by Chris Geiger
I’ll be honest, I paid little attention to it from then on, even though it was gradually getting bigger. During April, I happened to mention it to my mum. She suggested I go and see my doctor and get it checked again, advice I stupidly ignored. After a couple more weeks of Mum nagging me, I eventually booked an appointment with my doctor. The doctor repeated what the nurse had told me; he too didn’t think it was anything to dwell on. However, just as a precaution, he would arrange for an ultrasound to be done. Before my ultrasound appointment, the doctor wanted me to have some blood tests done. These thankfully all came back as normal. Again, I wasn’t the least bit concerned that there might be a problem.
The ultrasound was booked for 14 May. My sister came with me and it didn’t take any time at all. While the ultrasound was taking place, I enquired what the lump could be. The lady said it looked like a swollen lymph node, and I thought nothing more of it.
She explained I’d receive a letter from the Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) Department in about a week with the results. When I got home, I Googled ‘lymph nodes’ and the word cancer kept appearing everywhere; I was now starting to get quite worried.
My appointment for the ENT clinic arrived for 21 May. By now, I’d already convinced myself something nasty was going on. I imagined an invasion of bad cells crawling around my body, which I had no control over.
The 21st soon came round, and both Mum and Dad wanted to come with me, which I wasn’t best pleased about. I’d already decided I wanted to go on my own. I went straight to the hospital from work in the end. I arrived at the department to see a waiting room full of people and was told all the day’s appointments were delayed by about an hour.
Finally, at 5:00 P.M., I was called in to see the consultant. He said with a ‘no messing’ manner, ‘I’m ninety percent sure you have cancer.’ He went on to say he needed to take a biopsy to be sure, and to determine what type I had.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. To think it might be cancer was one thing, but to actually hear what I did was something else. I stayed strong and managed not to cry – despite really wanting to. The consultant went on to explain that he required the biopsy as a matter of urgency so had actually already booked it for the following day. I was in complete shock by this stage; everything was suddenly happening so fast. I couldn’t hold back my tears any longer and started to cry. I signed some paperwork and left the hospital. I was a complete mess, not knowing how I was going to drive myself home.
I called Mum and told her what the doctor had said, and she also started crying. It felt like I couldn’t breathe, like I was being suffocated. All I wanted to do was curl up in bed and pretend it wasn’t happening. This had to be a mistake, I kept saying to myself. Eventually, I managed to drive myself home, made a few phone calls and went to bed. But I couldn’t sleep; I just lay awake all night going over and over what I’d been told. I kept wondering why it had happened to me. My whole life suddenly felt like it was collapsing around me.
I arrived at the hospital early the following day and was shown to my bed. I was in a room with three other ladies who were really nice and helped keep my spirits up. We chatted constantly for most of the day, which was a great help. Around 4:30 P.M., I was finally taken down to theatre. At about 6:00 P.M., I remember waking up and fussing around my neck to see if they’d put a drain in. I was so pleased when I found they hadn’t. I had to stay in hospital overnight, which I wasn’t pleased about. Mum and Dad visited me, and they arrived just after I’d been taken back to the ward. Mum helped me put on my nightwear, as I couldn’t move my neck or lift my arm properly; it was so painful.
The next day, the consultant came round, checked my stitches and signed me off work. He said I was now free to go home, but would have to come back a week later to have my stitches removed.
I returned to the ENT Clinic on 4 June. My consultant simply said, ‘It’s as we feared… you have cancer… we’re sure its Hodgkin Lymphoma.’
It sounds a dumb thing to say, but I was ready to hear this news. I’d had nearly two weeks to get used to the idea and in truth the consultant had already told me before the biopsy was taken. There was no way he would have said he was ninety percent sure I had cancer if he wasn’t. I left the hospital alone clutching various booklets on the subject.
Now I had to wait for my next appointment, which had already been booked for 12 June. I felt completely numb, scared and overwhelmed by the whole situation.
