The journey home

Elated by the news of the lung but now battling another what if scenario, I had been with my vertigo for a good week or so by now and my GP had already referred me for an MRI on my head which I was still waiting for. Apparently the other scans I’d had were just full body which is only to neck so head had not been done before, aaarrrgghh. More excruciating waiting but not as long as I thought.

On the way back from the lung hospital I had to go for bloods at the countess, not even sure what these were for. Getting blood out of me took them 6 attempts and the day had caught up with me. I was now in the countess throwing up in the corridors and I decided enough was enough and went straight to A&E where they admitted me immediately.

I knew what was happening deep down you just do. There was no escaping what I thought was about to unfold. But nonetheless I was given anti sickness and felt so much better. Then left for hours while unfortunately the whole of A&E bar one nurse dealt with an unvaccinated covid patient. Freedom of choice is all very well when you’re not affecting others but what I saw that night was scary and what I didn’t appreciate is the medication I desperately needed to potentially stop me fitting was sat waiting for me for 5 hours. By this stage I had had my emergency MRI and they had found multiple tumours in my brain, some small and a couple of bigger ones causing my balance issues. 

So the tablets I needed quickly were steroids  to take the inflammation away immediately and stop what was the inevitable next stage fitting. Now the one nurse who had the rest of A&E was lovely but quite incapable, spent 95% of her time on the computer system which she couldn’t work, 4% asking questions and 1% administering tablets so I was given them but not told about why or the results of the scan and spent the rest of the night in A&E listening to the covid patient being proned. When you’re heading to a diagnosis you don’t want you don’t ask many questions I can tell you.

The following day I was moved to another ward, doctors came to see me but still didn’t impart what the mri had said but just told me I was too ill to go home and sadly too ill to take Amy to uni. This was the worst part of my hospital visit knowing I couldn’t take my gorgeous daughter to settle in. 

Then another move to the ward for alcoholics, the irony. I was soon moved to a

side room which is just as well as being surrounded by people who ultimately had a choice over life or death was hard.

And so another night in hospital and still no wiser but blissfully ignorant. And then finally the day of reckoning. My breast consultant and nurse entered my room, heads hung low and finally delivered the news. I have tumours in my head, 3 of them fairly big ones one of which was the one affecting my balance. Median survival rate 6-9 months. All better than the mode and mean I thought as my brain went into maths mode! They could offer me palliative chemotherapy to extend this and some radiotherapy and Dr Errington would be in touch, in the meantime get home and start living basically. Wow 5 days to tell me that!

By the end of the next day I had rewritten my will, sold the air bnb, applied for a power of attorney and gifted as much money as I could to the kids! And then I started the fight! First stop York university to see Amy in her new flat, proud Mum day!