Ahhhhh, I’m Sick, what is wrong with me???

 

October 2000

 

Okay, so I was no athlete to begin with, but I started off with a rash/itch on the inside of my leg. I went to the doctor, who prescribed me with cortisone cream. This seemed to do the trick initially, but the rash/itch came back immediately I stopped using the cream. This continued on and off for at least a year, even though some mornings I woke up with my nails black from skin and blood from scratching through the night. I suppose, on reflection, it was no big deal, and definitely not an immediate sign of cancer.

 

I took a slight cough after that; a tickly one. I knew that it would clear up shortly, but it never did. I would cough my way through telephone conversations, and cough at the table, and cough at night. I visited the surgery, and was told that it was going around and that it would cure itself. I’m getting ahead of myself here, but the first time I was prescribed Prednisolone (Steroids), both the cough and itch vanished overnight, never to be seen or heard of again. (The itch did come back again very slightly when it’s friend the cancer decided to visit me again, but it wasn’t nearly as bad)

 

My sleep patterns became erratic as my back was very sore and nothing would take the pain away (I was constantly on painkillers). I started sweating in the night and this escalated to the point where I was taking a yellow bucket (that I bought specially for the job) up to bed to hold the wet T shirts. At the end, it was possible to actually wring them out. I again visited my doctor; ok a different one at the surgery, but the same team. He looked at me and told me I was overweight and advised me to stop eating. He didn’t even examine me.

 

Disturbed sleep continued and progressed from bad back and sweats to pains in the chest which forced me to lie in a face down position with my arms under me to support my body weight.

 

The next adventure was rigors. Now I didn’t know what they were called until I eventually went into hospital, but basically, there I was, lying in bed, absolutely freezing. Just the opposite of what I’d been used to. Two quilts and a hair dryer blowing constantly were required and once I did get heated up, I immediately started sweating again. I actually chipped one of my front teeth from chattering. I again visited the surgery, and blood tests were authorised to get to the bottom of it. I visited the surgery every Friday for about 8 weeks, and each week they took blood, had it analysed, but discovered nothing overly disturbing.

 

I started to drink to get to sleep. I once knocked back 4 tins of beer and a bottle of Jack Daniels between 9pm and midnight. Crazy or what? But I never got a hangover. The drink simply helped me to sleep. Habits like that can kill you, or forever wreck your liver. I was never a heavy drinker before, and my intake now has substantially reduced. Thankfully I can’t handle it any more, and do get hangovers like normal people. Anyway, I could never have afforded (financially or physically) to continue putting it away like that.

 

By this time I was alternating between the sweats and rigors; night time became an adventure, as I never knew whether I was going to be excessively warm or excessively cold, and on the occasional night, sometimes I experienced both.

 

The next symptom, a good one this time (but obviously not for everyone), was weight loss. I couldn’t eat. Friends who have been out for meals with me, know that I could shift a plateful of food faster than anyone, and if you weren’t careful at the table; I’d have a go at clearing yours as well. But here I was now, picking at my food, and sometimes not eating at all. For my Christmas Dinner 2001, I ate nothing. I lost just over 5 stone. I was ecstatic, but it wasn’t good as I was very weak, and tired all the time. People were always commenting on my weight loss and after I was diagnosed I told them that I was on the ‘Big C’ diet. Some of them actually asked me for a copy of the book, as they assumed it was like the Atkins diet.

 

Things came to a head when I couldn’t work as I had no energy. I arranged for an appointment with my own doctor this time, not an associate, and he referred me for tests at Whiteabbey Hospital. Previously his colleagues had arranged for tests for everything from hiccups to pregnancy, so I couldn’t wait to see what was in store for me now. My own doctor didn’t say that I had cancer, but the symptoms all together were worrying, so he sent me for an ultra sound scan (the ultra sound scan is where they put jelly on your belly and look at your insides on a monitor), to be followed by an endoscopy test (which is where you have to swallow a small camera), some days later.

 

I had the ultra sound done and I thought I was ready to leave, but the radiologist asked me to wait. She left the room and came back with another doctor (I assume) and he repeated the test. I asked him what was wrong, as I was sure that this wasn’t the normal. He said that he couldn’t tell me, but after I hassled, pleaded and begged him, he did say that the lymph nodes were enlarged. I immediately asked him about cancer, but he couldn’t discuss it anymore. In my mind, I knew that it was cancer.

 

Tuesday 16th April 2002

 

I went for my endoscopy test at Whiteabbey Hospital, but Dr Rodgers said that it was probably a waste of time, after the results of the ultra sound scan. I asked him what he thought it could be, and he simply said ‘lymphoma’.

 

Dr Rodgers is a very ‘straight to the point’ type of doctor, which I prefer. I don’t like it when they give me ‘it might be this’, or ‘we just have to wait and see’, or ‘I can’t confirm that’. He told me that he thought it was lymphoma, and that was good enough for me. That was the first time that I had a diagnosis by a doctor in relation to my current problems, that I actually believed.

 

I went home and used the old www to search for possible types of cancer that had all my symptoms, and found that Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma was spot on for me, thank you very much. He was right on the mark.

 

Tuesday 23rd April 2002

 

The following Tuesday I had my first CT Scan at Antrim Hospital. They gave me barium meal to drink, which, contrary to popular belief, is not that bad.

 

I waited a while, and then went in and had the scan done. Nothing to it.

 

One thing to watch out for is the dye that they inject into you for the scanner; it gives you this intense feeling that you want to urinate, but don’t worry, you won’t.

 

The only bad part of the scan was waiting for the results.

 

Friday 26th April 2002

 

I went to see Dr Rodgers again at Whiteabbey Hospital, and he brought me in, sat me down, and broke the bad news officially. He had received the CT Scan results and had major concerns about my swollen spleen, liver and lymph nodes. He predicted that chemo would start within a week at Antrim Hospital.

 

I didn’t react badly, in fact, I didn’t react at all as it was the news that I had been waiting for and expecting. I knew that now we could start to do something to put things right again. He obviously hadn’t expected this reaction, and as I left his office, there was a nurse waiting for me, to calm me down and talk things through. I didn’t need her, although I appreciated the thought. I just left and went home, glad that it was confirmed.

 

An appointment was arranged to see Dr Kyle at Antrim Hospital for the Monday.

 

Looking back, the only regret that I have is that I never insisted on my own doctor from the start.

 

 

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