Guess who's back...
Well, hello all.
I remember thinking a couple of years ago that I should have kept a diary or a blog or somesuch of my journey through cancer. But by the time I thought it, my journey was all over and I was moving on with my new life and there was no need to rehash over it all.
You should be careful what you wish for, because I've now been given a second chance to write this blog. That's the good news. The bad news is that since I am now writing this blog, it does mean that I've embarked on the cancer journey again. AGAIN.
Yes, it's back... back again. Cancer's back... tell a friend. (Song of the week: Eminem - Without Me.)
So, what happened? On Tuesday 4th April, 2006, I woke up with some fairly major abdominal/pelvic pain. I'd had the same pain three weeks earlier, but assumed it was period pain (for the first time in my life). This time, though, there was no valid explanation for it (not time for my period) and it was quite ridiculously cripping. Every couple of minutes I'd get a wave of sharp stabbing pain up through my stomach - and it was especially bad whenever I moved or changed position or walked. I went to work that day (I had my six months performance review) but was in a lot of pain all day and it was very difficult to hide. I took the next day off and went to the doctor.
The doctor did an internal examination (I mean, where do you look at such a time? I find I get the urge to crack jokes about taking me out to dinner first) and felt what he thought was an enlarged uterus, so sent me off for an ultrasound the next day. I went to work on Thursday and left early for the ultrasound.
Ah, what a flashback the ultrasound was. The test was fine, pretty easy (apart from the drink a litre of water two hours beforehand and don't go to the toilet - and then we'll poke and prod your stomach thing) but afterwards, when everyone there told me that I MUST GO STRAIGHT BACK TO MY GP (four times)... well, I've heard that before, and it ain't good.
So I went straight back to my GP, who confirmed that yes indeedy, there was a 7 by 8 by 9 (later confirmed to by 12 by 8) tumour chilling out in my belly, on top of my uterus. How to ruin someone's day in one easy step.
To make it all worse, Richard was away. He'd left on the Tuesday to inspect a bunch of concrete plants up and down the NSW coast, and wasn't due back until the following Thursday. So I went home to an empty house and tried to come to terms with the fact that my life had just turned upside down.
Naturally, I didn't like that idea much, so rang Jacqui to come out and spend the evening - with the obligatory trip out to Max Brenner. (I am trying to stop using food as comfort/reward/procrastination whatever, but it didn't really seem like the time... say what you like, chocolate souffle really does help at times like that.) So not alone for the evening.
Friday was a really really really lousy day. I went in for my CT scan, and the doctor took five attempts to get a line into one of my veins. I was struggling not to cry as I waited for the CT to start - the whole CT alien abduction experience really hammers home the fact that I have cancer again. And I was on my own, scared and really really angry that my life was going to be highjacked again.
Back to my GP, who asked me to ring my oncologist in Brisbane. Now James Morton is a fantastic doctor, but there is a reason we call him the roadrunner - he is frantically busy and always running around. It was 5 o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and as soon as he finished work, he was off on a two week holiday. So I guess it's understandable that he didn't have time to refer me to an oncologist down here, but not having the name of an oncologist slowed down the process a lot.
I had booked flights for a weekend in Brisbane that weekend. I was determined to have a good weekend - the denial weekend. The first time I had cancer I spent the denial weekend with my family on the Gold Coast. The denial weekend happens when suddenly all you can do is wait, and there's no point dwelling on it all, so you go off and you have a weekend of constant action, never stopping to think about things, and the whole thing feels slightly hysterical.
Anyway, I had a great denial weekend in Brisbane. I told everyone, but I definitely put a major positive spin on things, and made it all out to be something that would be over quickly, just a quick surgery sometime soon. And I really hope it is.
Monday at work I told my boss, who was fantastic. He told his boss, who told her boss, who agreed that I could have as much sick leave as I needed. This is a very big thing since I have absolutely zero sick leave left (I did have three days but I used it all last week!). Now I won't have to worry about coping financially while I'm recovering from surgery - if my employers hadn't come through like that, I would have had to take sick leave without pay. They have absolutely no obligation to give me that sick leave, so I'm extremely grateful.
Tuesday, I told some of my friends from work. I was a bit nervous, because last time some of those who I thought were good friends simply dropped off the face of the earth, unable to deal with it. I haven't known them long, but they were fantastic - actually said all the right things! Rachel saw right through me, and told me very sternly that I don't need to pretend to be strong all the time and that it is actually okay to crumble every now and again with her. Then we went to the pub (2for1 cocktails on Tuesday night) and drank far too much on a Tuesday night... I got home late, but it was definitely better than being at home by myself.
Wednesday, things started happening. My fantastic GP, Dr G, had spent Tuesday trying to find an oncologist for me. On Wednesday he found one, made me an appointment for the following week, and called me in to his surgery to discuss. The oncologist wanted a CT of my chest, a full bone scan and a biopsy, so we made appointments for all of it for the next day.
