After the examination, I went home to start worrying. I always try to not worry about things I can’t control, but you know how that goes. It’s like a little worm eating into your peace of mind and it sneaks up on you unexpectedly, so before you know it, you’re worrying, and you’ve been worrying for a while without realizing.
I have a good support network for which I’m grateful. Husband, children, friends all knew what I was worried about and when the stress got too much and I snapped or snarled, they understood. I also had a point of contact within the hospital. Emma phoned to introduce herself as my liaison for consultants, etc and if I had any questions. I had no questions at that time, I was just doing everything I was told.
After a few days, I received appointments to go for the MRI, Colonoscopy and CT scan. I was surprised at the speed at which it was all happening, but again, I was grateful that things were moving.
The MRI was a slightly different scan to others I’ve had. After taking off shoes and anything metal (piercings), I was told to lie on the machine with my arm raised and leaning on the frame of the equipment. They injected something into my raised arm and told me the possible side-effects I’d feel. A metallic taste and a warm feeling in my groin, like I’d peed myself. My tongue also felt weird, but that was normal, I was assured.
I had to lie still of course, and the scan started. In the letter for the appointment, it said I could ask the technicians about what they had seen – I totally forgot and only remembered after I’d left, and the next patient arrived.
I also had to have a CT scan and though I did remember to ask the question after, the technicians said they couldn’t tell me anything. I shrugged it off and went on my way.
The Colonoscopy procedure was an entirely different affair. I talked it over with my daughter and I believed I was going to go through it all without anaesthesia so I could be clear-headed. Danielle advised against that and said to take the drugs when they were offered/available.
I turned up for that appointment without a clue. I did as I was told and got undressed, put on the robe-thing and took my coat, bag and clothes with me. The nurse weighed me and explained a few things, asked if I wanted anaesthesia and on we went.
I was taken to a large room with a bed and lots of people in it. It was the middle of the pandemic, so everyone wore masks, but I recognised one person and said I knew her. I lifted my mask when she asked me to, and she smiled and said hello.
Tracey was very kind and patient. She said that because I knew her, if I wanted, she would leave, and someone would take her place. I told her not at all, I’m happy for her to stay, in fact it was reassuring that I did know someone there. She swapped with another nurse and stayed at my side throughout the procedure.
Humour is my go-to defence and though I was able to see the screen with the entire procedure on it, I deflected my attention and chatted to Tracey throughout. The anaesthesia was a mild one, so I was conscious, but a lot of the discomfort was held at bay. Sometimes, I had to move onto one side or the other, take a breath or some other instruction from the technicians. On occasion, it did become deeply uncomfortable, and I am grateful for Danielle’s advice to take the drugs! I asked the technicians if they were my Camera Crew.
Toward the end of the procedure, they told me they’d found something and would be taking a biopsy. I watched them take the biopsy on the screen. A small puff of steam as it was removed, no sensation and certainly no pain, and it was done. I asked if anyone could smell pork… The Doctor in charge of the procedure came to talk to me and explain what they’d done and found. He told me it was small, less than half of his index finger to the first knuckle and they would get it sorted as soon as they could, so not to worry.
I went home to recover and try not to worry.
We had lots of other things to occupy our minds, of course. The sale of the house was imminent.
Friends at the stables asked if I’d had any news on a daily basis and it was good to know they were concerned. I kept my family up to date too, of course. No news is good news, right?
“The longer it takes, the less you have to worry, because if it’s bad news, they get it back to you quickly, so they can start treatment.”
I’d heard nothing from the hospital, so I was encouraged that it was nothing obviously serious.
April 12th is the anniversary of mine and Trev’s first date (I know, overly-soppy). April 13th we completed the purchase of our French property! The coincidences were astonishing, all surrounding birthdays or other dates of importance (OK, this one missed by one day, but that’s no biggie).
The next two weeks were a whirl of organising when we could go out to see our new house! The sooner, the better, we decided. Possibly May, if lockdown was lifted, but it was looking like June. We didn’t book travel or tickets – just in case – but we were excited and hopeful!
April 29th – I received a phonecall from Emma. “Michelle, are you OK to talk?”
I told her I was.
“I’m so sorry, but the tests have come back, and you have cancer,” she said.
“Are you OK if I put you on hold while I fetch my husband?” I asked.
I went up the stairs to call for Trev who was working from his office in the attic. “Trev, Emma’s on the phone. I’ve got cancer,” I said.
I sat on the top step of the stairs, and he came down from the attic to listen to what Emma had to say.
I don’t remember much of that conversation. Emma explained what I had – Malignant Neoplasm of the Rectum – and what I could expect, but I don’t remember anything except the look of worry in my husband’s eyes and I wondered if that expression matched my own… it certainly matched my internal turmoil.
Emma assured us that we didn’t have to remember any of the conversation as she would send it in writing. The appointments were already set up and my treatment started on 5th May. I had a consultation before they started and again, that would all be set out in the letter.
After the call, I was at a complete loss – I didn’t know how I was supposed to react to the news. Our lives changed, of course, but how was all this going to affect us?
We rang our children at the same time. Trev rang our son, and I rang our daughter and when they were both on speaker, we broke the terrible news. We’d all been fearing the worst, but hoping for the best, but the worst had hit home.
Sorry… I think I need a break. Back soon.