I came off my crutches after about 4 weeks, and went straight into physiotherapy. Andy was my physio and apart from the pain he put me through he was a good bloke! I met him and we discussed my "injury", he had previously treated a Sarcoma patient before and was the first person I had met outside of the City Hospital team who knew what Sarcoma was. Since then I have always been surprised by how little people do know about Sarcoma, as I have been more able to talk about it the look on peoples faces when I tell them what I had shows me how little is actually known about Sarcoma by people and actually just how few people have actually heard of it.
The conversation normally goes along the lines of "yes I was off work for a while, but I'm ok now" "What was it then, stress?" "No I had cancer" at that point you have to quickly add "but I'm in remission now" or the sad eyes, head cocked, stay positive conversation looks like it's building on their lips. Then they can't help themselves as remission to them means you are better so therefore it's open season and 20 questions time! "So where was it?" normally leads the conversation and when you say "in my leg" the look of confusion is sometimes worth the conversation itself. "How did you get it there?" really, you think I know how I got it in there? You think I know why my body decided to turn on itself, why it decided to start to make something that could kill me? You think I did something to put it in there? Those are my thoughts but I won't say them now, I've learnt to control that part of me. I'm sorry if that sounds like a rant, it's really not and it's also not a criticism of people asking questions. I mean it took me nearly two years to want to and to be able to talk about it, How can you expect someone who has never been told they have cancer to know what to talk about? I've been pissed off with people saying stay positive and I've been pissed off by people being insensitive, I mean that does make it really hard for them, they don't know what to say and then I criticize both ways! I guess what I'm trying to say is that I sometimes wish people would think before they talk, I'm going to have good days and bad days, and yes I know, how can they guess what today is? How will they know how I will react? I guess they wont, I guess I'm just asking that they think would I like to answer this question before they ask it and don't get offended if I say I would rather not talk about it, I might just be having one of those days. Anyway back to the conversation, "I don't know how it got there, my body just decided to get my fat and muscle a bit confused and it turned into cancer" Then comes the big one, the one I always hear "I didn't know you could get it there". Now I'm normally smiling and I shouldn't but they then do that thing we all do, everyone who has ever had a lump does, they rub their leg. They rub one and then the other, checking themselves, that thing we all do is catching when they think about it. Then they normally ask how big it was? and what did they have to do to get rid of it? When I tell them it was about as big as your fist they always make a fist and look at it, some even put it next to their leg and then look at me. Really? that big? Yes, That big, that's about average for a sarcoma, I was just lucky it was near the surface and I could feel it. This is what I mean, people just don't know about Sarcoma generally, if you say a body part and then cancer people have heard of it, lung, liver and skin, yes they have heard of all of those, but Sarcoma, normally no. If I can change that in anyway then I will, that was the real reason for me giving the talk at the charity lunch that started the road to this blog, just to get people thinking about Sarcoma, thinking about it from a personal health point of view and of course if companies or individuals are looking at fundraising and what charities to support then I want them to consider Sarcoma UK. I want people to know what Sarcoma is so that it becomes more visible, so we get more fundraising, so that we get more research, so we get more success, so we get more people in remission. So we get more understanding, so someone else doesn't have to explain to their boss like I did why they don't look like people expect, so that we can combat secondary problems like mental health issues. Sorry if that's gone a bit preachy or patronizing, it's not meant to be, it's just me rambling as I digress from the point of this chapter again!! So back to the story, Andy worked me hard in physio and I was now starting to look at my return to work in more detail. I was wondering if I would be physically able to do it? I had driven over 40,000 miles the year before, my leg was still so numb and I was only just about able to drive the 3 miles to the hospital at the minute how could I go back to doing the driving I had before, to walking around building sites and concrete plants, I was actually starting to worry a bit. What would happen if I couldn't do it, how could I go for an interview for a new job and tell them that I would need check ups and that I may get ill and be off work for a long time. What would work say if I couldn't do my job, would they even be willing to put up with the check ups and the risk of illness? Money was a worry, I had been off a while and if I didn't get the result I wanted at my check up what would happen then? Could I afford it if I had to change jobs? I had to fight all these thoughts away, my first priority was getting to my appointment and getting the all clear. That meant I wasn't going to die, well not just yet anyway, work and wages would have to wait until after that. About a week before my appointment I started to experience that feeling for the first time. If you have or have had cancer you probably know it, the what if this scan shows something feeling? It has a name, Scanxiety. For me it starts with that thought, then my heart races, and I mean races, then the sick feeling, then my head gets a bit fuzzy as panic starts. This started to feel a bit like being diagnosed again, about a lack of control, I couldn't change what was going to happen, I could only go and be told. This was also the start of my self checking, the rubbing of the scar, the poking of my right leg. This is a habit I have until this day, it's a subconscious thing now, I don't even know I'm doing it most of the time, I sometimes catch myself and then I force myself to stop, but most of the time I just hear "you're rubbing your leg again" and then I stop, almost embarrassed I was doing it. That week the amount of time I was rubbing and poking increased the closer I got to the day, it was almost constant the day before and as for the morning of the appointment I just couldn't stop. I didn't sleep the night before, that's also part of my scan routine now. I try to and I've tried all sorts to help but none of it does. I now just accept that the night before will be bad TV, cups of tea and a constant nausea, they said it would go after a while, unfortunately for me I don't think it ever will. I accept it now, I know it's coming, I know what I will be like, it's part of the routine for me. I've tried to change that routine but this one is just too strong so for now I'll keep on trying to change but also accept that it might be a while before I do. My appointment was on 15th July and on the day of that appointment I was unbearable, I avoided everyone that morning, I did not want to speak to anyone. I had been so positive and I was furious with myself for letting the dark thoughts back in, for worrying about what they would tell me, for not sleeping. I had been waiting for this day since February 11th and now it was here I was struck with panic and dread. I was angry because everyone else was so positive "this is the day Darren, it's all over, you've beaten it" well why couldn't I think like that? Why was I convinced that it would be bad news? "Sort yourself out Darren, you're making everyone miserable, be positive, everything will be ok, just go and get it done" I said that over and over, every time the negative thoughts crept in, but every time I couldn't shake them and this just made me angry, angry at myself for letting it get to me and angry at cancer for changing and ruining my life. This is probably a good time to talk about my superstitions for scan day, they started on this day but I still keep to them now, Nicola even laughed at me during