Back in the UK for autumn, the place of our birth, we have felt somewhat isolated as though the world has moved on....we no longer belong, the jigsaw picture has been changed. And then there was the dreaded three monthly check up. First the appointment didn't come in the usual timescale, then the secretary was on annual leave and finally attendance at the Cancer Centre rather than the Central Outpatients'. None of these alone were of any real importance, but built on the nervousness that surrounds these times, it all became a little fraught.
Now when you go to a cancer review you can never be sure what will happen. Often the medics have no more information but seem intent, other times they have scan & blood tests and nothing to say, its all a little bizarre. As a general rule it seems that, the more people in the room the more interest and the more potential for bad news. This time I had had no scans or bloods and was not symptomatic so expected just the oncologist to be present. Two attending unintroduced medics and one link nurse plus the specialist meant I walked into a room full of rather anxious looking people.
As Id had an ultra scan done by my GP, which I had been told was all clear, I felt quietly confident that all was OK...suddenly it seemed otherwise. Its a strange feeling, your legs go from under you and your determination flounders. Like a prisoner faced by inquisitors I felt adrift, uncertain what was about to be said or done.
Apparently the scan simply showed some potential for grains in my gall bladder,hence the aching pain & nothing of any great concern and no sign of the dreaded big C. The assembled medical staff obviously expected me to be symptomatic, even unwell, but there I sat nervously healthy awaiting their judgement. Somewhat back footed they asked leading questions and then, when at last reassured by my responses, said I didn't need any treatment or tests...another three months.
Whether it was the confusion & resolution, the ease or just the moment I decided to be brave. Ive never been told directly what stage of cancer I was at and, unlike my normal forthright self I'd hidden in the shadows hoping that if I didn't know it might not be too bad, but I felt I should be brave and ask.
Stage 4 of 4 Stages is a hard statistic.I heard the question, I heard the answer, but it didn't enter my cerebral cortext, I didn't feel anything...cold, factual, actual, empirical 4.A dark but emotionless miasma settle around me chill and damp, I couldn't think just look. It was not a surprise but the reality of the words lay heavy on my mind, made it hard to be positive. My specialist did continue to explain that it had to be considered a four because the cancer had metastised to the lymphatic system, so theoretically it had to be Stage Four. " Can I say I'm in remission?" I asked. "Yes you can because you have not been symptomatic for over a year" she replied.
Searching for comfort & facts I said hestanttly, "Its three years in February since diagnosis, but four years in March from that initial lump, which was then secondary". My quiet oncologist met my eyes, not pity or compassion, but true consideration. "That's true" she retorted, " You still have cancer, but its not active...we've not found a cure yet!"
Say it again YET, that's so important YET! That one little word made all the difference YET.
We skipped from that office, nothing had really changed, hard things had been said, yet my whole world had turned on its axis and I could breathe again.
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