oncology

It's a word you know, when you know, you know. 

At 19:23 on a Tuesday evening, just as I decided to sip the last bit of wine offered by my in-laws - I check my phone. Not expecting much. Perhaps a little love from one I love, perhaps an excited emoji from my child who I get to see tomorrow. But no. 

An appointment I'm not expecting - oncology. My husband intends to comfort me with, you haven't had any scans or anything.. His mother beats me to the reply - yes she has, an MRI just last week. 

Me, pulling the tears in, no, it can't mean anything. Out loud - it won't be that I've got cancer. Her face, my fear and his logic. 

No, because my surgeon said it wasn't cancerous, as expected an hemangioblastoma. Ummm. Well why then? This isn't part of the routine, this is a different ward. This means a day off work. This is not expected. I repeat - not in my expectations. 

I try not to let the worry creep in. 

Now what? 

Can I call and just check... I think you're inviting me for a thing I don't need/expect. Probably a waste of money for all concerned. I have clinic in January - I'm very good at waiting. I don't know who wants to see me and why. 

Who are you? 

What's this? 

Oncology - not a word anyone wants. 

new MRI

Adding another one to my list. The hospital is snuggled into the streets of London. A smaller place with art on the walls and good enough signage. I was earlier than they asked for but still after the sign that said - open 8AM. I could hear then behind the shutters - we all could, those of us who had risen on a Sunday morning. Waiting. 

The time clicked on easily and quite soon the next bit. The form. The questions about the form. The necessary checks. The description. The technical issues. 

The short wait. 

Repeat questions and checks above. 

In - not changed... I really like it when I don't have to put a gown on

Canular in. 

Into room and lie down. 

Think of Malawi.

Almost fall asleep. 

Injection.

More banging.

Done.

Out - canular out.

Then the hardest but, trying to find the best way home on a Sunday. 

missing

Grief, that ball bouncing around, hitting and hurting. The graphic of that circle starting small and then getting bigger. I've only thought of it as one ball before. But actually there's loads, loads of circles, for different things and they hurt in different ways. This evening I've suddenly been hit by my Daren one. Missing him deeply and painfully. Missing my little girl softly and securely. Missing what could have been with someone who I now know in a totally different way. Missing my job security. Missing my life in Malawi. 

But I'm not alone. 

it will end

It is 3 calendar months. I have swum and lifted weights. I have got to a stage where I'm not always aware of the pain. I'm traveling to art therapy. I'm feeling like I can tell the pain might I've day not be there. 

I have driven for over 3 hours in one go. 

I don't feel tried from it in myself although my neck still does at times. I know there will be an end. Or I hope when a sense that it's got an end. 

Visiting

 The tables turned, me finding the right ward, asking 'do you need anything.' half knowing that question involves more than a simple answer. Sitting, seeing your friend put on a brave face, watch her tell a nurse she's well when she's just confided she is in pain. And then, saying the things, doing the bits, offering to get stuff, move stuff, help with sheets. And then watching her fall asleep, grimace on her usually joyful face. And sneaking off, knowing how annoying it is if you've fallen asleep to be woken but taking a small parcel of guilt with you that you haven't said goodbye. 

I tried to judge what would be useful to say, I decided on a reminder that this will change and the pain won't last forever, while still acutely aware my pain hasn't gone yet and it's one hell of a long journey. Those, seemingly statutory 6 weeks until, spreading into the longer, perhaps more subtle things that never leave you. the scar, the discomfort, the worry, they memory of no memory and the fear of it all having to happen again. 

I walked out of the familiar smell of the ward, same wherever you go and into the air of London and the tube, home to my safe place and my man. Knowing she can't and knowing she isn't even sure if she wants to be home yet while definitely not wanting to be where she is either.