So yesterday I had the check up I always have every few years. It’s something I do because of the Crohns and to be honest while I don’t do it willingly I like to do it because then I know all is well – apparently us Crohns people are at added risk of the cancers. The last time we had this was way back on 22 November 2012 and I wrote about it here.
This time round it seemed things had changed somewhat. The prep started at 12pm – later than usual and despite having to drink three rounds of Picowhatever instead of two it just wasn’t as traumatic. Aside from the dry retching at the third glass of the Picohell. And the fact that I made the wrong flavoured jelly – lemon instead of mango. First world problem people, I know.
I also chose to do my civic duty on a Saturday so as not to miss two days of work – despite having like 100 sick days due. Yes, I hear you saying tattoo “idiot” on your forehead (The Artist already mentioned this would be appropriate). Different facility saw me in a bed like in a public hospital with a curtain around me
about to have a tantrum feeling very sorry for myself. Over 30 hours without solid food will do that to me…..
My nurse Liam took all the particulars before telling me that there were a couple of people prior to myself.
Very Hungry Not happy Jan. So I decided to try and control my bad behaviour and settled in to reading a book. Not long after I heard the aforementioned Liam in the curtain next door me talking to an older lady, taking all her particulars.
“So, when did the chemo finish Noelle?” In October.
“Oops! I see the nurse didn’t realise you still have your port?” Oh, yes, we must have not remembered that. It’s still in, in case the cancer comes back and we need to use it again. It’s easier to just leave it in, in case I need it again.
And with that the tears started. Mine. Not hers or Liam’s. Because fuck!!!! She was just like me, give or take 30 years or so (another thing I heard through the curtain).
But the difference was that she has been through the cancer. And there she was like me, on her own, having this procedure. Being brave. (I was not being brave just practical and wanting to have some peace and quiet to read my book). I have to tell you, if that was me, I would have had a fucking delegation accompany me on that particular ride. Because I would have been scared to death. Scared.To.Death.
As it turns out, we were seated in the recovery room having a cuppa when our doctor came to “have the chat”. I was first cab off the rank and we talked about all being well and a polyp being removed and sent for testing. (Still completely shitting my pants that the tests are going to come back bad despite his reassurances).
When the good doctor moved over to Noelle there was talk of scarring and stuff and many biopsies to see what we are dealing with and I died inside again. His kindness and bedside manner aside, I was so scared for her. I am sure that it was nothing compared to how scared she was. And seriously, where the fuck were her people?
When he left I tried to make eye contact but she was absorbed in her tea and biscuits. She must have been hungry too.
As we set our sights on next week, I am going to hope for only positive things for Noelle (who I don’t know and who I might never lay eyes on again)’s test results. You too – let’s put all that positive out there in the universe for her. And appreciate every day. Every. Single. Day.
Love and light