Having been somewhat loopy for some time, I was sent for a routine MRI - which no doctor or myself expected to show anything but it was nonetheless done, to touch all bases.
Flash forward 4 days and I'm sitting in an office at the Ambulatory Unit, being told by an endocrinologist - who doesn't normally have to deliver such news - that I have a tumour in my cerebellum.
....Two days previous to this, we booked our wedding venue and confirmed we will be married on the 7th of November....
Within 20 minutes, I'm whisked by wheelchair up to a private room on Neurosurgery and I have 3 doctors telling me that I have a tumour, asking me questions, performing neurological examinations, ordering scans and telling me that they plan to cut my skull open and remove the tumour in 6 day's time.
The next 5 days is a bizarre combination of continuing to confirm wedding plans, organising my business, writing a will, handing power of attorney over to my mother and having -what I called- a strategic hair-cut!
Thursday 30th July saw the fantastic surgeon, Mr I , remove the whole tumour. The next few days are a morphine and brain injury filled fog but I recovered remarkably and unexpectedly well.
I've been incredibly lucky, in that these are the only neurological deficits that I have; I continue to have left sided weakness however this isn't profound enough for physio to be concerned. I feel as though I have a weight around my left ankle and I am dragging my left leg with me. Speaking is difficult - although if you heard me speak you wouldn't think I had any issue - it feels bizarre in one side of my mouth, as though I am trying to speak around an object.
I was finally allowed home, where I need my mum or Péter to help me with basic tasks - which is unbelievably frustrating. The stairs feel like an epic expedition to the top of Kilimanjaro! Going down the stairs is equally awful- sometimes I slide down on my bum, others I lean on my right shoulder as I pathetically step down one-by-one.
On the very same day as I purchased my wedding dress and veil, less than an hour later, I was back on Neurosurgery to discuss the initial pathology results.
Medulloblastoma.
Originally 2.5cm but upon removing it, it was 3cm.
This is normally a childhood cancer but it is rarely seen in young adults.
Mr I encouraged me to name my tumour so that is why this blog is humorously entitled Melvin & Me. Nothing like a little alliteration to soften the blow of cancer!
Melvin, my Medulloblastoma.
I'd like to say that this has given me a new outlook and zest for life but I've been merely surviving this and no more. This past month has been a complete blur.
It's been a massive, whirlpool of emotions for my family and friends but for me, flavour of the month has been apathy, numbness and stoicism. This has been interpreted by those around me as great bravery and strength but it is nothing more than dissociation from the situation.
Anyway, I thought I would keep a wee blog diary of my journey - as I'm about to begin a pretty long and arduous expedition to finding health again - if that's ever possible.
Next up, will be our first fundraising effort for the Maggie's Centre, Dundee. My hair will fall out pretty soon after beginning radiotherapy but it's recommended that I shave my head beforehand so I'm handing the clippers over to my brother and hoping to get some donations in the process!
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