Me vs the incurable disease
In a battle between two living things
Constantly attacking each other
Survival is the optimal goal
Each attack makes it harder to achieve our objective
There will be no winners
Both will be defeated
When I die, it dies
We will both lose in the end
As I feel the fluid sinking into my leg, I all of a sudden
feel as though everything that had happened during the past couple of months was
sinking in too. So much so that I have
become sunk. Sunk into a world of
fear. Entering the unknown. Frightened
about what the future will hold for me, and where living has become more
frightening than dying. My body had become my very own worst enemy, and I no
longer recognised myself. Grieving for the loss of the person that I used to be,
and feeling like a definition of ugly. Realising that feeling drowned in my own
unhappiness, listening to Plan B ‘welcome to hell’ over and over again, is
never going to help me resurface from this ordeal. Knowing that despite
everything I am feeling inside that I need to carry on wearing that brave face
that seems to suit me so well.
June 2011 – so it
begins….
Everything began one Thursday morning, when I woke up with a
numb hand. I was trying to put my mascara on, and like most women I was doing
this whilst catching flies with my mouth wide open. My hand felt as though I
had slept on it funny but for some reason it just never sprung back to life. As
I was piling on the make-up, trying to make myself look half decent to face the
office, and the office critics, all I seemed to be achieving was a clown image.
Waterproof mascara is never good to get anywhere but your eyelashes. My blonde
hair had some lovely tints of black around the feathering near my face. Great
image to pull off. If Victoria Beckham
did it, it would look amazing. On me, well what can I say; I just looked like a
soap dodger with loads of dirt in my hair.
My fiancé John kept asking me throughout the day whether I
had any feeling back in my hand. For some bizarre reason it just felt the same
as when I woke up that day. Trying to
type at work was becoming a mission. As I was looking down at my hand it was
looking discoloured. I started to think to myself that I am really not aging
well. At 27 my body was showing signs of old age that I thought would never
happen so young. I suppose push up bras do have their advantages!
Then it was Saturday. I woke up again. Hand still numb. This
time my hand felt extremely cold. Colder than my left side. Still unable to do
my make up to a decent standard, this feeling I was experiencing was puzzling
me. Like with any question any of us have in life, we turn to Google.
Google is amazing. It has helped me through many tricky
situations. From how to make a Yorkshire pudding, to how to fix a part on your
car that you have knocked off by going into a pillar in the car park at work.
It is a world full of answers. Never really knew how we got on without it. In
my eyes it beats sliced bread any day. Google results were showing that I had a
trapped nerve. Panic over. I can live with that. John is about to marry me in
sickness and health, and having dodgy make up is my sickness. Well for the time
being. Until this nerve becomes un-trapped.
Sunday was here, and there is no better way to beat the
Sunday blues than to clean the house. I love cleaning. A great way to get rid
of any frustration. I hate wearing rubber gloves too. I just feel as though you
can’t clean properly when they are in the way. Although getting bleach on your
hands stings a little, especially when you are a nail biter. Whilst cleaning
the shower unit my lips started to tingle. A feeling of pins and needles in
them. This too was only in the right
side. I thought to myself, ‘Lisa your OCD had gone too far, put down the bleach’.
Rushing over to the basin I started to rinse my mouth under
the cold water, to try and remove any bleach that I had got onto it. I was
looking forward to the chemical burns the next day. I had chemically burnt my
mouth before. But that time it was using hair removal wax. My brother, David,
told me that I had a moustache like my dad. Considering everyone calls my dad
Super Mario, I thought I better do something about it. Luckily it did remove my
hair. But unfortunately it also removed all my skin off my top lip too.
Brilliant. Just what I needed when I was doing my GCSE’s. I was the only girl in the school in the
middle of the summer wearing a scarf during my exams to hide what I had done.
It eventually healed after getting some good burn cream from the doctors.
Luckily I still managed to get my six A’s, I will not mention the rest.
A week had passed, and my hand and lips still had a constant
feeling of pins and needles. John and I were preparing to be body beautiful for
our holiday in Tunisia in a couple of months. As I was running, the pins and
needles were becoming more intense. Then I started to experience the same
feeling in my right foot too. I just thought to myself that I must be imagining
things.
I turn to Google again. This time the search results stated:
trapped nerve, Celiac disease, Calcium deficiency, Vitamin b12 deficiency. I
thought maybe it is time to pay a visit to the doctors. It must have been a
month since they saw me last. I pay national insurance and taxes monthly, so
surely I should visit them monthly too?
I am sure I have hypochondriac written on my file as a flashing code
word when I go into the surgery. Everyone at the doctors knows me. It is brilliant, I don’t even have to queue
and sign in. As I enter I get “Hello Lisa, please take a seat”. They know that
by looking after their key customer they get repeat business.
