(*Chapter in short for those who have realised I ramble a load of crap before getting to the point: Everything from my first emergency hospital appointment straight from the GP, to the next couple leading up to - next chapter - everything SURGERY, ugh)
So.. Most of these hospital appointments are a bit of a blur, including which way round they went but to be honest they were all done and dusted within a week so you can see the quickness of the NHS (YES NHS, go team) about it, and everything written below happened so if its out, it's only by a couple of days. Rewind back (I know you remember what happened because it's literally written in the above post, it's more for me and my crap memory #chemobrain) to when the GP spent 45 minutes with me, had me waiting in the waiting area while he spoke to his colleagues and typed the letter up ready for me to hand to the receptionist at the hospital (Addenbrookes is the hospital by the way, sounds weird not calling it that). So I was sat in the waiting room getting 50% concerned looks from the other people waiting, 49.7% of people looking annoyed at me that I had delayed their own appointment and the remaining 0.3% (if that maths isn't right then I'm not even sorry, I've just woken up from nights and I'm not sure what my own name is right now) were my entertainment - the toddlers - who were winding their parents up by running uncontrollably back and forth across the whole waiting area.
Now I will say that because it did take 45 minutes compared to a normal 5 minute appointment (on a Monday morning! - chose my time well didn't I). The fact that you might be waiting a really long time for your appointment at times might not be because a patient has decided to reveal their whole past medical history from 1987 (probably is though*) but more concerningly because someone, like me, is having a shit time and needs to be given an emergency assessment at the hospital which holds the poor GP up and causes a backlog. ( * = this was a joke which my family will get.)
So he hands me this letter and tells me to go up to Addenbrookes but not through A&E (I was actually selfishly looking forward to just strolling on through past the que at the door with my letter pretending I am royalty) but instead to clinic 24 at The Rosie (that's the maternity hospital by the way.. and I don't work in clinics so I had no idea what clinic that was). Anyway, turns out it is the (thanks google) "Early pregnancy unit and gynaecology assessment unit" (one good thing about all of this, I can spell gynaecology off the top of my head now so if I'm ever on a game show and that question comes up, guess who's winning the jackpot). Unfortunately though I knew when he said The Rosie Hospital that it was my ovaries and I remember I had been texting one of my sisters (she's a nurse so I somehow thought she'd find it all easier - sorry Bab!) and all I had said on repeat was "if it's not my ovaries I'll be fine" (because ovaries = kids and if there screwed, I can't have kids) so that was a bit of a shit moment for me. Anyway, I rang my mum to see if she could meet me at Addenbrookes to which she obviously did (parents just drop everything, all the time for you!). I remember her telling me when I met her there that she had thrown a load of hay in at the horses (who are on weight watchers) and they were very happy because it was basically the same as having a cheat day when you're on a diet (cheers boys, you just having a feast in your field while Im having a shit time - haha). So.. (I really need to stop starting sentences with the word so, I can hear the English teachers cringing already), we walked into the clinic to be greeted by a nurse who said "Hiya, how many weeks pregnant are you?" to which I replied "I'm not pregnant, that's the problem" (I wasn't annoyed at all because Olga did represent a baby - or two - and she was absolutley MORTIFIED). I explained about the GP having pre-rang the doctors and handed them the letter, the staff on that clinic are all lovely (go NHS again, woo) and knew who I was (not a good thing when your the well known one already in health care terms) and sent me to the waiting room. Now I am a very "let's find the positives out of the situation" person so when they had a tea trolley with unlimited free drinks parked in that waiting room then it didn't matter I was a humpty dumpty, well known, apparently pregnant patient with shit ovaries at that moment in time. Until I shortly realised that I was too nervous so I didn't have the normal appetite meaning I couldn't manage my normal 7 cups of tea in a row and had to settle for just 3. I also knew that some of the people in that waiting room would have been there for problems with their pregnancy and it dawned upon me that there is always someone way worse off than you and I remember thinking "thank god that's not me and it doesn't involve an unborn baby". We waited AGES (no ones fault as everyone needed to be seen) and we were finally seen by one of the nicest doctors with the nicest hair ever (I literally remember the hair still) who asked me similar questions to the GP and then said the famous words no one wants to here "I need to do an internal examination".
The internal examination (yep it deserves its own paragraph):
Ugh, if there's ONE thing I NEVER wanted to have done it was that. My mum, who's had 3 kids (clearly I'm the best one, sorry sisters) was telling me it wasn't that bad (she was right, its not) and had to come and stand next to me and hold my hand which meant I had in total, my mum next to me, a specialist nurse as well and the doctor all crammed into this tiny room. The nurse picks up the bedside lamp to pass to the doctor to which (another massive idiot moment) I shouted "THAT'S NOT IT IS IT?" .. I had only gone and thought the bedside lamp was what she was putting up me (hahaha, it was terrifying at the time but I literally laugh out loud EVERY time at myself, absolute joey essex moment). We all had a bit of a giggle and then she did it with a speculum - it honestly isn't bad at all - and it was over so quickly. She basically prodded (from the inside - gross) my left ovary while pushing down on the same area on the outside of my belly and asked if it hurt (it did and I had to refrain from slapping her from a reflex action), and she said she could basically feel the tumour (yay) and that I would have to come back for an ultrasound to confirm it and she would book it in.
