January 2016 Chorley, Thornton-Cleveleys
“Have you ever had a shock in life? It takes great hope, faith and courage to bounce back.” Lailah Gifty Akita,
Thrust into a world of.....What next? What if? What the F***?
Feeling sick. They've found it. Are they looking for more? Why all the tests?
The NHS is well known for struggling with funding and here am I having a stream of expensive diagnostic tests.
Certain dates are unforgettable. So it was with diagnosis day, 12th January 2016, two days before my eldest son's 30th birthday. Anticipatory celebration filled the air. I was about to steal the show and it was actually the last thing I wanted to do.
But they needed to know. It had been a couple of months since the madness began.
My partner and I went for the results at Chorley hospital. The frosty receptionist motioned for me to take a seat after giving my name, date of birth, and address for the millionth time.
I was called by the sparkly-eyed specialist nurse with a wide smile. Today there was no sparkle in her eyes and her lips remained tightly closed.
We knew.
Don't recall much of it. The words Sarcoma, rare, aggressive, biopsy, CT scan rose in the air from the nurse's tight lips. Note to self: bring notebook to all meetings; brain mash deletes diagnostic information.
My 3 sons live and work in London so it was going to have be a phone call. I firstly messaged each of them, "Please call me when you're free"
Quick as a flash, the eldest, Matt, called. I told him. Sarcoma. Funny I've never asked him if he knew what it was at that time. I certainly didn't.
Next up the youngest, Mike.
Both were shocked, stunned, helpless, and upset.
Finally the middle son, Dan, who shouted down the phone,
"FFS Mum!"
I felt him recoil.
He knew all too well. His good friend at University aged 20, studying medicine, had been diagnosed with sarcoma. Loved rock climbing like him. Leg amputated, radiotherapy, chemotherapy, and ended up with Stage 4 metastases. He passed away not long after graduating. I remember Dan being deeply touched by the suffering of his friend and also his death. So vibrant, so young, a life full of promise. Taken.
Anyway it was done. The hardest part. I had told them. Their pain, their shock, ripped through my heart.
Biopsy day rocked up. I was feeling sick as a young nurse led me down the corridor.
She asked if I was okay. I broke down in tears and blubbered, "No! I don't know what's happening to my life! It's all happened so quickly."
She handed me some tissues.
The large operating theatre was ready for me. It loomed larger with my smallness.
The biopsy was so painful. Remember the lump had been red, hot, and tender for a while now. Touching it was sore enough.
The sadistic biopsy needle, like a stapler gun, was torture, especially as he decided to take four samples.
My breathing automatically switched from hyperventilating into labour contractions breathing and I soon broke out in a cold sweat and grabbed the nurse's hand in a vice-like grip.
The doctor used local anaesthetic but I swear he didn't use as much as the dentist for a filling.
I later read that biopsies can cause cancer cells to start moving around the body.
Exhausted. Blood pressure low. Hardly surprising.
My partner again was there for me and to console me.
How was he coping?
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