Bloody Whinger!!!

I’m not happy.

I’m fed up.

I’m over it.

I’m pissed off.

I’ve had way more than enough and last night just topped it off. Somehow the relationship between Doctor, Nurse and Patient has morphed in such a way that I’m now continually winding myself up, thinking about the situation I’m in. When the infection started, almost two weeks ago, I was the victim and because the hospital had stuffed up, everyone I came into contact with was very considerate and supportive and I was convinced that all the speed bumps would be flattened out and we would just get on with it. Now, I get the distinct impression that the constant stream of ever-changing nurses looking after me are all treating me as if I’m the problem.

What am I doing here?

Why am I still on this ward?

When I was self-medicating, before coming to this hospital, everything was under control. A simple cocktail of Panadol and Ibuprofen and I was managing everything ok. Now, I’m getting, Panadol (restricted), Ibuprofen (restricted), Tramadol in two different forms, Severadol, something to thin my blood which I can never remember the name of and buckets and buckets of Antibiotics. I wonder why I feel lousy all the time? But, I think my real problem is, because they’re restricting the Panadol and Ibuprofen the pain gets worse more quickly and I’ll take anything they offer to make it go away.

Anyway, yesterday I was sitting in my bedside chair, being a good little patient, and into the room charged this person, who I’d never seen before, and announced that she was one of the Infectious Disease Control Doctors. In a very loud and demanding voice, she asked to see the infection site, and the PICC line site, then announced that I had damaged skin and that this might be the reason for me getting the infection. I think as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized what she'd said and before I could say anything, she quickly assured me that wasn’t why I had become infected. Then she did an about face and charged off out of the room. You might imagine, this interaction left me feeling pretty special, and the more I dwelt on it through the day the more pissed off I became.

My Little Corner of the World

So, I want to tell you about last night. I’m in a four bed ward that seems to act as some sort of day surgery clearing house. Every afternoon/night they bring patients in, that as a rule, seem to stay overnight and get discharged the following day. I’m not sure why I’m in that particular ward. I’ve asked a couple of people and received vague replies that tell me the person I’m asking doesn’t really know. Or care. Sometimes these patients are brought in around six o’clock and other times around ten o’clock. Because my bed is furthest from the door, around seven o'clock I tend to pull the curtains around the bed closed to create some semblance of privacy, but leave the curtain that covers the window to the atrium open and set myself up at the little meal table they provide for the bed. 

View From My Bed

I’m sure this isn’t helping. I sit and stew and think of ways to reinforce the injustice of it all. I didn’t stuff up. Why am I the one paying the price? There’s nowhere else to go. There are no lounges or even places where you can actually view the outside world, ‘cause the ward goes into lockdown at eight o’clock. They have a Whanau room that has a row of really uncomfortable chairs and TV mounted too high on the opposite wall, but this is most times inhabited by some other patient’s family members, who probably couldn’t find, or afford, accommodation close by. I try to distract myself with movies, music, books and computer games, but this is becoming less and less effective. So tonight I'm trying to distract myself by having a whinge.

Back to last night. I’m hiding in my little cubbyhole and they wheel in a couple of patients. No problem. The staff spend a bit of time sorting things out getting organised and then off they go. I think things are going to settle down when one of the guys starts to cough and spit. Next thing, the light come on and he takes himself off to the bathroom where we listen to him clear out his throat and nose. Then he comes back and gets into bed and settles down again and the light goes out. This little episode is repeated at fairly regular intervals throughout the night (why does he have to turn the light on each time?) until just before three when a team of doctors and nurses turn up. They start examining this guy and talking to him as if the problem is in his ears.

Why do Health Professionals speak so loudly to patients? Hasn’t anyone ever explained to them that speaking loudly doesn’t lead to a clearer understanding. 

After about half an hour of this they decided to wheel him off into the night.

“Great”, I think as I try once again to settle down.

Five minutes later and they wheel in some other dude. This one decides he’s going to lie in bed, with the light on, Facetime someone and have a chat in Chinese.

