It’s been a while since I talked about cancer and getting my regular chemotherapy treatments to keep it under control.
Recently, I went in for my usual pre-assessment for chemotherapy.
Eileen and Susan, the sunny receptionists, greeted me. Susan said, “you’re listed for a scan today.” I was thrown, even though I expected it two days later. I took my seat in the waiting room.
A few minutes later, Eileen was beside me. “Katherine, are you OK? You seemed taken aback when the scan was mentioned. Do you want me to reschedule it?” I assured her I was fine to go ahead.
These women are exceptionally kind, run off their feet, but with hearts full of understanding for a waiting room full of patients. It was a long day for me. My CAT scan was due at 11.30am, so I was drinking contrast liquid for 90 minutes before that. I walked from the Bon Secours on Western Road into the University [College Cork] gates and through the campus. The students were on their way to lectures, carrying folders.
Most were walking in silence or in twos, chatting quietly. I fell in with them walking up lots of steps to my destination on College Road. For a few moments, I was an adult student, and I could keep pace with them. I didn’t get out of the hospital until 2.30pm, by which time I was exhausted.
She outlined that since May, the spots/tumours in my lungs had grown. They were still only millimetres, but were getting bigger. The treatment was not working. She had a plan for another drug
Later on, I got a phone call from my consultant, Deirdre O’Mahony’s secretary, saying that she wanted to see me in her rooms the next day. That was not good news. Something had changed to warrant this meeting. Tim and I braced ourselves. I deferred telling my gang until morning, so that they’d get a night’s sleep and I took a sleeping tablet myself.
Next day my son Philip came for lunch, filling me with strength for the next step. There was a rousing agricultural discussion between Tim and Philip. We’ve learned to keep things normal.
In we went to Deirdre and were greeted with her professional expertise and kindness. She outlined that since May, the spots/tumours in my lungs had grown. They were still only millimetres, but were getting bigger. The treatment was not working. She had a plan for another drug.
There was never a more crucial time for me to live in the moment and to keep my hope intact. I thought of words I had preached to doctors, nurses and care staff participating in the Informing Families project about their child’s disability. I would say, “never remove hope”.
I sent a message to my family groups. Tim and I went for lunch, more normality. We went home. My daughter-in-law Aileen came with my granddaughter Katie after she had picked her up from the childminder. She wrapped her little arms around my legs and I felt calmed. Then, my daughter Julie came and we had a cup of tea and some stashed Tunnock’s tea cakes. Nothing like chocolate in a crisis.
Family support
Colm and Elaine came with my grandsons, Peter and Alan. Peter gave me a big squeeze and some chocolates he hoped to share. Alan sat on my knee and tried to eat the chain around my neck. I calmed some more. The big people gave me hugs too. They were saying, “fight on Mum, this is just the next challenge”.
This is a new pathway. Time will tell whether it will work or not. I know Deirdre’s eye is on me. There will be a new scan in a few months. Meanwhile, it is my job to keep myself healthy and well to cope with this new drug. All treatments come with side effects. I will be learning how to manage them while keeping my hope alive. My support team are the best.