The date soon arrived; this was the appointment where I’d find out what treatment I needed. They’d also explain how long I’d be treated for and what stage cancer I had. Usually stages were described as numbers, between I and IV, which represented the amount that the cancer had spread. To my horror, I was a stage IV, this being the worst. The stage also takes into account the size of the tumour and how much it has invaded other organs. The consultant went through everything with me and made me feel a little more relaxed. I was told I would need a PET scan to see if the cancer had spread. He wanted me to have it as soon as possible, to enable them to start treating me. I also needed my bone marrow tested; I wasn’t looking forward to that.
I had a list of questions, which he answered, so it was just down to me to process and understand all the information I’d been given. I really didn’t know where to start; all I wanted to do now was get the bone marrow test over with and find out if the cancer had spread. My consultant explained I’d need ABVD chemotherapy, but it would depend on the results from the PET scan. This would determine how much chemotherapy I needed, which would then be followed up with a course of radiotherapy.
My PET scan was booked for 19 June. I didn’t really know what to expect but figured it was a pain-free procedure so couldn’t be too bad. I was right; I had an injection, which contained a small amount of radiation. The radiation evidently sticks to the cancer cells, allowing the doctors to see how big the tumour is and if it’s still active. I then had to wait a couple of hours for the radiation to work its way around my body before I could have the scan. I was in the actual scanner for about forty-five minutes and then went home.
I had to go back to hospital on 25 June for my bone marrow biopsy, which I was dreading. I arrived at the chemotherapy ward where I was shown to a bed. A doctor soon appeared and explained the procedure to me. He asked if I would like to be sedated or stay awake. I figured staying awake would be the best option, as I could go home the second it was over. How wrong I was – it was very uncomfortable. I thought I dealt with the pain quite well until the doctor said he wanted to take a second sample, as his first attempt had fallen out of the tool he was using. I soon decided I couldn’t take the pain any more and got them to knock me out with a sedative. I obviously couldn’t tell you what happened from there. I decided from that point on, if I was ever offered anything, it was being offered for a reason. Therefore, the answer I always gave from then on was yes. I never once tried to be brave again; I don’t do pain.
My first dose of chemotherapy was on 3 July. I arrived on the ward and had to wait an hour for the drugs to arrive. One of the nurses put a line in the back of my hand to give the chemotherapy through. The nurses were lovely and I met another girl with the same problem as me. She was on her third lot of chemotherapy and we got on well straight away. My treatment arrived and it took around two hours for it to slowly drip down the clear tube and into my body. I didn’t feel a thing and went home quite happy.
I expected to start feeling poorly that night but didn’t, to my relief. I can honestly say I just felt warm and had a rather flushed face. This was on the Friday and I continued to feel OK over the weekend and Monday. However, Tuesday wasn’t such a good day. I woke up with a really sore mouth; it was so sore that I couldn’t eat anything as it hurt too much. I called the hospital who gave me a mouthwash, which helped straight away and I soon started to feel well again.
On Wednesday, I was feeling poorly again. My left arm, which I was given the chemotherapy in, had become very painful and swollen. I called the ho
spital and they suspected I might be reacting to one of the drugs. They suggested I put some heat on my arm; this would help the small veins remain open and should relieve the pain. The next day, one of the nurses called me to see how I was doing. There wasn’t any improvement so I went back to the hospital to see a doctor. They confirmed I had reacted to one of the stronger drugs and all they could do was prescribe some painkillers. The pills actually made me feel sick so I soon stopped taking them. However, they were right: keeping heat on my arm did help with the pain. I couldn’t go to work so sat in front of the television with a hot water bottle on my arm. I must have looked mad doing this in the middle of summer.
The day of my second chemotherapy session soon arrived. I had some blood tests done first thing and then had to wait to see the consultant. He confirmed I was well enough to have my second lot of chemotherapy. So reluctantly I went upstairs to the ward, to find out how long it would be before my drugs were available. The doctors had also decided they were going to fit me with a PICC line, to avoid the situation with my arm hurting again. One of the nurses fitted the line, which wasn’t that painful, and I then had an x-ray, just to check the PICC line had been positioned correctly, before it was used. Thankfully, the line was working perfectly and my treatment could go ahead.
