder how long they have been there? Dust, hair, dirt and grime. Big enough to pick up and hold. Surely the cleaners can see those? Then I spot another one under the lime green sofa – its moving ever so slightly – like its trying to make its way to the dirty party going on close by. Is this what has been going on in my breast? One speck of a cell invited a few others over, then a few more joined in, and a few more saw it on Facebook and rolled up. No one stopped them. No one asked them to turn the music down or go home. So a few more rocked up. And so begins my own dirty party. I am not sure if I feel angry or anxious right now – it makes me bristle. A consultant in November heard the noise, saw the lights but did nothing. He saw a harmless ‘benign’ lump and left the party. He did no other tests on the lesion he found and drained. Other health professionals also didn’t see the party of malignant cancer cells that were kicking off and instead reported the mammogram ‘all clear’. I actually didn’t get that letter of confirmation until February of this year.
My party is now a full on rave. Now (maybe in retrospect, sadly) I have never been to a rave. But I know many are fueled by drugs, alcohol and dance. Drugs are taken to enhance the experience of the electronic dance music, pulsating lights and massive sound systems with heavy baselines. Funny this as I’m waiting to find out what drugs I’ll have to take to diminish the psychedelic activity of my cancer tumor. Cancers equivalent of ‘downers’ maybe? I hope they decrease my sensory experience of this. My body has been over stimulated for weeks now by the noise, utter fear and explosive anxiety emptying into me over and over again.
Wine just doesn’t cut it anymore.
I count the number of chairs and sofa spaces covered in tape – like the tape you see at a crime scene. It’s cris-crossed to keep people sitting next to one another. I avoid eye contact with my husband. Stinging, gritty tears try and push through, so I know one look at him and there will be a tsunami. I don’t want the dam to break just yet.
14:19 ‘Mrs Heidi Lester please’.