After identifying the problem with my bowel I now faced a colonoscopy examination. The procedure was set to be done 5 days later. The appointments were coming thick and fast and I barely had time to get used to what was going on.
Like the endoscopy, the colonoscopy is done under a sedative so some mild discomfort is all I would feel. What went before was the worst part. In order to “clear out” my bowel it was necessary, the night before the procedure, to take a laxative mixture. Litres of the nastiest liquid I have ever tasted had to be downed. By the morning I was drained of energy and much more. Once again, I had to call on Lynda and Alan as I had to be collected from King George’s Hospital. The sedative was to be administered in a holding ward while I was awaiting my turn but my veins decided to go into hiding. It took three different nurses of increasing rank to finally succeed. This was to become an increasing problem as time went on. I felt exhausted even before I was taken into the theatre. Procedure completed and after one hour resting in the holding ward, I was taken into to see the doctor. Déjà vu. “We found three polyps which were not cancerous, but may have become cancerous later, which we have removed”, I was told, “but the bad news is you do have a cancer growth. We will send the results to your consultant”. This time I was stunned. I had been optimistic of being cured of one cancer but two was surely too much to survive. When I was finally released into the custody of Lynda and Alan I looked a wreck. It was hard enough telling them the news, but how was I going to be able to tell Pat and when?
Back home, Alan offered to stay with me but I had to decline, all I wanted to do was sleep but first I would have to phone Pat later that evening. Would you believe it, I forgot to tell her what had happened that day. It happens. Many weeks later Pat told me that that evening was when she suspected something was not quite right. It was my voice that gave me away but she had assumed it was depression at me being on my own. Amber knew more than anyone else that something serious was going on. She was even more loving than usual and rarely left my side during those two weeks. Women and dogs share a special sense in that respect.
Things had changed. Dramatically. On the 6th April there was another meeting with Mr. Mukherjee and Rose but also present was Consultant Surgeon Mr.Boulton. The two surgeons had conferred about how my treatment could continue and I was given three options to choose from. Remember that Pat was still on holiday. I could have waited for her return to discuss it with her but I wanted no delays, the quicker the decision the sooner the nightmare would be over, one way or another. Every operation no matter how seemingly minor carries a risk but there are degrees of risk to consider. The Oesophagus operation carries quite a high risk and also what has to be considered is the chances of infection.
The three options were:-
- Have the operation to remove the cancer of the oesophagus first, allow time to recover, then have the bowel operation.
- Have both cancers removed in a joint operation carried out by both surgeons. This operation would take approx. 12 hours (9 hours for the oesophagus and 3 hours for the bowel). The risk for this option would be higher because of possible internal seepage which could increase the infection risk.
- The third option was to do nothing. “Which cancer?” I asked, “will kill me if I take this option”. “Toss a coin, either way you will be just as dead.” No mincing with words there.
I had no hesitation in choosing the second option mostly because at 75 I couldn’t afford a prolonged spell of treatment. Successful treatment or not I didn’t want to waste any of the time I had left in this world. For no reason I can give you I still believed that the skill of Messrs. Mukherjee and Boulton would see me through. If not, then, we all have to die sometime and I doubted that I would be the exemption to the rule.
Please donate via my JustGiving page
No comments:
Post a Comment