“Enough”. I ring the bell for the nurse and ask her to ask him to get off the phone. What does he do? He decides to talk in whispers. So, I do the unthinkable. I march over to his little area, push the curtain back, point at my watch and tell him to be quiet.

You can probably tell, by this time (4:30 am.), I’m not really in the right frame of mind to sleep, but after awhile things quieten down and… his light comes on. He’s decided he’s going to read his tablet – with the light on.

This goes on until the Nurse comes in at 6:00am to start my IV again. So, I have breakfast, have a shower, and when I come out, my little mate across the way is sound asleep and snoring his head off.

That’s when I started writing this.

It’s now eight o’clock at night and, tonight I have three people sharing the ward. One is my little mate from last night who decided it was a good idea to Facetime at three in the morning and then read through the rest of the night on his tablet with the light on, and one of the others is an older gentleman who’s in for a procedure tomorrow morning. He also has sleep apnoea and uses a very noisy breathing machine. Did you know people who use these machines also snore?

Guess what I’m going to be listening to all night.

Now, at this point I have a choice. I can wind myself up again and start growling at the night staff and making a dick of myself. Or, as my youngest daughter would say, I can suck it up, try to get my head down and act like a civilized adult. Because I don’t like myself when I’m angry I’m gonna try for the second option. Wish me luck.

At the end of all these posts, I’ve included trite sayings about kindness. I do believe it’s something that’s missing in the world today, and I‘d like to think I’m able to “practice what I preach”.

I guess we’ll know in the morning.

The Rehearsal

 You know how when you want to become really good at something and there’s an end goal in sight, like if you’re a character in a play and you’re looking forward to opening night, you need to make sure you get things right. If you have a huge cast in the play it can sometimes be difficult to schedule rehearsals to suit everyone. But the important thing is to make sure you can get the main characters together. When one of them “drops the ball” and calls in sick it can upset the entire event. A well as upsetting everyone this kind of thing usually costs a lot of money.

You might have latched on to the fact that I was pretty pumped at the end of the last post. It was all happening. Surgery was going to happen the next day, Tuesday. Well… Nah! I did get to see the inside of the surgery prep room, but when the team had a look at my arm all the smiles turned upside down. I have to say, I’m really pleased they decided not to go ahead ‘cause over the next forty-eight hours things really turned pear shaped.

Ever had a doctor or nurse ask: “Where is the pain on a scale of 1 to 10?” I’ve never really been able to answer that question with confidence, ‘cause I can’t imagine what 10 might be. (Maybe it’s childbirth.) But I think I know what a 7 is now. It’s when the pain brings you to tears, and that happened a couple of times over the next forty-eight hours. It’s now Friday and we’re just starting to get on top of things. They’ve been trying to keep me on IV antibiotics since the failed surgery attempt and they want me to stay on them up to, and after, the 12^th. which is my new/old surgery date.

Anyway, we’re now on the fourth attempt to get them into me. We’ve gone from a normal cannula in the arm – that caused all the trouble - to one in the foot that worked ok for a while - to one in the outer Jugular that no one was happy with - to a PICC line that’s now in my left shoulder. Apparently, that’s it. If I bugger this up, I win a year’s membership in the “Pain In The Arse Patient’s Club.”

So now, this is me for the next twelve days. Fingers crossed I get there without causing anyone any more drama. I’m now considered a “high risk” patient and today they’ve started some new protocols. I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that this includes – no washing.

Aren’t you glad you’re so far away you can’t visit?

Poor Denise.

How it works is, every six hours I get tied up to a bag of fluid. It takes between half an hour and forty-five minutes to get the juice in, then I normally wander around the hospital for an hour or two looking for new and exciting toilets to get rid of it. I’m pretty sure I’ve still got a few to find. If I run out there’s quite a few indoor gardens that I could water. 

Anyway, it’s now Sunday morning and time for a walk. I might have to start doing movie reviews after this, çause I'm pretty sure things are going to get a bit boring for the next week and a bit. We’ll see how we get on.  

Remember…

And so it goes...

