First things first - I have been utterly blown away by the support and love people have sent my way over the last week or so. My Instagram blew up on Wednesday when I posted my first blog and sort of announced where I'm at with everything. I've ran *actual* marathons and not got even half the likes that I did the other day, which throws something of a spanner in to my BQ Runs content plan. But on a more serious note, I've probably never been so humbled as I have this week, so thank you.
With that said though, it still feels like we're talking about someone else! It is a truly surreal experience at the moment.
I've been thinking about the topic of this instalment of the blog, but fortunately (if any of this can be fortunate), this week has thrown a lot my way. So why not treat it like a diary?
Wednesday
So this morning I jumped in the car and drove to Nottingham - my city, of sorts. I went to University in Nottingham, I then got a job at Boots, I ran my first half marathon there (and nearly died), before meeting Evie and living in Wilford for a year. So yeh, I know the place pretty well. One place I absolutely did not know well is the absolute nonsense that is trying to find a parking place on the QMC site. What in the actual hell is going on with hospital car parks? It is literally a national disgrace. I drove round the QMC three times before almost flipping the car taking a hard left, seeing the glow of an empty space fill my vision. All well and good but I'm about a mile away from where I need to be.
All this preamble will becoming evidently understandable when I let you know where I was going. The fertility clinic. To say this blindsided me when Dr Lala said it was something I should look to pursue would be an understatement. In fact, it took me by more surprise than the bloody diagnosis! It may be my relatively sheltered life or just general niaiveness, but I had no clue that chemo isn't good for the little swimmers. I mean, it makes complete sense when you think about it - I'm not sure I'd be buzzing if I was a microscopic tadpole minding my own business when some poisonous nonsense zapped me out of nowhere.
So here began one of the more awkward and surreal hours of my life. Thankfully, the lead doctor was lovely and, for want of a better term in this subject matter... had outstanding bed side manner. One thing I didn't prepare for (add it to the list), was the student doctor who honestly looked about 17 to add to my swirling world of embarrassment.
I signed about 25 forms, ticked NO when queried about the use of my 'samples' for future training (really?) and also had to answer the sobering question of if I die, do I permit Evie to use my samples in the future. Now, the 'd' word is outlawed just as much as the 'c' word, but it brought home the severity of what I was undertaking. But don't you worry, here is your little cup, there's the TV with 'adult movies' loaded up on a USB, take your time!
Honest to God, I wanted the world to swallow me up. But the name of the game is LFG so, LFG. Please note however, I would not touch the adult movie USB for all the tea in China.
Also, interesting fact - did you know that up to half of the wee fella's don't make it through the freezing process? Nope me neither. Anyway, back next week to make sure all is ok and to go through the whole charade again.
Now lets never speak of it again, capische?
My next appointment is back at the Derby hospital at 11.30 so I drive home listening to that Elton John/Dua Lipa remix new song thing on repeat, pick up Evie and go and drive around another hospital looking for another godforsaken car parking space. This appointment is to see the Head and Neck surgeon for him to establish next steps for the second biopsy. He, and yet another student doctor, have a good prod around my neck like some weird massage, before confirming I will need an operation on Tuesday next week to remove a lymph node to add it to the ever growing analysis to form my treatment plan.
I've got to be honest, I thought I only had a lymph node on either side so this sounded drastic initially, but the doc says we have HUNDREDS so I got back in my box. The procedure will be under general anesthetic and shouldn't take too long, maybe half an hour? He went in to some quite frankly unnecessary risks for my current state of mind, but my favourite was he might nick a nerve which means I can't shrug. To which I shrugged. Funny how you'd miss a shrug if you couldn't actually shrug. The least exciting thing about this is the fact I have to have a proper covid test on Saturday and isolate for three days prior. I haaaate covid tests, especially when it is done my someone else.
Things all of a sudden are getting serious.
Thursday
What fun awaits me today? You guessed it - another nonsensical car park. This time at Nottingham City Hospital. On this occasion I very nearly missed my appointment such was the chaos. There were cars literally parked on the pavement, on the grass - all with a parking fine on them. Which isn't helpful for anyone.
BUILD BETTER CAR PARKS!
My understanding of this scan, a PET scan, was that it would take about an hour. No worries. I was whisked in to a small room and first had a blood test to make sure my blood sugar level was ok (as I am sponsored by chocolate, I had no real concerns here), before I was then injected with a sugary solution that also included radioactive particles. Oh, and now you have to sit in this room for an hour Mr Quain, bye-bye!
Today brought something remarkable in the current situation - a day without drama! I don't have to isolate officically till tomorrow, but I have worked from home the last few days and avoided any shops just to reduce any risk of picking up Covid ahead of the test tomorrow. Bought a new Playstation game though to add to my arsenal of distractions for the next few weeks.
