Twenty
Thursday was a very eventful day. I
took my first solo train ride and had no-one to argue with or shout
at which was unsurprisingly very successful. I arrived at the
hairdresser feeling frumpy and old and like a country bumpkin. While
I was waiting for my funky young new Zealander to prepare himself, my
lovely Sister-in-law strolled in. I had expected to see her later in
the day for my wig fitting but knew she was leaving her baby for the
first time and hadn't presumed to ask for her company at the
hairdressers. She was a most welcome sight.
The ponytail came off and it was plain sailing form there on. Sister-in-law (SIL) was, by far, the best person to have arrived. She is unreservedly gushing and bombarded me with compliments and positive reinforcement. The young hairdresser was put under a certain amount of pressure and he performed beautifully. The style I have been left with is just the right side of unremarkable. I was determined to not have any kind of old-lady-bouffant and I think he's done a good job.
We gathered ourselves and the stray ponytail up and started towards the hospital. I had promised to pop into the breast clinic to have a surgeon check the redness around the scar. We arrived and I enjoyed showing a new person around, I showed her my usual seat in the waiting room and we laughed about the grumpy man they have doing the appointments. The surgeon who was examining me was one of the people who had assisted in my operation so I was confident I was in good hands.
We went in to the examination room and I removed my upper clothes. The breast care nurse and surgeon had a look at the redness and brought in another doctor. They were'nt very happy and announced that I was to be admitted immediately to be put on a course of intravenous antibiotics. Any high I had managed to glean from the trip to the hairdresser and showing my friend around was lost.
I was first whisked to ultrasound so they could look for a suitable pocket of fluid to aspirate a sample for testing. The good news was that there was no fluid. This points to a lack of infection but was not enough to change any minds. We negotiated a couple of hours to have a nice sandwich in the Atrium and rush down for a wig fitting. My mood improved with the chance to show off the hospital shop and of course to eat (always a sure-fire way to cheer me up). By the time we found the appliance dept I was back on form.
The lady who helped us find a wig style knew immediately which one we would eventually choose but humoured our need to try every length and colour on offer before settling for the wig most like my new style. It seems obvious now but at the time we couldn't decide which 'me' I wanted to be with the wig. My new wig is now officially on order. While I was there we also go to see a prosthetic breast. One which is worn next to the skin or in a pocket of a bra. I was especially interested in light of the possible infection, worse case scenario being that I lose the implant.
The ponytail came off and it was plain sailing form there on. Sister-in-law (SIL) was, by far, the best person to have arrived. She is unreservedly gushing and bombarded me with compliments and positive reinforcement. The young hairdresser was put under a certain amount of pressure and he performed beautifully. The style I have been left with is just the right side of unremarkable. I was determined to not have any kind of old-lady-bouffant and I think he's done a good job.
We gathered ourselves and the stray ponytail up and started towards the hospital. I had promised to pop into the breast clinic to have a surgeon check the redness around the scar. We arrived and I enjoyed showing a new person around, I showed her my usual seat in the waiting room and we laughed about the grumpy man they have doing the appointments. The surgeon who was examining me was one of the people who had assisted in my operation so I was confident I was in good hands.
We went in to the examination room and I removed my upper clothes. The breast care nurse and surgeon had a look at the redness and brought in another doctor. They were'nt very happy and announced that I was to be admitted immediately to be put on a course of intravenous antibiotics. Any high I had managed to glean from the trip to the hairdresser and showing my friend around was lost.
I was first whisked to ultrasound so they could look for a suitable pocket of fluid to aspirate a sample for testing. The good news was that there was no fluid. This points to a lack of infection but was not enough to change any minds. We negotiated a couple of hours to have a nice sandwich in the Atrium and rush down for a wig fitting. My mood improved with the chance to show off the hospital shop and of course to eat (always a sure-fire way to cheer me up). By the time we found the appliance dept I was back on form.
The lady who helped us find a wig style knew immediately which one we would eventually choose but humoured our need to try every length and colour on offer before settling for the wig most like my new style. It seems obvious now but at the time we couldn't decide which 'me' I wanted to be with the wig. My new wig is now officially on order. While I was there we also go to see a prosthetic breast. One which is worn next to the skin or in a pocket of a bra. I was especially interested in light of the possible infection, worse case scenario being that I lose the implant.
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