Done Deal

The million dollar view of the Parramatta River from the hospital room window and me in the comfy, but collapsible armchair.


Hello, everyone. Thanks so much for all your amazing thoughts, and good vibes. I came home from hospital and the verdict is in: After a lumpectomy (still lots of boobs left, thanks) and removal of all (31) lymph nodes from my right armpit, it appears that the cancer has spread into many of the glands, but no further. Grade II breast cancer, whatever that means. So, that's the bad news.

The good news is that the bad guys (visible cancer cells) have been removed and, just to make sure none are lurking in the shadows to invade my gorgeous innards again, I am going to be taken into the bosom of an amazing cancer treatment team at the Sydney Cancer Center, which is close to my home and is said to be one of the best around. I don't know what that means yet, but if they are all like my surgeon, who is part of the team, then I am truly in good hands. Not only is he handsome and desirable (shucks, he is young, married and unavailable), but also kind, empathetic and supportive with solid advice.

OK, so I like the guy. But I can't say that for some other members of the medical profession I had the displeasure of meeting this past week.

It is absolutely amazing to me that in this age of medicalisation of almost every facet of our lives, the medical and allied professions are becoming more and more impersonal. No wonder many people with serious conditions don't want to have anything to do with them and wait too long.

Who wants to be prodded and squeezed into gigantic machinery by equally cold and robotic techs, who have taken the art of professional dissociation to new frigid heights and manage to make you feel like a pound of meat on the butcher's slab?

Who wants to be pressured into approving the use of a previously almost lethal anaesthetic just to make the day's work easier?

OK, I could go on about other things as well, but I'll keep that discussion for another time. I just didn't want you to think that I've gotten besotted and lost my critical faculties.