I sailed through this next lot of treatment and had no problems with my arm or with my mouth. I wasn’t even sick this time so was feeling much happier. This meant my first cycle was out of the way. I only needed two more before I could find out if the cancer invasion to my body had stopped.
Sadly, two weeks after having my first lot of chemotherapy, my hair slowly started to fall out. I had always said, as soon as it began to fall out, I’d shave it all off, but actually I wasn’t brave enough. This really upset me and I couldn’t get my head round the fact that I had cancer. Cancer was something that happened to other people, not me. The nurses kept saying I should have my hair cut short as it lasts longer, but I didn’t see the point. I didn’t want to have my long hair cut before, so why would I now? There were advantages – I didn’t need to shave my legs and my bikini line needed little attention.
I had always said that I wasn’t going to wear a wig but my attitude towards them changed. I went to the hospital to pick my free NHS wig, but they didn’t have the one I wanted, so I ended up with a wig I wasn’t completely convinced about. I soon decided I wasn’t going to wear it, so went shopping with Mum to find some headscarves. I was in a local shop speaking to a very kind lady, casually picking loads of different scarves, when a wig on a stand caught my eye. I tried it on and immediately thought it was fabulous. I had no idea at the time what it cost, but I didn’t care: this was the wig for me. As soon as I got home, I called my hairdresser. She shaved off my hair and sorted out the fringe on the wig. I still think my hair falling out was the worst and most upsetting part of the whole experience, however painless. Nothing actually prepared me for it, but once I’d got the wig I soon got used to the idea. When people saw me for the first time, they just assumed I’d had my hair cut differently, which I was obviously very pleased about.
My second cycle of chemotherapy was supposed to start on 31 July and I was actually feeling quite good about it. I went to see the consultant, who said I couldn’t have any chemotherapy just yet, as my white blood cells hadn’t recovered from the last cycle. White blood cells, or leukocytes as my doctors sometimes called them, are responsible for our immune system. They defend the body from infectious diseases; without them we’d soon get an infection and die. I obviously had mixed feelings about not having my next lot of chemotherapy, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. The consultant explained that I’d have to wait until next Friday before I could start the second cycle. In future, I would need to have white blood cell booster injections.
As Mum and Dad were with me and it was a lovely summer’s day, we decided to go to the seaside. It was great to get some fresh air and be somewhere nobody knew I was ill. I played on the two-pence fruit machines and ate prawns, chips and candyfloss. For just a few hours I felt like me again; I felt the cancer bubble I’d been trapped in had temporarily burst.
My second cycle was now starting on 7 August. My white cells had recovered so I was ready for the chemotherapy. I had breakfast while waiting for the drugs to arrive, and some two hours later I’d had my treatment. However, that weekend I felt completely knocked out and all I did was sleep.
In fact, I slept for most of the time, right up until Thursday of the following week. I loved my bed and sleeping, but this was crazy. The only thing I needed to remember was the white cell boosting injections. I needed five of them, one every day from the fifth day after having the chemotherapy. The district nurse came round each day for the five days. This had really started to wear me down. I decided it would be easier if I gave myself the injections.
I had the last treatment of my second cycle on 21 August. I soon found the chemotherapy days were rolling round quickly and I was now over halfway. My blood tests came back good because of the booster injections, so I had yet more chemotherapy. When I got home, I felt knocked out again; sleep had quickly become my new best friend. Again I got off lightly; I wasn’t sick at all and I had no other nasty side effects.