my 2 years check because they haven't changed. On the day I was told I was wearing a blue and white checked shirt, light blue jeans and my timberland boat shoes. I was also wearing my titanium wedding ring, my omega watch and a black leather bracelet. I have never worn any of those things to an appointment since, not one of them. I can't, in my head if I wear them I am tempting fate, if I wear them they will tell me bad news. I know it's ridiculous but I don't think I'm the only one who does this or who has scan day superstitions. I guess it's just another coping strategy, I mean how can me wearing a watch or a certain pair of shoes change anything? It can't, I'm an adult I know that, but still I'm not taking any chances! I got ready that morning and left my ring, bracelet and watch on the side and then we drove to the hospital and arrived really early, and I mean really early. My appointment was at 3.15 but we were parked up and in the hospital for an hour before I needed to be there. We went for a cup of tea and if I'm honest I didn't want it but I also didn't want to get into clinic until the very last moment, I didn't want to be sat around in there, I hated the place still. It was about 3.15 when they told me I had cancer as well, "Christ that's an omen, why did they have to give me an appointment at that time?" See what I mean, superstitions and illogical thinking, the time meant nothing, a coincidence but I was seeing omens everywhere. When we went into the waiting room I made sure we sat in different seats, I picked up a magazine and realized it was the one I had picked up on February 11th and put it down as quick as I could, another bloody omen, "oh for god sake just hurry up and call me in". And then here it was "Darren? Darren Evans? Hi Darren follow me" In my head "No not this room, for f**ks sake, not this room, f**king hell" another omen, the same room. I had gone now, my head was gone, panic was consuming me, my heart was banging like a drum in my chest, a fast drum, I felt sick, I felt like I would faint, I wanted to turn and run, I wanted out. I sat in the chair, tapping my feet, clicking my fingers, breathing, fidgeting, looking at the door, god I just wanted out of that room. After what felt like an eternity Nicola and Mr. Perks came in, just them, I looked at them both for clues, Nicola was smiling but she always does, "Good afternoon young man" Mr. Perks was talking, "listen to him Daz, listen to him" I was telling myself, still trying to read his face, still trying to guess what was coming, dreading him telling me bad news again. "It's good news, the margins were clear" I didn't hear anything after that, I put my head in my hands and I broke down and cried, the tears started and wouldn't stop, the sobs started and wouldn't stop. I felt like I could breath again, I felt like I wasn't being crushed anymore, I felt relief, happiness, a sense of the future, I felt so much I didn't know what I was feeling, but it all came out in my tears and sobs, every tear and every sob took more pain away from me. I looked up after 5 minutes or so, and they had all gone quiet, everyone was looking at me and smiling, I started to speak "really? it's gone? there's nothing left in there? it's gone? everything is good?" over and over I asked the questions "yes Darren, it's gone, the margins were all clear, we tested the tumour and there was over 90% necrosis, those results are outstanding, they are the best I've seen for this type of tumour, your leg is clear, it's a good day just enjoy it." That feeling soon came back under control, the day wasn't actually over. "You need to have a chest x-ray now Darren, so I'll write you a slip and if you go down there you can get it done now. "What about the results? when will I get the results? I'm seeing Dr Cardale next week will she tell me?" "No we'll call you Darren" they didn't realize I had been booked in to see the oncology team the following week and said it would be a waste of time to come to that appointment. They would tell me nothing different from what I had been told so they would cancel that one, I could go and get my x-ray and they would phone me the next day with the results. If I'm honest this threw me, it threw me right off, so was I all clear or not? Was I cancer free or not? Should I be happy just yet? I mean if my leg is clear that's a good thing but I knew this would happen, all along I said that in between my first scans and now that the cancer would spread and we would miss it, I wanted to be all clear today, I wanted to be all clear. Now I had to wait another day for it to be official or another day to tell me I needed more treatment, God I just wanted to know now. They could see how this had upset me, they could see I was scared, I told them I would struggle to do this, that the wait every time I had to do this would be unbearable, I just couldn't do it. They talked and explained that if it was easier from now on I could have my chest x-ray before my appointments, they would have a initial result but that would be confirmed by the radiologists after a couple of days. Would I prefer this? God, yes, I would definitely prefer that! Anything to stop waiting for results or at least reduce it to the absolute minimum. This is also when they first explained the follow up process to me, 3 monthly checks for the first 3 years, then 6 monthly for 2 years and annually for 5 years. 10 years, to me that was 10 years until I would be a survivor, 10 whole years before I had beaten this, 10 years, f**k that's a long time. I didn't ask any questions about it, I didn't want to know the statistics still, 10 years that's what it is, ok I'll work on 10 years and see what happens. My next two appointments were made, I would alternate between plastics and oncology so I would see each one every 6 months but would have my check up every 3 months. I thanked them for everything, gave Nicola a hug and went off to x-ray, I didn't know what to feel now, I should be happy, I should be celebrating but I couldn't, not until I had these results back. The similarity of walking to x-ray from oncology was unsettling, I was back into looking for omens and then when I had the same radiologist as my first chest x-ray I started up again. She recognised me and asked how I was, I told her I had finished surgery and this was just a check, she said "well I hope the treatment has worked and keeps working", then it was shirt off, hold here, deep breath, click and shirt back on. She asked if I was going to clinic and I said I had been, that they would give me the results by phone tomorrow, she said "Ok great, well good luck, I hope the treatment keeps working". Well what did she mean by that, did that mean it was ok. did it mean it wasn't, has she got sad eyes, is her voice sympathetic? I left feeling sick, I wanted to be happy, to be all clear and now I had to wait for results again, and waiting for results was the thing I hated the most. That night was a strange one, everyone was happy, the cancer in my leg was gone, I was in remission, but still I couldn't relax, I couldn't be fully happy just yet, I needed that chest x-ray result and then I would accept that I was cancer free. All I needed was that chest x-ray result. I sat up again for most of the night, watching TV and feeling so many mixed emotions, I really wanted to believe it was all over and I could go back to my normal life. I wanted to celebrate really I did but I needed that chest x-ray result. How could I sleep knowing I was so close but could also be told I needed further treatment, my head, my mind would not allow sleep whilst they were both an option. The next morning was like going back to February, I sat looking at the phone, wishing it to ring again and dreading what would be said at the same time. Every time it rang I jumped at it, every time, and then I answered it and heard Nicola's voice, cheerful as ever she didn't hang around and just told me that everything looked fine, we would have to wait for the radiologists report but everything looked fine. The smile on my face grew, it kept growing, the pressure that had held me down since February was gone, my mind felt like it was clearing, like a fog was lifting, my body felt lighter, my muscles were relaxing. I was in remission, I had to think "is that what they call it? Is remission the right word? F**k it whatever you want to call it I was cancer free, after 5 months I was cancer free.
