I did cry. Uncontrollably. Inconsolably. Heart-wrenching tears and soul-racking sobs. Not before the op, but after. Yes, anaesthesia probably played a part in my mental meltdown, but it was also its absence as there was a reluctance to provide immediate release pain relief post-op. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt overcome and defeated by “treatment” (or lack of). In the past I’ve worried about upcoming treatments, but when I’ve gone on to have them any issues or discomfort were always quickly alleviated by the medical specialists. Not this time. It’s the first time I felt like I wasn’t being looked after. The first time I felt like I was drowning. It brought with it the free-fall horror of my biopsies, and is the most traumatic treatment experience since my diagnosis. I can’t write more about it now. It’s what happened to me. And I’m not sure why it needed to.