It's a very long time since I posted here. My life has been very normal, filled with work and family. So... nothing very interesting.

Life, however, has a habit of occasionally taking interesting twists and turns, like being diagnosed with IBC in October, 2008. My latest twist is my early Christmas present of a new right breast.

I decided the day I was diagnosed and told that I'd need a mastectomy that I would have a reconstruction. I have not wavered from that during the last almost two years. It annoyed me to have to pick up and put on a heavy bra with Fred, my prosthesis already nestling in it. It annoyed me to cross my arms as I lay in bed getting ready for sleep to feel the rocky cavern where once there had been a nice, soft, squidgy bit. It annoyed me to ditch the deep V necklines that suit my body shape.

A few months ago my breast surgeon referred me to Howard, Melbourne's top reconstructive surgeon. After a session of looking, measuring and photographing, he told me that he proposed to do a DIEP flap reconstruction. DIEP stands for Deep Inferior Epigastric Perforator, the blood vessel that would be used to provide a blood supply for my new breast. Prior research had suggested to me that this is what would be planned. All that remained would be to pick a convenient time to go ahead.

I decided to make 3rd December D-Day (or B-Day? No, that sounds like a piece of French bathroom equipment) as it is the end of our academic year here in Oz. It would be less disruptive for my students and give me enough time to recover before cooking this year's Christmas dinner.

I checked into the hospital at 7.00am to find that I was first on the list and would soon be in surgery. I was curious to find out whether I would dream at all during the 6+ hours of surgery. However, I drifted off as I lay there and wondered whether the anaesthetic would "take" and seemed to wake up almost immediately in the recovery room. That was the quickest 6 hours I've ever experienced.

I was sore, but not in a lot of pain, thanks to the painkillers Howard had backed into the operation site along with a whole lot of antibiotics. I spent that first night in intensive care, something that Howard had told me was routine in order to minimise the risk of flap failure. I now realise the true meaning of "intensive". I did like Vince the grumpy Scottish doctor who took care of me that night.

The next afternoon I was taken to the wards and carefully shifted via a plastic plank into my bed. I was equipped with a pair of Cyberman legs (Doctor Who fans will be able to picture this interesting piece of equipment) that pumped and massaged my legs round the clock. The other useful piece of equipment was a button to self-administer painkillers. I have an extremely high level of pain tolerance, so I tended to use this only when I coughed or when my husband or son made me laugh. I quickly learned, too, to hold my stomach when I coughed, laughed or sneezed.