It Feels So Old A Pain

I’m a bit down today. This afternoon I went to see Mr Hadjiminas for a check-up following last week’s surgery. I've had high hopes that my back will soon be smooth and healed. But it has started to fill up with fluid again. First Mr H removes all the sticky dressings as carefully as he can. It is just not possible to get those buggers off without a certain amount of theatrical wincing and ouching. He then drains the fluid with a big needle. That does hurt.

“I’m trying not to be despondent,” I say with a despondent sigh. “Good. It’s early days yet,” says Mr H. He wants me to go back tomorrow so that he can rig up some kind of pressure bandage. But it seems that I won’t be able to wash without removing it. “Do you have anyone at home who can help you to put it on nice and tight?” Well no, I don’t. Suddenly I get quite upset. I just want all this to be over and it’s not. I don’t want a visible reminder that I’ve had breast cancer. I don’t want to live with a constant low-level of pain and discomfort. I don’t want to struggle on my own and not be able to wash because there’s nobody to help me put my bandages on. I hate Nick for leaving me alone. I’m so disappointed that I allowed him to take the place in my heart and in my life that should have been reserved for someone decent who might have loved and cherished me.