So, Thursday, I rock up to the x-ray clinic at 8.30 (fasting), and go in for my first scan at 9.30. I'd forgotten how much waiting around there is. So I had my chest CT (with no contrast, which means no prodding around in my piddly little veins) and then toddled off to nuclear medicine for the first step of the bone scan.
There's something really really wrong with being injected with a substance from a lead syringe. Surely, if this stuff was safe to disperse through my body, it should be safe to carry it around in a normal container? Hell, no, this stuff is radioactive. So I have my radioactive shot and I'm free for a couple of hours while the radioactivity works its way through my body.
I really want someone to play "Radioactive Girl!" with, but there's no one, so I go shopping. I'm planning another denial weekend, complete with trip to the races, so I go shopping. I need a hat or a fascinator, preferably fairly cheap, since I'm pouring money into the coffers of the medical industry. So, one fascinator, sunnies and some bangles later, I'm back at the x-ray clinc for my bone scan.
I jump up onto the alien abduction guerney, they position my body and then the machine, and then I... go straight to sleep. Yes, I do. And I snooze on and off for the next forty minutes while they reposition the machine around me. Then back out to the waiting room, where I wait for another hour while they write up the reports, then back home.
Finally Richard comes home... tired and grumpy after driving for seven hours, but I'm so happy to see him. I was really getting sick of being on my own and trying not to think about things. Unfortunately we need to go straight to the GP again, so we do, to talk about today's results.
My chest CT was completely fine - the original cancer has not returned. The bone scan was not so good. There appears to be a spot on my clavicle (collarbone). There are two reasons why this could be there - it could be radiation damage from the original radiation. I need to call my original radiologist and find out whether the clavicle could have been hit in the first round. Otherwise, it could be the nasty nasty m-word - metastisis. It could be a secondary cancer, which does kind of change the whole ball game we're playing. If it is though, it's an isolated, single secondary - which is very unusual. More normally there would be dozens of little metastises running through my system. More tests to follow next week.
So that's where I am at the moment. Richard is back thank goodness, and we're going to enjoy our Easter long weekend.
More later!
Much love,
Jess
I remember thinking a couple of years ago that I should have kept a diary or a blog or somesuch of my journey through cancer. But by the time I thought it, my journey was all over and I was moving on with my new life and there was no need to rehash over it all.
You should be careful what you wish for, because I've now been given a second chance to write this blog. That's the good news. The bad news is that since I am now writing this blog, it does mean that I've embarked on the cancer journey again. AGAIN.
Yes, it's back... back again. Cancer's back... tell a friend. (Song of the week: Eminem - Without Me.)
So, what happened? On Tuesday 4th April, 2006, I woke up with some fairly major abdominal/pelvic pain. I'd had the same pain three weeks earlier, but assumed it was period pain (for the first time in my life). This time, though, there was no valid explanation for it (not time for my period) and it was quite ridiculously cripping. Every couple of minutes I'd get a wave of sharp stabbing pain up through my stomach - and it was especially bad whenever I moved or changed position or walked. I went to work that day (I had my six months performance review) but was in a lot of pain all day and it was very difficult to hide. I took the next day off and went to the doctor.
The doctor did an internal examination (I mean, where do you look at such a time? I find I get the urge to crack jokes about taking me out to dinner first) and felt what he thought was an enlarged uterus, so sent me off for an ultrasound the next day. I went to work on Thursday and left early for the ultrasound.
Ah, what a flashback the ultrasound was. The test was fine, pretty easy (apart from the drink a litre of water two hours beforehand and don't go to the toilet - and then we'll poke and prod your stomach thing) but afterwards, when everyone there told me that I MUST GO STRAIGHT BACK TO MY GP (four times)... well, I've heard that before, and it ain't good.
So I went straight back to my GP, who confirmed that yes indeedy, there was a 7 by 8 by 9 (later confirmed to by 12 by 8) tumour chilling out in my belly, on top of my uterus. How to ruin someone's day in one easy step.
To make it all worse, Richard was away. He'd left on the Tuesday to inspect a bunch of concrete plants up and down the NSW coast, and wasn't due back until the following Thursday. So I went home to an empty house and tried to come to terms with the fact that my life had just turned upside down.
Naturally, I didn't like that idea much, so rang Jacqui to come out and spend the evening - with the obligatory trip out to Max Brenner. (I am trying to stop using food as comfort/reward/procrastination whatever, but it didn't really seem like the time... say what you like, chocolate souffle really does help at times like that.) So not alone for the evening.
Friday was a really really really lousy day. I went in for my CT scan, and the doctor took five attempts to get a line into one of my veins. I was struggling not to cry as I waited for the CT to start - the whole CT alien abduction experience really hammers home the fact that I have cancer again. And I was on my own, scared and really really angry that my life was going to be highjacked again.
