I was allowed a cup of tea in the morning, and nothing more. The salty liquid made me not want to eat anything, but my mind was full of thoughts of what I should like to eat that evening – thick sizzling sausages, baked tomatoes, roast potatoes, green beans and carrots, boiled and then brazed. Before that a thick slice of cream and strawberry sponge cake and a large mug of coffee.
The building we went to was very new and very clean. We had sat down for a mere few minutes before I was called through into the operating areas, leaving my wife to her mini tablet and computer games, and possibly to find a coffee somewhere as she could be asked to wait for anything up to 3 hours.
I followed the nurse to her interview room and had my blood pressure taken whilst she went through the questionnaire again, double checking name and address and date of birth, even though I had only just filled it out and brought it with me. 123 / 86 was my reading, which she was pleased with.
She asked me about this, and how I kept fit and healthy, then we talked about my experiences with the liquid, all the time her intent was to put me at ease. I was relaxed, despite the prospect of a needle jab.
That came soon enough, but only after I had changed into a pair of paper boxers, with the opening at the rear, and two gowns, one front opening and one back opening, to preserve my dignity.
Here I waited with a few other men, one of whom had been there for over an hour already. My heart sank. I read the notices, I tried to watch the TV news screen, but it was at an awkward angle for me, I hummed a tune silently, then re-read the notices.
It was perhaps after 20 minutes that I was called through to have a cannula fitted. The pin prick of the needle was sharp, naturally, but not lasting in pain.
I do not do pain.
About 12 years previous I had had a finger split whilst playing sport. I had driven myself to the A&E for stitches and almost screamed the building down when the nurse had given me a numbing pain killer via an Injection. I did not feel the stitches going in and the top of my finger was saved, and I do have movement and feeling, which they had been concerned about.
I returned to my still warm seat and watched through the door as nurses walked to-and-fro carrying trays for other patients until my time to arrive and I was called through to the operating theatre. A grand name for a room with a bed, a desk, a computer, and some machinery. The door was locked, and I was asked to lie down on my side on the bed as one member of the 4-person team proceeded to go through my questionnaire again. As if anyone would want to take my place have a camera pushed up their derriere.
‘Would I like to watch the procedure?’
‘I want to be sedated and feel as little as possible,’ I replied.
A tube was fixed to either my hand or my cannula, I do not remember, and I soon felt my body relaxing, but was not fully asleep. It was a strange sensation. I knew something had been inserted and was passing up inside me, but I neither objected nor embraced the experience. It was just happening.
The process did not last long, maybe 10 minutes, and I was unhitched and handed my clothes before being wheeled off to a waiting room where upon I was offered a coffee and a biscuit. Proper food for the first time in 24 hours!
The coffee was delicious. For all I cared it could have been dishwater, it was a proper coffee drink.
I waited for 15 minutes, and they asked me if there was anyone they could contact to take me home. They tried to contact my wife by mobile, but to no avail. They asked what she looked like and then went off to find her whilst allowing me to go and get changed. I felt fine, not woozy at all, but was handed a piece of paper to say I could not drive, not operate machinery, including a kettle and a toaster, or sign legal documents for 24 hrs. Oh well. I was supposed to be at work the following morning, so would have to take a further half day off or get a lift.
She had been in the coffee shop, had not heard the call, and had just returned to the waiting area when the nurse came to find her.
We were then led off to a small meeting room and I was asked about the procedure whilst we waited for the specialist who conducted the process to arrive.
She was a young lady. I had not seen her during the procedure as I was lying on my side. Very pleasant and business like. She discussed what she had done and what she had found. I held my wife’s hand as I sensed her breathing becoming shallow.
‘There were some haemorrhoids, which is to be expected, and easily treated.’ She began, ‘we have found one lesion which appears to be a malignant tumour. We have taken a few scrapings and will send these off for biopsy to analyse. We shall want to carry out a MRI Scan and a CT Scan to see what is going on. We would like to do that as soon as possible.’
‘Oh, we are off on holiday next week, for a week.’
‘You may need to cancel.’
‘Unfortunately, we shall need to go.’ There was no question of not going.
‘We shall want to see you as soon as possible to get things looked at. In the meantime, how are you feeling?’
And so the conversation moved on and we were soon leaving the building with our minds racing.
‘I need something to eat, a cup of tea and then we can think more clearly’. All my wife could say in response was ‘Oh my God’.
