Got myself into the GP who immediately agreed to get a scan sorted. The appointment very inconveniently came through for 1730 on a Saturday afternoon. We were due to have friends round. They came anyway and I just ducked out, went to Solihull Hospital and got my MRI on. Results were likely to take a few weeks to come through. I got home, had a G&T thrust in my hand and was told I was playing catch up.
On Monday 3rd April 2017, a month to the day after my mums funeral, I got a call from the GP surgery saying that the Dr wanted to talk to me urgently, could I get in ASAP? This is the medical equivalent of a teacher writing "SEE ME" on your homework. I have had enough of those to know they don't end well. The scan was supposed to take weeks to be reported. I had a small panic attack meltdown at work and jumped in the car for the 45 minute headfuckery journey from work to home. I had driven this journey so many times in tears listening to updates from my sister about how my mum was, now I was crying for me. I remember deliberately switching off the stereo in the car as I didn’t want any song to be tainted by the memory of the journey. I remember saying to myself, its probably just a prolapsed disc that needs urgent surgery, but I also remember thinking “please God not cancer, please not cancer, my babies”. I called The Wingman in a blind panic and although I didn’t ask him, I was praying that he would leave work and come home to be with me.
I arrived at the surgery and was immediately called through to see my GP. He asked me to sit down and I noticed he had a radiology report but I didn’t pay it much attention. He started the conversation with “have you noticed any unusual lumps and bumps?” Oh well, fuck me backwards, this is not good. I replied I hadn’t. He reference the report and I don’t really remember much of what he said, but I do very clearly remember asking if I could look at the report. And there it was;
Two soft tissue lesions are noted one within the T12 vertebral body and one within the sacrum to the right of the midline impinging on the right sacral nerve roots. These lesions are likely to indicate the presence of metastatic deposits. The patient will need a CT scan of the chest, abdomen and pelvis to look for any possible primary tumour.
I am a total wannabe medic. I have watched every episode of Grey’s Anatomy, 24 Hours in A&E, An Hour to Save your Life and I watched my mum die of cancer. I actually think if pushed I could do open heart surgery! I know more than is normal for a non medic. I knew I had cancer but what kind of cancer? I started to cry and then apologised for crying (twat) and then asked the Dr to examine my breasts. I mean what else do you do when you have just learned you have cancer?! He was kind and patient and did as I asked. Good, he couldn’t feel anything so hopefully not breast cancer. He ordered a lot of blood tests including one that tests for ovarian cancer. I was worried about the amount of time I was taking up but I didn’t need to. He had cleared his appointments to see me. He then gave me his email address and told me that he would do whatever I needed, whenever I needed it. The man has a gift and I will never forget his compassion and kindness.
I walked out of the surgery with photos of my report on my phone and there was Neil waiting for me. I have no idea what I looked like, what my face conveyed, but I ran to him in the car park shrieking “I have cancer”. He wrapped his arms around me and said nothing. He just held me.
We got home and I had a million thoughts flying through my head. What was I going to tell my dad? What was going to happen to the children? Fuck, I don’t have a will. I want Neil to marry again. I kept retching. We sat and cried. A lot. It was a full on snotfest. But we had to get our shit together as Wakey and Pukey needed collecting from nursery. We got them home and I just kept looking at their beautiful, innocent little faces and tears poured down my cheeks (rather like they are doing now as I write this). Wakey asked me “why are you so sad Mummy?” I mean what the fuck do you say? I will never forget her face in that moment. The look of concern, incomprehension and bemusement. I came up with some bollocks and got on with bath time. All we knew at that stage was that I had some sort of cancer and it had spread to my bones. There was no diagnosis, no plan, no answers. Just a big fat load of unknowns. And, we still haven't told them the whole story (but that's for another blog).
The Wingman sat cuddling me on the sofa that night and we both knew that things were never, ever going to be the same again.