My apologies to Billy Joel for the plagiarism. I’m not sure how this is going to go. It’s Monday morning now. I’m hoping to finish this tonight, cause tomorrow’s surgery day. We’ve had a few days of stops and starts with a little bit of miscommunication thrown in. I’ll tell you about that in a bit, but first… once more I have to say that the staff in this DHB are wonderful, thoughtful, caring, empathetic, and they smile a lot. But; it’s got to stop. Every sad face, wince, sharp intake of breath or whine gets a “Sorry”. I’m going to find a Swear Jar and change it to a “Sorry” Jar. Every time one of the caregivers says sorry to me I’m going to put their name in the jar. When this is all over, the nurse whose name is in there the most might just get a strip-a-gram when I leave.

Adam??? Are you busy that day???

Auckland, the city of Sails. All I want to do after spending the weekend here is – sail Away, sail away, sail away, as Enya used to say

Auckland Carpark

Remember that eight minute walk from the hotel in Auckland to the hospital? (If you don’t, you haven’t been paying attention.) Well, turns out it’s more like 25 minutes. Not that I’ve actually walked it. Denise has. Every-time we’ve needed to visit the hospital over the last few days I’ve found an excuse to catch a bus or a taxi.

Amsterdam Carpark

 “What about the car”, you might well ask. Well, that’s probably a subject for a very different kind of blog that involves lots of swearing. Let’s just say, at Twenty-One Dollars per day it turns out that bringing a car to Auckland when you ‘re staying in the city is a really bad move. Anyway, you live and (sometimes) you learn.

So, Friday afternoon we rock up to the MDM (Multi-Disciplinary Meeting) and after the obligatory ID process and a short wait we’re shown into a consult room and the parade of doctors starts. The upshot of all this is that, I’m not being admitted on Monday as we were previously told. I’m being admitted right now. The reason: they want to do another CT scan over the weekend to see if the cancer has progressed. Because it’s travelling along my infraorbital nerve, if it’s reached my right eye then it’s gotta go as well as the nerves and bones. It’s a good thing I’ve got a spare.

Now, we didn’t actually get to see the Ward on Friday. As soon as my personal crew of doctors had finished with me at the MDM I was dismissed and told to report back at 08:00am. Saturday morning. They didn’t have a time for CT Scan yet, but I would need to be ready to go first thing in the morning and no food or drink after 6:00am. And, ready I was. So, 11:00am. rolls round and here comes the “Hop-On, Hop-Off” wheelchair. Off we go for a tour of the hospital and I’m kicked out of the chair at Radiology.

“Welcome. Welcome. Come in and lie down here while we get you sorted out.” So, like a good little patient, I do. After getting me all set up, ready to have my “head examined”, another Tech comes in and starts apologising…

“Sorry, sorry, sorry” she says. “I’ve just spoken to one of the doctors and they want the CT Scan done tomorrow so it’s closer to the day of operation.” 

“Cool”, says I - as they got me off the table with what I thought was undue haste – and sent me on my way. Back in the Ward I’m told: “Go home. You can come back tomorrow morning. Just be here before 8:00am. and remember, no food or drink after 6:00am.” So off we go to spend the afternoon with the kids.

Groundhog Day. Next morning, we turn up around seven-thirty and settle in. Mid-morning and once again we hear…

“You can go home if you want. The CT Scan is booked for tomorrow morning, but you’ll have to be here before 7:00am.”

“What the…” and I didn’t even get to ride in the wheelchair today. Anyway, we decided the best thing to do was for me to stay in the hospital. That way, there’s no pressure on tomorrow morning. Whoops – there’s a slight flaw in this plan. I haven’t ordered any dinner or breakfast. We have a chat to Nurse Verrr YBusy and she assures me she’ll make a plan. “What would I like for dinner?” She asks.

“Sausages and mash,” is the reply. No mention of breakfast, because once again I’m not allowed to eat after 6:00am. But that’s fine. Remember me – the eternal optimist?

Anyway, off we go to spend some more time with the kids in the Domain – and that was Sunday sorted.

So, dinnertime rolls around and there’s no sign of any food for Chris. Now, I know there’s no point in whinging about this to the nurses, ‘cause they ain’t the cooks. So, initiative kicks in, and Subway, here I come. Nothing like a Teriyaki Salad to satisfy the worms.