Back to my GP, who asked me to ring my oncologist in Brisbane. Now James Morton is a fantastic doctor, but there is a reason we call him the roadrunner - he is frantically busy and always running around. It was 5 o'clock on a Friday afternoon, and as soon as he finished work, he was off on a two week holiday. So I guess it's understandable that he didn't have time to refer me to an oncologist down here, but not having the name of an oncologist slowed down the process a lot.
I had booked flights for a weekend in Brisbane that weekend. I was determined to have a good weekend - the denial weekend. The first time I had cancer I spent the denial weekend with my family on the Gold Coast. The denial weekend happens when suddenly all you can do is wait, and there's no point dwelling on it all, so you go off and you have a weekend of constant action, never stopping to think about things, and the whole thing feels slightly hysterical.
Anyway, I had a great denial weekend in Brisbane. I told everyone, but I definitely put a major positive spin on things, and made it all out to be something that would be over quickly, just a quick surgery sometime soon. And I really hope it is.
Monday at work I told my boss, who was fantastic. He told his boss, who told her boss, who agreed that I could have as much sick leave as I needed. This is a very big thing since I have absolutely zero sick leave left (I did have three days but I used it all last week!). Now I won't have to worry about coping financially while I'm recovering from surgery - if my employers hadn't come through like that, I would have had to take sick leave without pay. They have absolutely no obligation to give me that sick leave, so I'm extremely grateful.
Tuesday, I told some of my friends from work. I was a bit nervous, because last time some of those who I thought were good friends simply dropped off the face of the earth, unable to deal with it. I haven't known them long, but they were fantastic - actually said all the right things! Rachel saw right through me, and told me very sternly that I don't need to pretend to be strong all the time and that it is actually okay to crumble every now and again with her. Then we went to the pub (2for1 cocktails on Tuesday night) and drank far too much on a Tuesday night... I got home late, but it was definitely better than being at home by myself.
Wednesday, things started happening. My fantastic GP, Dr G, had spent Tuesday trying to find an oncologist for me. On Wednesday he found one, made me an appointment for the following week, and called me in to his surgery to discuss. The oncologist wanted a CT of my chest, a full bone scan and a biopsy, so we made appointments for all of it for the next day.
So, Thursday, I rock up to the x-ray clinic at 8.30 (fasting), and go in for my first scan at 9.30. I'd forgotten how much waiting around there is. So I had my chest CT (with no contrast, which means no prodding around in my piddly little veins) and then toddled off to nuclear medicine for the first step of the bone scan.
There's something really really wrong with being injected with a substance from a lead syringe. Surely, if this stuff was safe to disperse through my body, it should be safe to carry it around in a normal container? Hell, no, this stuff is radioactive. So I have my radioactive shot and I'm free for a couple of hours while the radioactivity works its way through my body.
I really want someone to play "Radioactive Girl!" with, but there's no one, so I go shopping. I'm planning another denial weekend, complete with trip to the races, so I go shopping. I need a hat or a fascinator, preferably fairly cheap, since I'm pouring money into the coffers of the medical industry. So, one fascinator, sunnies and some bangles later, I'm back at the x-ray clinc for my bone scan.
I jump up onto the alien abduction guerney, they position my body and then the machine, and then I... go straight to sleep. Yes, I do. And I snooze on and off for the next forty minutes while they reposition the machine around me. Then back out to the waiting room, where I wait for another hour while they write up the reports, then back home.
Finally Richard comes home... tired and grumpy after driving for seven hours, but I'm so happy to see him. I was really getting sick of being on my own and trying not to think about things. Unfortunately we need to go straight to the GP again, so we do, to talk about today's results.
My chest CT was completely fine - the original cancer has not returned. The bone scan was not so good. There appears to be a spot on my clavicle (collarbone). There are two reasons why this could be there - it could be radiation damage from the original radiation. I need to call my original radiologist and find out whether the clavicle could have been hit in the first round. Otherwise, it could be the nasty nasty m-word - metastisis. It could be a secondary cancer, which does kind of change the whole ball game we're playing. If it is though, it's an isolated, single secondary - which is very unusual. More normally there would be dozens of little metastises running through my system. More tests to follow next week.
So that's where I am at the moment. Richard is back thank goodness, and we're going to enjoy our Easter long weekend.
More later!
Much love,
Jess
posted by Jessie at 10:23 am
3 Comments:
Test post
Darling Jess
Have just had a catch up call to your mum and she has told me the news and pointed me to your blog...so here I am working my way through your fantastic writing. I am so sorry to hear about the growth in your tum. It is very sad and I wait for news of how things are going. You are a very special person and mean a great deal to our family, you are a special ray of sunshine in the world amd I wish you nothing but happiness and for the best possible outcome for this latest part of your journey. We love you dearly.
Kate and Family
Hey Kate,
Thank you for your kind words. It's good to know that there are people who love me and who will be with me through my journey (I love the internet!)
I love you all very much. I hope you are all well, enjoying your new life in Toowoomba. My love to Geoff, the beautiful girls and of course young Mr Emry!
Jessie xoxoxo
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