The best bad news.
Yesterday I was back at the Royal Marsden. My home from home. I met a brand new doctor to get my results following last week's flop of a surgery...and this time, it was a lady! The first I've met during this whole year and a half of cancery-ness. Nothing against the male doctors who have all been marvellous so far in fixing my faulty froo froo, but there's something to be said about the understanding and empathy of a female doctor at times like this.
The biopsy/biopsies of my right ovary/both ovaries (the downside of having a large team working on your case - no one is really 100% sure what the others have done!) came back clear of cancer. Hoorah!
The doctor and clinical nurse were brilliant at taking everything back to basics and explaining exactly what had happened so far (as well as being very clear and detailed on the side effects of what was to come - so glad my Dad now knows the prognosis for my vagina). It's all very technical and graphic, but it sounds like Mr Butler did absolutely the right thing in not going ahead with the surgery. It could have done some serious damage to the surrounding blood vessels and organs, and as the nurse said, my quality of life following treatment is as important as curing the disease.
Having my ovaries and tubes left alone also leaves me with the hope of a little miracle occuring one day down the line (women's magazines are always filled with stories of impossible pregnancies - that could be me on the cover one day!).
But the reality is I'll now be referred to Brighton hospital for 5 weeks of radiotherapy along with 4 weeks of chemotherapy to zap anything hiding that the doctors can't find. The radiotherapy will put everything out of action, so no chance of making or carrying a baby.
However, seeing as there is no sign of cancer in my ovary/ovaries, I asked about the possibility of saving some of my eggs. It was a definitive 'no' at my last meeting and I just accepted that, but I am determined to push as hard as possible for this when I get to Brighton. They have a fertility clinic there so if anyone is able to, or willing to, it could be them. Although it could delay my treatment starting by a couple of weeks, it has to be worth a shot. And even if they say no, or they go ahead and find it's not possible to save my eggs, at least I'll be able to move on and know I did everything I could.
The drug they'll use sounds like it will cause minimal side effects, including not losing my hair! I had really built myself up for everything awful to happen, so I feel very lucky that although it won't be plain sailing, it will be quick and as unyucky as possible.
Despite this fab news, I still chose to go ahead with cutting my hair short and donating it to The Little Princess Trust - a charity that makes wigs for poorly children. My beautiful friend Steph cut 9 inches off for me, with her fee going to charity (although I did give her an Easter Egg as a thank you. Chocolate still pays the bills, right?)
Cue silly pictures!!
So now I am waiting for my referral date to Brighton, and finally cracking on with kicking Bob's arse once and for all. I don't feel scared, I just feel ready. Bring it on!