Seven days out of hospital, the pain in the scar easing off day by day — Komochan here, telling herself that for a wound that size she is healing fast.
Over the years of taking things on I have come a cropper and got things wrong more times than I can count.
But here is what I think.
The falling over is not the problem. What matters is how you get back up.
Something or someone may have tripped you. But not getting up is nobody’s doing but your own.
Still — looking at the scar while it is being dressed at the hospital, and then standing in front of the big mirror at home before a bath and really looking at myself. Do I never feel sad? It would be a lie to say no.
I still cannot wear a pad in the post-operative underwear, so it is night bras all the way.
I searched online and tried all sorts without quite finding the right one. My favourite so far is Diana’s Night Jenne.
The feel of the fabric and the fit were the easiest to live with, I think.
Anything with a pad in it pressed on the scar and left me uncomfortable.
I had been wearing it since the operation, and the night support tights I bought to go with it were wonderful. No swelling, and my legs feel light.
And so, after a week of all that, the post-operative check-up.
The pathology results from what they took out were due as well.
After the stitches came out the scar was not really painful — but fluid had gathered.
Apparently that is what is left behind after the drain comes out, and the body absorbs it in time, but
let’s draw it off with a syringe anyway.
And then the pathology. I found myself genuinely moved by something that had come out of my own body.
It had reached the pectoral muscle, so they seem to have taken the muscle with it — though looking at it I cannot make much out.
I cannot follow it, but medicine is remarkable. That is what I came away with.
I had airily assumed that with the operation done I would simply bounce straight back and get on with the challenge —
but cancer, it turns out, is a ten-year acquaintance from here.
Hearing about hormone therapy, radiotherapy and oral chemotherapy to come, how far do I go along with it?
So the questions for next year are still open. But never mind: the next few days are the new year holiday. (Self-employed as I am, the anxiety of resting nearly flattens me.) I decided to stop resisting and go away to recover.
Once decided, make a plan. Here’s to my simple brain, back on its feet.
I have also started a second blog: KOMO travels — go where you want while you are alive.
I am going to write up the cities I have stopped in through rallying, and what I remember of them.
It opens with Spain, where I went in November 2023, before the operation.
The blog has ended up overflowing with material of every kind —
Cancer, with a smile,and short videos on TikTok set to music.
I kept posting from the hospital bed too.
And this time I learned that my message reached a great many people, and that my experience became somebody’s courage, somebody’s strength.
And of course, it gave me an enormous amount of hope to live on.
Thank you, truly.
Cancer, with a smile is not an illness diary charting a disease. It is my legs — what I did — and my head and heart, set down as they are, including how I got back up.
What I want to say is this.
The falling over is not the point. What matters is how you get back up.
Something or someone may have tripped you, but not getting up
is nobody’s doing but your own, is it?
Thank you for reading to the end.
The time I spend writing these posts, bit by bit each day, is my distraction and my recovery.
I would be glad if it is of some use to someone.
A follow on the rankings would be lovely too 😘
A click on the banners belowwould be a great help.
Komochan will cry with joy.
↓↓↓
Motorsport ranking
Classic and vintage car ranking
Illness diary ranking
Right then — off I go ✈️