I got called in. I explained to my doctor what was
happening. She referred me to have some blood tests. A week later I got my
results. I had some abnormalities. No surprises there. I went back to the same
doctor. She mentioned that I had low iron levels and that I need to eat more
green leafy vegetables. I mentioned that I was also feeling very tired all the
time and I had a lack of energy. The doctor said I must have had some kind of
virus like a form of glandular fever. Apparently there was nothing that could
be done for me. I just had to ride it out.
In the meantime, my friend Katie and I decided to sign up
for the Willow 10K run, and this event was approaching in a couple of months.
We decided to throw ourselves in the deep end and begin our training with a 4.5
mile run. This was part of my Halle Berry bikini diet too. No pain. No gain. We
did quite well, and finished the run with a big high 10. Geeks. If anyone saw
Katie and I running, we do look the part, we have all the essential running
gear. I look very professional until you see my bottom wobbling like a tidal
wave. But if anyone knew we were listening to the Best of S Club 7 and Steps,
mixed with a bit of Banarama on our I-pods they may think very differently
about us…!
That evening after my run with Katie, a couple of days after
my test results, I had severe stabbing pains in my chest. I phoned Nhs direct
and they told me to go straight to hospital. It was getting late when I went to
hospital, and I saw the doctor on call.
The doctor measured my pulse rate, and did a few checks. He
mentioned that I was ok and that I needed to organise an ECG with the doctor
the next day. I explained the pins and needles I was experiencing in my hand,
foot and lips. He mentioned that it sounded like a calcium deficiency. To me this made sense. I thought that if my
Mum has this, then it is likely that I have it too.
I went to the doctors the next day. My ECG was fine. The
doctor mentioned that it wouldn’t be a calcium deficiency and the pain I was
getting in my chest was chondritus, and that I just needed to take ibuprofen.
He totally ignored what I was telling him about my pins and needles.
Another week had passed and nothing had changed. I was
starting to feel really poorly, and at the same point guilty. I had a new
manager at work. I felt as though I was
being a pain by having loads of time off having tests and being ill. He must
have wondered what he had let himself in for starting in this job, with an
employee who keeps going for tests, having time off ill, but all conclusions
stated that there is nothing wrong with me.
Anybody who knows me knows that I am a talkative,
approachable person. Well that is how I see myself. So I was very vocal about
what was going on with me at that time. It appeared that I got very little
feedback from my direct colleagues and a sense as though they did not care that
I was unwell. They never appeared to ask me how I was if I was off ill one day.
Instead they made my life a misery, as though they were punishing me for taking
time off and ignoring me when I was in the office and making the odd snide
remarks. It then all became apparent. There were rumours around the office that
I was going for job interviews. For most people, rumours are like water of a
ducks back. For me, I am very sensitive and find it upsetting to hear that
people did not believe that I was ill and therefore they did not appear to
care. I suppose looking back it goes hand in hand with what they believed.
I had another night with sharp pains in my chest. This time
they were more intense and more severe. I phoned Nhs direct, and they advised
me to go to a drop in centre at a local hospital. It was a 30 minute drive, and
late at night. John and I turned up, and were informed that the hospital no
longer had a drop in centre. Feeling very distressed and unwell I began to cry.
Water works does work all the time, especially a girl crying to a man. They
agreed to see me. Result.
The same checks were carried out as previously at the other
hospital. The doctor mentioned that I had had an allergic reaction to
something, and to go home and to take antihistamines for a couple of days.
Feeling as though I was not getting anywhere, I followed his instructions.
Still to find myself on the pathway to nowhere, I was beginning to question
myself. Am I making this up? People around me appear to be thinking this way;
maybe there is nothing wrong with me.
On the way home that evening there was a cat in the road,
and there was two men walking towards this cat with what looked like a plank of
word. I began to panic, which made all
my symptoms a hundred times worse. I thought that the cat had been hit by a car
and they were going to put the cat out of its misery. I love cats so much. Until john proposed, I always saw myself as a
cat lady in a cottage in the middle of nowhere stinking of wee, covered in hair.
Luckily the rock on my finger has stopped that from happening. I have a cat
called Ozzie. He is my baby and John knows his place in the food chain when it
comes to Ozzie. I do worry that when I have children that I may not love them
as much as I love Ozzie. I suppose I
will have to cross that bridge if it ever comes to it.
