Monday 20 March 2006

Another Hospital: another waiting room: another Doctor.

This was the morning we were expecting answers to the questions we had complied:

Questions:
When will I know what I have for definite?

Primary/Secondary?

Malignant/benign?

What other treatment will I require?

Chemotherapy: how much; side effects; what course and how long.

Staging?


When is operation scheduled for?

How long will the operation last?

How long will I be hospitalised?

How long will I be off work?

What are the possible risks?

Recovery timescales

Post operative risks: MRSA

What are the chances of a complete recovery?

What support program if any?


Points for consideration:

Holiday booked

Jury service for April 10th, note from hospital exemption?

I had a feeling before we even left this morning that we were still not going to get all of the above answered, especially the first six I was dreading the answer to.

We dropped our little one off at her grandmothers and made an excuse as to why I was not at work to two of our other three daughters. The third daughter was off driving in her car in her pyjamas just for the hell of it because she had passed her driving test on Friday.

I am also the proud owner of two new pairs of pyjamas, in anticipation of having to spend sometime in hospital for the operation.

The City hospital is old. It looks like the kind of place that NHS sitcoms would be based on should and the place you could easily raise arguments for a hospital closure.

The waiting room is barely occupied so the wait should not be too long. The receptionist is, like the corridors, pretty cold.

We have to wait one and a half hours past my appointment time; I conclude from overheard conversations by the nurse that some vital pieces of paperwork are missing from my files.

Sometime later, having been weighed, blood pressure taken and a wee sample supplied I get to see the Doctor.

I run through my history thus far – obviously missing from the files.

Both the Doctor and a student examine my chest and stomach.

Back in the Doctors consultation area we finally go through my options and I get to see the results of the CT scan for the first time. The growth is 3cmX4cm in size – quite big then?

Options come down to an operation to remove it or a PET scan [that’s a new one on me] followed by an operation to remove it if it is an isolated incidence, or a review on other treatment if it is not.

The Doctor is thorough in his explanation and honest in his advice. I chose to have the PET scan and then, hopefully, the operation.

We are glad to be away from the Hospital and decide a sausage and bacon-butty is in order from a van in a local shopping Car Park.

Upon returning home I phone my friend at work to bring her up to speed and to stop her from worrying too much and I go onto the Internet to look up PET scans.

I also call the ex wife to wish her luck for tomorrows operation and to jokingly gloat that my lump is bigger than hers.

PET Scan - PET stands for Positron Emission Tomography. This is a fairly new type of scan that can show how body tissues are working and not just what they look like. A PET scan can show the difference between scar tissue and active cancer tissue, for example.

I fall asleep on the settee at home to make up for a restless sleep the previous night.

Far from feeling refreshed I feel a little deflated as we are no farther forward with either a date for the operation or knowing the extent, staging, of the Cancer.

Questions answered:

When is operation scheduled for?
Two to Three weeks dependant upon the PET Scan.

How long will I be hospitalised?
Approx 6 days

How long will I be off work?
At least two months

Jury service for April 10th, note from hospital exemption?
Phone and cancel due to pending operation [letter compiled from resulting call and ready to send]

This evening we visit my Sister and tell her the news, she knew we had something to say as we rarely visit mid-week for coffee. One of the hardest parts is telling others and how to do it. She lost her boss and good friend to Cancer last year: our father died from Cancer in 1998: And she watched me go through it 14 years ago, this was never going to be easy and had made me feel ill all day.
I have to tell my Girls soon, I would rather have told them earlier but the timing is awkward with their Mum’s illness and operation today. I have heard she has had her Op and is well, she may be home tomorrow.