66: The rhythm of life

Between February and April the rhythm of life continued.  Following on from the Ofsted monitoring visit and my visit to the Primrose Breast Care Centre about reconstruction I was resigned to having to wait for reconstruction.  My BCN had phoned one Friday and said there was a plan and she would phone again the following Monday to confirm the plan.  I immediately took this to mean that by Monday I would have a date and it would be au revoir to the cannonball.

Sadly, the plan was that if I wanted to wait for Mr X I would have to wait until December or more likely January 2020 for reconstruction.  I was now 5th on the list and although another surgeon had been enticed to help out the list was effectively closed.  I was fairly fed up for a few days and then it was business as usual.  School was busy and distracting, our year 11 students were working hard preparing for their public exams, I was going to spin and pilates.  Nick and I booked a week in Gran Canaria for some winter sun during the Easter holidays.

Our week in the sun was a real tonic.  We stayed in an aparthotel at the top of a hill in a man made resort.  The weather was perfect, the apartment was great with a garden, patio and views over the sea.  My fitbit said it was 86 floors from the shore to the hotel.  Nick and I walked everywhere, ate well and enjoyed the entire stay.  We swam every day in the pool and effectively had the place to ourselves.  It was a great way to relax and we soon got into the holiday routine.  I read books (nothing work related) and enjoyed the sunshine.  We ate out a few times and were happy to cater for ourselves the rest of the time.

The only time I had a wobble was one day down at a cafe on the seashore.  There were a number of topless women on the beach (all ages and shapes) and I couldn’t cope with their breasts being out on display. I wasn’t being a prude, I doubted if I’d have gone topless even if I didn’t have a cannonball but for some unfathomable reason I just could not be around them.  I finished my coffee and headed up to the apartment – maybe it just brought it all into sharp relief.  I was no longer the same as other women.  Deformed.  Not natural.  A legacy of what had gone before.

This one wobble didn’t detract from the rest of the holiday, the apartment was good, the weather lovely, around the pool people kept their tops on.  It was a good break, the flight home was fine and on time.  I felt well rested and ready for the summer term.



Author: fionaosmaston

I live in Plymouth, Devon with my husband Nick and near my parents Sandy and Sheena. Our three children, Marcus, Phoebe and Miles are grown up. I am a geographer and love teaching Geography. My current role is as an Assistant Vice Principal in an inner city comprehensive school where I lead on coaching and initial teacher training. In August 2017 I was diagnosed with invasive lobular carcinoma and following a skin sparing mastectomy and endrocrine/hormone treatment I am now awaiting a final reconstruction. These views are my own and writing this story has helped me come to terms with where I am in this interlude of life which has been dominated by breast cancer.

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