The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.
F. Scott Fitzgerald
No one had to speak, the news was delivered through silence. In fact it was me who spoke first. For some reason I was stunned. While I had been worried and fearful of the worst I was still utterly taken aback by the fact that I was about to face all of this shit again. How could this be? The nurse tried to comfort this inconsolable hysterical woman and I remember saying through my tears that I couldn't go through another chemo. I was only just psychologically coming out of the last one. I remember swearing a lot and incoherently shouting about being let down and shit care etc etc etc. It's a bit of a blur. My lasting memory is of ruining a really nice scarf with tears and snotters. It lay in my car for months and every time I saw it I thought of that day. I've only recently felt able to clean it up and wear it again The doctor told me in a sombre manner that it would be necessary to remove my breast and I remember not quite understanding why she thought that this news may upset me. This was NOT my primary concern. My big fear was that a grade 3 tumour had been left unattended for up to 6 months. Why was I seemingly the only one in the room who saw this as a concern, a huge fucking concern. When I voiced my fears the nurse said that this was not necessarily the case I was healthy, felt fine etc. Now I realise that she was only doing her job and trying to allay fears but come on. Despite the potential threat of spread not being fully addressed, I was told that standard procedure was for a full body, bone and brain scan to be carried out. In the meantime I would be seen by a plastic surgeon and a mastectomy would be done followed by reconstruction. If this was all that I had to face then I would be happy. It's funny how your perspective changes.
Russell and I absorbed the news over the next few days and probably adapted to it with relative ease, all things considered. At this point we decided to get married. A wee bit of a theme was emerging here. Cancer diagnosis; house move, cancer diagnosis two; a wedding. Yes we appeared to like layering stressful situation upon stressful situation. Its how we roll apparently. As it turned out organising the wedding was pretty easy. Going through scans and awaiting the results was less so. I busied myself in getting a wedding together in 3 weeks. It turned out that having cancer was quite useful in persuading the lovely man at the registry office to slot me in for the 29th of September in Hamilton registry office. Job done. Just a few outfits to organise and a hotel to book for a very quiet reception. Meanwhile I had a lot of appointments to attend. On the day of my brain scan, Tracey spent the day with me and we went for lunch in between procedures. We talked honestly for the first time about the prospect of me being given unwanted news and how we would cope if this news was delivered prior to the day of the wedding. We both agreed that we would cope and enjoy the day regardless, but it was a sad wee moment. We quickly changed topics and moved on to what we do best, looking at dresses on Tracey's iphone.
I attended the Royal to see a plastic surgeon and he outlined potential options for reconstruction. Now, call me shallow but my mood improved dramatically when I realised that the outcome was going to mean that I would have a new breast built from my tummy fat. I feel compelled to mention that there wasn't enough fat in my tummy to build a breast the same size as my other (vanity is a defect that I am working on) and so it was agreed that I would have the other one reduced. This was sounding good, new boobs and a flat stomach. This I could cope with. With the bad can come the good. I used this to get me through the next couple of weeks. I was due to have surgery on the 10th of October and was finishing work on the 28th September, the day before we were getting married. And so life went on.
On the 20th of September I was in my classroom working when my mobile phone rang. I recognised the number, it was the hospital. I answered filled with dread and fear. It was indeed my doctor. She introduced herself on first name terms, I was good at spotting the calm before the storm and instantly recognised bad news ahead. After the initial pleasantries she asked me if I could speak privately. She told me that the chest scan had shown a "nodule" on my left lung. Again I was surprised by my reaction. It felt like my very first diagnosis when I was able to take the news without falling apart. I calmly asked her what this meant. She told me that it could be nothing but that given my situation they would have to investigate further. I concurred!(that one's for you Louise/Alan Mairs) I was booked in for a PET scan the following week. This scan is the latest technology which is able to detect metabolic activity at the suspicious site. Cancer cells are fast moving (of course they are, little bastards) and this can alert doctors to potential tumours as opposed to the more innocuous "nodules". This scan is not too pleasant but really it's the results which are the killer(pardon the pun).
I had the scan and of course feared the worst but I was getting married and so tried to keep bad thoughts at bay. I (and many others) was also mindful of many years of chest infections and one bout of pneumonia and was quietly praying that this was nothing more than scar tissue from this. I have realised on this journey that as human beings we are very resourceful when it comes to finding hope in seemingly hopeless situations. It has been a nice realisation. The wedding was great and I managed to forget all about the results which were due the following week, alcohol does that. Sadly that would become another issue but that's a whole other blog which some day I may write. Post wedding fear soon set in and suddenly it was time to go back to the hospital. When we arrived I remember looking at the over crowded waiting room and thinking that if I was called quickly then it wasn't good. Sure enough after a few minutes my name was called. Another wait which seemed to go on forever ensued in the room of doom. When the door opened, yet again the doctor had brought along the nurse and yes there was more silence and general awkwardness. I suppose I must have prepared myself more than I realised because again I spoke first and said it for them, it was cancer in my lung wasn't it. Yip, they didn't put me right. More apologies and platitudes which I didn't really hear. I was told that without a biopsy they could only make an informed decision on calling it cancer, there were actually 2 nodules and the medical team had agreed that they would be treated as cancerous tumours. It was decided not to biopsy as this would be too invasive. I agreed. I was scheduled to see an oncologist that morning and told that surgery would be cancelled and immediate chemo put in place instead. No flat tummy after all. The oncologist talked us through the options and I was told that I could be put forward to take part in a clinical trial which was aiming to determine whether or not a particular chemotherapy was effective on my type of cancer, non hormone sensitive or triple negative as its known. This whole mysterious, unusual form of breast cancer was now going to become more readily talked about and I was about to learn a whole lot more about it. I saw my original oncologist the following day and she put me forward for this trial. Russell asked her if this was curable and when she asked me if I wanted the answer to this question, I think we all know what it was. I wasn't quite as composed at this point and there would be many tears before the day was out. The dreaded chemo was now well and truly going to be part of my life. My cancer from here on in would be "managed" through the use of the thing that I hated most. This time around I would not be so accepting of it.
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