Surgery number 3

In less than 5 short weeks we are on surgery number 3. We are hoping this is it, and that we will soon be home and on the road to recovery. Not quite sure how Dave has such a big smile on his face, I feel like I’ve forgotten how to smile.

Today’s surgeon has offered a new blow to what we’ve been told so far. It seems that all tissue removed so far has been too crushed to actually test properly. He wants to open Dave up where the mass is thickest to remove some. (We have also been told it’s the same consistency the whole way through- he says otherwise!) He has asked a team of pathologists that specializes in odd cases to take a look with him. If it’s something they can diagnose then we go down the medicine route. Otherwise they will try to remove it all.

I get my first call, and exhausted I fall asleep. It’s a busy waiting room, so not a proper sleep, I can hear a multitude of muffled conversations and an elderly lady struggling with her cell phone who speaks VERY loudly explaining her friends husband has cancer. I feel myself shaking- having spoken to he friend our cases are similar, but I take comfort from how calm she is about the whole situation.

It’s not long after I open my eyes that the doctor is there. They’ve removed enough tissue to test. Not crushed- and early indications are a type of lymphoma. B cell or T cell or a blood cancer whose name I always forget without looking at my picture of it. I always thought that I’d probably collapse in a heap if ever given this news, but I’m numb. Especially so as the Dr says it was most definitely there more than three weeks. They did mess up. They missed it. I’m relieved that it wasn’t all in my head. I’m gutted because this was the last thing I wanted to hear. I put that false smile on my face and pretend I’m ok. What and how am I going to tell my kids. The tears flow.

This time seeing Dave in recovery was the hardest. Although the dr has explained he has forgotten and I’m the one who has to break the news. His eyes are gunky from the oil they use, and it’s never a pretty sight straight from surgery. I see his fight ooze from him when I tell him the news. It’s me fighting these bastards for both of us then.

I’m ushered away and have now been sat for an hour whilst they decide if he’s coming back to this room or going elsewhere. This is not a good thing. I’m listening to patients screaming for help and it appears they are being ignored, then I hear how they are being spoken to and I am getting mad. I watch them buff the corridors to a great shine, but wonder about sticky floors and unclean bathrooms for patients. I need to cry I’m so angry. I can’t wait to get him home from this hell hole. Were we sent here so that he could be treated quicker, or so that someone fights hospitals on the way it treats its patients and families?? I know I said I don’t do the whole god thing a few blogs ago, but I do believe people need to find their purpose and go out there and make the world better for others. Is this the reason we are here? In America? In this hospital??

Google is my best friend these days. He tells me everything I need to know. I’m no longer petrified of diagnosis- I kind of feel we just need it to get on with our lives. Actually the thought of Hilary or Trump as president is scarier than what we are about to endure. My only wish now is that I had more money to hire a solicitor. No win no fee is all well and good, these medical people need to pay for their bumbling of his case. Had they scanned his thoracic area this would have been identified sooner. Instead they ignored it, and threw medicine at him causing other symptoms. Mis diagnosis is what this is known as. Thank goodness he deteriorated so quickly or I feel I could have been a widow many years too early. Ironic that I married a man 5 years my junior because I didn’t want to be alone in my old age!

People are starting to fuss on me. I’m not going to lie I can’t cope with that. I’ve been a stress eater for many years, and this has sent me the other way. I totally get how children use food to control adults now. I do actually feel really sick whenever I eat anything other than grapes or watermelon. I am eating other things because I know I have to, but it is literally bare minimum. I enjoy being able to control something. It removes some of my helplessness in the rest of this situation. I am also very angry. I need to control that. I don’t usually do angry- I think and hope that now my gut instinct was proven right I may calm a little, focus on getting Dave started on treatment and then with his mum build a case to take to a lawyer. I hope she feels the same way I do.

Amongst this whole debacle I need to talk about the oddities that happen day to day. I’m not sure I can quite understand some people. Obviously we are along way away from some of our friends, so we do rely a lot on social media to keep people informed. We don’t blast it to the world, and I only blog to have an outlet right now. But people are messaging me asking me to watch videos of them singing, to buy a Xmas present for their son when they’ve not liked or commented on a post in 8 months, or tagging me in random posts when I’ve never even met them. Come on people — social media should be used thoughtfully not selfishly. I actually think my love affair with Facebook is coming to an end, but I’ll talk about weird stuff and people on Facebook in a separate blog soon!

So now I wonder what mystery or answers tomorrow will bring. I don’t think they can mess with us too much more. That smile on Dave’s face — at the beginning of this blog, if I can keep that there then half my battle is fought…….