Hurry up and wait: The Cancer Diaries Pt 9

You do a lot of waiting when you've got Cancer.  

Waiting for initial doctors appointments whilst subconsciously knowing you're in trouble, waiting for invasive tests and panicking about how they're going to be, waiting for the scans that will confirm what your subconscious (and the camera up the arse doctor) have already told you, waiting for the BIG appointment to give you the verdict that will define the rest of your life...and how long it might be be, waiting for the start of your treatment knowing that all the while the bastard inside you is getting bigger, waiting for it to stop hurting when you have a piss after you've completed said treatment (might be just me that one!), waiting to start chemotherapy and hearing horror stories about it everywhere you turn, waiting for it to just fucking end when you've had enough and then waiting for your new scans to see how it's went and whether you can finally see light at the end of the long, dark tunnel you've been in for so long or it's just an optical illusion and you're stuck in there for ever.

I finished my chemo treatment in mid-Feb and after a few weeks recovery was given an appointment for a CT scan down in my, now favourite, hospital near Hull on a Sunday night. Drove down there, had some banter with the staff (I like to think I'm a canny patient 😉) got injected and scanned, didn't piss myself and headed back. It's around thirty miles from my house and I was singing along to Pink on the way back (embracing my inner angry teenage girl - quite enjoyed it) and not taking much notice of anything else until about two miles from home I notice the car was really dragging to one side and there was smoke coming out of the bonnet. Obviously as a responsible adult I pulled over to inspect the problem and ring a breakdown service. 

Did I fuck! I looked up at God, mouthed 'Howay man, there's no need is there...' and drove slowly home. Rang the garage the next day, dropped it in and then...waited. Two days and a big bill later and I had a working car again.

After another two week wait I was up at Scarborough for an MRI scan. I'd looked forward to this as I don't leave the house much (clinically vulnerable, Covid, yadda yadda yadda) so I treat all of my hospital visits (the ones that aren't on a fucking Sunday night anyway!)  as a big day out. It was also a chance to get a nice coffee and a bacon sandwich so I was well up for it and left in good time to beat the morning traffic. Whilst I misjudged the rush hour into town I still had twenty minutes to have a bit of brekky and read the sports pages when I got there so I strolled into the hospital feeling pretty chipper only to find the cafe wasn't open and the hundred yard corridor I had to walk down to get to my scan was closed off for building work. Mint. 

Getting to my appointment just in time (and fucking hungry!) I was quickly de-robed and placed on the machine. I don't know if you've had an MRI before but I'm really not a fan. The machine is noisy and, judging by the amount of safety procedures in place for the staff, bloody dangerous. The saving grace was that it's usually over quick.

So I was on, the staff gave me my emergency button and exited, the noise and shaking started and I waited.

Not long I thought.

I waited.

My groin area felt like it was getting warm.

I waited.

I was sure there'd been at least four songs on the radio, what's that? Twelve minutes? Maybe there's a problem and they've all fucked off and forgot about me. My nether regions will be getting fried.

I waited.

That's another two songs. Should I press this button?

I waited.

It didn't take this long last time. Was that one of my bollocks I just heard pop?

And then it stopped.

'How was that Andy, doesn't take long does it?'

'No mate dead easy.' 😁

On my way out, having navigated my way around the hospital I noticed the cafe was now open. Bastards. 

So anyway, treatment done and all scans done.

And now? Now we wait... 

See you later,

Rivs