Time for a curl

Yes, I know, it's been ages since I've written and that's been because my days have been filled with the work involved in the disposal of someone else's possessions.  My mother died in the middle of April after a sudden decline and it has fallen on me to sort out everything.  It's been a full time job and sometimes I didn't think I'd ever see the light through the forest of unending forms and the thick undergrowth of legalities.  But now it's nearly all done and there's time to think of other things.

Strangely enough, the one thing that I'm thinking about is that after all these years, after a teenhood sleeping in those plastic and foam rollers, after a really bad perm in teh 80s the result of which I absolutely hated, and long after I'd ever given up any hope of ever having so much as a bend in my hair that was all my own - I now have one!  Yup, it's true.

It's very odd, but even one of my daughters remarked on it the other day: mum you have a curl in your hair.   At the very end there's a lovely little turn and just the hint of a wave. Being me I have to know why and I think the explanation is in the chemo hair phenomenon.

The end of my long hair has now been trimmed to just about where the chemo first occurred. You'll remember I'm sure that I can see the bands of six chemo treatments on every strand of my hair.  Well it looks as if where the damage occurred I have a nice little wave. Out of all the side effects that was one I hadn't bargained on - but it's so nice.  I keep looking at the turn in the mirror and feeling a strong sense of satisfaction that I can go out in the rain and the kink will still be there, only more so. 

Another all clear

I'll make this quick.  Such a busy time, so much to do.  I popped along to the local hospital yesterday, had an x-ray and a few minutes with a consultant's side-kick.  All clear again.  But he (at odds with what his boss had specified)  still didn't want to put me on yearly check-ups, and instead said I could go along again in another six months. That's fine with me because although I do get horrendously nervous, it's better to  know and feel elated, as I now do.

All clear

An auspicious day, no, not the general election, but my follow up appointment for the breast op.  I arrived early as I normally do, and amazingly was called almost immediately.  I saw a "member of the team" who assured me all was well.

It was at this point I found out that I no longer have any milk ducts under my right nipple.  I also found out that the increasingly inverted nipple is a side effect.  Now, I think it's a bit late to start telling someone the side effects of surgery eight weeks afterwards.  Another piece of interesting information I derived from the staff member was that smokers or ex smokers are more likely suffer from nipple discharge. That's fascinating. 

So my campaign to get the information from the Breast Unit sorted so that patients are informed continues.  In theory there is a meeting pending with Head of Cancer Services at the local hospital and a member of the breast team.  I'm waiting for a date. .......

Now there's just the lung checkup next week and my life should be blissfully free from any more NHS appointments for at least a year ......................... fingers crossed, eh?

Standby NatWest to repel business

My mother died last week at the ripe age of 91.  At the end it was a blessing that she passed from this life very peacefully with nothing more troubling than a failure to get comfortable in her bed.

I am setting about the procedure known as probate so I need to open a bank account in the name of my late mother's estate.  Well, my husband and I have a joint account with NatWest in the nearby town so it seemed the obvious thing to me that I would ring the branch, fix an appointment and then open the account.

Ah, but how to call the branch?  Ring the only number available an 0345 one.  Straight through to the automatic voice who wanted to know my account number.  Now, given that I wanted to open a new account and not talk about the existing one I resisted the voice's repeated demands to input my account number.  Instead I hung on and yes, I was rewarded by a message to say I would be put through to a real person. After a small wait the call was answered by a gentleman whose first words were so garbled as to be almost incomprehensible. I told him I wanted to fix an appointment with my local branch.  He responded by asking for my account number.  I repeated that I wanted to talk to my local branch. He lied to me that they didn't have a direct line.  Come on guy, who are you trying to fool?  I refused point blank to give him my account number because I didn't have it with me.  He took my name and started to look up my account number.  I repeated that I just wanted to be put through to the local branch for which I'd repeatedly given him the name.  He refused.  I told him I was wasting my time and rang off.

OK, maybe I was being awkward but hey, who's the customer here?  Who is the bank supposed to serve? And to be honest it was only my bloodymindedness that made my hang on repeatedly while being told to put in my account number that got me to speak to a real person.