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I fell asleep on Friday afternoon and woke up at Saturday lunchtime, my leg was throbbing and that was what woke me up. I hadn't taken any painkillers in nearly 24 hours and my drain was nearly full, I ached from being laid still for so long and my head was still quite fuzzy. My first thoughts were of the dull ache in my leg and then happiness, the tumour was gone and now I was going to recover. I had an appointment in 4 weeks where I would be told the results of the pathology of the tumour and also if the margins were clean after testing was completed on them, I pushed that out of my head for the next couple of days I just had to rest and then get ready for rebuilding the strength in my leg. I knew there would be some things I would struggle to do but I had decided that I would treat this like every injury I had ever had over the years and the harder I tried the easier it would be to deal with and improve. But first Saturday was going to be a rest day, I got out of bed, bed was for ill people, and used the toilet. I know that's not the most interesting or even nicest thing to write here but after the "trials" of the hospital pots it was a wonderful thing!! I went and sat with a cup of tea and watched the British and Irish Lions match I had recorded on Sky earlier and just switched my brain off. Charlie came and sat with me and I tried to explain the intricacies of the game of rugby to him but at 6 months old I don't think he got a lot of it! I had some messages on Facebook with some people just wishing me well and others saying they wanted to come and see me, I did actually respond to some that day so I must of been feeling very confident of what was to come, I looked through the list and saw the people who had persevered with me through the dark times, they were there again, wishing me well and I thanked them, I truly meant it. I have to say that this really was one of the good days during the whole journey up to the present, I think the high level of painkillers running through my system may have helped though as well! I crashed out early again that night, it felt like a lot of pressure was slowly releasing, it wasn't all going but a lot of it was and my body was shutting down. The whole 5 months of pressure, panic, fear, worry was lessening and my body was saying "rest Darren, sleep mate, come on let's sleep". So I did. When I woke on the Sunday it was father's day, Harry was coming back from Spain and I was with my kids on father's day, the walk up the hospital corridor and the pain that went with it was all forgotten, now in the cuddles from Madison and Charlie and the thought of seeing Harry later all of it was gone. Mid afternoon I put my drain into the leg pocket of my shorts and managed to squeeze myself into the car and we went to the academy to meet Harry from the bus. It was lovely to see his smile, he had had a great time in Spain and couldn't wait to tell me all about it, I think he was also secretly a bit worried after he had left me in hospital on Thursday and was pleased that I was out now. I got home was given my cards and presents and I just enjoyed the rest of the day, it was my day after all. It was about this time I started to take my first steps into the Sarcoma community, I started to follow Sarcoma UK on twitter (@Sarcoma_UK) although I didn't click onto any links, no, no, no, not yet I still wasn't ready for that and I tweeted a couple of times about #sarcoma, then a couple of people started to follow me and talk to me. I was still really scared about learning about my cancer or seeing any statistics so I didn't say much but it was contact with other cancer patients which was something later on I really struggled to do. That is something I will talk about later as it will highlight some of the other issues that cancer patients encounter, very serious issues, mental health issues but that's for another day as I think they deserve a chapter of their own as they had a very traumatic and lasting affect on me. A tweet I received was from another Sarcoma patient living in America, she sent me a link to the song below, she said that when surgery and everything else got too much she would turn this up and sing as loud as she could. The thought that a complete stranger would send me a small thing like this just to support me was touching, we talked on and off over the next couple of months and I saw that she was going into remission as well. She stopped tweeting in June 2014, I really hope it's because her life is back to normal and she never gives cancer a second thought! She deserves that for the random act of kindness she showed me that day. I actually heard this song on the radio this morning, it was just such a coincidence as my brain has been telling me the negative thoughts again for a couple of days, I'm fighting it back though and listening to this song took me right back to 2013, I could feel tears in my eyes and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, so I turned it up full and sang "Can we go back, this our moment, tonight is the night, WE'LL FIGHT 'TIL IT'S OVER, so we put our hands up like the ceiling can't hold us!" The first week after surgery I made a real effort to be up and about as much as possible, I wanted to keep moving and develop a new routine, once again life had changed so a new routine was needed, a new direction and focus needed to be found. I was yearning the security of the routine again. I would be waiting 4 weeks for the results of the surgery, I know that might not sound much but 4 weeks waiting for results of any kind is a lifetime to a cancer patient, so what could I do? If I'm honest my obsession with my drain consumed a lot of that first week. I was desperate to get the bloody thing out of me, it got in the way when I slept, when I tried to shower, when I wanted to go anywhere. I wear shorts a lot, in fact most of the year I wear shorts, it's just me, so in a way that's a good thing. No one thought it unusual to see me knocking around in shorts, only the really eagle eyed ones could see the small pipe that ran from the bottom of the leg into my pocket, and not all of those asked.
Although now at the school gates people saw the crutches and those that didn't know started to ask what was wrong? What had I done? This was another set back on my journey, I still didn't really want to talk about it and I hadn't had the "aren't you brave look" for a while now and I didn't want it, no way, not after it had been cut out, not a f**king chance. If anything I avoided answering the question "what's happened Darren?" "Just some surgery on my leg, nothing important", it was easier than the look and the positive thinking comment, I really didn't want to have another outburst at someone either. Don't get me wrong I was in a good place, I was happy with how it was going, it's just deep down there was a gnawing thought that what if they missed it? What if it had spread after all the tests and now it was growing in my chest again and no one knew? That's what happened my to Grandad Taylor. I fought against that thought by ignoring it, by every time it popped into my head finding something else to concentrate on, something to do. It was a bit similar to when I gave up smoking in 2008, every time I wanted to smoke I stayed occupied and that's what I did now. If I'm honest this was another step down the mental health rabbit hole that I was digging without realizing it. Whilst I continued to ignore it I didn't learn how to deal with those thoughts that were building up inside, it was inevitable that it would come out at some point and it did just that, later on yes but it did and it was not a good thing. After 9 days I woke up and the drain had very little fluid in it, I looked, smiled, checked the measurement, smiled again, checked again, below 50mm, yep, lets get it out! Then I noticed there was no pressure in it, the bulb at the top which I used to keep it pressurized was not working, I tried and tried to get the pressure in, nothing, yeah now I was making a call but it wasn't the one I wanted to