Well, I'm not sure that is actually true, but never mind, thanks mum for those supportive words.
So, I'm now 34 weeks pregnant and the period from 28-32 weeks pregnant was a slightly alarming time where I discovered via a chance appointment with my optician (Specsavers...love them), that the 'thing' that had been growing on my eyelid over the past three years, was possibly not the chalazion (cyst) that the GP had oft told me it was.
"Do I need to worry about this?" I asked the optician as my two children flung sweet wrappers and whacked each other across the legs in the darkened test room.
"No...I'm pretty sure it's not skin cancer" she replied. My heart flipped. "Skin cancer?!" I thought. Fuckity fuck.
I went home heart all a flutter thinking there was no need to worry anyone about this, so I'd just wait for my referral which would be at some point in 2014, post baby arrival. But about half an hour after Hugo getting home, I just came out with it, coward that I am.
Thankfully we have private health insurance and Hugo rightly suggested this might be a time when we should use it. Despite my husband taking it seriously, I was absolutely sure it would be fine - just a chalazion behaving badly (bleeding, itching, crusting over...hmm come to think of it, classic skin cancer behaviour!) and I was sure I'd be told off for wasting time.
I therefore found myself sitting in a private clinic outside Edinburgh gazing into various eye machines with orange drops in my eyes, wondering why it was taking so long to agree that it was a simple chalazion and that it could be removed there and then.
Being told 'Righty ho! I'm 90% sure that's a basal cell carcinoma" goes down as one of the punchiest deliveries I have ever received, but then again, how else would someone tell you something like that?
I'd been single-mumming it for the past 3 days (Hugo working in London) and being in my third trimester, was (and am) pretty knackered with work and looking after our two boys, so of course, my natural reaction was to burst out crying. At which point we both realised there were no kleenex left in the box so I was left alone with this bombshell for the next five minutes, thinking "fuckity fuck, cancer, I am 90% likely to have cancer...but I'm SO YOUNG".
The procedure to remove the growth was booked in for 7 days later, so I know I am incredibly lucky and again, thank goodness for private healthcare. The growth had doubled in size since the summer when it had flared up again (and the GP had said it was a 'microscopic cyst') and I was now worried that every day counted and it's growth had accelerated in my pregnancy, especially my late pregnancy.
That week was pretty shit, mainly because the lovely surgeon had warned me that he might have to perform the Hughes Procedure to remove the cancer which was 'pretty large'. This would mean two or three seperate ops running up to Christmas, no use of my left eye for about 3 weeks, no ability to work and basically I would be cutting it uncomfortably fine in the run up to having this baby, which is due 2 weeks after Christmas.
So, it was a surprise to get some seriously unhelpful reactions like the one I mention above.
On the day, I was nervous but looking forward to getting rid of this awful growth which had been really irritated (more itching, bleeding, constant feeling of having mosquito bites on my eyelid, constantly wanting to squeeze it and pop it out like a naughty whitehead). The procedure itself was very unpleasant, compounded by needing to lie down on my back with a 33 week old foetus squashing me and making me feel lightheaded. The anaesthestics and the scalpel cutting was the worst, with gushes of blood running down my nostril, but when the lovely surgeon thought he could fix it without the dreaded Hughes procedure I relaxed and we started some inapprorpriate banter.
"Have either of you ever seen 'Hostel"? I asked
"I have!" exclaimed the nurse.
"I feel like I have just woken up in a dark warehouse" (this is despite the brilliant light shining on my face) "only to find my eyes are being sewn together"
And so we went on, comparing horror films until the whole thing was over and I was able to slowly sit up, eye swelling shut very quickly, very light headed from being on my back for an hour, and faintly naseous from having inspected the section of my eyelid which had been expertly removed, complete with my eyelashes, floating in a sample pot, awaiting inspection from the pathology team.
That night was pretty sore, and being pregnant I was limited to taking just a couple of paracetamol to get me through - but essentially I couldn't open either of my eyes (opening the good eye really hurt the bad one for some reason), so I patted myself around in the dark to the bathroom for each of my pregnancy wees that night.
Recovery since has been amazingly good and other than a small black scar going down vertically from the centre of my eyelid and some red bruising still, and other than the fact that my left eye is actually a fair bit smaller than my right eye now, it's ok. I can even wear contact lenses. And the most thrilling thing is that the constant itching and irritation that I'd had for 6 months fairly persistently has gone! I couldn't imagine a time when it wouldn't be sore and irritated, and yet now my eyelid is fine, it's just another part of my body which I don't notice. I am massively relieved.
Even more so that the pathology report came back that it was a BCC (clever surgeon) and that it has been 100% removed. So, now I can get on with the last 5 weeks of my pregnancy and focus on the growing life inside of me, Christmas, surrounding myself with supportive people and enjoying all that life has to offer. I do wonder that if I had waited for the NHS referral, which might have been in 2-3 months time, by then the cancer would have possibly been too big to remove and fix without the skin grant option, so I am just very very grateful.
My final point is: if it looks funny, and itches, crusts, bleeds and grows, then it really could be skin cancer. Get it checked out!
Photo of the BCC - slightly yellow perimeter around red sore:
