Right, its taken a while to calm down and feel ready to write this, its been a frustrating and annoying afternoon.
My appointment was at 3pm so despite Susie’s complaints we left in good time, fought our way through the A14 roadworks and got to Level 3 - Clinic 7 of Addenbrooke’s Hospital at 2.50pm, plenty of time.
I booked in with reception and then sat with Susie in a crowded waiting room. After about 40 minutes or so a kindly Health Care Assistant asked me to follow her and get weighed and measured. (I swear the whole NHS is convinced I’m either shrinking or melting) oh and I have ‘apparently’ put on 8 kilos, I’m blaming the boots I was wearing as I’m eating less now than I normally do.
After this I was then given an iPad (sadly not an early Christmas present) and asked to fill in a sort of questionnaire, how had I been feeling in the last week, etc.
We then sat and bided our time as the waiting room slowly but surely emptied, until it was just us and another family. We started chatting and it turns out their appointment was at 3.15pm.
A lady doctor came down the corridor and as it was 4.50pm by this stage, Susie put her iPad away and made ready. Sadly for us, but luckily for the other family it was their turn, the two daughters who were there to support their mum, looked a bit embarrassed at going before us, but I made a joke of it and off they went.
At 5pm the receptionist closed down her desktop and wishing us good night and even she fucked off home, Susie and I looked at each other wondering if they’d forgotten us altogether.
Twenty minutes later a doctor came and said my name, the same doctor who we’d seen buggering off from the Clinic at just after 4pm and then seen walking back about five minutes before my name was called. Now, I really don’t want to come across us an ungrateful twat at this juncture, but its going to be rather difficult so hold-on tight.
Please remember, I love our NHS and support them hole heartedly, but I have to say, this next interaction has been the most frustrating and annoying encounter, I’ve ever had in all the time I’ve been looked after by anyone who works for or worked for the NHS.
We followed the doctor to room three, and took the offered seats, he started asking me questions, but as soon as I’d got a few words into my answer he’d cut me off without letting me finish. This, to me at least, is just bad manners and bloody rude, he would then ask a further question and then do the same again.
I managed to keep my sense of humour and remain calm, as after all this guy is a professional doctor and going to help me. But, I have to be honest, inside I was fucking fuming, at his rudeness and general lack of any sort of compassion or bedside manner.
I think we were in his office for no more than five minutes in total and bearing in mind the information he was about to tell me, I think his treatment of us was frankly fucking appalling.
So what did doctor fucking miserable twat, as he will now on be called, say?
Well Cyril the happy little shitbag has been upgraded from ‘growth’ to ‘Cancerous tumour’ I’m sure the little bastard is delighted with that. So thats the rather alarming news, but its not as bad as it first sounds, thankfully.
I’d love to tell you Doctor Twaticus (renamed him I like this one better ) explained in great detail all I’m about to tell you, but alas most of this I’ve had to find out myself thanks to medical websites online. 
Doctor Twaticus did say Cyril is what they class as a low-grade tumour, this is good news.
Now my research online, this type of tumour is pretty slow growing it is cancerous but not too aggressive (think moaning taxi driver, rather than pissed up clubbers taking on some bouncers 
) so he could have been festering away in there for a longtime, before he showed up through making me start having seizures and generally being an annoying cancerous twat.
Back to Doctor Twaticus again, he said they are going to get me back in for another MRI Scan in wait for it, March next year. (FUCKING MARCH NEXT YEAR 
)
Where they will then compare my scans from the last few weeks, with the ones being done in March.
If the vicious, cancerous, little twat, hasn’t grown much or is indeed pretty much the same size as he is now, then he stays classed as low-grade, this is what we are now hoping for folks.
If however, he’s been down KFC and Burger King every night from now until March and become a huge fat wobbling lardy fucker then that means he’s going to be upgraded to a ‘High-Grade’ Tumour, really not good news.
Now my research online again, a High-Grade Tumour is a far more aggressive bastard and will have a good old go at spreading far and wide in your brain (or my brain in this case) this is obviously not something you want in your head. (As its certainly not something I want in mine 
)
One good thing I have discovered if my research is correct 
because of what you brain is made of and where it is in your body, if you have brain cancer, those type of cancer cells don’t/can’t (this is where frankly I’m a little hazy) go wandering off around the rest of your body.
So, if I understood what I read correctly, my brain cancer cells, won’t suddenly fuck off and reappear in my big toe or other parts of my anatomy I’m more fond of.
