Missed Post

My name is Trevor
I skipped a fortnight’s blog post

I missed last post. I thought about putting it up late but I decided not to. The reason that I didn’t put up a post was because I was in hospital again.

This started with me feeling particularly horrible one Monday morning. I was having a flare up of my eczema. My face was red and raw and there was more than a few cuts and scrapes. On top of that, I noticed a lump that was recently discovered to be a lymph node on left clavicle had gotten noticeably larger. I knew that this was not good. I knew it had to be dealt with. I knew that I didn’t have the motivation to do it on my own with my own state of mind.

After some help gathering the mental fortitude, I packed a small bag with some simple necessities in case I needed to stay there for a couple of days. I went off and, tea towel clutched between my teeth for a focus, caught a bus to the city and then to the hospital.

After a short stay in ED, I was seen by one of the dermatology team. He had me admitted to one of the wards and told me that I’d probably be home before the weekend. He said that there were a couple of tests that would be done including a CT scan and a FNA (Fine needlepoint aspiration) to find out the nature of the nodes. He also took me off my long term medication.            

And so the healing began.

At this stage, I didn’t feel the need to tell people what was going on. I didn’t make any announcement on Facebook, or make bulk texts or phone calls. I didn’t want the attention that it might garner. I wanted to get through this short admission and have the world none the wiser.

I was given some effective treatments to reel in my eczema. It took a few days for it to be at a point that it was possible to do the CT and FNA. Once it was time for these alphabetical procedures to happen, I was ready. New cannula in place and three poor tasting and foul after-tasting drinks later, I was wheeled down in my bed to have my first CT scan. This was Thursday.

This procedure was swift and easy. They warned me about a couple of the possible effects that the iodine can have when it gets put through your system. For me, it was like the warm sensation that flows through your body after the first glass of a fine scotch. Thankfully, I didn’t get the feeling of wetting myself that can sometimes happen.

After this, I was sent through to Ultrasound for the FNA. This one had me a little more nervous. I was going to get stabbed. Stabbed with a small needle, guided by an ultrasound sure, but I’m not particularly fond of needles either. A small amount of local anaesthetic and the procedure was done quickly and efficiently. It was over before I could really get stuck in to the nerves.

And so the waiting began.

That night there was the big storm. I didn’t take this as any sort of omen, but I do remember going to my window to look at the massive storm outside. Noting that I couldn’t see the car park and thinking, “This is a massive storm and you’re standing next to a window.” I got back into my bed, realising that if the storm came through the window, the bed was far from safe, but at least I’ll be in a position that they could wheel me wherever I needed to go. There was also a brown out, an evacuation alarm and all sorts of other fun.

On Friday, the doctor came and visited me. He told me results hadn’t come back from the FNA, but the CT scan had shown that all of my nodes were enlarged. He told me that the FNA results wouldn’t be in until at least Monday. He explained to me that one of the main things that they were looking for with so many elevated lymph nodes was Lymphoma. The dreaded C-Word.

Cancer.

He explained to me that one of the very rare side effects of the drug I was on was that it could cause Lymphoma. He said that if this was the case, that it was highly likely that if I was to stay off these drugs, it would go away. I realise that he was probably just trying to prepare me for the worst case scenario. But to me, the way that he was portraying this was that it was the likely explanation for my condition.

And so the waiting began.

This time, it was different. I still hadn’t made what was happening to me public. I didn’t want the pity and I didn’t want to worry others. This was my ordeal and worrying others needlessly would help no one.

My emotions during this time were blunt. I re-started and finished the book that I had brought with me, The Eye of the World. I had finished the video game that I had brought, Final Fantasy Tactics A2: Grimoire of the Rift, I completed over 150 Sudoku puzzles. It was all mechanical. I wasn’t feeling the impact of what was happening. My reasoning being, I can’t influence it now, so there is no point in worrying about it. Any mention of the C-word was pushed to the back of my mind.

The ‘funny’ thing about that it that ideas at the back of your mind are still there and have horrible ways of effecting you. I was tired, but I struggled to sleep. I couldn’t concentrate. I found that I struggled to be creative. Night time was the worst for it, despite being up all day, I had trouble sleeping.

Monday came around and the results for the FNA came back. The doctor’s told me that the FNA “couldn’t rule out” Lymphoma. He told me that they were going to do a core biopsy. He oversimplified it by describing it as basically the same thing, but with a bigger needle. Great. He told me that the procedure couldn’t be done until probably Wednesday.

