Friday 2 October

Friday 2 October 2015

I’m in Bangkok, having just gone through the Big Checks. I’m exhausted. Utterly drained, numb and emotional. I struggle not to cry.

Friday 2 October 2009

I was in Bangkok, having arrived from Yangon in the afternoon and going immediately to the hospital from the airport. I was exhausted. I had not slept properly since I had found that lump and been referred to Samitivej Hospital. I was terrified.

Friday 2 October 2015

Bloods first. four large vials, all with my name on the outside, colour coded for each type of test. A bit of a struggle and fiddle to persuade the vein to cooperate, but it yielded fairly quickly. These phlebotomists are highly skilled.  I hate needles and blood takes, but nowadays I hardly flinch. If I could count the number of needles which have pierced my skin to draw blood…. Next, through to Imaging and changing into a fetching blue gown.

I was handed a locker key, and found that I could not reach the locker. Rather than ask for another locker, I threw my clothes upwards, using the non Twang Arm. First was the X-Ray. Always quick and not uncomfortable. Next was mammo. “Right breast first” said the technician. “Right breast only” was my reply. Less comfortable, squeezed so tightly I felt that my breast might not be able to hold its contents under the pressure, but happily it did. A couple of different images in different angles, and in no time I was back in the waiting area.

Friday 2 October 2009

The flight was a little late and the traffic from the airport very busy, so I arrived late at Samitivej. I was met by our Liaison Manager and ushered immediately through to the Imaging Centre. At some point I must have filled in some paperwork, but I don’t recall that right now.

I had never had a mammogram. I had no idea what to expect. I knew it would be uncomfortable, even painful. I was in that room for heaven knows how long. I moved, for new images at different angles. I heard “calcifications” and thought that was a good sign. I have no idea when I was finally released from the mammogram room but eventually I was.

Friday 2 October 2015

Next was the Ultrasound. I hate this one. I freaks me out, quite simply. I hear the beeps as shapes are pegged and even though there is no visible screen, I am straining for hints. “You remember me?” states the Doctor. Yes I do. I think. I think she was the Ultrasound Doctor last year. The one who asked me if I was seeing my Doctor that day. I remember that freaking me out. “Yes,” I smiled. I remember.

Again she asked me if I was seeing my Doctor. I reassured that I would see no less than Three Doctors. Is this normal or something to worry about, I wondered. Silence and beeps. Gel everywhere. Too much attention under my right ribcage. There’s something wrong.

Suddenly and abruptly she stands up. “Finished” she announces. A good sign or a bad sign, I wonder?

“I will send my report to your Doctor”. she says as she is leaving the examination room and I am being cleaned of gloop. More worry. What is there to report???

Friday 2 October 2009

You know when there periods in your life that you play and replay, on a loop? The Ultrasound is one of those times. I will never forget that Ultrasound, the drawings, the straining for clues, the clinging on to hope and the devastation and denial combined when I saw the Doctor key in ” M _ A _ S _ S ……  N _ O 1…..

Here is how I captured it at the time …

Next was ultrasound.  Again the investigation was very thorough.  This time though I could see the screen and all sorts of weird ghostly shapes as the doctor methodically worked her way through the process. Again, I tried to pick up clues and hints and soon got a big one  “left side – problem”, I was told.  Hmmm.  The chittering started again, perhaps helped by the Air Conditioning and the cold ultrasound gel. “You need biopsy”.  Oh dear – more chitter chitter!  The technician was lovely – calm, professional but clear.  I said I was worried and she told me not to worry (lurch of hope) – my Doctor is a great specialist and I am in the best of hands.  She then started pegging the dimensions of what she was seeing in the scan.  I had to watch, but kept looking away as she pegged a strange shape and clicked to save it.  Then my stomach turned as she keyed in – m-a-s-s-.  That is a clue, and not a good one.  She didn’t stop there – mass.. n-o- 1.  I closed my eyes and swallowed. There is more than one lump.

I think it was around then that the specialist himself appeared, his Bluetooth flashing in his ear, and he joined the party.  Or maybe it was a training workshop because he had a magic marker in his hand and methodically they started to draw on my chest.  I started chittering again – actually I am not convinced I had stopped.  They reassured me that they were not going to hurt me – just draw on me!  These were the markings for the biopsy.  Another worry lurch when I was asked if I had eaten – surely they are not going to operate tonight?

Eventually the drawing was complete, the ultrasound images all recorded and I knew that the time was coming for biopsy and diagnosis.

Friday 2 October 2015

Waiting, waiting, waiting……

The bloods are taken and have released their secrets to the Doctors. I have no idea what messages they tell.  I have to wait. And wait. My Blood Pressure, weight and temperature are taken. I have lost another few micrograms, half a kilo. That is good, all things considered.

My Blood Pressure though is sky high. I am stressed. By too much. There is no hiding this fact, my BP does not respect secrets or confidentiality.

Twang Arm is complaining. And hurting. And the wait is tortuous…..