This morning, and here’s the plan.

7:00am. –           Doctor’s rounds.

10:00 am. –        CT Scan.

12:00 Noon -     Lunch.

Sometime after that – Consult with the Specialists to discuss CT Scan results.

What actually happened…

8:00am -             A chauffer arrives with a wheelchair and I’m off for a CT Scan. Now, did you know – ‘cause I didn’t – there’s two Radiology centres in this hospital. One on the second floor and one on the sixth floor. No prizes for guessing that the chauffer dropped me off at the wrong one. No biggie. Once they discovered my real identity they took me to the right one, so it all worked out in the end.

8:45am. – I’m back in the Ward and YAY!!. There’s my breakfast.

12:00 Noon – Lunch. Hang on!! I hadn’t ordered any lunch. What the…!! Remember yesterday when I ordered Sausages and Mash for Dinner? No… you’re wrong. The Sausages and Mash had been crossed out on my menu sheet and replaced with – Cauliflower and Broccoli covered in a cheese sauce. Yum!! Luckily, I found some Mushroom Soup on the tray as well. Also, my wonderful wife wandered off and came back with all sorts of goodies from the Café downstairs. So, I’m a happy camper.

It’s now 2:15pm. with no sign of the Specialists, but that’s cool. I’m off to work on my jigsaw now.

Well, time marches on...

Now, I haven’t told you the story of the Intravenous Line. I wasn’t going to but now it’s developed into a central character. Last night about midnight my right arm started to get my attention around the site of the IV line. By 3:00am. I caved and wandered off to ask the Night Nurse what she thought. Seems it “tissued”. Apparently that means the IV had moved, lost the vein, and was playing havoc with the tissue around the site. (It’s good to have a wife who’s an ex nurse.) So, that IV was removed and they put another one into a different site. All good – problem solved.

Well…!!!

Bugger!!

This afternoon they noticed the redness – took a swab and it turns out I have an infection in my right arm from the IV line. GGGggggreat!!! About ten minutes ago the anesthetist came to check me out, spotted the infection and raced off to tell the Surgeon. So, the weather forecast from here us looking pretty bleak right now. Storm clouds are gathering over us and there’s lots of thunder running round in my head. It’s 6:30pm – surgery’s supposed to start at 08:00 and the only person who can make the call is still working. I hope they haven’t filled the original spot for the 12^th. March. Anyway, time will tell.

Time for me to stop writing now. Am I gonna have surgery tomorrow? Dunno!! I’ll keep you posted. I'm now getting an IV for antibiotics to try to wash the badies away. So that's me for tonight. 

Don’t forget… When you’re frustrated, recognize the mood and make sure you remain kind to those around you.

Surprise!!!

You know when you make a plan that’s going to unfold over a period of time - at the start of the plan things normally progress at a pace that you set with the end game in sight. So, what do you do when those in charge change the rules?

I guess you have two choices. You can panic or you can get excited. We panicked for about two and a half minutes then got a bit excited. The event that caused this heart flutter was a phone call from Toni yesterday morning (Tuesday), who is “somebody” to do with “something” at Auckland DHB. (Still haven’t quite worked out who or what.) Anyway, she was calling to tell me my surgery date has been changed. The panic started before she said anymore, ‘cause I thought it was going to be delayed. The excitement set in when she told me the date was being brought forward by two weeks. I’ve now been scheduled to report for pre-admission stuff on Friday, admission on Monday and surgery on Tuesday.

So, after about ten minutes of getting our heads around the changes, Denise and I started making new plans. To be honest, the planning we’d already put in place pretty much covered everything, so apart from some business stuff – which we worked through and finished today – the only things we really had to organise was for someone to collect the mail, (thanks Donna), and to pick up some fuel vouchers for the trip to Auckland tomorrow. Easy-peasy!

When I phoned the Transport Lady at the hospital, the idea was to arrange for some fuel vouchers for the trip up, and accommodation for Denise for the two weeks I’ll be lounging ‘round the ward.

