The picture changes

Some where between laughing with our teenage granddaughter &  chatting with French friends; a found another lump!

it appears that I have some internal changes and this is freaking me out. Not sure if old scar tissues from childbirth days, distortion of my anatomy or more cancer cells and unable to act on my fears as we were on holiday in France. A super ten days of family & friends, but all the time the deep under current of fear.

I rang my named skin cancer nurse and booked a GP appointment for my return. Not sure whether I'm over or under reacting and unable to voice my thoughts.

Don't want people to think I'm blowing this up, it all feels surreal.

More of the grey pieces & no picture

One week later, back to get the dressing removed & not so full of praise.2 1/2 hours, no explanation, staff leaving for their lunch & fellow suffers getting tetchy.

The adage ' keep in touch', tell the punter what to expect  would have gone down well. A monotone half apology right at the end did not cut the mustard.

NHS is good, UHNS brilliant, but sometimes its the small things, ' words , 'which make the difference. Must be getting better, getting feisty...

April 1st...you've got to see the funny side

Now I know April the first is known for its practical jokes and frivolity, but not so  for me, as I went under the surgeons blade to have further tissue removed,so they can be sure they have removed all those squamous cells. but humour there was...

Day Ward, local anaesthetic & I watched as they worked so hard, nurses, doctor & all ;to organise, reassure and structure the day for us all. All those anxious waiting souls, so much nervous energy and so much humanity shown. I listened, you can't avoid it with nothing but a bright curtain between you, to all the explanations and reasonings. I talked with some of those fellow caged animals, nurses & patients alike, as the day wore on. One by one they left , some returning, others moved to different wards; I was to have a local anaesthetic so came last in the line. Eight hours of waiting & watching, all too aware that others were waiting for me; you have to be philosophical at these times.

The  plastic surgeon, talked with me & examined the new lump which has developed  (left groin, ) but decided to wait till ultra scans were done before also removing this. " I have a clean record 100%", he assured me, "better to check & its close to a blood vein". Not sure if his score was meant to impress or reassure, but it seemed important to him so I agreed. Tempted to ask if while he was in the area he could undertake a tummy tuck I decided some humour is best forgotten and settled for chatting with the nurses.

That's when I discovered the black humour of theatre staff. An essential ingredient in maintaining a sense of proportion when everything is dire, these folk are gems. My main new friend, who conducted 7 structured the whole theatre and its finely balance workings, told me that her role was affectionately know as a 'theatre scrubber'. She apologised for calling my intimate parts, 'my bits', admonished the surgeon for hiding some of the dressing pads and advised that I milked the operation recovery for all it was worth. By this she meant I was to make sure my  other half did  everything for at least two weeks; " keep your feet up, smile weakly and say nothing" she advised.

Strange how watching (and yes I chose to watch what I could) your flesh being cut, trimmed and stitched , whilst listening to the theatre banter was strangely soothing. Though knowing how my own flesh smells as its being burnt / lasred is not something ever wanted to know.
 
"Must be like hell", assured my theatre scrubber, "in fact, come to think of it I'll fit in well there", she said, "all those entrails & burning". You've got to laugh,...not too hard though watch those stitches!

Is it, was it, can it be...what next?

Waiting, silently, holding hands, daring not to breath to deep for fear of missing something. Major corner piece...according to the oncologist I am ' A mystery woman'; the cells they removed were definitely squamous cancer, but the full scan shows no other trace.

A sort of shock disbelief settled over us, its what you want to hear, but seems unreal and I was silently shouting well either I have or have not got cancer! They have discussed me, researched me and now question me. Am I sure I don't know of any lesions, how long had I been aware of this original problem, oh and can our plastic surgeon examine you?

Feeling bit like a circus curio I sat / lay while the gentle Sikh surgeon examined my head, scalp, neck and face. With overwhelming compassion he concluded, that I was indeed a mystery. The medical assumption was that the original operation must by chance have removed the only cancer cells existing.

Such detail, such intensity & such care I felt the centre of their world & the cancer the centre of mine. They have decided to excise further tissue from around the wound site & to refer me to ENT.

Good news day, but emotionally confusing, do I need to worry, fight, relax or just go on with my everyday life. My loving husband smiled so kindly, held my hand so tight it hurt and said " Well you've always been a mystery to me"

The waiting game....

So here I am on the edge of finding out my fate...due to meet with the oncologist in two hours time. A jumble of positivity mixed with fatalism rushes through my veins, a heady mix of adrenaline & fear. Then I thought of something I came across whilst packing up our home of 30 years,  I know strange how things never come along singly.

I found, amidst the old books & papers, a valentine sent from my great grandfather to my great grandfather over 100 years ago; a family memento of love that endures.

'Remember me, blessed with thy love I'll ne'er repine.
What e'r my lot may be,
The sweetest joy on earth is mine.
If thou rememberest me.'

So that's what my motto for today is ' Enduring love'...