make. I had decided to get out of hospital early, I had said I could look after it, I didn't want to stay in there until the fluid had stopped draining so now I had to deal with that choice, time to put my chin up, my chest out and get it sorted. You said you could do this Darren so now if you have to have it stuffed back in, well that's your fault! I had been passed back to Derby for my surgical follow on care and physiotherapy so I didn't really know who I should contact on a Saturday morning. So after a call to the 111 number or NHS Direct or whatever it was back then it was recommended I headed down to the local Accident and Emergency to see what they could do. After brief wait, brief by A & E standards anyway, I was told that they couldn't really do anything. The drain I had was used by the Nottingham hospitals and not Derby ones, therefore they couldn't replace it as it needed to be the same one. They passed me on to a department up in the hospital so I wandered up there to be told the same thing and that really I should try and phone Nottingham to help. Now please don't think this is in anyway a criticism of the NHS staff, it's not, it's a reflection on how the system works or in this case didn't. I was sat on a Saturday morning with a broken drain and couldn't be looked after at my local hospital, I called the burns ward over at City Hospital and they said to come in. They would have a look and see of they could do anything but as I had been transferred back to Derby they weren't sure exactly what could be done. I made the trip to the burns ward and they looked at it for about 5 seconds and told me the pipe had come out of the wound and couldn't go back in. There was only one option and that was to remove it. The removal itself was fine, not a problem at all but then they told me they would have to monitor my leg because the fluid was still in there and they weren't sure if my body would absorb it or not? Now I'm no doctor but fluid being stuck didn't sound good, in fact it sounded as far from good as I wanted to be at that minute, but unless I wanted extra surgery to put it back in this is where I was and there was no other choice. Like I said the stubborn Darren had got me to this point, the demanding of control of the situation and now I started to realize I couldn't do that and now maybe I should listen more, it would of saved all this! I was back two days later, the painkillers were not working and my leg had started to swell and looked "angry". I was so fed up, after everything I had been through a bloody faulty drain was the thing that created a complication. A bloody stupid plastic pipe was going to cause a problem. That pissed me off. Still when I was laid on the table and they said they were going to aspirate it, I didn't think that would be a problem, I mean aspirate, that doesn't sound bad, it sounds a nice word. Well it wasn't, it felt like they were sticking a drainpipe in my leg. I have to be honest after two goes they said it didn't seem to be working and that they would give me some tablets to take with my painkillers and these would hopefully control it and help the fluids and if not we could give it another week before we needed to aspirate it again, I jumped off the table, grabbed the prescription and sprinted for the door. Well sprinted as fast as a man on crutches with a bad leg that had just been aspirated could sprint. For the next 7 days I took my pills religiously, every 4 hours, with food and lots of fluids. That bit I didn't get, lots of fluids, but maybe the result of drinking all that helped to drain the fluids in my leg too because after a week it had settled down. I went out everyday walking as well, first on my crutches and then after a week I would put less weight on the crutches as I was waking and more on my leg. Around the house after 2 weeks I wasn't using them, only when I went out and had a bigger distance to walk. After 3 weeks I was only using them for really big journeys and even then I was pushing my leg harder and harder. Mentally I was getting stronger, or so I thought at this point. I was actually starting to talk a little about what had happened, to those close friends who had kept on at me and now they had started to break the barriers down slightly. I was now telling them a little bit about it all, only the physical side though, feelings and thoughts were still off limits, that's changed a lot now, I have a friend I can talk to, someone I can tell when I'm bad, when I'm good, when I'm scared. A cancer patient needs someone like that, a person that sometimes just listens, doesn't even have to comment just listen, because sometime just listening is all it takes. I still couldn't even really say I had cancer to people without feeling sick in the pit of my stomach so the thought of telling people what was going on in my brain when the dark thoughts came still terrified me. They didn't come very often, again I think the routine of walking and trying to get off the crutches was helping me suppress them still. I thought I was winning but still they were there, waiting and building, just because I wouldn't acknowledge them didn't mean they had gone. Those friends kept trying though and every couple of days a message or email would come in and I would be pleased to see it, it meant that people outside my family were there and still cared, were there if I needed to talk even if it was just to say I was out and about walking. I also had my first contact with work about possibly returning, I had been off for 5 months and I knew the wages wouldn't keep coming in forever. I took the call and my boss said that he wanted to come and see me. I arranged to meet him in the café near to my kids school, I would take them up in the morning and then go straight there and we could have a coffee and a chat. He was stood outside as I got there and his face look confused as I approached, his first words were "well you look well, I didn't know what to expect and was scared of what you would look like!" Then and even now this rocks me a little, why do people always expect cancer patients to look a certain way? For the first 30 minutes of our meeting I had to explain to him what I treatments I had and why I didn't look as he expected me too. That felt pretty shit, in fact it felt proper shit. I felt like I was justifying my time off and why I looked well, apart from my crutches, there was no real change to my appearance and yet here I was having to what felt like explain why I had needed the time off. He then asked had I thought about my return and would I be ready soon? I wonder if I had looked as he expected if that question would have been asked? I said I had but I would not even think about it until after my surgery check up appointment, I was not coming back until I knew I was in remission and then I would discuss it. This was also the first time I really thought of my future life after cancer, I was a bit battered, a bit bruised but hopefully in a couple of weeks I would be told I was cancer free. I would then go back to the old routine of work and life. I thought that would be the easy part, I honestly thought that, I thought they would tell me I was cancer free I would celebrate and I would just go back to life and not worry about it again. How wrong I was. Please allow me a small digression from my story again because on Thursday some of my oldest friends and I gathered to say goodbye to one of us, to Graham, who I talked about previously in this blog. A hot sunny summers day, the sort of day made to relax and sit and talk to friends over a drink or two. I picked a couple of friends up from their hotel and we made the trip over to the crematorium in Nottingham, talking about rubbish and not really acknowledging where we were going or what we were going to do. We talked about work, some old memories and then all of a sudden we were there and heading up the drive towards the building at the top. We started to see people we didn't know and then some old friends, all stood in there groups quietly talking and looking around as more and more people were arriving.