“Sorry”, said she. “We haven’t got any accommodation available in Auckland. All the places we deal with are fully booked. You’ll have to arrange your own accommodation and claim for it later.”

(What the?? What’s happening in Auckland??)

Not a problem. We can sort this out easy.

Yeah, right!!  

After hours and hours and hours of searching through Booking.com, Book-a-Bach, Air B&B, Trivago and Expedia – ok, maybe it was a bit less than that - we found a double room in a hotel in the middle of Auckland City. So now we have a place to stay, which according to the famous Geographer, Mr G Maps, is an eight minute walk away from the hospital.

Another road trip. Tomorrow morning we’ll pack up the car and head off to Auckland yet again. The problem we’re facing tonight is… which car do we take?

Mine’s the most comfortable, but Denise’s has more whistles and bells and we can patch our music into the car system. I guess the question comes down to whether we want to listen to music or talkback on the trip. This is a quandary. What to do? I’m not gonna be able to sleep tonight.  This is a real issue. If I get it wrong, it might have major ramifications for our ears tomorrow.

Man!!! This is too much pressure.

But, I’m looking forward to the mushrooms!! I think I told you about this before. There’s a little café in Cambridge (opposite the old church) that does the best mushroom and bacon dish in the world. Denise can never finish her’s… Bonus!!

Now, I’ve been writing rubbish for the last couple of paragraphs but, we need to sort this next little issue out.

NO TEARS!!

We’ve talked about this before. We’re struggling with this so it might be time to go “off-grid”. We understand and truly appreciate the love and support we are constantly receiving from all of you. But, NO TEARS!! That’s the deal. We would rather hear about your lives and the things that make you laugh, ‘cause these are the things that make us laugh. The positive, the funny and the normal. These are the things that truly help.

I’m not sure how the next few days are going to go, but I probably won’t get back to this for a while. Until I do…

Remember…

It's a Competition

To everyone who read and commented on my last post. Thank you, thank you, thank you!! Some of you commented on the blog post, some of you on Facebook, and some of you sent text messages. They were all very gratefully received.

Did you realize when you commented that you were automatically entered into a competition? 

No?

Well, you were. The competition is ongoing and there may, or may not, be prizes given out with each new post. The prize categories for the last post were...

• The one that caused the most laughter.
• The one that caused the most tears.

The winner of the first category was my bro, Tane. He read the blog and then sent me a text asking if he could borrow the boat while I was in Auckland. His prize - he gets to shout next time we have a coffee together.

By the way, I don't have a boat - but if I did...

The winner of the second prize is still being considered, so this category will carry over. The prize winner of this category will receive a strongly-worded telling off, followed by banishment from this blog. 

To change the tone a bit, let me tell you about a "dining table conversation" we had. The we being - yours truly, my wife, Denise and her sister Robyn. I'm not sure how we got to this subject but, we talked about what happens in the unlikely event that cancer wins.

Feeling uncomfortable yet?

Upon reflection, I've realized that this is a very necessary conversation to have with those closest to you. I've kinda had a version of this conversation with my children already, but that was before cancer reared it's ugly head again. Over the next little while, as opportunity arises, I'll check to make sure we're all on the same page when it comes to working out who's going to look after the shrine for my ashes when they're not on display.

Another interesting, and necessary item we ticked off, was a meeting with our Solicitor. I think we asked all the right questions. These were all focused on making sure that my wife wasn't going to have to worry about things like property or money. We worked out that Denise is going to miss out on everything I own, but she'll be able to carry on with everything we own. She's pretty upset with the outcome 'cause she'll have to fight to get the title to my fifteen year old XR6.

As someone said before, it's the little things. For the past forever, I've owned two pairs of PJs. One winter set and one summer set. They normally go  through the washer and dryer with the sheets. Realizing that won't work during my "vacay" in Auckland we had to go on a shopping trip - so now I'm the proud owner of two more pairs of PJs.

Spoiled, right?

