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I am 45 years old, Married to Sean for nearly 20 years and have 3 lovely children Hope is 16, Jack is 12 and Joe is 6.

Tuesday, 2 July 2013

Deja Vu

As I sit in another hospital waiting in another gown to be taken down to another operating theatre I have decided to write a blog post as I REALLY find it cathartic. A few things to share really. I think having been through something like I have is enough to put anyone off hospitals and doctors for life. It's understandable I guess that I'm wary and have trust issues, with people in general but most certainly with medics.

One mention of the word biopsy and it sends me into a spin. Despite not having actually HAD cancer when you find any lump or bump or get a 'different' pain, the first thing that comes into your mind is 'cancer'. Again I think in the circumstances this is probably only natural. But who knows, as there are so few people (thankfully) who have experienced wrong diagnosis and treatment that you can't just google it unlike most things these days! Those reading this who have had cancer will really relate to these feelings of fear and anxiety.

As I say NOT having had cancer is a little irrelevant as I have in essence been through exactly the same process as those who had osteosarcoma and have been treated for it. It only took five minutes for a Doctor in 1992 to blow our worlds apart, delivering a terminal diagnosis implying imminent death and I lived with thinking I had it and being treated for it for nearly a year. It took them 8 years of being pursued by the legal eagles to admit their mistakes.

I guess this explains why such comments as these, that people so glibly make can make me experience a range of emotions from rage to sadness at their complete lack of understanding. 'Oh you must be so relieved you didn't have it' or 'at least you didn't have cancer'.

I mentioned to someone last week that I wasn't 'looking forward' to having this lump removed and my fears were dismissed by their retort of 'oh I'm sure that's minor for you compared to what you've been through.' Even someone close to me questioned what I was worried about as it is 'a minor procedure'. To be honest it's not the type of procedure it's the whole process; admission, visits by consultants and anaesthetists, waiting for the trolley to take me down, administration of an anaesthetic, being roused in recovery etc

It's at times like this when I miss my Mum even more. She would have been there for me. She knows and has herself experienced these fears. I discussed with her about the fact that it's almost worse knowing what's about to happen than the blissful ignorance of not having been through it before. She described it as a weir effect. You've had your fill and can only take so much, we only have the capacity to deal with so much crap aka pain, suffering, worry and anxiety. And I have had my fill, without a doubt. But as we all know though there isn't a choice in the matter and we have to just 'get on with it'. I am taking various steps to deal with all this which I will discuss in my next post.

In 15 days it will be exactly a year since we were advised it was in Mum's best interests to switch her life support machine off. A year ago my brother and I were travelling back and forth to be with Dad at her bedside in Intensive Care. Battling with our emotions, willing her to pull through and get better, worrying about her future quality of life and dealing with the guilt of willing her to go so the suffering would be over. RIP Mum. We miss you x

1 comment:

  1. Vicky, first time I have read your blog. It is inspirational. Your experiences and consideration for others makes me feel guilty when I complain about trivial things, and that I should be doing more for others. I have just read Beth's most recent blog entry and Lisa's blog for the first time. Collectively, amongst many things, you remind us not to whinge, do more for others and take time to look at our own lives to acknowledge how lucky we are.
    Neil K