And so the waiting began.

If I thought my emotions blunt before, now they were bordering on numb. I didn’t want to deal with people; or more accurately, I didn’t want people to have to deal with my nonsense. I kept my problems to myself.

So here I was, alone in a hospital bed, worst case scenarios going running marathons in the back of my mind. Concentration was beyond me, replaced with repetition. Creative difficulty replaced with creative impotence. Difficulty sleeping with inability.

Never underestimate simple kindness. One night, at about three in the morning, I got up and went down the hall to the bathroom (the one that I was connected to my room was also connected to and being used by someone with greater contact restrictions than I had). On my walk back to the room, one of the nurses saw the state that I was in. She asked if I was alright. I told her that I was just having trouble sleeping. A couple of minutes later, she came to my room and asked if I wanted a sandwich and a cup of tea. I gratefully accepted.

A sandwich and a cup of tea was what it took for me to take my mind to a place where sleep was possible.

On the Wednesday morning, I was visited by another doctor who told me that they might not even go ahead with the procedure. Telling me that it probably wasn’t anything bad, that they were probably just reactive to my eczema and sign of infection. That he’d call his boss and discuss it with him and let me know.

At about 11:30 I was fetched to go to Ultrasound. There was no warning for this, I was just told that I would be going, now. When I was in the room, the Doctor who would be performing the procedure started it by scaring me silly. I understand why it is a requirement to tell patients of possible complications with a procedure, but if you have an active imagination, it can be truly terrifying. I then had to sign a piece of paper saying that I understood that some theoretical risks involved included such wonders as a collapsed lung or death, with the most likely complication being bleeding. I had to sign to say that I not only understood, but agreed to it.

I was scared. I was lying on my bed, blue paper over my head so the doctor could lean on it. Cloth in my hand as a focus. Local anaesthetic in the area again. It was an unpleasant experience with the doctor is constantly switching between talking to me and talking to the assistants.

There were a few things that I was sure of. He took seven different samples from the area. I could feel the pressure applied to the area. It took more local anaesthetic than was expected to numb the area. There were moments when I could feel a liquid running down my chest, and realising that it was my own blood. I had a huge rush of naturally produced adrenaline. Overall, it was an unpleasant experience.

When it was finished, a dressing was placed over the wound. I was told that I would end up with a bruise there and given ice to put on it to reduce this. I was sent back up to the ward, with the promise of pain when the local wore off.

And so the waiting began.

I was visibly shaking after the ordeal. I know that there would be a large number of people in the world who could go through something like this unfazed, there would be some who would be accepting of it all. I was not one of them. My body’s reclamation of itself from the adrenaline surge made it even harder to focus on anything.

I was in no place to talk to anyone, so for the most part, I kept it to myself. Part of it was that I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want anyone to see me in the weakened state (both physically and mentally) that I was in and I knew that I would be poor company and didn’t want to force that on anyone.

When I was in uni, I remember finding out that a friend of mine had been cleared of the possibility of cancer. At the time, I was angry that she didn’t think enough of our friendship to tell me what was going on and letting me help her. I now have new perspective on what she was going through and I can see just how truly selfish I was being. This was her fight, not mine and how she decided to fight it was her choice.

It was the Thursday afternoon when I was seen with the results. It turns out that the nodes were only reactive. Chances are I had some form of infection that my body was fighting. It was nothing serious and I was allowed to go home. They said I could start back on my medication. I caught a bus home and that was that.

I didn’t have cancer.

It was only eleven days from admission to discharge. But it was eleven days of uncertainty. Eleven days of shutting myself out from the world as a whole. Eleven days of healing. Eleven days of fear.

There were a number of things that I missed. I missed four impro shows, including a graduation show for a bunch of new players (I really like to support the new, fresh faces), the final show of Underdog Impro for the year where I had to pull out of being the backup performer. Due to my state of mind, I didn’t go to an event planned by one of the cast of Merry Fecking Christmas the Friday after I got home. I missed a Christmas dinner for our trivia group. I missed a bucks night for a mate. As well as a number of other smaller things. I missed posting a blog post last fortnight as well.

This tale isn’t very inspirational though. There is no magical discovery or revelation that I have as a result of this experience. It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t rewarding. It was unpleasant and scary.

It’s been a little over week now and I’m starting to get back into the world. One step at a time.

My name is Trevor.
I had a scary experience in hospital recently.
And now, the healing begins.