T minus 18hrs

‘Twas Lungmas Eve and the world was filled with magic, intrigue, excitement.

Families and friends communicated loving thoughts; an air of anticipation hung discernibly in the humid June air, as the skies, bulging with showers, prepared to discharge their heavy load.

By this time tomorrow, it would all be over.

Well thank goodness for that!

Meanwhile, back at Chicken HQ, preparations have been going well. The case is almost packed (yes it is essential to take 9 pairs of pyjamas for a five night stay, thank you for asking Mr Carer); I’ll definitely have time for a face pack, to read three books and five magazines too, if it’s all the same to you. There will be ample opportunity to consume the lemon slices and chocolate biscuits so thoughtfully provided by my mini carer; and yes, if I do nothing else I will be leaving the place in those heels…especially if Dr Dreamboat is signing me out.

On reflection, the three bottles of Malbec may have been a step too far, but the good Lord loves a tryer.

Quite an interesting procedure tomorrow actually. My little friend has evaded biopsy so far. As the Dreamboat himself said, ‘it’s cancer. We can see that. I generally say, if it has four legs, a waggy tail and it barks, it’s a dog. Yours has a spiky exterior, it lit up like a Christmas tree at the PET CT, and it’s busy reproducing’. However, because it is both attached to an airway, and it’s a bit too much in the personal space of a pulmonary artery branch, all the usual methods for biopsy (bronchoscopy, or needle biopsy through the back) carry too much risk. I could bleed out. Probably not a good idea, I concede.

Also, sans biopsy, we don’t know what or how bad it actually is. We know it’s 8cm long (or curly, given it’s snuggled up around an airway); but we need to grade and stage it to find out if any chemo will be needed. Radiotherapy will not be an option as there won’t be anything left to…radiotherapy.

So, the first thing which will happen once the Dreamboat has (gorgeously and very handsomely of course) slashed a 9 inch incision from under my shoulder blade mid-back round to the underside of my right boob, and broken any ribs in the way to ‘the thing’, is that he will perform an intro operative biopsy on the little **it. The sample will be whisked away for the pathologist and I, well, just get to lie there waiting. I wonder what the rest of them will do in the meantime? Have a game of monopoly? Watch Escape to the Country (the timing works out rather well for that actually!)? Have a quick kip to prepare for five more hours of digging about and pulling things out of me? I’m keen to know!

The reason for this, despite the fact they know exactly what it is, is that he has to be able to prove it before going ahead. I get this – I mean, imagine if you removed someone’s whole lung, the sample came back and in fact, it was just a mole. #awkward

And then off he will go on his merry way, hoiking like a good ‘un, until said lung is out out. Off I will then go, high as a kite, into ICU for a 48hr full blown mini break – with the morphine on them. Can’t bloody wait for that – seriously – that stuff is good sh*t!

I feel a bit sorry for my lung. You don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone, as they say – and after all, it wasn’t his fault. We were having a good old reminisce today, walking (slowly) around the garden.

Me: Sorry old chap. It’s curtains for you tomorrow.

L: Yeah thanks a bunch for that. I was perfectly happy in there and I reckon I’ve done a good job all this time.

Me: It’s nothing personal mate. It’s just that you’ve got a lodger who we need to evict, and this time, you need to go with it.

L: I’m a bit pissed off about that – I mean, what about the time I got you up Diamond Hill in Connemara? You were crying like a flipping baby with vertigo – what did I do? Just kept you walking up, almost all the way to the top, until you bloody lost it with the height and crawled back down on your backside – pathetic.

Me: Sorry

L: Or what about when I got you round a half marathon in record time for a first timer?? What did you do when you crossed the finish line?? Remember??

Me: Um….

L: You pulled your pack of Marlboro lights out of your bum bag and lit one up DIDN’T YOU! That’s gratitude for you!

Me: Erm…..you were very helpful, thank you.

L: Well that was 22 years ago – I’ve been available ever since – where the F have you been, lard arse?

Me: You’re the best organ I’ve ever had…

Carer: Oh that’s nice isn’t it.

L made me feel guilty, so I’ve composed a short apology, to be sung to the tune of Seasons in the Sun (look it up kids!)

We had joy, we had fun,

You’ve been such a lovely lung

But as the scan clearly flags

I’ve killed you off with fags.

Monday Lungday cometh again. See you all on the other side chickettes xxx