Och, I am usually quite laid back most of the time I think, but now I am waiting to become A Patient, being patient is not really on. Just now, at this moment of typing, I could scream with frustration at not knowing when I’m to be admitted for my hysterectomy. It’s ten days since my diagnosis of uterine cancer and a week since the multi-disciplinary team were supposed to be meeting to decide what to do with me/it. So much for the word ‘Urgent’ being ringed on the form I signed giving permission for the surgery!
I want this bloody cancer OOT! Gone, away, skiddaling, pissing off – whatever you like – just out of my body. Only then will I know what else is to happen. Am I to have further surgery ? radiotherapy? chemotherapy? I just need to know so that I can start planning ffs!
And of course that ‘scream’ I mentioned can only be in my head because I cannae actually scream – as in make a loud noise – because I don’t have a bloody screamable voice do I ! Och, my obnoxious Englishwoman alter ego is becoming uppermost.
I know I should just stay calm, relax, what will be will be, just be patient, wait and all will be revealed and I have been doing that for ten bloody days… Huh!
Patience Is A Virtue – I Just want to be A Patient.
P.S: (written the following day)…
Och, it turns out I was talking through my backside! No pun remotely intended! Apparently the “ten days to a fortnight” timescale I had in my head was just to be notified of admission and that the doctor had told me it would be mid to late Sept for the surgery itself. Walter had recalled that but I hadn’t. After a lot of phoning, and mega frustration, that position has been confirmed though I confess I was wearing my ‘obnoxious Englishwoman hat’ when I was speaking to the nurse .”Mid to end September? By what stretch of the imagination is that classed as ‘urgent’? ” . She offered me support from Maggies Centre or herself meanwhile to which I responded with “I don’t need support thank you very much, I need surgery! “. Poor woman – it’s not her fault I don’t remember what I’m told. It’s my own fault – I should have realised that would just be the letter of notification, not the actual appointment if I’d had my brain in gear.
I really got angry, but as it happens that was without real cause. If it showed nothing else, it displayed the fact that I am far more stressed by all this than I would care to admit. That no matter how stoic I like to think I am, hingin’ aboot takes its toll. I’m calm again now. Wonder for how long…..