Nerves...

I spent the majority of the last weekend at PianoMan's house - Thurs night, Friday, Sat, Sunday morning - in amongst all our other obligations. Things have been a little tense in Scribbles HQ and because I can get away, I have been. It's dreadfully nice to have a boy who doesn't have any stinky flatmates in his house, but I digress.

Everyone has been snappy and stressed in the Scribbles abode because tomorrow is the day that Mama Scribbles gets her mastectomy (of Gertrude) and reduction. One day and one week from now is when we get the results of the autopsy that they will do on her breast tissue that they removed and we'll find out how well all the treatment has worked. It's amazing to think that it's nine months since she got diagnosed and how quickly her cancer became a normal part of life. Words like metastases and neutrophils roll off the tongue like you're talking about characters of a prime-time show.

The results part is far more terrifying than the surgery. It's unlikely that mum will have any complications from the surgery and everything should go to plan. The results for autopsies of IBC tend to go one of two ways:

a) the cancer is all dead (or mostly dead) and she has an 80% chance of survival to five years

b) the cancer is not all dead and she has an 80% chance of not being around to see her grandchildren.

Even if it's not the result that we want, it doesn't mean the fight is over... it just means watching mum go through more chemo - no more radiation though, they blasted it with all they could this time. She's not old enough to give up and say enough is enough. She'll keep on fighting the hard fight. We're all hoping for the first though.

I admitted to PianoMan on Saturday while I was at work that I'm quite a lot more terrified than I even let on to myself. I don't talk much about it IRL because I don't want to be "that chick that has a Mum with cancer". I know that my friends don't handle me falling apart so well - my depression following the complete combustion that was Ex-S has shown that. It's like that episode of Friends where Chandler finds out that Monica has a secret cupboard full of junk and mess. Telling PianoMan about being afraid was like giving him the key to that cupboard for my feelings and it shows the measure of the man he is that he didn't run away.

Comment on this article if you wish, but what I really would appreciate is you taking the time to pop over to Mama Scribbles' blog and leave a message with your prayers, good wishes and sparkly vibes for her surgery tomorrow.