So, how am I doing? I'm pretty fine actually. I'm sleeping a bit too well which means the pain meds are wearing off through the night, but the Panadol/Ibuprofen cocktails are doing the job. Denise and I have been out walking a bit. That's something I need to do more of. For me, the day-to-day stuff's great. It keeps me from thinking the wrong kind of thoughts - which reminds me, I must empty the garden waste out of the trailer tomorrow - and I'm enjoying writing this. Strangely, I've lost my appetite for reading. Not sure what that's about. I gotta say, I am getting a little impatient though. I'm not actually looking forward to the line going into the back of my hand, but the sooner that happens, the sooner it'll come out again.

Anyway, how're you doing? Let me know, eh? Tell me all about the good stuff in your life. Lee, I'm expecting a joke from you. No excuses.

As someone, somewhere said: Keep trying to  do the right thing.

How did I get here??? – The Diagnosis.

I’ve been thinking about all the gaps in my journey that I haven’t written about, and there’s one in particular that keeps coming to mind…

How did I come to be diagnosed with cancer?

I thought there might be some merit in sharing this particular aspect of my situation with others, so I’m beginning this tale at a point where I was somewhat embarrassed and hesitant, and concerned that I was wasting everyone’s time, trying to explain away a numbness and a very minor ache in my face. Just so we’re clear, this story covers a four month timeline, from early October 2018 until early February 2019.  

Like most other males I know, I hate shaving. Don’t really know why. I think over the years maybe I’ve just talked myself into not liking it, so I only do it every three or four days. I’ve got a full beard – I’ve had it since I worked in New Guinea in the ‘70s – but I still have to shave around the cheeks and neck area. It’s kinda the only time I stare at myself in the mirror and lately I’ve been noticing my right lower eyelid drooping more and more. It’s also drying out and giving me a bit of grief. I’ve also noticed that the razor feels strange against my right cheek. You know when you’ve been to the dentist and had novocaine - it’s wearing off you feel a numbness in your lips and the surrounding area. That’s what it feels like.

The eyelid drooping started after I had a BCC removed from the eyelid in 2014. I can still remember the surgeon at the time commenting on it and telling me he wouldn’t do anything about it ‘cause he didn’t think it would be a problem. He was right – for a couple of years. But I kept telling myself: it’s not going to get any better. Time to do something about it. So, after about six months of telling myself to sort it out, off I go to my GP.

When he checks me over, he decides it’s worth a referral. But, because it just needs a bit of tightening, he doesn’t think the Medical Team at the DHB will give it a very high priority. He tells me I might be waiting awhile. I’m not too bothered about that and I wander off back into my everyday life.

About a week later I get a letter from the hospital, telling me they’ve assessed my situation and have classified my procedure as Class 4 (non-urgent) and I will be scheduled for corrective surgery within the next three months.

Cool…

Feeling relaxed.

What the…??? About two weeks after the letter the Booking Clerk at the hospital’s chasing me, telling me he has an appointment date and time for me to see an Eye Specialist.

(No complaints about the Public Health Service from this little chipmunk.).

A few days later and I’m sitting in front of the Specialist waffling on about my eyelid issues, then I started whingeing about pain under my eye. The Specialist wasn’t happy about all the noise I was making so she suggested she take a couple of biopsies from around my eye while she’s sorting out the eyelid. Yep, says I. Sounds like a plan.

Skipping right along… less than two weeks after the appointment and I’m booked in for a Day Surgery procedure that fixed me right up. Two weeks after that and I’m back in the Eye Surgeon’s Clinic for a follow-up. The Specialist looks over her handiwork; she congratulates me on my superhuman healing properties; I congratulate her on her needlepoint, and then we start to talk about the biopsies.

All clear; No problems; Everything’s fine, and she tells me in a few other distracted ways that the biopsies have come out clean. But she’s frowning at me. She’s not happy. She tells me she thinks something’s going on and wants to refer me back to the Maxiofacial Surgeon that did some rust removal and panel beating on my nose back in 2013. Wonderful, we thought. He’ll sort me out. A few weeks later and I’ve had an MRI and a CT scan, all arranged by Dr G and his remarkably talented sidekick, “Ann the Clinic Nurse”.

