Today’s extra hard. It would be my mum’s 92nd birthday. She died two years back while we were planning a grand Tait-style 90th birthday do, magician, dancing, the lot. Everything I hate and she adored. I still miss picking up the phone, listening to her, moaning to her, sorting her out. But right now I actually NEED her. Of course, I’m glad she’s not here - she’d be worrying herself sick, feel helpless and be blaming herself for passing on the breast cancer gene (if that’s what’s happened - who knows?).
But I feel like a helpless kid and I feel cheated of the comfort of my mum, with all her imperfections and all our appalling similarities. I wonder if adults ever get over that deep-rooted need to be parented at times... This is the only pic I’ve got access to on the iPad: Australia, with her eldest great granddaughter Brittany who must be 21 by now. So I guess Mum was about 80?
I’m in my first chemo-trough and it’s exhausting and debilitating but I don’t want a pity-party so let’s stay focused on the blog.
Oncology. I’ve always thought it a hideous word. It’s not its implications. It just sounds ugly. I love how words sound and how they can express so much in their sound. ‘Sparkle,’ ‘giggle,’ ‘glorious,’ all good words. ‘Boring’ says all it needs to say and more. ‘Oncology?’ Just ugly.
Kiera drove us to an evening appointment at the local private hospital and Dennis and I met Dr K, my ‘consultant oncologist.’ By now I was used to the pattern of deteriorating news about this bloody cancer so I was realistic. I stayed out of what I was calling Land of Denial and acknowledged there was the possibility the news could get worse. All I wanted to know was if it had spread but Dr K wanted to get to know me and my experience first so I didn’t ask outright. Chicken.
After going through everything and explaining my fears and phobias and how chemotherapy was anathema to me, Dr K assured me the CT scan did not show any sign that the cancer had spread elsewhere. My eyes welled up with tears of relief but, as I thanked him for that news, I heard my perceptive husband say ‘But there’s a but.’ Yes, of course there was: I have some enlarged lymph vessels in my breast muscle which might well be breast cancer - still. He wanted the throw everything at it with chemotherapy and the full works. I reverted to Land of Denial - OK, it’ll be manageable, it has to be.
He talked us through the treatment regime he recommended and asked an odd question: what did I have against St James’s Hospital? I explained about control, easier access, all the little impracticalitities removed, leaving peace of mind for me. He pointed out that the Bexley Wing was a centre of excellence, everything I needed was there and asked me to consider it. I was stunned and thrown. Surely he would be losing a private patient? I hadn’t expected this.
We talked about the cost of private treatment (manageable so long as nothing went wrong) and he suggested he arrange for me to look round the private facilities and meet the team and asked if I would agree to do the same for the Bexley Wing. I went home puzzled but thoughtful. IF something were to go wrong in my chemotherapy, I could end up with all my life savings and retirement funds gone. That was ok, but, worst case scenario, all Dennis’s too? Dr K said he’d signed off at least one private insurance claim close to half a million.
Den’s view was I should stick with my plan. We could always sell the house but my peace of mind was paramount. My view was more pragmatic. I didn’t organise work experience all those years and visit those dire, depressing care homes and learn nothing. The risk of losing everything to pander to my bloody mental health wasn’t worth it. So I retreated into Land of Denial and waited for inspiration. It started with Kiera’s reaction. She gave me a hug and said ‘It hasn’t spread. That’s brilliant. Focus on that.’ She has the fortunate knack of seeing the bright side, considering she’s almost as cynical as I am! I need that.
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