Seventeen Years of Blessed Time

A Diagnosis and a Diary

I have just read through the blog I wrote 17 years ago today, and I can only be amused at the humour that infused those pages: an admission to hospital that lasted 18 days, a cancer diagnosis, and the possibility that I had only five weeks to live. That earlier writing found the light amid it all, and reading it back now, I am struck by the tone I managed to keep.

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That was how serious things were. I was in unbearable pain that medication did not seem to manage, and could barely tolerate. As long as I was lying flat, I was fine; the moment I put my left foot down, I was in agony.

The Path to Referral

I still remember the conversations that led to this, beginning on the Wednesday before. From the moment I saw my doctor, who took one look at the sole of my foot and immediately said, "This looks serious, I need to refer you," things moved quickly. She was soon on the telephone, urging the hospital to register me for the next available appointment as a matter of urgency.

She bandaged my foot, sent me home with painkillers, and secured an appointment for the Friday. When I attended the hospital that day, the staff decided I had to see the internist, who was not available until the Tuesday. No further palliatives were on offer, yet I somehow survived the weekend without the need for an emergency evacuation.

Admission Day

On the Tuesday morning I was chaperoned to the hospital. I took only a change of underwear, for I had no idea what to expect. For the first time in my life, I sat in a wheelchair, exhausted by the pain, when the internist, after the briefest of introductions, did not hesitate to say, "You're not going home; we have a bed for you upstairs."

I was registered, prepped, and soon wheeled on a gurney to the ward, where my vitals were taken and the process of medical triage and diagnosis began. They first ruled out diabetes by taking my blood pressure at my extremities, at my lower arms and below my calves. Then I was cannulated and given an intravenous infusion of saline solution with antibiotics. Thus began my first day in hospital. The very next day, my netbook was delivered to me, and with it the chance to write from my bed.

A Note on the Bread

With the netbook at hand, I set about recording the daily indignities, and here is the sort of thing that occupied me at the time.

"I ended up with the gluten-free bread meant for the patient in the next bed – tasteless, YuK! Yuk! I was, however, bothered because the bread was clearly labelled for the lady; I do not remember undergoing a gender reassignment overnight."

That, more or less, was my state of mind: frightened, in pain, yet still affronted by a bad slice of bread and a case of mistaken identity.

A Prognosis of Weeks

From a medical perspective, I am not expected to still be here. At prognosis, I was told my condition was treatable, but only if I could tolerate the treatment. The internist, who was also an MD, said, "If you cannot tolerate the treatment, you probably have only five weeks." Beyond that, studies at the time suggested that people presenting with my symptoms did not last a decade.

As it turned out, I could tolerate the chemotherapy, and it worked. For me to be here today, 17 years on, is a miracle of mercy and grace, blessed time rather than borrowed. I am thankful for each day. I have even survived another episode of cancer, and it is almost two years since I completed radiotherapy for that. That day is etched in my memory, and I am grateful to God, to my doctors, the nurses, my friends, my neighbours, colleagues, and the many well-wishers. You are all part of this amazing story.

Between the Pain and the Healing

I shall borrow an excerpt from the blog I wrote about my admission then, the closing paragraph, and whilst recollections might vary, through the pain and the ordeal I also saw beyond it. "Even in all this, one has many things to be thankful for; health is wealth, any day, any time. For all that suffer, I wish them a speedy recovery – yes, I got my netbook delivered to the hospital – there is much to talk about, between the pain, the sheets and the healing." (Yes, I used em-dashes in 2009.)

Thank you.

Blog - In hospital to kill the pain (September 2009)

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