Now, here’s where things get a bit tricky. I want to tell you how things went a bit pear shaped but I don’t want to appear to be a prat, or ungrateful, or an arse. At the end of the day, I think we can just attribute the next little interlude to a clash of personalities.

I had one and she didn’t.

Instead of being referred back to Dr. G, I was referred to Dr. B (a locum). From the first meeting with her Denise and I weren’t happy – to such a degree that the wonderful, amazing “Ann the clinic nurse” picked up on it and tried to smooth the waters and got smacked down (in front of us) for her trouble. Anyway, Dr B fumbled her way through the consult during which time it became very clear that she had no knowledge of the pathway I had followed to date, no clue as to which tests I’d had and hadn’t really looked at any scans, nor read any recommendations.

She started off by giving us a very condescending smile and then telling us my eye was fine and the biopsies didn’t show any problems. (Talk about deja vu!!) She then went on to show us a CT scan and pointed out a growth under my right eye. We were told of a plan where the removal would be done through my mouth – a concept I still can’t comprehend. We asked a few questions and received vague and confusing replies, but by then we’d pretty much lost interest in continuing the conversation.

Now, I’m not entirely sure how things progressed from then on. All I know is that we came away with the impression that the growth would be a “schwannomas” tumor – which are almost always benign but, would still have to be removed – through my mouth.

Anyway, a week or so later and again I’m on the phone to my new best friend, the Booking Clerk at the Hospital. He tells me I have another appointment, this time with Dr G. Well… that put a spring in my step and when I told Denise she immediately got her Mojo back. So, the next week finds us fronting up to Dr G.

After the conventional meet and greet he explains to us that he wants to do a biopsy. He goes on to say the reason is that he doesn’t agree with the diagnosis. He thinks it’s Squamous Cell Carcinoma - the same thing I had in 2013. A biopsy will give us a definitive answer and we can then plan the way forward. I think we surprised him a little then, with our quick agreement and nods and smiles all round.

Tuesday 8^th. January - I’m all gowned up and ready for Surgery.

Wednesday 9^th. January – I’m dressed and waiting in the ward after a relaxing overnight stay.

Dr G wants to see me before I go, so off we go to Villa 3. We have a chat so he can explain the way forward, presuming it’s SCC. This includes a trip to Auckland to meet with the Multi-Disciplinary Team, most likely followed by surgery and radiotherapy in Auckland.

“Ann the Clinic Nurse” is already five steps ahead and tells us her part of the plan. She’s going to arrange another full CT scan for the MDT, accommodation for Denise and I in Auckland and a fistful of fuel vouchers for the road trip. She then tells us she’s not going to “pull the trigger” until they get the biopsy results, but she’ll ring us as soon as she has them. Sounds good.

Two days later – Thursday - and Denise and I are at home when I receive an email from “Manage My Health”. This is the Patient Portal that connects me with my GP. The email tells me I have new records from Manage My Health, so I login to have a look. It’s the biopsy results. It’s confirmed. The lump is Squamous Cell Carcinoma.

So, there it is.

Since the diagnosis I’ve been asking myself: “What are you going to take away from all this?”

In the middle of lots of good things happening, there was one sour note. I guess I could focus on that and think about my path if we had progressed with Dr B. I imagine it would have resulted in having the lump removed while everyone assumed it was benign. Most likely finding out it’s malignant after the surgery and possible then needing another surgery to dig out any bits left behind. Who knows? But whatever… that’s negative thinking so it stops right here.

Now, I’ve also thought thought about this question a lot...

What was the difference between the two surgeons that made me feel uncomfortable with one and not the other?

I’m pretty sure it was the difference between a “question and answer session” and a “conversation”. With Dr B I thought the information offered, whether instigated by her or as a result of questions, was superficial and generic. With Dr G, it was a conversation – a real back-and-forth - where his credibility and knowledge was on display for all to see.

So, I think I learned two things from this…

If you’re not satisfied with the information you’re getting, don’t settle.

And…

If you understand the message, no matter how life-altering you think it might be, try to find the positive, and when you do, hold on to it… tightly.

Remember... no act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted.