a story about one of my hemangioblastomas

The last blog post I made before being admitted to hospital for the hemangioblastoma was about 3 days before I went in.

I got through that day, a sad and horrible day. I had told so many people about her death, a student, and then I tried to carry on.
My last day at school - My boss was out and I had sat on a chair for the entire lesson. My colleague knew my face was 'not right' and kindly offered to do my lunch duty.
I called my GP to chase the information about the cyber knife.
I cried and I knew I had to go home, I hadn't felt that tried in so very long.
It always felt better if I could just lie down.

Even today, if I feel especially tired I worry something is going on in my brain.

I still marvel at just how I got out of my friend's car and had my bloods done, how the next day I even made it as far as the end of my road and I sometimes drift back to those hideous moments when I was unable to move. My daughter dressing me, helping me clean my teeth, how I asked for my husband to come back from his business trip early and, thank god, he did.

And then in the first hospital. I had been lying down for a long time, still and rested. I felt like I'd made such a fuss, no cortisone crisis, not feeling that bad. There are moments when you recognise the brilliance and simplicity of the medical process. It was my blood pressure that gave it away, you are not fine.
A crash from lying to standing, the nurse, reaching out his arm to hold me, fearful I was about to faint.

My hospital having me in, the sedatives to help me move from bed to bed, I could still walk a bit then.

The worst of all moments, the unknown and the real crash, my body began to go into shock, the blood retreating into my internal organs, the sudden and complete spread of pins and needles and the loss of sight. The panic as I couldn't find the alarm
HELP HELP ME HELP
The bumbling Dr who couldn't find a vein - no wonder my blood had been sucked towards my heart.

I begged to be catheterised, the idea of getting up again too much to take, the need of a bed pan and the change of myself.

The MRI - the fear and my genetic nurse, a woman who made me feel less alone and knew she had to call my mum.
36 years old and I needed my mum.

Then a wait and another transfer, just a few miles away but I didn't know then how long I was going to wait.

I remember my mum's fierce instance that even touching the edge of the bed was horrible for me. And despite having never experienced it themselves my mum and husband knew -this isn't like her.

3 weeks of progressively unbearable dizziness. But bare it I had to, no choice.

Despair.

Infections, bloods, a drip, a mouthful of food and only for my daughter, I kept going for her.
I didn't want to be alive even though I didn't want to die.

It was the hardest time in so many ways.

It ended.

The NHS was there for me. And I mean the people and the experience, equipment and care.

I am worried for  myself not having it in the future and I worry for everyone else who might need it. And my heart pounds at the injustice of life that some people don't even get insurance.

Waiting

Grrr, I'm told the meeting is at the end of August.
I'm not feeling very patient

My London

I'm in my London. My London smells, it's crowded and busy, it's got lots of people, it's got fashion and noise. It's got money, poverty. It's got tubes and buses and cabs. It's got cafes, restaurants, pubs and hospitals. It's got family and friends. It's got parks and schools.
It is my London and it's home.

My London knows me and looks after me. I have love all around me, the familiarity is like a blanket on a chilly night. It gives me confidence and freedom and I love it.

I had my scan, I spent that time thinking how lucky I am. My nurse made sure I had a scan. Not in my first hospital but my other one. I was asked the list of questions, I answered them confidently, reminded them of the contrasting fluid. I asked for a blanket.
The next day I went to my hospital for bloods and I was greeted in the ward by my first name. We caught up then too. We agreed the new health secretary looked like he was going to be a big a arse hole as the last one.
That bits now done.

