So here goes, I’m about to start blogging on the challenging and wonderful story I seem to be living through, not because I’m anything special but because all stories need to be shared and my story is the one I know best!
Firstly, I am now blogging on this subject as I have been diagnosed with a second Tumour in my back. I remain hopeful that this is not as serious as my first tumour however, I feel the need to reflect on my journey this far. Not to glorify past days or seek pity (that last thing I’m asking for is pity!) but as I try and make sense of the present and the future I must remind myself of the journey I have been on up to now.
Approximately 8 and a half years ago I went to my GP as I was having increasingly sharp shooting pains in my back. It was something I had been living with since the age of about 10 or 11, that had always been put down to growing pains or bad posture, but it had become so bad I was unable to concentrate at work so I went to the doctor.
It’s the small details that stay with you in these moments – I remember in the waiting room there was a song on the radio that caught my at attention as it was I Believe in a Thing Called Love by The Darkness it’s pure and simple cheesetastic rock music but, to the guitar player in me, it was simply brilliant. I went in and told the Dr. my story and he said that he thought it was a slipped disk but, because I had been feeling the pains since I was 10 or 11, he decided that an x-ray would be worthwhile just to rule anything more sinister out.
7 days later I received a call from the surgery asking me to go and see the Dr. regarding my x-ray results. The Dr. showed me the x-ray and pointed to a shadow that had shown up and said that it needed further investigation. He put a referral into the Chest Clinic and said that I should have an appointment in about 2 to 3 weeks. This was scary, my head full of questions that had no answer;
Is it Cancer?
What will be needed; surgery, chemotherapy, radiography, medication?
Am I going to survive?
The wait for a chest clinic appointment was not 2 to 3 weeks, the next morning I had a call as I arrived in work;
Mr. Viner, the Dr has seen your referral and wants to see you this morning. Can you come in?
This was much faster than I had ever thought and those questions were racing round my mind ten times louder and ten times scarier. I called my parents and my girlfriend (now my wife!) and shared what was going on and went to the clinic. The Dr. saw me and decided to refer me to a Thoracic Surgeon who saw me the next week and this was where the “Tumour” word was first used. He decided to take a Biopsy to determine what the Tumour was, I was not expecting the pain from the Biopsy being taken but it was like being shot twice in the back and from that moment forward I have suffered with pain in my back every day.
I remember having scan after scan; x-ray, MRI & CT, needle after needle in my veins and 6 weeks after the Dr’s appointment I went into hospital for Thoracic Surgery to remove the tumour.
When I came round, post surgery, I was not expecting to be on an Intensive Care Unit with; a tube down my throat breathing for me, machines all around me bleeping away and all manner of wires and needles going in and out of my veins.
“Scary.com”
The surgery had not gone well.
Because of the location of the tumour (which I had named ‘Gary’ for some reason) the surgery required the medical staff to collapse my left lung. However, in theatre fluid in my body started to land on my right lung and start to drown me. The skilled surgeons took 30 minutes to locate and deal with this and meant the surgery took 3 hours rather than 2 and a half. However, after being stitched up and whilst in recovery my blood pressure was worryingly low, indicating that I was bleeding internally. So I was rushed back into theatre and after a further 2 and a half hours the bleed was found and dealt with, because of this I was put on the Intensive Care Ward as a matter of course.
I was on the Intensive Care Ward for 3 days before being moved to the High Dependancy Unit for a further 3 or 4 days before being moved onto the ‘normal’ ward I was expecting to be on. Slowly the various wires became less and less and after 11 days I was released from the hospital to convalesce at home.
Not a pleasant experience, and dark days followed. I will blog on those days as this week unfolds.