We parked the car and walked down, faces from our pasts and close friends were everywhere. Smiles, handshakes, hugs and more smiles, a quick conversation with as many people as possible, saying hello to everyone I could, to people I had not seen in days for some or even years for others. Funerals are so strange like that to me, the joy of seeing people you may not have seen in a long time mixed with the sadness for the realization of why you are actually there make it such a strange feeling, so many hellos but one big goodbye. Graham arrived with his wife and family behind and some of the lads went off to collect him, he wanted his friends to carry him in and the lads were very proud to have been asked but wished they didn't have to do it. We followed at the back of the crowd and a testament to him as a man was there were no seats left, it was standing room only and I hope his wife and family found some comfort in how many people wanted to say goodbye as well as the amount of soldiers and ex soldiers who wanted to be there and couldn't so sent their best wishes and goodbyes. The song playing as we entered was November rain by Guns and Roses and this set the tone for what was a goodbye that was very much Graham, music was a big part of it and reminded me of our countless conversations on music and bands. I think it was our love of music that made us friends originally but years spent working together built that friendship. I stood and listened to the eulogy, about his life, his journey, his love, his family and I felt truly moved. I think the mark of a man are the relationships and memories he leaves behind, the people who love him and were loved by him, the lives he has touched and improved by being in them and Graham had done all of this. When I got outside at the end of the service I started to wonder about me and apply those marks to my life, had I been a good man? Had I lived a good life? Had I improved the lives of others? Would people want to say goodbye to me? My bio tells a bit of my story, about the man I am and how I got to where I am in my life at this moment but there is more than that. I am happy with how my life has gone, I have very few regrets about the life I have lived. My real regrets are that I wish some people had come into my life sooner and some had left it sooner. I don't really regret anything I did, well maybe smoking I wish I had never smoked and I wish I had looked after myself a bit better after I left the army and hadn't put the weight on! Other than that I really have had a good life, I grew up in Devon one of the most beautiful places in the world, I got a decent but unremarkable education and although I didn't have any real paper qualifications I had enjoyed the social side of school, played a lot of sport and made some friends. I didn't stay on past 16 as pretty much all my friends did as the educational side wasn't really my thing, I wanted to get out into the world and see it. I had always wanted to join the forces and I saw that as my way to travel and have a career. My Dad, Stepdad and both granddads had all been in the army so I saw that as my choice and during those first summer months after I left school in 1991 I went to the careers office and signed the forms. In April 1993 I actually entered the training regiment and I met Stevie. Stevie and I have been mates ever since, we have been posted together, spoke at each others weddings and had loads of adventures together. We also had another big thing in common, just as I went into remission Stevie was diagnosed with Non Hodgkins Lymphona. He fought through surgery and chemo and we would talk every week either by phone or over a coffee, we would talk about it all. Stevie was one of the few people I could talk with. I have only ever been able to discuss my cancer and my feelings with a couple of people before I started writing this blog and those people really helped me deal with it. I think that's what gave me the strength to write this, those people listened and told me that I should share my story, I should let people know how I felt and that might help others in this situation. I can't thank those people enough, they really have changed my life, they have shown me a new way of thinking, of believing in myself and what I can achieve by looking forward and not back. Stevie went into remission earlier this year and we had our inaugural meeting of the chetwynd barracks cancer survivor club, that's our in joke, and we talked about it all. We even got into a my cancer is more rare than yours and a tumour comparison contest! We had to declare it a draw as he had more than me but they were all ridiculously small. That's what I mean Stevie was one of the few people who could put me at ease about it all, he had always had a zest for life that surpassed anyone else I know and together we ended up in some strange places but always laughing! He did tell me when we last sat down for a coffee that he thought he would never make old bones, if the cancer didn't get him then the chemicals they pumped him full of during chemo would. He was convinced of it but I told him to shut up, we had got through it and it couldn't be a survivors club with just me in it. He had a motorbike crash 12 weeks ago and hasn't come out of the coma since. I miss him, I miss speaking to him, he was my best mate and we would talk all the time. He had asked me to go to Las Vegas with him and some others in November for his 40th birthday, we may not go this year but I still believe we will. I go to see him once a week and just sit and talk rubbish, about memories, about Vegas, about life. Vegas is still calling and yes we will still answer that call. The army actually taught me a lot about friendship, of course it did, when you live so closely with people you learn a lot about friendship. When you have laughed and cried with someone, fought with them and sometimes against them too, when you have had their last penny and also given them yours, when you have lived in a cramped room or tent and spent long hours talking about yourselves, your families, your lives to that point you learn a lot about a person and whether you want them in your life. Army friends are different from "normal" friends to me, there really is a bond that is hard to describe, Christ I sound like a recruitment poster but it's true. I still have a few friends from this time of my life, friendships formed in Germany, Bosnia, Kenya and other places around the world, friendships formed during long days travelling or sitting in and around vehicles or doing rubbish jobs. People say they aren't really your friends though, you only see them every now and again. That's rubbish, I might not see one of them in 5 years, Christ we may not speak in two years but I know that if I needed a friend I would just have to ask. Thinking of Graham again he always found it fascinating how close everyone was, even after we left. We would have reunions where there would be people earning a fortune as directors of companies and lads earning low wages a lot lower down the accepted pecking order of life and yet no one ever judged anyone or commented on what they did. We were friends and friends don't do that, we judged each other on the bloke you are not what you have or earn. Unfortunately when I got ill I cut a lot of people out of my life, I didn't want to speak to anyone even some people who were very close friends and if I'm honest I think they were a bit unsure what they should say to me, I got a lot of messages wishing me well but didn't respond to them so maybe people thought I wanted to be left alone and so they did. There were some people who persevered and I talked about them earlier in the blog. They weren't my closest friends then so probably didn't really know what I was like and I guess that's why they kept on!! They may not have been the closest then but they are now, to me they are very important, they really did keep me going and I really won't ever forget that. I also spent some time thinking about other people who I know that have been taken to soon, there was Mac who I talked about earlier in the blog, Dan who couldn't go on any longer, Brett with his demons, Steve in a motorbike crash, Lee lost himself in personal pain and there was Steve in a really random accident Bosnia. I worked for nearly 10 years in a job you expected people to die in but I never expected so many people I knew to die before I was 40. It did bring back a lot of feelings that I had been on top of again recently, they wont ever completely leave me those feelings and thoughts but at present I keep them in check, I have enough happiness in my life to keep them down and that's what I want to keep doing. I do still struggle with a fear of death, well of my illness coming back and killing me and really I shouldn't fixate on that because like you can see above it could come at any day. This was the key part of my issues later on after I had been in remission a while, if I'm honest it isn't the fear of death it's the fear of leaving the people I love behind and not being able to comfort them. See really it's a control thing again, but a control thing born from love. I didn't really get to speak to Graham's wife much, just a little at the end of the day. It really just got me thinking about life and love, about how we meet and love people, some with all our hearts and we never know how life will end for us. They loved each other very much and for me it's heartbreaking that they now leave each other so early. I can't imagine losing someone you love so early but it does remind me that we need to truly cherish whatever life we have with the people we love that deeply. We never know when they wont be there, when that goodbye was the last one, when the last I love you will be said. It doesn't take much to tell them you love them, tell them how they make you feel, tell them you want to be with them until the day you have to leave this world. I promised myself I would do that everyday and everyday I will because I want every I love you and every goodbye to be worthy of it being the last one. I got wheeled back into the room within an hour of the end of my surgery, my brain was wide awake and working but my body was numb and immobile from the chest down. The epidural was a strange feeling, using my hands I could feel my body but my body couldn't feel my hands, I'm a fidget I don't sit still, ever, but I had no choice. I laid there propped up on pillows and unable to really move drinking tea and watching MTV on the small television on the wall. My wife and mother in law were allowed in and we all just sat and chatted, not about the surgery not about the illness just chatted. I was in such a happy place, the thing that I hated in my leg was gone, off to a lab for checking and then if they wanted off for research in case that could help someone else who grew one of these things. My mood was happier than it had been in months, everything had built to this point, everything revolved about this point and I was going to enjoy it. I couldn't see the extent of the damage to my leg, I knew it was there so that was a massive bonus! I joke about it but a silly little part of me had wondered if they would need to cut it off, I know that seems ridiculous now but there were times during the build up where I had wondered what my life would be like with just one leg. But now when I put my hand down it was there, wrapped in bandages, with a drain sticking out, with no feeling but it was there.