NatWest - and I do hope you're reading this - if you want customers, you have to make it easy and you have to get yourselves into the mindset of your customers. Which means the first message on your 0345 facility should be "If you are phoning to open a new account press ......"  And for existing customers, if they want to talk to their local branch, you should let them.  Local banking? - my foot!

2, 4 - no six - or 8

It was precisely a week since I had my sub-areolar ductal tissue excision and the phone rang with a follow-up appointment.  No, not two weeks as the leaflet I was given at discharge says, No, not the four weeks that the surgeon quotes.  No, a whopping eight weeks of waiting.

I'm thinking that if anything untoward had been found they would have told me and that's why the eight weeks is nothing to worry about.  Ah, but then what if there are incredibly busy .....?


Poor old NHS - you are so awfully bad at looking after the emotional health of your patients.  Why do you not realise and why don't you do something about it?

Done and dusted

Friday 13th turned out OK.  I duly turned up late morning at the treatment centre, was admitted and eventually got to talk to the surgeon. She explained what she was going to do, that I wasn't going to lose sensation, that to all intents and purposes my nipple would look exactly the same afterwards.  In fact, talking to her I felt much less worried than I had been for the weeks leading up to this. Why on earth don't they give you the information to start with?

Coming round after the general anaesthetic I felt fine, no in pain at all, just a little discomfort.  I was transferred back to the ward: then obs, cup of tea and a rather insipid cheese and tomato sandwich.  Having been there a couple of hours or so I got fed up with being on a bed and not being able to bend my legs.  I was wearing those tight socks they give you to mitigate the chances of deep vein thrombosis but quite obviously to me, as I was on the verge of  cramp, I needed to get my legs moving. So I got out and sat on the chair.  After all, one of the leaflets I'd been given said that I'd have to do things for myself when on the ward, like going to the loo, etc. 

"You can get dressed now," said the nurse when she eventually got  back to me. 
"Don't you need to do obs first?" I asked. 
"No, you had those done when you went to the toilet." 
"I haven't been to the toilet," said I.
"But you're sitting in the chair."
"Yes, I got very uncomfortable and was about to get cramp on that bed."
"You shouldn't have got out without asking, that's what the bell's for."

It was only then, as she picked up my notes from the table, that I noticed concealed beneath them a large yellow notice telling me not to get out of bed until I'd been given permission!

Performing the discharge procedure and handing me a leaflet, the nurse then proceeded to give me a list of instructions while I tried desperately to make notes with pen and paper.
"Don't worry, it's all in the leaflet," she said.
It not all of it was. No surprises there of course. In fact the leaflet, nearly a year out-of-date, was the one that I should have been given right at the start as it referred to the sequence of events starting with the initial consultation. 

You have to love the NHS because it manages to do the job -  just.  What it seems to be hopeless at is effective communication. Time and time again I've uncover inadequacies, inaccuracies, inconsistencies and muddled information in NHS leaflets.

So what now? -  I expect you're asking.  Well, I have to wait about four weeks for the lab results of the tissue removed, that's according to the surgeon, or two weeks according to the leaflet!

Missing info

I waited about a week before chasing up the breast clinic because when I looked at the information I'd been given to bring home, I realised that - while I had loads of general information about day surgery procedures - I did not have so much as the name of the operation I am facing.  The appointment came by phone after about a week of no communication. It's Friday 13th - which doesn't worry me at all.  What does concern me is that even when I received the confirmation letter for the appointment it said no more than "breast surgery".

Eventually a copy letter from the consultant to my GP arrived. Now I'm not sure who I actually saw for the assessment, as someone else has signed the letter. It is broadly accurate.  What I don't understand is why when consultants write these letters they always contain a general health narrative, telling the GP things which are never quite correct but which -  in any case - the GP should know very well.  Most of the letter is a waste of time!

But at least I now have the name of what I'm facing. I am having a sub-areola ductal tissue excision.What I'd Googled was the right thing and online I was able to find answers to all the questions which I was not invited to ask at the hospital.  I am actually wondering if they will ever give me the opportunity.

There is clearly something missing in terms of information for women like me, who are inevitably worried they might have breast cancer. Have they forgotten to give me the info sheet? Other hospitals have them. I've found them online.

I feel a letter of helpful suggestions coming on - but I'll wait until after the procedure I think in case there's anything more to add to the catalogue of missing information.