TUMOUR ME

This week has been "doctors week" thanks to aches, pains and niggling thoughts constantly reminding me  that my own body needs attention. 

First stop was the gastroenterologist for a checkup. He is fascinated by the " inside" of my body because it is chock a block full of hamartomas. 

What's a hamartoma you ask? 

Well, it's a polyp, but usually not like the ones that cause cancer. The problem is that only one bad polyp is needed to give you cancer and as I have literally hundreds of hamartomas, a worry is that they could miss " the bad one" in my garden bed of hamartomas.

 Hope that's not too confusing to understand.

So, basically ( groan), when food rubs a hamartoma up the wrong way, it retaliates by bleeding. And we all know that doctors don't like the sight of blood. So, on hearing the word " bleeding" doctor removes his glasses, waits for an imaginary drum roll and erupts with:

" Let's do a colonoscopy, shall we?".

I'm never sure if I'm meant to do a happy dance or sing a song of joy at this point. It feels sort of expected. He's just a bit too excited by my hamartomas if you ask me and I'm getting rather protective of them. And I can't understand one thing. IF " movement" causes bleeding, why in God's name do I have to spend hours before the procedure " moving" some more. Seems pointless.

Have you tasted the stuff they give you to drink?

It's like a cross between lemon cordial and your own urine. And as there's bound to be someone out there who asks me if I've drunk my own urine then, be warned. I am in a mood!

YAY IM GOING TO HAVE A COLONOSCOPY said no one ever.

Next stop, day surgery with my favourite doctor, my plastic surgeon.

We got off to a bad start because I left my consent papers at home. He asked me how he was supposed to know what to take out. Honestly, first world problems! I told him...and chucked in a couple more that he wasn't aware 
weren't on the other form. A couple more lumps that is. Total to be removed - 
five on forearm , one on chest, one super duper painful one on back.

"I'm not taking out the back one."

"Why? PLEASE!!! It hurts and I will beg."

"Not till you have a biopsy."

"Oh for goodness sake. You know I hate biopsies."

"I'm not taking out the chest one here. It's too deep."

"But it hurts too!"

"If I take out the back one, then I can take out the chest one...under a general."

"So, both depend on me having a biopsy?"

"Yes"

Grrrr. I have never won an argument with this doctor ever!

He took out the five baby lumps on my arm and I swear he popped them out on purpose. Gross! The nurse even showed me...cos everyone needs to see their own tumours sometime in their life.

After the fun and games I was literally ordered to the recovery lounge by Nurse #grumpy#needs to retire.

"Are you a nurse" she barked at me.

" God forbid" was my automatic response, thinking of the weirdo who just showed me my tumour.

" You seem to know the doctor very well", she said suspiciously.

Hmmm...how to reply to that???????

TEMPTED to say something witty but my bloody arm hurt so I just gave her a "look".

On the way out I called in at my respiratory specialist to see how free he was to see me this week. The plastic surgeon didn't like my husky voice and when I 
told him I'd had it for 3 weeks, he asked me to get checked out for throat nodules. Great...cos I don't have enough to stress about.

Bed - 8pm

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It's now 5 am and cos I went to bed early, I am now wide awake. Lump on chest wall is throbbing and reminding me of it's existence. Wish it would just go die in a hole somewhere. It's near my breast reconstructions and even though Dr Plastic Surgeon says it won't be malignant, I don't like anything growing in that area.Last time something grew in that area I ended up with saline boobs.

Afternoon arrives quickly. The reception at the radiological clinic is decorated in pink bras, balloons and streamers. It's a fundraiser, but it makes it look like having breast cancer is a party. 

It's not.

I am not a patient woman.

I hate waiting for anything and I haven't had any lunch so I'm grumpy and annoyed by the pink party in front of me.

Hurry up!

Enter one "running late" doctor, syringes and tubes...lots of them. It's biopsy party time.

" I think you have a large haematoma. Let's drain it shall we?"

" Oh goody, sounds like fun" - sarcastic me to myself.

" Look, lots and lots". SHOWS me syringe full of blood.

HONEST TO GOD. ARE YOU RELATED TO THE TUMOUR SHOWING NURSE?

Just for the record. Nobody lying on fake boobs is comfortable and nor are they interested in checking out their own blood.

I pay and I leave.

I feel fine but hungry.

I queue up in the coffee shop and ( fanfare), I FAINT. 

YEP...could this week get any more entertaining?

I come to and find someone with a foreign accent trying to force feed me water.

I eventually feel better and order a coffee and a chicken pie to "eat in". Foreign accent gives me a coffee and a beef pie to takeaway.

I don't argue. 

What's the point?

Till next time...xxx