So on Wednesday 23 August I take the short ride to my local hospital. The four hours I had to wait for surgery went reasonably quickly as I was visited by an HCA, the anaesthetist, an SHO and an ENT surgeon. It seemed like I was asked the same questions over and over about my general health and lifestyle, but at least I got a clearer idea of what was going to happen. The purpose of the surgery was to do a panendoscopy, take some biposies and possibly remove one or both of my tonsils.
The only minor irritation was being forced to undergo a pregnancy test. Having been nil by mouth for hours it was pretty much impossible for me to pee, and I spent what felt like an eternity locked in a cubicle running all of the taps and straining like mad, all to no avail. I was told that the surgery could not be done until they were sure I wasn't up the duff. I'll spare the details here, but I was able to reel off a list as long as my arm of all the reasons why I was definitely not with child, but they weren't having a bar of it. I understand the need to protect a possible unborn child, but why I couldn't just sign a disclaimer was a bit beyond me....
(That aside, I have no complaints about the care I have received from the NHS, as on the whole my experience has been very positive.)
So, one minute I'm in with the anaesthetist having a lovely chat about gin, the next thing I know I'm in the recovery room, freezing cold and with a stinging pain where my right tonsil used to be. The surgeon came to see me later, and said that he was on leave the following week but that I would see one of his colleagues to discuss "what we need to do next". By now, it seems reasonable to me to expect that I do indeed have cancer.
I'm sent home that evening, and spend the next few days in bed, pretty much out of it due to a cocktail of codeine, paracetamol and ibuprofen. Tonsillectomy is notoriously a lot more painful and harder to recover from for adults tahn for children, and I can attest that it was really blinking sore. I'm recovering really well, but only because my other half has been forcing me to eat.
On the Friday I got my letter through confirming my appointment the next Thursday at the MDT Clinic. I didn't know what MDT stood for, so I googled it. Every other word that popped up on my search results was the C word, and I have to confess I had a bit of a meltdown at that moment.
So it was a pretty anxious wait then for the best part of a week....
