I don't know who I'm writing this for, maybe no one, maybe just to get everything out of my head, but i heard blogging about cancer, helps you to beat cancer. So here goes.
Friday 20th April, going to the hospital with my mum to get my results from my third ultrasound and second cell sample taken from the nodule growing on my right thyroid. The appointments supposed to be 9:10, and it swiftly becomes 9:30, and i stupidly joke in my head 'the results must be bad and they're doing a coin toss to see who's giving me the results!' The doors swing open and out comes a consultant, not my consultant. Mine wears a suit, he's top man and he doesn't need to wear scrubs. I look back to the floor.
'Hannah Johnson?' What? It's for me, OK. We get up, mum has started coming into all the appointments with me as i tend to not listen or become a nervous wreck around medical staff (bad experience when i was 5). I'm thinking to myself, it can't be bad, if it was bad they'd have sent the top man, this guy obviously has been given the quick appointments. WRONG.
In the next ten seconds i feel like someone has hit me round the head with an over sized boxing glove. The results are back, they aren't happy with the cells. On a scale of 1 to 5, 1 being definitely not cancer, 5 being definitely cancer, you're a 4. Right, a 4. So i have cancer and they just won't say to cover their own backs. And then he has the cheek to not only ask if I'm OK, but to say "well, if you could choose a cancer, thyroid would be it. It's the best kind to get". Right, the best kind to get, like I'm standing in Waitrose in the cereal aisle saying to my mum, hmm which one shall i have, i mean i want to choose the best one to have, i know I'll have thyroid cancer. Yeah, uhm, excuse me Mr. Breast Specialist (says so on his badge) i don't want to choose, in fact you can have them all back, you choose one for yourself, i won't be selfish, go on you have it.
Well, that was a shock. And with my head reeling and feeling like I'm about to pass out, they send me off for blood tests, there and then. No, take some time to think about this, you need to go home, have a cup of tea. Nope, straight off for blood tests, apparently they need to check what it's doing in there. Now for those who don't know me, i hate needles. HATE THEM. Seriously, i can't even watch someone get their ears pierced. So sitting there, breaking into a clammy sweat thinking, OK which is worse, i 'might' have cancer, or going into that cubicle and being stabbed. That's how much i hate them.
And there she is, she swoops in like my guardian angel...'Miss Johnson?'
That's it, they got the results wrong, they read someone else's and I'm fine. Someone else can have my box of cereal. 'Yes' hopeful, expectant, stupid again.
Could i go back up and see the specialist when I'm done with my bloods, he wants a chat. Now he wants a chat. He couldn't have seen me first time round?! OK, well maybe it's not bad news, maybe this supposed angel is really just a happy sprite come to give me something positive to cling to.
Bloods done, back up to top doc. I am by the way barely walking in a straight line and feeling like I'd much rather run really fast out of here and as far away as possible. We go in. We sit down. He gives me the pity look. I'm sorry he says. I'm going to do the operation myself, I'm going to look at the thyroid, i might have to take it all out, i won't know until i open you up. OK. I can deal with that. He's the best thyroid surgeon in the country, he knows what he's doing, I'm in the best possible hands. And then i come back to the room and reality and ask him to repeat himself. He has a cancellation next week. On Tuesday. Can I come in then for surgery?
