When this whole cancer thing started, the doctors weren't able to identify the type, nor the extent of the problem and for a period of about three weeks while waiting for test results the overriding feeling that I experienced was one of fatalism, mixed in with a heavy dose of frustration. But then, through this period, when I woke up each morning, I would think about the worst case scenarios and then work my way through variations until I ended up with a positive outcome. This wasn't something I did intentionally, it just seemed to me to be a natural progression of my thoughts as I lay in bed each morning. I think this process must have became somewhat embedded over this period as I remember at the time the test results were revealed it took me a few days to actually come to the realisation that I no longer had to consider life altering outcomes.
For my loved ones I think it was quite different. I don't presume to know how others were thinking, but there were a number of times through this period when I am absolutely positive that those around me were finding it more difficult to cope than I was, and I don't think I helped. Quite often there seemed to be an expectation that I should be feeling depressed and generally hard done by, and I think that, while some of my family and friends were trying to offer support and understanding, I was responding with flipant and light hearted comments, and making it difficult for all concerned. It's only now, after the fact, that I can appreciate how this must have made others feel and to those of you who felt slighted by my off-hand manner, I apologise. It was never my intention to belittle your expressions of concern and sympathy, so... maybe you can just put it down to a character flaw in my makeup.
When you arrive at the airport, and you're flying business class, you walk down the aisle at Departures and your chin is a little higher than normal 'cause you know you can bypass the queues and head straight into the business class Departure Lounge. From there it's through customs and straight up to the lounges. It seemed a little like that when we arrived at the Surgery Suite at the hospital. We had only just sat down, in a very crouded waiting room, when we were called through to the pre-op ward, and it seemed that we jumped the queue. Anyway, a nice looking armchair was sitting in cubicle with my name on it so I did the clothes to gown thing and settled in to wait. Despite the activity and crowd in the waiting room, there wasn't much going on in the pre-op ward. Various nurses came by and checked to make sure I knew what my name was and to offer various snippets of information. The crux of it seemed to be that we were in for quite a wait as Dr G was in the middle of a procedure that had already taken way longer than expected. But the wait was OK 'cause the entertainment arrived pretty quickly.
This took the form of a husband and wife team, who - to be quite un-PC - both appeared to be a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. He had an unfortunate type of voice that just carried and resonated despite him turning his volume switch way down. It seemed that she was the patient and was in for some sort of procedure that required her to remove all her clothing and to fit herself into an adult diaper. The nurse gave her all the gear, gave her instructions and then scarpered. So, Betty Lou then had a discussion with Bobby Joe about how you get yourself into an adult diaper. Bobby Joe appeared to be a very self-assured individual who obviously knew all about such things and proceeded to give Betty Lou instructions from the other side of the bed. As we were separated from them by a standard hospital ward curtain, which had the sound proofing properties of a megaphone, it wasn't hard to form a mental image of the activity going on next door.
After awhile it became obvious that Betty Lou failed in her attempts to follow Bobby Joe's instructions, because the volume of the conversation just ramped up and up. Finally Betty Lou pleaded with Bobby Joe for him to come around to her side of the bed to offer physical assistance combined with the verbal instruction. So, being the kind-hearted individual that he appeared to be, he stood up out of his chair, walked around the end of the bed - outside the curtain - and appeared in our cubicle with a very surprised and confused look on his face. Realizing his error, he backtracked at a great rate of knots and eventually found his way to Betty Lou's side. It seemed then that between them, they sussed out the problem as not long after, Betty Lou was seen making her way to the toilet... where, presumably, the diaper was removed and refitted without Bobby Joe's assistance.
This took the form of a husband and wife team, who - to be quite un-PC - both appeared to be a couple of sandwiches short of a picnic. He had an unfortunate type of voice that just carried and resonated despite him turning his volume switch way down. It seemed that she was the patient and was in for some sort of procedure that required her to remove all her clothing and to fit herself into an adult diaper. The nurse gave her all the gear, gave her instructions and then scarpered. So, Betty Lou then had a discussion with Bobby Joe about how you get yourself into an adult diaper. Bobby Joe appeared to be a very self-assured individual who obviously knew all about such things and proceeded to give Betty Lou instructions from the other side of the bed. As we were separated from them by a standard hospital ward curtain, which had the sound proofing properties of a megaphone, it wasn't hard to form a mental image of the activity going on next door.