Applying for funding

It might be that they (the NHS) have to apply for funding for treatment every time but I know about this one. I know that I'm expensive.Taxes for me are such a small part of the gratitude I feel to being able to get the support and treatment I get. I've always felt privileged and blessed to have the NHS there for me. I don't know how long it can last.
I imagine this is a tiny part of what Americans feel or fear. Not knowing if you can afford the best cure, even the right scan. It's bad enough having to know you need 6 monthly scans and various other blood tests etc. When I get worried about an odd feeling, I, well, worry but I don't worry that when I ask my GP or my genetic nurse to get some advice, do a test and help and I don't expect that I'll have to find the cash.
What do I do this time, what do I do if they say," oops we;'ve really run out of money", or "Sorry the budget just won't stretch that far and there are other people who need it more."
And naturally I'm still waiting. Oh the waiting. Pals, friends all resisting the urge to ask, "do you have a date yet." and then they don't, I suspect because they worry I have got a date and I'm not telling them, or they missed the email or just because, unlike me, they haven't practice patience quite as often.
I'll probably send another email if I don't have a date by Wednesday.

A down day

Letters arrive for those of us with VHL on a regular basis. Appointments, follow ups scans. In these days of electronic communication it is a surprise to have so many piece of paper. Today three came with NHS written on the envelope and I hoped at least one of them would say when I was going to see the consultant and at last I'd feel we were moving forward. But no they were not and so I'm still waiting, waiting, waiting and I don't even have the distraction of work.
I've been trying to fill up the next few weekends to help with the passing of time.
And the disappointment of these letters today have taken their toll on my mood. Luckily for my little girl she has friends over and they are being silly and laughing and she hasn't noticed I'm grumpy. Oh and I am so very grumpy.
I tried calling other people but I couldn't shift my mood. I thought this might either force me into a good cry or cheer me.
Nope, neither yet.
Ah well, I'll grump on and feel sorry for myself for a bit longer.

Current list

Only if you are interested

1 cerebellum brain tumour - near brain stem
1 resected cerebellum brain tumour
3 spinal tumour
1 optic nerve tumour with full thickness macular hole
1 tail of pancreas
1 liver
1 left kidney cyst
2 right kidney resected through partial nephrectomy
2 adrenal gland tumours resected

what's that now then... 13 unlucky for some

Kidney Cancer no more?

Post op check up today and good news, no more cancer, well not in the kidney. That's the issue with VHL isn't it. No matter how happy we can be that that bit is done and dusted we know that won't be the end.
VHL will continue and so must we. Time is something I struggle with, how much have I got.
I know, I know, we all have that, any one of us could be hit by a bus... you'd have to be blind but it could happen. You could have a fatal accident with a tea cosy.
But VHL isn't likely to kill me, despite scaring the shit out of me from time to time. No, it is much more likely to destroy plans, ruin events and delay what I want to do.

Not many people get it, not many people live with a distrust of their own body.

I do

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.

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.

Devilled Kidneys

One more to add to the collection and I'm being monitored.

But bloody well done NHS, honestly what would I do without it. We had a panel and we got great care.

I did the usual email to those people I assume care and want to know. I wonder if they do or if they roll their eyes and think, god she is all about herself.

I always make it sound as positive as possible and try to sound upbeat about whatever the news is. I wonder why I do that.

Dad is as is is, no change

All carries on.

Umm, opertation?/?/???

grrrrrrrrrrr

Angioma and macular holes

I saw a second specialist today who said that I have PVT and that the tumour is sticking to the retina and so surgery would be extremely risky because even the slightest nick would result in a haemorrhage.
I only saw the specialist for a few minutes and after I recovered from hearing news I didn’t really want to hear I now have lots of questions and no one to ask so on the off chance you can help I’m asking this help group.

Q. If a macular hole remains untreated can you eventually loose all of your vision or does it only reach a certain level?
Q. Is it dangerous to leave a macular hole untreated?
Q. Is the only way to stop a haemorrhage to corterise the site?
Q. If there is a large haemorrhage in an eye is it visible from the outside?

update on this -
 Only reaches a certain level

nope - well I have to be aware of retinal detachment

Kind of but haemorrhages are not such a big deal, the blood is reabsorbed.

no, well not little ones