Miss Rawle came to see me later in the afternoon, she explained that she was really happy with the way the surgery had gone, there was a slight complication in that the tumour didn't just pop out as it was a bit sticky but it was contained within the muscle and that by removing it she had got what she thought would be good margins and that I should be pleased with how it went. Then she explained "what the damage was" so to speak. I had lost virtually the entire rectus femoris muscle in my right thigh which was a major part of the quadriceps muscle group. I would definitely need some physiotherapy and there would be some things that I would struggle to do again, such as kick a ball and even though that rocked me a bit I was happy that although the muscle was gone but so was the cancer. She explained I would probably be in hospital until the following week and that Nicola would be in tomorrow to see how I was and with that she left. I laid and thought about what she had said, I really didn't want to be in hospital any longer than I needed to so we would see about that. I would get through today and see where we were, hospital was for ill people and I didn't want to be one of them. I then did what we all do in this situation I checked in on Facebook to let everyone know I was ok! It's so much easier than a load of text messages and phone calls, one status update and you're done! It was not long after that the day got a bit worse. I said to my wife I was red hot and that I was sweating like crazy, my sheets were soaking I told her. She said it wasn't that warm but she would open the window, maybe I was feeling a bit of something left over from the surgery. No I must be hot I'm soaking wet.......then it dawned on me, I couldn't feel anything from the waste down and I had been throwing the fluids down my neck as they had asked me to because of the blood and fluid loss from surgery. I knew what had happened, I had wet the bed. I was mortified, how embarrassing, what could I say to them, I was a grown man laid in a puddle of pee. My wife went and got a nurse and I could barely look at them as I mumbled "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so embarrassed, I'm so sorry", they told me not to worry, it wasn't a problem but as they moved me to change the sheets around me I couldn't help to feel embarrassed. They left me some pots in case I needed to go again and told me "don't worry, it's just one of those things." I was determined that wouldn't happen again, I was getting some feeling back in my insides, I still couldn't move and my legs were numb but I was starting to get feelings in my stomach and that would help me know when I needed to go. I thought it would anyway, I felt the need to go about an hour later, what I didn't feel was the actual going sensation until I was once again laid in dripping wet sheets. An embarrassed ring of the bell was made and a lot more mumbling apologies given whilst I was changed again. I swore next time I wouldn't do it again, and I didn't, I felt the need to go in my stomach I grabbed the pot "positioned myself" and then went. What I didn't feel this time was the pot filling to the brim and then overfilling, my language reverted to squaddie whilst it was just me in the room, then back to a mumbling wreck when the nurses had to come again. They were so good to me and they treated me with dignity and some humour, I often find that humour in the darkest times helps to bring you back, I just wish now I had remembered that a bit more over the last 2 and 1/2 years! By the time my kids came in with their Grandad in the evening I was feeling a lot better. I had mastered the pots (a carefully placed finger worked as a depth gauge...god maybe I should edit that part, but hey it seemed like a logical solution at the time and I'm an engineer!) The kids still didn't know why I needed an operation just that I had a poorly leg and that I would be in for a while. My eldest Harry was flying to Spain the next morning to play in a tournament, 8 years old and off to play football in Spain what a life, and I was devastated this would be the first match he had played that I would miss. Although because I had not had a general anesthetic I was at least in a state where we could have a good chat about it and he could tell me how excited he was. My daughter Madison was a bit more quiet than usual and I think it was being in the hospital that was upsetting her. She kept looking at me when she thought I wasn't looking and it seemed she was checking that I was actually ok but she didn't want to ask. I had a cuddle with Charlie who was only 8 months old at the time and then the other two climbed on the bed and cuddled in too, that was a high point, a real high, after the fears of leaving them to be laid there with all 3 in my arms I was truly thankful. Everyone left me at 8pm, visiting was over. The room suddenly felt very quiet and very big. The nurses were on 30 minute checks on me so I was never "alone" for long, but that night I didn't sleep. Yes my leg was a bit sore, people coming backwards and forwards didn't help me sleep but what I really did was look back on my life and where it had taken me. I speak a bit about it in the bio on this blog but I went all the way back, as back as far as I could, from growing up as an army kid, to moving to Plymouth after my mum and dad split up, school and friends in Plymouth, my first girlfriend and my last girlfriend as I left to join the army. I thought about my army life, the places I had been, the friends I had made, the laughter, the tears, friends lost, a new career, getting married, my kids, and then I thought about the future. This was when the tears came, I want to be there when my kids start and finish school, when they begin their careers or go to university, to walk my daughter down the aisle when she gets married, it all came out of me and I knew at that point I had a fighting chance, better than a lot of people and I vowed again I would do my best to see all those things. The night dragged but every hour I got a bit more feeling back, by the early hours I could move my legs and wiggle my toes, don't get me wrong the pleasure of that was outweighed by the pain now building in my right thigh but it was then I decided I would definitely ask if I could go home the next day, being in here was not helping me, being at home would. I didn't sleep at all just kept counting down the hours until the morning shift came on, I wanted desperately to get up but they wouldn't let me. And then I finally plucked up the courage to ask "Can I go home today?" "we will have to see Darren, the consultant will be around soon and you can ask them?" I sat and waited for them to come, wishing them to come and see me, I had made up my mind in my head, I was going home today, nothing else was acceptable to me today I was going home. I couldn't face breakfast, I didn't want it, I sipped the tea pushed some porridge around the bowl and just looked at the door. When the doctors came in they chatted with me about how I felt, checked my drain and the records to see how I had been through the night and seemed happy enough with how my body was feeling now the epidural was out of my system. As soon as they said " Yes, everything seems fine with you" I pounced!! "Well can I go home today then? My son is in Spain playing football and comes back on sunday and I would love to be able to meet him off the bus when he gets home?" The whole group of doctors looked at me like I had gone mad "Darren, you need to understand you have had major surgery, you probably wont feel like moving for the next couple of days, we need to monitor your drain as well". "Ok well with regards to the moving I want to get up now, I've been weeing in a pot for the last day and I am not doing it again, I want to use the toilet. I'm also an intelligent bloke, tell me what to do with the drain and I'll do it, my wife is an occupational therapist, she'll know what to do as well" They saw the look on my face and I guess decided there would be no reasoning with me "Ok, I tell you what we will get the physiotherapists to assess you and get your nurse specialist to have a chat as well and if they are happy, well you can go home." That was all I needed to hear, I would talk to Nichola and get her to say yes if need be and as for the physio, no problem!! The physio came to see me mid morning and asked me how I felt, I told her I was going home today after I had seen her and had an assessment. She looked at me and smiled "let's just see shall we, I'll get some crutches and we can see if you can walk first" She came back with a pair of crutches, her and the nurse put my trainers on for me and they said "OK, sit up carefully, we will check the crutches are right and then if you're up to it we can try and walk." The squaddie in me had already decided I was fine, not a problem, swing my legs over the bed and walk. So I sat, swung my legs over the edge of the bed, put the crutches on my arms and stood up ready to walk.... I came to laid back on the bed! The second I stood up I apparently passed out, the proverbial sack of potatoes, the nurse and physio caught me before I was a crumpled heap on the floor and had moved me back on the bed. I looked up into the physio's face and I was fed up, I was proper pissed off. "Please just one more chance, I know I can do it, I'm not sure what happened, but I can do it, just give me a chance? Please?" She must of had some pity for me "Ok, look eat some food and get some fluids in you, I'll be back in a couple of hours and we can try again." that was the deal and suddenly I was hungry and thirsty. I would of eaten anything and as soon as some food was put in front of me it was gone. Energy for when she came back, energy to get me home today. Nichola came to see me just after lunch, she came in with her big smile and talked to me some more about the surgery, she told me again how happy they all were with how it had gone. They would now test the tumour and also the tissue samples taken from the edges of the cuts to make sure there was no cancer left in my leg. I started to talk to her about it a bit more, I was happy, I truly was but the talks of testing did stir those feelings deep down that I was currently keeping under control, I could feel them creeping up and it must have shown because she told me "just enjoy