How to start? I think, deep down, you know, don't you? My recent feelings of living on automatic pilot – that of seeing the world from a distance, hovering on the sidelines and watching as everyone else just gets on with it; living but not quite fully. My worst fears have been confirmed – I do have lung cancer. I don't want this blog to become morose and just a diary of cancer – it is going to be my partner on this journey of downs and ups and I am determined that the ups will win.
On the 10th November I had my CT guided needle biopsy. As expected, my lung collapsed and I had to stay in overnight but was discharged the following afternoon. Back home, I carried on as normal – well, as normal as you can when you just want those results. Like yesterday.
Maybe I did a bit too much but on Monday 16th November, I got back from shopping with sharp chest pains and I could hardly breathe. I rang my GP who called an ambulance and the next thing I knew I was in Gloucester Royal having a chest drain fitted. Nightmare. Absolute flippin' painful nightmare, but the paramedics were cute and knew how to make a girl smile - laughing was too painful, which I found out twice and had to ask them to stop being so nice.
Later, I was safely ensconced in ACU (acute care unit) where my pain was managed with morphine, until my lung started to re-inflate (which was painful in itself). The next morning I was much better and transferred to an ordinary ward for the next 2 days until all the leaked air had been released.
Of course, now I had missed my appointment at the Brompton for my biopsy results and badgered the doctors at Gloucester until they found out for me. To their credit, they were amazing, considering the fact that I wasn't normally one of their patients and the news they had was so bad. I was glad they told me there – if I had gone to the Brompton I would have been alone and had to travel back from London on the train.
Since they discharged me, things just haven't stopped. My family and friends have rallied round and we have sobbed, cuddled and even found the odd laugh. They will get me through this – I can't bear the thought of leaving them and I will fight this.
The battle lines are drawn now and the first one is tomorrow (Tuesday 24 November) when I go for my PET scan to see if it has spread to anywhere else. If it hasn't, I am meeting the surgeon in the afternoon and we will set out the way forward for surgery. If it has, things are another story and will no doubt involve chemotherapy and radiotherapy, and that will be discussed with the rest of the medical team tomorrow too.
So, for the next few hours, I will remain in limbo but I know that my feet aren't going to be touching the ground all too soon, as things begin to happen. The lull before the storm. The advice that has been most consistent is “take it a day at a time”. Simple, true but so very hard to do.