Two days later...... (haha I've always wanted to say that, sounds like a really cool bit in a film where everything goes wrong and they flash back)
The Ultrasound
So ultrasounds are pretty bog standard and aren't scary at all. At the time I knew what it would show so it was just a question of waiting around and getting it done. Though in the back of my mind I was shitting myself because I thought they'd have to do a "inter-vaginal"/"internal ultrasound" (ugh - the name of that just makes me cringe). Off I go into the room and the lady (really nice as well) who was doing the scan said out loud "sorry it's taken longer I can't seem to find one of your kidneys and your liver is really hard to find" (basically I knew she meant Olga had partly engulfed them with her fat self and all I imagined was olga being like the pacman game going round chasing/squishing my organs - sick imagination I have, and by sick I mean the actual meaning of the word). She finally found them (good old organs) and said the test was done. I was laid there thinking oh god it's time for the internal examination, here we go lads (and I was clenching so hard that my pelvic floor has never been so good). I asked her about it and she turned around and said that there was no point doing the internal because it was so big it wouldn't actually show anything (YES OLGA, SHE SAVED ME - one time I like the gal) and that it was done and the doctors would review it, report on it and tell me in my next clinic appointment.
Two days later.... (I'm still loving saying this, so dramatic)
The first mention of the word "cancer" and "prognosis" (bit more serious here)
I went back to the same clinic as before, good old clinic 24 (makes me shudder when I see it sign posted at work now) with my boyfriend this time. We were seen by the same doctor as before (with her nice hair - which was still on point) and a trainee gynaecology doctor (who awkwardly I had seen/bleeped or something when I was working as a student at some point or I definitely recognized him and the classic "do I know you?" faces were exchanged). She felt my stomach again and pressed down on my left hand side (thanks for that) and it definitely did still hurt. She then asked if the trainee doctor could feel it (why not - not everyday in your career you get to feel a massive f*xcking tumour is it). She then told me that the scan confirmed a huge ovarian tumour and it would need surgical intervention (luckily I had already realised that because I was HUGE). She said unfortunately it wouldn't be able to be keyhole procedure she didn't think (really.. not keyhole? Obviously - pulling a tumour out that big from a tiny hole would be like a german shepherd trying to fit through a cat flap). Now, I really need to stop taking the piss because I have nothing but respect for doctors and the amount of knowledge they have is insane and I can never thank the ones involved in my care enough, I think I just took the piss as a coping mechanism.
(The serious part): She then told me that there was a potential that it could be cancerous. And that is the first time I actually heard the word cancer. Now I knew that that was obviously a possibility, I had worked out that a tumour that big obviously isn't your normal ovarian cyst but the fact it was said out loud and by someone else, other than my own mind was horrible. - Ugh, it will never not affect you as I've just started crying (but I'm extra emotional because I've finished nights and I did cry at a gymnast falling off the bars during her bar routine on TV the other day so..). Now I know that this is meant to be educational but it is SO hard to tell you what it is like to hear the words cancer being said to you. You immediately think about prognosis, you immediately think you might die at 23 (or whichever age you are) and you immediately want to know statistics, if it is 100% cancer, what type of cancer, is it rare, if you need chemo, if your hair will fall out and for me - if I could still have kids.
My boyfriends face just dropped and I still remember the look on his face (yes babe - you'll be reading this and I still do and I never want to see it again, it was horrible). She left the room with the trainee doctor for a bit and it was then when Chuks (my boyfriends name, not just some random man that was in there the whole time) starting asking me about prognosis, if it is cancer, how quick they'd be able to get it out and what would happen. It actually helped having to try and reassure someone else as at the same time it reassured me. I remember saying to him that it isn't even confirmed its cancer and it could be a benign cyst that's just grown massive. The doctor then came back in alone (the trainee had gone, don't blame him, that must be horrible to have to do and tell someone - or he probably got bleeped) and said to Chuks and I that it is really important we don't go home and fixate on cancer as it might not be (which I would say is very true for anyone that is giving a potential cancer diagnosis but equally SO hard to do). She explained that I would need an detailed MRI scan and that my next appointment would be with the gynaecology surgeon oncologists to discuss surgery.
We left that day with a mixture of emotions. I am pretty sure I was numb, like emotionally numb. I really can't describe it which is really unhelpful actually but it was a massive blur. Part of me wanted to google EVERYTHING to do with ovarian cancer and collect statistics, look up the survival rate and see how many people had died from it and the other half of me wanted to just forget about it and think positive. Chuks did the googling for me, I think it was probably his way of coping - research. And I did the reassuring that it might not be that (because that's much easier than accepting that it actually probably was). Deep down I knew it was most likely cancer, you do know I think but I was very much like "ALWAYS LOOK ON THE BRIGHT SIDE OF LIFE".
Oh, I did get signed off sick from placement so at least there was that positive hey?
.. And now I'm going on a run because that last bit was horrible to write and makes my heart break for those people, their families and their friends who are going through it right now.
(Next chapter: Everything surgery, MRI scan; surgical clinic appointment & the operation)