Monday, 18 April 2011

Diary of a not cancer diagnosis

Friday April 1st

Me: Doctor, doctor I have a bone in my leg and it hurts.

Wednesday April 6th

Freak out because the red-light over the x-ray table makes me think of James and radiation. Cry, struggle to breathe, call my mum.

Random panic subsides

Thursday April 7th

8pm miss a call from doctor wanting to discuss my x-ray. Try to call back, but surgery switchboard is closed.

Panic slightly.

WTF this is the NHS results should take a week!

Ring my mum.

Ring my ex, knowing if anyone will relish the opportunity to tell me not to be ridiculous it's him. I'm right, he does.

Friday April 8th

Sleepless night.

Drop little girl at nursery and start calling doctor. Receptionist says he's not in until 11:30. Cancel work, ring my mum, camp out in Neros.

Can't wait until 11:30, call again at 11. Not sure what I am expecting, in that kind of state of numb dread, let's face it it's not going to be the all clear.

Speak to doctor he says come in at 2:30 WTF is going on....

Arrive at surgery at 2, fail miserably to even concentrate on 2001 edition of Country Life.

Right, radiologist says: myeloma, oedema or lymphoma. Doctor says is unlikely but as is a tumour MRI needed.

Breathe, really, really try hard to breathe.

Try to remember what doc says but hard when have a piece of paper with 'Oma words on. Even the guy at Bupa goes quiet when I ask for pre-approval. Book MRI for Monday afternoon.

Go to a friend, drink wine, fast, call girls council of war for Tuesday. I want my friends, I want to hide, I want my family, I want to hide, I want to hide, I want someone to hold me and tell me it's ok, I want to hide.

Saturday and Sunday

Put one foot in front of the other, breathe, can't think, don't want to think.


Can't cry, even in my lonely bed. Nose prickles, tears get stuck in my chest.

Monday 11th

At work, write this:

It's just too big to think about. My chest get's tight, the Walls start closing in and I find it hard to breathe. It's getting too dark.

It will all be fine. Of course it will, I have a beautiful three year old daughter how can it not?

Fuck my leg hurts; there is a knot in my tummy. I want to cry, I can't cry even though my nose prickles.

Breathe, breathe. Breathe as if into a paper bag and be calm.

It will all be ok, things always are, eventually.

Breathe, relax your shoulders and just breathe.

I have the attention span of a gnat today. Or maybe I am doing the gnat an injustice; maybe a gnat read a whole sentence in one go.

Catch bus, arrive at hospital an hour early as I know not what else to do.

Surgeon seems unworried until he does new X-ray and is told no MRI until Friday, then the reassurances get drowned out by him telling radiology that we are looking for bone tumours.

I mean tumour doesn't mean the c word, it's just a thing...

Pick up little girl, she seems even more beautiful, more wonderful. What would she know of me if.... FUCK cannot go there, cannot think like that.

Tuesday April 12th

WFH waiting for call for MRI. Just cannot concentrate. Cannot think. Struggle to do ANYFUCKINGTHING.

Wednesday April 13th

Called in for MRI. Reassured by radiologist saying is teeny tiny.

Thursday April 14th

Manage to work, sort of.

Bath little girl and watch spots appear before my very eyes. No, it isn't the large quantities of wine I have drunk this week, little girl has chicken pox.

Call my mum. She laughs at me; the other day I told her we only get dealt what we can deal with...

Arrange care for Little girl so I can go to the hospital for the results.

Friday April 15th

Little girl's best friend has the pox too, so arrange play date for her and a welcome back committee for me.

Put fizz in the fridge.

All f'in clear. Longest week of my life, now all clear.

Not sure it has sunk in. Waiting for the relief. Go hide in coffee shop, not ready to talk yet.

Still waiting for the relief, I thought it would be instant.

Receive this text: Fucking Hell. What a load off. And that's how I feel. Jesus.

Monday April 18th

Everyone is so pleased for me. I can feel my shoulders clenched ready to breathe sigh of relief but not yet doing it.

Every time someone is nice to me I feel a little more ... A little more I am not sure what... Still numb... Nose still prickles but the sobs are being contained in my tight tight chest, trapped in my throat.

Maybe when the chicken pox is over...

All drama, no plot that's me.

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1 comment:

Muddling Along said...

Oh I'm so sorry you've been through this - relieved that its all turned out ok but what a horrid week to survive through

Have they worked out what is causing the pain in your leg? Is that ok now?