Doctor Twaticus again, if it turns out to be a high-grade tumour, when we get it out, we’ll have to give you radiotherapy or if its more serious Chemotherapy. (I think he means if its got bigger and spread around my brain a fair bit, they’ll go with one of these two options)
He went on to say after they have checked my March, (FUCKING MARCH ) MRI Scans no matter what they find they will operate in April and get the cancerous little wank bag out.
I asked once the little bastard had been removed, would this cure my epilepsy, which they’d told me the little gimp has been causing. His reply and I’m still at a loss he actually said this to be honest.
‘Well some people stop taking their medication and others are used to it, so just keep on going with it’ yeah great, thanks Twaticus, but how about answering my fucking question.
Then he asked if we had anymore questions, if not he’d see us in March. I had one more question, (well I had two but thought asking him why he was such a complete twat would be counter productive) every since my most recent seizure, my left ear has sounded like it has in the past where I’ve had a bad head cold.
You’ve probably all experienced this at some point, you can hear yourself breathing inside your ear, hear yourself talking inside your ear, when its really quiet in a room maybe even hear your heart beat inside your ear. You can also hear yourself chewing and swallowing in your ear.
Well, I’ve had all of these 24 hours a day, since I came round on the sofa at my in-laws house and it has as you might imagine, driven me fucking insane.
I asked Pippa to check in my ears with one of those things doctors use (an otoscope I’ve discovered their called) which she kindly did and declared both lugholes fit and well a few days after the seizure. So Doctor Twaticus’s reply, nope your tumour wouldn’t have any effect, maybe you banged you head, get your GP to setup an appointment with the ENT department. (For those not up on medical acronyms, I had to ask Pippa, ENT is Ears Nose and Throat)
Really Doctor Twaticus, your going to sit there and tell me something that only started when I woke up from my last seizure, which hasn’t stopped or got any better in four weeks, if anything its slightly worse, has got nothing to do with the fucking cancerous tumour growing next to and above my left ear. Really Doctor!!!
With that answer ringing in my ear (yes, the pun was intentional 
) we said thanks (honestly, fuck knows why) and left his office.
Susie bless her was trying to remain upbeat, but she could see I was fucking fuming. Even the nice family we’d been chatting to, who had come out of their consultation, looked at us as we said goodbye and remarked ‘that was quick’. We then retraced our steps and headed back to the carpark.
The trip home was something I had to apologise to my poor wife for several times, after I’d calmed down.
I have, I think what is described as, a very long fuse when it comes to getting annoyed by people, but I think even my poor wife learnt some new combinations of swear words on the hour long drive home. (And I’m ashamed to say she has heard an awful lot of what my dear mother would describe as ‘course language’ from me over the years) I will spare you dear readers, but as my kids would say I dropped the C bomb, many, many times at one point repeatedly over and over again. 
The fact, I’ve been told I have a cancerous tumour growing in my head, is in all honesty not something I wasn’t expecting to hear.
I would have been more surprised to hear it wasn’t cancerous, if I’m honest. After all most of us have seen the cancer ads on TV, telling us these days, one in two of us are likely to be diagnosed at some point. (I apologise if you’ve not seen those ads I know that will come as a shock it did to me)
In this case I’m just glad its me and not either of my daughters or my wife, if I’m being honest.
So, its back to the waiting game again, I think I may try and get in touch with Doctor Stacpoole to ask her advice and get some more in-depth answers, as she was happy to explain things to us, on both occasions we’ve seen her and didn’t rush us or treat us in a rude manner either, in fact she couldn’t have been more corteous or helpful.
You will notice I have not used the real name of the doctor we saw and that is intentional. For all I know, he had been having a very bad day or received some bad news, or he has recently been dumped by his partner or I don’t know.
I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt that he was coming to the end of a very long day and wasn’t himself.
Sadly, I don’t believe for a second any of that paragraph, you have just read. I think he is probably all business and just a but of a heartless twat. But, don’t let me sway you.
I’ll return to update you all a bit more tomorrow, hopefully in a far more upbeat and positive frame of mind, than I find myself right now.
Tonights picture is brought to you by the letter C for Cyril, as this picture is of the inside of the brain thats trying to spell things right in this blog and failing miserably tonight.
Yep, thats inside my head, the red circled area is said twat Cyril and really confusingly he’s on the left hand side of my head. MRI Scans it turns out are arse about face.