After awhile it became obvious that Betty Lou failed in her attempts to follow Bobby Joe's instructions, because the volume of the conversation just ramped up and up. Finally Betty Lou pleaded with Bobby Joe for him to come around to her side of the bed to offer physical assistance combined with the verbal instruction. So, being the kind-hearted individual that he appeared to be, he stood up out of his chair, walked around the end of the bed - outside the curtain - and appeared in our cubicle with a very surprised and confused look on his face. Realizing his error, he backtracked at a great rate of knots and eventually found his way to Betty Lou's side. It seemed then that between them, they sussed out the problem as not long after, Betty Lou was seen making her way to the toilet... where, presumably, the diaper was removed and refitted without Bobby Joe's assistance.
So back to me. Did you know that there's a test they can do to find out if the blood supply at the business end of a graft is coming from where the graft is fitted, or from where the graft was taken from?
No! you say in surprise.
Well, there is. To do the test they have to find a voodoo doctor, a sadist, or a poor unfortunate junior doctor, who has to stick a series of needles into the area between the two sites and inject a freezing cold fluid into the patient - me - while ignoring the patients flinches, groans and protestations - again, me - and watching for the graft to turn an unhealthy shade of pale. If it does, it means the blood supply is coming from the wrong place and the whole plan's a washout and everyone can go home and we'll try again next week. Fortunately, I was a good little patient with a well trained blood supply so off we went to the operating room.
No! you say in surprise.
Well, there is. To do the test they have to find a voodoo doctor, a sadist, or a poor unfortunate junior doctor, who has to stick a series of needles into the area between the two sites and inject a freezing cold fluid into the patient - me - while ignoring the patients flinches, groans and protestations - again, me - and watching for the graft to turn an unhealthy shade of pale. If it does, it means the blood supply is coming from the wrong place and the whole plan's a washout and everyone can go home and we'll try again next week. Fortunately, I was a good little patient with a well trained blood supply so off we went to the operating room.
The team from the last op were on the case and we all greeted each other with smiles and expressions of "good to see you again" and "great to be here". The only newbie seemed to be the anaethetist who introduced himself as Dr Pearlywhite Teeth while sprouting positive expressions of hope for a successful outcome. Nurse Roseson Herhat was again in charge and asked me if I'd like to wander into the operating room and have a lie down on the bed? So, off I went and assumed the position and they all went to work with the needles and tubes. Dr Pearlywhite Teeth seemed determined to keep stabbing the back of my right-hand, despite me telling him a few times in an increasingly loud voice that he wasn't going to find any blood there. Eventually Nurse Roseson Herhat suggested he try for a vein in my elbow, which he did, and after that I lost interest.
When I woke up in recovery I felt very second-hand. This was the only one of the three procedures where I didn't wake up feeling I'd had a good night's sleep. A few times while I was lying there drifting in and out, I remember the nurse sitting beside me, telling me to remember to breathe. After a few such admonitions I got the pump going properly and was able to sort myself out. When I learnt how to construct a comprehensible sentence again, they decided I was fit to join the mainstream of humanity and moved me up into the ward.
The next morning I’m feeling very sorry for myself and
interestingly the most pain is coming from the area where they did the blood
supply test. Dr G sticks his head in, takes one look at me and tells me I’m not
going home yet as I look like crap. He issues some instructions to Nurse Bossof
Theward and next thing I’m given a happy pill that makes everything alright.
After a few more pills through the rest of the day and the next
night, morning rolls round again and I’m feeling great. I look in the mirror,
see a weird protuberance staring back at me and notice that they missed the
Elvis look-alike mark by a fair margin. Anyway, it’s time to pack up, say my
farewells and wander off. I spent the next few days complaining to my wife
about pain, but eventually it all went away and I’m feeling good. Maybe back to
the hospital for a bit of re-shaping in a few weeks and to have an ultrasound scan
of my neck, but apart from that the whole sorry saga seems to be over.
A reality check.
I was walking down the main street the other day and I ran into a
guy I used to work with. This is a young guy – maybe mid-thirties – who has a very
pregnant wife, one young child, and a mortgage. Mr Average Kiwi. We start to do
a catch-up ‘cause we haven’t seen each other for quite awhile and, of course,
he notices the scars on my face. He asks me what’s going on and I tell him the
story. When I’ve finished, he looks at me with a bit of a wistful smile and tells
me that in May of this year he was found to have a brain tumour. They operated
on him and removed what they could, stitched him back together and started him
on an aggressive regime of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. When he asked them if
this was going to cure the cancer, they told him; "No. This was just to prolong
his life a little bit – maybe up to two years."
Kinda puts things in perspective, doesn’t it?