On the day of my first injections, I went to the hospital so they could teach me how to do it. I have to say it was very easy once I got over the initial bit of sticking a needle into my tummy. So everything was going well with my treatment and I had been feeling fine. In my mind, there was no reason why my third cycle should be any different. I had the chemotherapy and went home, but to my complete surprise I felt rather poorly on the Monday. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to sleep or watch television. I wanted to be sick, very sick. I was soon introduced to my second best friend: the toilet. I spent hours with my head hung over the toilet – anything and everything triggered it. From drinking water, eating, taking pills, mouthwash to cleaning my teeth, you name it, it made me feel sick. My mouth became quite sore again and I kept going hot and cold, and when I say cold, I mean freezing. I didn’t know what to do with myself, and nor did anyone else; I was in such a bad mood, too.
I was hoping 18 September would be the last time I’d do the dreaded chemotherapy trip to hospital. I hadn’t felt great for the previous two weeks since my last treatment and to make things worse I was developing a cold. I visited my consultant, who gave me the bad news that I couldn’t have any more chemotherapy, because of my cold.
He told me to come back on Monday and I would hopefully be able to start again. Monday arrived and my cold was even worse, so I couldn’t have the chemotherapy yet again. I’d have to wait until Friday now. By Friday, the cold had thankfully disappeared and I was feeling much better. I was ready to get the last lot over and done with. I was also a little apprehensive as I’d be having a scan to see if the cancer had gone. My chemotherapy finally went ahead and I went home pleased it was all over, yet concerned how I was going to react this time. Not very well was the answer. I thought I was sick a lot the first time, but that was nothing compared to how I was this time. I just wanted everything to end and I never wanted to have to do this again. I dreaded the thought of the scans coming back saying there were still signs of cancer lurking.
I arrived at the hospital on 9 October, feeling really apprehensive and more emotional than I’d ever felt. I had my blood tests as normal and then began the wait. A nurse called Joanne came to see me and explained they were just waiting for the pictures from the PET scan to be reviewed. She suggested I come back at noon when hopefully they’d have the results. Those three hours were the longest of my entire life. I went back to the hospital at exactly midday, hoping and praying for good news. Joanne came in and shouted across the room to me, ‘No more chemotherapy.’ I burst out crying. I was so happy, I’d beaten cancer. I went upstairs to have my PICC line removed and was told that they would be in touch about having the radiotherapy. I was now finally free.
I went straight home, changed and hit the shops
for a new outfit. I had to go out to celebrate. I sent a text to all my friends and arranged a quiet drink down the pub. I was collected at 7:30 P.M. and when I walked into the pub all hell broke loose. My best friend Emma had arranged a surprise party for me. All my friends were there and I had the best time ever. I had presents, cards, a disco and lots of drinks. I didn’t want it to end and it’s something I will remember for the rest of my life.
I still had to have radiotherapy but I was told it would be a breeze compared to the chemotherapy, so I wasn’t too worried about it. I had to have a mask made, which went over my head. It was basically to stop me moving on the table and to keep my chin out of the way. I didn’t like the mask very much and was bolted to the table with it on. I had to have three weeks of radiotherapy, every day for five days a week. The first week was fine – in fact, it was a complete pain having to go to the hospital every day for less than five minutes’ treatment. In week two, I started to feel a bit poorly; my mouth and throat were very sore and I lost my voice. My throat was so bad by the end of week two that I couldn’t eat. I even struggled to drink water. I then began to dread every day as it made it worse. I actually ended up with two ear infections, a throat infection and one in my mouth. Due to not being able to eat or drink comfortably, I lost two stone in weight. I finally finished my last week of radiotherapy and was over the moon and prayed I’d never have to go there again. I had an appointment with the doctor and he assured me the infections were under control and my body would return to normal within a few weeks.
I’ve now been in remission for nearly four years. I have my next lot of scans booked for December just to make sure the cancer hasn’t returned. Looking back, it was a very long, tough year, but in some ways I wouldn’t change it. I have learnt a lot about what’s important in life and what’s not so important.
The doctors told me I should take it easy for a while; however, I soon went back to work full-time. I do get tired but it is nothing an early night can’t fix. I appreciate more than ever that I’ve just one life, and I should live it to the full.