Friday 2 October 2009

Dr W had joined the discussion in the Ultrasound room. I remember his bluetooth. I remember him arriving at the door and say “Khun Philippa?” I remember a lot of conversation in Thai and a great deal of marker pen.

I remember being afraid, but thinking that this cannot be cancer. There is no cancer in my family…. 80% of lumps are benign….

Friday 2 October 2015

Finally, the appointments are looming. Dr A first, my endocrinologist. I still don’t really what one of those is. But I do know that Dr A looks after me. He understands and offered suggestions when I dissolved in tears at the last consultation. Today, he goes through my results.

My blood sugar is ok, slightly down from last time. Down is good. Really good. I am breaking the trend, and I want to keep doing that. Cholesterol is good. Kidney and liver functions are also good. He moves briefly over my tumour marker results. They are consistent and show no increases. That is good. Very good.He is happy with my minimal weight reduction, and understands my frustration at not being able to swim. Before we know it, I am saying goodbye for the next few months.

I sit down in the waiting room again. Next is Dr W2 my oncologist. Within a few minutes though, I am waved through to go and see Dr W. Dr W2 is running late? I don’t know, but I head through to the other waiting area. Dr W no longer consults in Room No 59 but that is ok. His current room has been auspicious so far.

Dr W welcomes me. How are you? How is Yangon …. Many questions, and then “How many years now…”

“Six years” I tell him. “Six years. Can you believe it?”

I am not sure if he can or not.

I tell him that Twang Arm is causing me grief. Not too much swelling, he observes, but a bit.  Lymphoedema. After so so long. So unfair…. I tell him of my challenges in finding a new swimming space. He encourages me to find such a space. I will…. I promise to myself.

He reviews the results. He ordered the mammo and the ultrasound. He is happy with the results. Nothing sinister.

He then asks when should be the next appointment. I don’t want to say, I want to be told.

“A year?” he asks? My heart lifts and I look up expectantly. “”Too long?” he enquires. Perhaps he is taking my reticence for the need for more frequent review.  I SO SO badly want a review in one year. What a statement of recovery that would be. “It’s six years now” he adds. When will you come back? I reply that I do not yet know, that Dr W2 will make a suggestion or decision. “One year is fine”, he tells me. “but if you come back before then, please come and see me too”.

So I know. One year is fine, but if (and I know that it is highly likely that Dr W2 will request a return presence in either 3 or 6 months) it could be sooner. We settle for an appointment when I next return.  I am enormously heartened by the fact that he is happy to see me n one year. ONE YEAR. That is MILES away.

I return to the waiting area. Dr W2’s PA realises that I am there.  She ushers me in to his consulting room. I am fairly relaxed because by now I have learned the results of the Ultrasound, mammogram. I know that there are no surprises, My mammo result is good  (Birads 2 no less. Why, Birads 2 is classified as benign.) and bloods are fine. I know that my tumour markers are stable, my critical results are fine).

I complain mildly about Twang Arm. Twang Arm has already been well examined. Hmmm, is the  consensus. Lymphedema. Not welcome, but not sinister.

“How long is it now, since you were diagnosed” asks Dr W2. “Four years?”

Aha, no – no. “Six years tomorrow, I reply.

SIX YEARS. Six year whole years.

I have never, ever, asked how long I would have survived without treatment when I was diagnosed back in 2009. But something inside of me would like to know. One day perhaps…

Dr W2 has recalled me every three months for a while now, following the Pulmonary Embolism and some other glitches, so I await his directive anxiously at the end of the consultation. I silently plea that he will not call me back again in 3 months. So when he suggests that I come back in 6 months time, I am more than happy. Six months is a long way hence, and I am quietly delighted to have a longer breathing space,

Friday 2 October 2009

Dr W has explained the scans and Ultrasound to me. The calcifications are not innocent. They are worrying. He shows me the space ship. The shape on the screen with its irregular growing patterns.

“This is highly suspicious of cancer” he tells me gently yet irrecoverably.

Once you speak these words they can never be taken back. “THIS IS HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS OF CANCER… HIGHLY SUSPICIOUS……

This is cancer.

Yes, you are going to die.

That is all I can hear.

These are the words, once spoken, which can never be retracted.

“This is highly suspicious of cancer…. highly suspicious of cancer… highly suspicious…….highly suspicious………

Friday 2 October 2015

I realise it is my “Happy Cancerversary”

I realise that today marks six whole years since I heard those words. “highly suspicious… highly suspicious.”…

Six years ago, I slithered up to Shwe Dagon in the early morning, before my flight to Bangkok, to give blessings and, and to plea, nay beg that this wold not be cancer.

But it was cancer,. Despite all the odds.

And still, I am here., Six years ago, when 2 October was also a Friday and I learned that I was mortal and that I was not somehow protected from cancer.

October 2. Every year.

Yes, I often wonder how long my prognosis would have been back in October 2009.

I have never been able to ask that question. But I do know that I would not be here still, without treatment……..

Today, I AM still here. the path has been hard and gruelling but I am still here.

So, many returns then, eh?

October 2 – Happy Cancerversary!