Saturday
I'm a little ashamed to say I have blown this Covid test up a little too much in my mind ahead of the test today. Whilst I despise them, having to change my shirt after the test because I got myself in to such a sweaty, anxious state is at least one cool, calm and collected point crossed off my profile.
With that said though, the executioner of the test (too strong?) was miles better than the one in the early stages of Covid last year and didn't quite graze my brain which was a mild treat all things considered.
Sunday
ISOLATION! ISOLATION!
*bar a cheeky 5k this morning before everyone got up so I could keep my head in a relatively sane place.
**don't worry, didn't see anyone.
***also, wild that you can't technically go for a run/walk during isolation. If Covid is catching me when I'm running outside, we've got BIG problems because I am faaaaaast.
(jk)
Monday
Isolation continues today and now the 24 hour clock is ticking, my irrational brain is in complete and utter overdrive. I've become extremely worried that they'll have to intubate me to help me breathe which is ridiculous as I should be capable of breathing normally, but my out of control fear of having anything down my throat knows no bounds. Also, what if they give me too much anaesthetic and I wake up in 34 years? That happens/has happened you know. What if they get me mixed up with Geraldine and they take my gall bladder out? That would be a problem for both me AND Geraldine.
The big plus point though is my fast period is from 2.30am which is a lot easier to manage than from 10am. Also, despite my silly worries, quite looking forward to being able to sleep with the general anesthetic. What I would do to be able to sleep at the moment. I have no problem falling asleep but give me an hour and I am AWAKE. Matrix Reloaded was good last night, excited for what other midnight-2am films ITV2 have got on over the coming weeks. Soon be in Die Hard season too you know. Yippe Ki Yay.
As the day has gone on, I have remained relatively calm despite tomorrow morning looming large. But LFG.
Tuesday
Oh my God it is dark at 6am these days.
Quick shower, an orange squash and we're on our way, arriving at the hospital at 6.45am. No bloody parking issues at this time, suckers.
I had to queue to get in to the Elective Admissions waiting room with about 12 other people (Geraldine included...!), had my temperature checked and was able to settle down in to the spaced seats with Good Morning Britain on TV.
I met with the nurse to go through the process then the anaesthetist took my weight and height, clearly aware of the threat of putting me to sleep for 34 years, before waiting for my name to be called. By the grace of God, I was first up which meant I got the pleasure of putting on my backless gown first and strutting down to the operating theatre in my quite ridiculous slipper socks. You might be ill kid, but you gotta keep seeing the fun in things.
I was taken in to a small room full of anesi-fellas/ladies, one doing my blood pressure, one strapping some electrodes on and the other squeezing my arm down by my side like a Frube to get the veins in a good place for a canular on my hand. At this point, I'm horribly tense and aware of it - my legs doing that subconcious thing where they're rigid and pushing away. It was probably quite noticable as they first gave me something to calm down a little, before breathing in some air through a mask. We were talking some bollocks about something or other and then I woke up in the ward, forcing me to ask, somewhat confused... 'have you started?'.
Of course they had, they finished about 40 minutes ago! I felt quite spaced out but noticably gaining more control over the next few minutes. I accidentally walloped my canular in my hand in my confusion which made the nurses spring in to action to stop it bleeding, but generally I was ok. So much so, I very happily said yes to a tuna sandwich. I spent the next 10 minutes thinking that was a shocking choice of sandwich at a hospital, especially when you only hear bad things about hospital food. Now, it wasn't an M&S tuna sandwich but it wasn't half bad.
I spent the next hour or so having a number of blood pressure tests before being given the all clear to get Dad-the-taxi on his way. I twanged the canular again when getting changed forcing a look from the nurse, but she strapped me up again, and I was on my (escorted out the building) way! I met Dad and we had an uneventful drive home - despite the bucket in the footwell, DQ remembering all too well me being very sick after my last general anaesthetic some 24 years ago.
Always good to have a vote of confidence in your ability to not be sick though, so thanks to Dad for being a very prepared taxi driver. 5 star rating on the app for you.
Since arriving home I have had two naps, ate copius amounts of chocolate, drank as much as I can and generally dozed. I've had a text from the GP so will see if I can get any assistance sleeping at some point over the next few days. I feel bruised and sore, but I've got a great scar on the way (scars are still cool, right?). It feels laced with local anaesthetic so I imagine it is going to sting like an absolute mother when it wears off, but it's all part of the process. Hopefully you're not too squimish... (the black is from his sharpie pen pre-op... didn't want to accidentally take out Geraldine's gall bladder did he?), but excellent sewing/gluing skills from the doc.
Now to try and forget about it for a few weeks before seeing Lala on the 5th where the treatment plan will be laid out in earnest.
I say bring it on.
I say LFG.
I want to sign off as I started - thanking absolutely everyone for being incredible with me this last week. From sending me stuff in the post, to playing golf like I am a normal person still, to talking to me and making the time to reach out - thank you so much. It is so humbling. We've got a little way to go but I know I have the best team around me. LFG.
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