Operation postponed

I was all ready, bloody nervous but ready. I'd organised everything at work. I'd got plans in place for home. I did a big shop for the people in the house who would need to eat and I'd packed my bag. (a few times)
I set my alarm and said goodbye to my little girl and father. Then we went on the train and found our way to the right ward. There we sat and I had bloods done, blood pressure, temperature. I spoke with a lovely anaesthetist and managed to sort out my concerns about being sick

I met with one of the surgeons and he very kindly went through all  the risks - I hate that bit but oddly I felt better, less at risk. I got it; he explained it well. He drew an arrow on me  -  the letter R in the right place.

I got into my gown and stockings and had the wrists band on.

Then my husband went to get those that could drink and eat a coffee and we joked that that would be when I was taken down. I kissed him goodbye just in case and off he went. Then 2 surgeons I recognised turned up and we went into the side room.
No HDU bed.

They wanted to talk options. We  could wait (nil by mouth) until the afternoon but everyone would be pissed off, tense. They were pissed off. And so we agreed that it just couldn't happen. The fog perhaps had caused too many staff to be absent, too many new patients, accidents and people who really needed surgery or they would die, they wouldn't last another night without the amazing NHS staff?

I got dressed. We went and got something to eat, I had a cup of tea.

Then I came home.

My prediction came true, I didn't die on the 11th December.

ready for a fight?

Ready for a fight?

The waiting is what nearly kills you,  never mind the cancer. And this time the cancer in my genes is sitting waiting to piss me off.
It is so different this time, having a daughter makes this process so very very different. Before I realise that all I worried about was me, what would happen to me, how would I feel. I don't think I really thought about my family. I was of course conscious of them but the focus was me. Now, each time I hear a new piece of information I think of her, I worry more about the impact on her. And each time I feel so blessed that it stopped with me, she, oh thank all you can thank, she isn't cursed by VHL.
And just to add to it that ominous knowledge that the pins and needles I am feeling more and more often might just be the next battle. The fight continues.

It's so hard to explain to others that this is an on going fight. Even other cancer victims don't really understand.

For a while I was convinced I was going to die, and soon and during the operation. The bleeding out, the cut that finishes me off. And I now need to trust, I need to believe and I need to get ready for a fight. My last day on this planet will not be 11th December. My last day is a long way from here.

My last day is not soon.

Limbo

The waiting, the horrible endless waiting. It's been a year since I found out that the little bugger is growing and all this time I've wanted it out.
And life has been a bit of a fug since. I don't know how I felt last time, last time I wasn't a mother and last time the risk was mine alone.
Now what do I do, how do I look after myself and be selfish like you need to be when I need to be strong for my baby girl?

This is the hardest, since the 'life expectancy letter' it has been so difficult. I carry on of course, I work and I play.

I've begun writing a diary to my daughter, in case.

Operation number 7

It feels very different this time. I have a 5 year old I need to think about and although it means I have no chance to show I'm worried at home I am more worried than I have ever been before.

I have been told it makes sense to prepare. I suppose all parents should but the advice was given with care and terrified me. I'll write her a diary and use it to give her memories I might not be around to express in person.

Having children makes you contemplate your own childhood and I had a great one until high school, where some bits were really shit. There were some bad memories from when I was younger but actually overall it was great and now I type that, high school had some fantastic bits too.

Making Memories

I went on a school trip. I had to leave my little girl behind to make it happen, well it would have happened without me but I wanted to be part of their memories. I made them be in a group picture; "you'll thank me when you're older" I said to the girls and boys who didn't want to be in a picture, didn't have the confidence to see themselves there.
Making memories is really important to me, having things to look back on and feel happy about, to feel proud of. Life is after all a collection of memories...

First sight of a cortisol crisis

A couple of weeks ago I saw, first hand what it looks like when my dad has a cortisol crisis. No blood or passing out but he suddenly, and I'm talking minutes, got very cold, blue lips and finger tips, shivering. As luck would have it we were already in the hospital for a test and so I went to get the Dr, the one that had seen him just half an hour before.

He had an infection, something that most people would simply overcome but for my dad it knocked all the cortisol out of his system. I sat by his hospital bed for hours then, telling him gently where he was and what was going on, and then telling him not so gently that we needed to get blood from him. I had to be firm. The NHS so often gets critisied but for me they continue to show how much they can do.

I was struck, as I sat there, how few staff were on but how important it was that they were there, how busy different people were on the ward we were on. They get paid, like all public servants but they don't get loads and they saved him.

My dad has been saved lots of times and I know he still isn't sure if he should be sometimes but when I get a text from him that makes me smile or I hear him bash into a wall  on his way to the toilet in my house I know he still has something to give, give to me. He is my dad and I love him.