today and the feeling you have, looking at your scans the tumour was shrinking and Miss Rawle is very happy, enjoy the moment." We talked a bit about me going home, she was happy for me to do it as long as everyone was happy, she probably just didn't want me moaning at her all week! So now it was a case of sitting and waiting for the physio to come back, I was building it up in my head, I was ready this time and I was walking. The physio came back and she had my crutches in her hand again, my trainers were on and ready so when the nurse came in my legs were already swinging and my feet aiming for the floor. "Are you sure Darren? take your time." I was ready my feet were already down and I was moving upwards, my head went fuzzy and my eyes went blurry. No way, not this time, I closed them, deep breath and reopened them. I felt OK, I was ready to go. She explained the way to walk, good foot forward, then crutches and bad foot with some weight through the bad foot as well, don't try to do it all on your arms. With that I was away, slowly very slowly, and if I'm honest the pain was immense. When I put my right leg down it hurt, when I lifted my right leg it hurt. The sweat was pouring down me before I got out the room but the target was the end of the corridor, if I could get there and back I could get home. I would not stop until we had done that journey. It took me a while but I did it, we got back to my room and she said she would fill in the paperwork and I could go this afternoon. When she left the room I let out the biggest sigh ever, I was in absolute agony it felt like my leg was on fire but still all I could think about was getting home. Emma came in to visit me at 2 and was shocked that I could go home, she hadn't expected that, she thought I would be in for the week. The nurses came down and explained how to look after my drain, how to empty it and what needed recording. They explained my painkillers and when I needed to take them, signed some more forms and that was it, I was on my way out of the hospital. They brought a wheelchair that I had no intention of getting in, no way I didn't need it, I would walk out. As I write this I realize just how stubborn a person I am, every time I lost what I believed to be control of the situation I became stubborn, obstinate even and that was generally when I got upset. I never realized I was that way until I started writing this blog, of course I knew I like things doing my way, I liked my routine and that I don't suffer fools gladly or hold back when I encounter them but it is only as I write this that I see most of my problems were down to me trying to control things I couldn't. I conceded and got in the wheelchair and Emma pushed me out of the hospital, the fresh air was wonderful, I was petrified the previous morning as I walked in that I wouldn't be coming out again, there would be a problem with the anesthetic and I would die on the table. Yes ridiculous I know but I had convinced myself, my brain had told me that so it must be true. Now I just wanted to sit there and breathe, the sun on my face and the air in my lungs felt good, it was a moment to just enjoy, one of those moments you keep in your mind, one you can always go back to, one you can always feel no matter how long passes. I had to get in the car, that was a feat in itself, I couldn't find a way to bend my leg and get it in without the pain making me wretch. I moaned, wretched, cried and wretched again but finally it was in and the car was heading up the A52 back towards home. I walked in the door and everyone was happy to see me, buzzing that I was back and that it was all a success. I hate to say it but I just wanted my bed, I didn't want to speak, I wanted to sleep, it was 4pm on Friday afternoon, I had been awake since 8 o clock on the Wednesday morning and now I was ready to sleep, I needed to sleep, I was exhausted. I climbed onto my bed, put a pillow under my leg and laid out. I slept as soon as my head hit the pillow although I remember that for the first time in months my thought as I went to sleep wasn't I've got cancer. My surgery date came through as Thursday 13th June 2013. When I first saw that date I thought "that's 6 weeks after radiotherapy will have finished, what the bloody hell will I do for 6 weeks?" Anyone who knows me will tell you I'm a busy person, at times maniacally busy, I don't sit down and if I do I fidget and fuss until I can find something to do. I have always been that way and now with no work and nothing to do but sit and wait for surgery I knew this would be difficult for me. Also with no real business to do in the day I was struggling to sleep at night, when I struggled to sleep at night I let the negative thoughts back in and I knew that was not going to help me, that would start a downward cycle. I missed the routine of radiotherapy as well, I missed the having somewhere to go, I missed the feeling that I was getting treatment. I think going in each day had become a bit of a comfort blanket, I was in a treatment environment and I was doing something about the tumour, now I was just sat waiting again and waiting was not good. They had told me the radiotherapy would keep working after the treatment had finished and I knew from the burns that it was but my head just kept saying "it's going to grow again" and I've said it before when it's your own mind saying it, it feels more real. I needed a new routine so I set about making one, that would help me, I started doing some football coaching for a charity, I had loved coaching football and decided that would be something I could still do. I spoke to a mate who said I could help out at some after school club sessions a couple of days a week so I took the opportunity. I loved it, I loved being back on the grass with a ball talking about and teaching one of the sports I love. I never told anyone I worked with why I wasn't at work, they just assumed I had lost my job and was filling time until I found a new one. It wasn't until my final session at one school when I said that I would be finishing now and that a new coach would be taking over that it came out. They asked me why and I said I needed some surgery, "oh sports injury?" was the question, "no cancer, a tumour in my leg, but it's fine it's treatable" was what came out of me and right then when I saw the sympathetic look again and the "be positive" words came out I decided not to tell anyone else. I could not deal with it anymore, I was sick of "you have to stay positive" absolutely sick of it. I snapped at someone once, I shouldn't have done it, I'm embarrassed to say I did it, but I did. All they said was "look Daz, if you stay positive you can beat it", it was early on and I wasn't in a good place but my return was cutting, cruel even. I spat out this response "Oh that's f**king it is it, I just wish the f**king thing away do I with smiles and hope. Well f**k me, I wish you had told me that earlier, about how when you were told you had cancer you just wished the f**king thing away. I feel so much better after you told me that." The look on their face was awful and I apologised straight away but I felt awful truly awful. They were trying to help that's all, trying to be nice and my response was vicious. I never did it again but I also have never forgotten doing it either, I'm cringing now as write about it but this was supposed to be warts and all so there it is. Hopefully if someone else has done that they will now know they aren't alone I did it too. If I'm the only person who has ever done that, well, let's just say I hope I'm not! Because we had made a decision no to talk about it at home and now I wasn't going to say anything to anyone else as I was fed up with the "be positives" it did become difficult again for a while. There were still a couple of friends who called, text or emailed asking how I was. It was less than when I was diagnosed a lot less but I understand, it wasn't happening to them, it didn't have to be in their heads all the time, they still had lives, jobs, worries of their own and that's fine, really it is, I don't blame them, Christ I had done the same thing with Graham. But those that did stay in touch, well they helped me, they gave me someone to talk to if I wanted to. Granted I didn't actually want to talk a lot of the time but when I did they were there. And a text or an email arriving unexpectedly did lift my spirits, it did it a lot. I say it dragged, and it did, it also seemed to speed along to the 12th June. My other love in sport is rugby and the Lions were on tour, It meant that as I built up to the surgery date I had a major sporting event to take my mind off it. I would watch all the games in this period, all of them, in fact I didn't miss a single game of that tour, I think that's the first time ever I haven't missed a game due to work or something else. They say every cloud and that, well that was definitely one of my silver linings. That tour is another thing that will be forever linked to this time of my life, I watch the tour documentary from time to time and I always go back to this point in time in my mind. Normally it's music for memories but for this point it was sport. The 12th of June came around and that was one of the longest nights ever. It was no food or drink, well sips of water, after 10pm and I was scared, really really scared. You will have noticed by now from this blog that lack of control terrifies me. I want to be in control of my life and once again I was at a point where I had to surrender control of everything to someone else. I liked the surgeons, I trusted them, I desperately wanted this bloody thing out of me but the thought of surgery absolutely terrified me. They had explained that they had a good idea on what the tumour looked like and how big it was but this may change once they opened me up. There may have been some contact with other parts of the leg, it may not come out easy, they weren't sure exactly how much "good leg" would need to be cut away etc.. None of that was what worried me, being put to sleep did, god it did, the thought of it still makes me shiver and feel sick. In my head at that point that's when you lost all control, completely lost control, someone made you go to sleep and then woke you up. Now to most it's not a problem but to me, honestly I feel sick just writing it now so imagine how I was then!
