This is just a quick addition as tonight I sit here and think about my 3 month appointment tomorrow, the scanxiety is back, really badly and the people I would normally speak to about it I'm not able to at the minute. I'm also going by myself for the first time tomorrow and that is playing on my mind, normally when I'm there I don't talk anyway but tomorrow I wont have the option, it will just be me. Don't get me wrong I need to be able to do this, I want to be able to do this, it's another important milestone for me in my recovery. If I can learn to control it I can learnt to deal with it better and then hopefully talk about it more.
Talking about it I've learned over the last 2 years is very important, not necessarily about statistics, survival rates or the clinical side but the emotional side, the one that helps you cope with your feelings both good and bad. I have a couple of people I can talk to and they really do help me, really they do. Without them I'd be lost. People also tell me I should be pleased that I get regular checks and that they would catch it early but me I'll be happier when I get to annual or even no check ups because that means it has been a long time since it was in me and therefore less chance of it coming back. I'm not sure if that is clinically correct and if you know don't tell me, it's best for me still that I don't know. The big anniversaries are the difficult ones for me, 1 year was a tough one, 2 years is working out the same way. I don't know why these in particular seem to be like that, maybe because they represent, well they are real measurable and substantial chunks of time. If I can get through just 1 more year I get to go to 6 month checks and that to me is the promised land at the minute. So what happens tomorrow? Well my appointment is with the oncology consultant tomorrow. This alternates with the plastic surgery consultant who carried out my surgery but as always it starts the same way. My thoughts will actually be at the hospital the minute I wake up, I will be desperate to leave to get there and at the same time find a million reasons and stupid little jobs to delay my departure as well. I'll get in the car and pick some of my favourite songs and turn it up loud but when I get to the hospital I wouldn't be able to tell you what I had listened to. I park and go straight to x-ray, I get there about an hour before my appointment at clinic and it's pick up my ticket at the desk, waiting room, x-ray room, t-shirt off, deep breath, hold the rails, click, and I'm done. Then I try and read the radiologists face and comments. Are they secretly telling me it's back, are they telling me it's fine? They actually all say the same each and every time. "Ok Darren are you off to clinic now? Yes? Ok they will have a copy on the computer, bye." But each time I listen for a change in voice tone or a sad look in their eyes, I guess they are used to it and I would never play cards with them that I know. Then it's the wait, the hour that feels like a day, the cup of tea that tastes of nothing. The blank stare and the thinking of "so what do I do if they say it's back?" Then 5 minutes before my appointment I walk down the corridor to Oncology outpatients, hand gel, reception, book in and sit. I sit and look around "who's here for the first time, who's been here before." I watch people go into the rooms and come out, the ones who have had good news smile and chat but the ones who have bad news, well they look like I did when I first walked out of that room. A support worker will then say "Darren, Darren Evans, Hi Darren follow me, take a seat, Doctor will be in soon." And I sit and wait, feet tapping rubbing my leg and waiting for them to come in and speak. That's the minute that feels like a year, the one I truly struggle to cope with. Then the news whether it's good or bad will be delivered, I've only ever had good news for 2 years now and I hope that stays the same tomorrow. If it does I'll thank them, walk out and try not to look to happy, I don't want to upset people who may be getting or have just had bad news, I make my next appointment and go back to the car. This is the point where I go, every time I just go, a deep breath and then tears, not as long as before and no sobs, but there will be some tears as the relief enters and the stress and worry leaves before home and sleep, I haven't slept properly in 4-5 days at present and I hope tomorrow I will, I hope I sleep knowing that I've made two years, that I'm nearly half way there.
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Darren EvansOn Feb 11th 2013 my life changed forever when I was diagnosed with a myxoid liposarcoma of the right thigh. This is my version of my life since then. Archives
June 2018
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