Well, I had my check-up at hospital on Monday. This is usually a quick chat, possibly urine test results (hormone levels) and (sometimes, but rarely) blood pressure. For those of you that know me and my situation, my son and I usually see the Professor together.
Arrived at hospital at 5pm for 5.15 and 5.30 appts (son doesn't like taking time off work). BIG mistake. Like flights, you're better off getting early one, as no time for a backlog to build up. Waiting room was mobbed. Should have had alarm bells immed.
6pm my son says he's not waiting any longer. It's Valentine's Day and he wants to take his wife out. (still had hour's journey to get home) he didn't have any results to come back or anything, and unless he's had a scan the doctors really just ask him how he feels, so I could sort of understand why he didn't want to hang around.
7pm I am still sitting there. Receptionists all gone home, about 2 other people in waiting room. Steam is starting to come out of my ears.
7.15pm called in by Prof's registrar - very nice doctor, but Rumanian, and bit of a language barrier. 'Is Prof away?' I ask? 'He has left the Trust' she says, 'gone to Oxford. Didn't he inform you he was leaving?' No, he bloody didn't, I wanted to scream. Felt like my safety net had been pulled out from under my feet. My lovely, kind Prof - top man in Pheochromocytomas, approachable, expert, confidence-giving doctor.
So, eventually I saw the doctor who is taking over his patients. She was totally frazzled, and probably well fed-up with people saying how devastated they were that she was now taking care of them! But she seemed nice, and quite pro-active. Which was good, because it then got worse. Apparently one of my hormone levels produced by my tumours has soared throught the roof - which we all know, probably means something has sprung up quite rapidly. I had a scan last Oct and there was no change from scan 10months bfore. So in the last 4 months, even though it is supposed to be slow-growing, something has gone berserk. By now it was 7.45pm. The frustration of waiting all that time, then having a double-dose of bad news, well, I don't cry at drop of a hat, but I could have easily burst into tears. I mean, I always knew that the tumours would start to grow again - the chemo only reduced them, not obliterated them. But because they are 'slow-growing' I just thought I would have a bit longer (finished chemo May 09) before being overtaken by them again. So, today, trailed up to hospital again with repeat urine collection, blood test, and now a repeat CT scan has been requested. I've had so many CT scans in last 3 years that I'll probably develop another type of cancer due to the radiation. Can't have MRIs as they have to 'compare and contrast' sliced pictures of liver/lungs/nodes etc.
After finally leaving hospital about 8.15, I just missed a train at London Bridge Station, then had a row with a 'homeless' person outside the station whose poor little dog was shivering with cold. I got home at 9.45!