As we drove past I made John turn the car around. I wanted
to stop those men from killing the cat. If it was Ozzie who got run over, he is
micro chipped and has the best insurance. If someone hit him and he was still
alive, and they took him to the vets, he would be covered. So despite being ill
we were going back to take the cat in the road to the vets before those two men
killed him. As we pulled over we spoke to the two men. It turns out that they
were carrying snooker cues as they had been playing snooker and saw the person
run over the cat and they were just moving the cat out of the road. The cat was
dead. Note to self. Never judge a book by its cover. These two men looked like
Grant and Phil Mitchell, were obviously big softies, and were upset about the
cat too.
Still experiencing the same problems, and there being no
results from after taking the antihistamines other than feeling more tired, I
decided to phone the doctors. I was starting to become angry that nobody was
taking me seriously, and every professional assessment came up with a different
conclusion. I vented my anger and frustrations to the doctor on the phone who
then agreed to see me the next day.
I finally felt as though I was being listened to. The doctor
mentioned that the pains I was experiencing in my chest, and the pin and
needles on the right side of my body were unrelated cases. She mentioned that the chest pain was
chondritus, which is something that I was being treated for earlier on in the
year. It had just reoccurred in a different place and was aggravated by the
exercise that I was doing. She referred me to have further blood tests to check
for celiac and for a calcium deficiency.
July 2011 – Starting
to get somewhere
Once again, in my moment of despair I turned to Google. My
symptoms seemed to match both of those illnesses. I started to feel like I was
making progress and there was going to be an answer to my problems soon. Both
illnesses had more involved with them than I thought. I always assumed celiac
was people being a fussy eater, which is rich coming from a strict vegetarian.
I never realised how many serious implications both illnesses had with them. If
I did have one of these, my eating out was going to become a lot harder. Poor John.
It is already hard enough finding a good vegetarian option, but to exclude
Gluten as well, that would be impossible.
My tests results came back and all was clear. However I was
still experiencing pins and needles constantly in my right hand, right foot,
and now all down the right side of my face. The doctor was now referring me to
a neurologist. There were no appointments for two weeks. That apparently was
good. She mentioned that as nothing had changed for a while and what I was
experiencing seemed to have stayed the same that waiting for two weeks would be
ok. I was advised that if anything did
progress that I should go back and see them.
August 2011 – A month
to remember
It was Friday evening, and my friend Carina was coming round
to see me. When I got in from work I walked through the door and as I took my
shoes off I realised that I could not stand on my right leg properly. The pins
and needles that were just in my right foot appeared to have spread all the way
up my leg. I thought that this would pass. I also felt very concerned about
what was happening to me. My whole right side of my body had given up. I felt
like giving up too, but I had to hover before my guest arrived. Worrying that I
was going to collapse I only cleaned the lounge, as I thought that if I did
collapse John would see me through the window, whereas if it happened anywhere
else in the house he would be waiting a very long time for me to answer the
door.
John came home from work. He asked me what had happened and
told me to stop cleaning. He said that I should phone the doctors straight
away. I really wanted to see Carina so I didn’t listen to his instructions. I
just thought that there is nothing nobody can do for me on a Friday evening,
that if this does last, I will call the doctor that has referred me to the
neurologist first thing on Monday morning to explain that I had deteriorated.
Carina came round and we had a Chinese. She kept laughing at my new walk. I
looked like a right Muppet, and thought that my new walk was really funny too.
The next day John and I went to Waitrose. I wanted to show
the whole of the town my new swagger I had going on. As I walked into the
supermarket people were openly laughing at me. I was really shocked, as I
thought that if I had a disability or something serious then this would be
awful for that person, but luckily I don’t have a disability, I am lucky I
thought. I just have a trapped nerve or something along those lines. I could
not believe how people were acting towards me. John thought that as I looked
relatively healthy but could not walk properly that people must have thought I
had a sports injury or got drunk and fell over. Which both considering my past,
were both likely scenarios. The OAPs were the worse. They were able bodied but
would not move out of the way for a young girl who could hardly walk. Instead
of helping me, I had a few trollies being pushed against my leg, which really
was not helpful considering I could hardly walk. This was all an eye opener to
how inconsiderate people have become and how, if I did have a disability, how
disgusting the behaviour directed towards me was.
That Saturday evening John was going out with his friends. I
offered to give him a lift into town, totally forgetting that you use your
right leg for the break, not your left. I was surprised that I ever made it
there and back in one piece. As I had a night to myself I thought I would have
a pamper session. We live in a 3 storey house so I crawled up to the top floor.
Little did I know that I was not going to make it back downstairs, well not
easily. I decided to paint my toe nails but could not manage to get myself back
up of the floor. I was stuck here for 4 hours and was hoping that John would
call me soon to see if I was ok, and when he realised that I was not answering
the phone that he would know that something was wrong and would come home and
help me.
It is at moments like these I wish I had one on those alarms
that my Grandma has that you press in an emergency if you fall over or
something happens to you. My Grandma pays a fee per month to have this service.