This is what kept me awake that night, all night, and I mean all night. I did not sleep a wink. Sipping water and that bloody bad TV again as my head argued with itself yet again! "it's in my leg, I'm sure they could use a local, I mean it's not like it's in a tricky place" "yeah but it's major surgery, they said that, major surgery, they can't do that on a local" "yeah but it's my leg, f**k it I'll ask them, if they see how scared I am they'll let me" "stop being an idiot, just get on with it" there we were again, backwards and forwards in my head, fear overtaking control, panic overtaking logic and all of it overtaking sleep. I was relieved when 6am came around, I was supposed to be at the hospital for 7 so now I could get moving, doing something, the soothing effect of motion and purpose started again and then I was off to the hospital. I drove and my wife sat next to me, my mother in law was in the back, she would keep her company whilst I was down in surgery. Conversation was quiet, if I'm honest we didn't talk much, everyone was tired and I was a mess again, still the local versus general argument raged in my head, I would ask, I would definitely ask, what's the worst that could happen, they could say no, that's all. Onto the ward and the news I would be one of the first down, my anxiety was really peaking, Ok I said I would ask so I'll ask. "Is there any chance I can have this under local?" They couldn't answer, it would be down to my consultant, "she'll be in soon with Nicola to see you, you can ask then but if I'm honest, don't get your hopes up but you can ask". I had been given my own room so I sat in the window overlooking a view which let's be honest wasn't great but it was the outside. I sat and watched people coming and going, wondering what they were coming for, who they were seeing, just going about their business and then the door opened and in came Miss Rawle. She always had a calming influence, and it did start to relax me as she went through the paperwork and the procedure, and then she said something I will thank her for forever. "So then Darren, I think we could do this under a local anesthetic if you would prefer?" I looked at everyone in the room, a smile crossing my face, I relaxed almost instantly and my wife said "Thank you, he has been up all night worrying about that, he won't tell you that now but he has." The paperwork was a doddle, I would of signed anything now, we discussed different possible outcomes, the best case and the worst case, what both would mean to me and then she said she was going to get ready and would see me soon. And that was it, pants on, good ones people would see them, and then the gown. On the bed and waiting for the porter I said goodbye to my wife, see you later, won't be long. I felt at ease now I really did I was getting the tumour out, I didn't have to go to sleep and I was getting the tumour out! Yes I know I've said that twice but since I had been told on February the 11th all I wanted was this thing out of my body, 4 months had passed and now I was getting it out of me. If it wasn't in me it couldn't spread and therefore couldn't kill me, it was time to get this thing out. I went down to the preparation room at about 9ish, the porter made small talk, I was deposited in a waiting room on my bed and then called to go in with the anesthetist. It was time for me to have the local anesthetic and it was decided on an epidural. I now understand what one of those involves, and why pregnant ladies want them. I have to be honest, the anesthetist was really good I didn't really feel anything pain wise, a scratch and some pressure and then a cold feeling spreading downwards until complete numbness. I was laid down and a drip placed into the back of my hand. It had been explained that if anything happened that needed me to go to sleep they wouldn't tell me they would just use this to deliver the drugs and I wouldn't know. They then gave me a dose of anti depressants, strong ones and I can only describe the feeling as being tipsy, you know that point where you know you have had a drink but you're not drunk. You are happy and relaxed, no worries in your head and your ready for another drink. They wheeled me in and Miss Rawle was there to greet me, she asked if I was ok and ready to start, I nodded, yes I was and with that she told someone to get me a blanket and then my pants were being taken off again! To be honest with you I don't really remember the surgery, I remember feeling really warm, I remember hearing the radio being on and talking with the anesthetist. We talked rubbish, small talk, work, kids, holidays and football. I guess it was anything to keep me chatting, to stop me wondering, to stop me worrying. I think that I even fell asleep at one point, I remember sort of waking up but then thought I couldn't have slept could I? I kept looking into the surgical light as there was a bit of a reflection, I couldn't see what they were doing, I couldn't feel it either but my curiosity was building. I guess it was just that I wanted to know if it was a success, how badly my leg would be damaged afterwards, it won't be that bad surely? I was in surgery about 2 and a bit hours and then they took me through to recovery, the nurse sat with me and we talked about the same stuff as I just had in theatre, I guess they just wanted to make sure I didn't have a reaction before I went back to the ward. I had already started asking "is it all out? Did you get it all? How bad is my leg? How long does the drain stay in?" and of course "when can I go home?" Miss Rawle came out and said "just relax Darren, I'll come up and see you soon, everything went well." With that the porter came and off I went back to the room. I can honestly say at that point I felt truly great, it had taken 4 months but the cancer was out of me, it was out of me. It was gone. I cried but different tears, it was relief that my surgery was over, relief that my kids could come and see me later, relief that the cancer was out of me, relief, just simple plain relief. I stopped crying in the corridor, I didn't want anyone else to see the tears, I didn't want today to be about any tears. The cancer had been cut out. |
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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