Page 113 - She's One Crazy Lady!

have a chat.”
A short silence. His hand on my knee. Margaret
Paragreen standing behind me, her hand on my shoulder and my Senior Education Officer sitting next to me. The moment of truth and the opening words to my book...
“I’m not going to beat about the bush, you have breast cancer.”
I swore.
Was I loud? I don’t recall. But I do know I felt very embarrassed about making such an expletive. Did they hear? This was not like me. I apologised.
So, I’d got cancer. What people were naming as ‘The Big “C”.’ Like previous interviews for Headships, this one hadn’t gone well; this wasn’t the outcome I wanted – the 50-50 scenario going against me.
My mouth dry, I asked what would happen next. I felt surprisingly calm.
Mr Stewart’s mouth was moving. He was telling me what the next steps would be.
The lump they had found was over 2cm in diameter and had to be removed which meant me having to have a wide-local excision (lumpectomy) followed by a possible mastectomy and possible chemotherapy, radiotherapy and medication. In addition, some lymph nodes would be removed as there was ‘involvement’ there. This was like listening to a lecture at college where the information being given goes above your head; information you are supposed to remember and be tested on at a later date.
Despite Mr Stewart being so patient, so kind and very thorough, my brain wasn’t taking this in. At 46 I’d prided myself on good health and had never been in hospital to have a surgical operation – only to A&E as a child for stitches here and there.
“Do you have any questions?
“Yes, when can it be done?” Explaining about my position at school I asked if my surgery could be arranged in the summer holidays so that I could return to school in September to take up my Headship and continue with the hard work that was needed; my thoughts going to the ‘family’ at Highfields, thinking they would now be subjected to yet more disruption and uncertainty. This was not good!
Inside, I felt irritable. Why now? Why now, when everything was going so well? Why was life throwing yet more problems my way? Why all these barriers? This was unreal. I could vaguely hear them talking about ‘after care’. Suddenly I sensed people, people I didn’t know and who didn’t know me, were making decisions about me and I’m afraid I didn’t like it and decided there and then that I would manage this on my own; that I would take back control, for I knew I did not want a lot of fuss. Miss Independent!
“I’m not going to beat about the bush, you have breast cancer.”
I swore.
Was I loud? I don’t recall.”
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