I said yes to the mastectomy in about four seconds. It was the obvious decision and I have never regretted it. What nobody prepared me for was missing something I had actively asked them to take.
Everyone kept telling me how lucky I had been and how well it had gone. They were right. I still spent a month and a half convinced that every heartbeat I could feel was the beginning of the end.
Seventeen years, four consultants, roughly forty thousand injections. The insulin I can do in my sleep. What I have never got used to is being spoken to as though my blood sugar is a report card on my character.
Four years, three rounds, one phone call each time on a Tuesday morning. What I remember most clearly is not the failures. It is the nurse who told me she was sorry, and meant it, and then said my name.