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The last ten days have been a whirlwind of hospital appointments, even on a Sunday (and people moan about the NHS!). A bone marrow biopsy, a comedic event with four people in a tiny room, a lot of over-heating, Simon nearly fainting, the student nurse almost fainting, the blood aspiration having to be done twice, my counting the stitches on Si’s jeans around his crotch as that was where my eye line was and I needed a distraction from the drilling going on in my hip, the word ‘bitch’ slipping out accidentally and the nurse laughing her head off, her having to put her leg up and brace to get enough traction as I pulled against her to get a tiny piece of bone and some bone marrow out of me. Phew. All exhausted but amused. I was pleased that was done. Yes, it was painful but not too bad. I’m not going to volunteer for one every week.
Then a pet scan where I willingly allowed a stranger to inject me with radioactive glucose, so radioactive that they suggest you don’t go near pregnant women or children for 6-8 hours. I LET THEM DO THAT! Anyway, you wait for an hour, you’re not allowed to do anything, even read a book as every muscle movement attracts the glucose. The point of the pet scan is that the glucose settles where the most bone damage is and then shows up in the scanner. I wondered what the grandmother on the tube thought later that day when I sat down next to her on the tube, opposite her daughter who was bouncing a toddler on her knee – then I remembered and quickly moved away. She caught my eye, seemingly wondering why I had moved to stand when there were so many empty seats. I don’t think she needed to hear ‘Hey, I’m radioactive!’ It’s ironic after all the years that Simon worked on a Nuclear Power Plant site and had to wear a full protective suit down to pink knickers when he went near the remaining radioactive rods and waste – I’m the one that is essentially poisoned with the stuff! Still all in a good cause and the Pet Scan was nothing compared to the MRI.
Next up for my sins on a Sunday, a full spine and head MRI and then a full body MRI. Man alive, those things are loud, even the music through headphones had minimal effect and it stopped at times. Need to remember to take my own ear plugs next time to wear as well. Hopefully (or I’ll ask) the music and noise will be turned off when the staff need to speak with me. Seriously though it was like having an angle grinder and a jackhammer going full tilt inside your head for 30 minutes plus. Not pleasant and almost unbearable. Come on amazing medical scientists; you’re clever enough to design better and better MRIs now make them silent please!!
The ECG and Echocardiogram looking at my heart were much tamer affairs. I was in and out within 15 minutes with no more than cold patches with electronic nodes in them attached to my chest and cold Ultra Sound gel there too. So, all good. The results too. Nothing wrong with my ticker.
Over the 10 days of tests I met up and spoke with friends. It was so hard not to say anything. One of my values is to be open and honest, so much so, that I probably provide ‘too much information at times’. This though, felt like ‘an elephant in the room’. I felt like I was lying and to relieve the feeling on two occasions I mentioned I was helping a friend with cancer at the moment. That friend was ME! It was strange when they asked how my friend was feeling yet strangely helpful too because I could answer truthfully. Being a friend to myself is an image I like and will try to remember and come back to as this journey zooms along. I don’t want to burden my friends yet if the shoe was on the other foot I would hope my friends would tell me, and let me know how I might help. I still hope that even when they will know I have my own big stuff going on. Unsurprisingly, friends responded brilliantly when I did find the courage to let others know. More about that in another post.
Next step – second consultation and understanding what these tests were saying. I resolved to channel my long-term possibility of being clever, clear and calm as we went in to hear the diagnosis.
Illustrations: Sapphire Weerakone
© 2017 Janine Hayward www.psychingoutcancer.com. All rights reserved.