She really looks after her necklace with the alarm to press on it. She keeps it on her bedside table so she
knows where it is and to keep it safe. Totally defeating the objective of the
device, but at least she knows where it is if, and hopefully never, she falls
over in the kitchen….
Eventually John called, but I could not get to the phone. Finally,
I managed to lift myself across the bedroom floor to get to the phone. I think
he felt really guilty that he had not checked on me sooner, and if he didn’t, I
certainly made him feel this way. I insisted that he went out on his night out
as I didn’t want him to miss out, and he insisted that he should stay in with
me, although in hindsight I shouldn’t have insisted this as I was in no fit
state to be left on my own.
However I did think that I would be ok to be left as I thought that he would check up on me considering how I
was and the fact that I was left on my own. Once I spoke to John he said that
he would come straight home. I told him not to as I had left the keys in the
door and it was probably going to take me over an hour to get down the stairs.
I eventually made it down the stairs and John eventually made it back home. I
felt really hurt that I was not thought about whilst he was out having a good
time, although he had been very supportive up to this point, I started to think
that John, like everyone else, was thinking that I was making this up too, and
there was nothing wrong with me.
Monday morning I got up for work. I phoned in to explain
that my right leg had now been affected too and that I would not be able to
drive into work and that I would need to work from home. I called the doctors
as soon as they opened, and asked to speak to the doctor on call. I mentioned
to the doctor that I have a neurology appointment in 2 weeks, and that I was
told if anything deteriorated that I needed to go straight back. The doctor
said that he had no appointments and that I could go in on Wednesday. To me
this felt like forever away as I could hardly move. I agreed with this
appointment, and just accepted that I can’t make appointments magically appear.
I started to feel like that I was not being taken seriously again. Ten minutes
later, the same doctor called me back. He mentioned that he had been thinking
about things and that I need to see him straight away.
I hobbled in to see him. He looked at me very concerned.
After carrying out a few tests, he mentioned that there was nothing that he
could do and that I needed to wait until I see the neurologist. He called the
hospital and explained my deterioration to them and asked if they could bring
my appointment forward. He gave them my number and said that I would hear from
them. He signed me off from driving and
gave me a doctor’s certificate for workplace adaptations for two weeks. Luckily
they called me that day and managed to get me an appointment on Thursday, which
was a week earlier than my initial appointment.
I went home and went back to work, ensuring that I made up
any time that I had lost from being at the doctors. I was very busy at work,
and although I was ill, I seemed to be working harder and for longer than I
ever had done previously. The whole time I was at home, I still received little
sympathy from my colleagues. Instead of support, I was given mundane extra tasks,
abrupt emails, and felt as though there was a lack of trust that I was working,
as I was constantly being checked up upon. Although I could do everything the
same at home as though I was in the office, I was given additional activities,
that my colleagues referred to as ‘activities I can do whilst at home’, so I
was given these to do as well as trying to do my normal job, and as well as
trying to get my head around what was going on with my body.
My last attempt of trying to understand what was going on
with my body, I turned to Google. This time the search results were frightening
me. My symptoms matched the symptoms of a brain tumour, a stroke, and multiple
sclerosis. I told John about what I had found on the internet and that I had a
bad feeling about what was going on with me and that I was now feeling scared.
John reminded me of all the other times that I had been on the internet and
thought I had things like a brain tumour when I had a migraine. I agreed with
him, and although the internet is amazing and has its uses, it is also bad for
people with illnesses as they start to self-diagnose without seeking help from
professionals. I went back to thinking I had a trapped nerve, as I believed
that if I had any of these things that I would be feeling a lot more poorly
than I was.
18th
August 2011 – My answer at last!
Thursday arrived and I had strict deadlines to meet at work.
I was feeling like a bundle of nerves, but was trying to not think about my
appointment and to concentrate on the task in hand. I left work for the
hospital at lunch time and sent everyone an email to warn them that I would be
away for an hour or so and would be back to complete my work after my
appointment.
John and I locked up the house. Ozzie was hovering around
outside whilst John was reversing out of the drive. John told me to keep an eye
on him, as Ozzie knows our cars and has no fear of them. As John was reversing,
Ozzie decided to run towards the car. Being unable to move I could not run
after him, I could also not scream loud enough for John to hear me to stop the
car. All I could do was watch John reverse, and Ozzie run towards the wheel. I
tried to hop, but although I was moving, I was moving slower than slow motion,
the car and Ozzie were moving at the speed of light. I started to cry in panic,
feeling helpless, and feeling as though crying was all I could do. I could not
bear to look. I knew how it was going to end. There was only going to be one
ending.
Luckily Ozzie used one of his nine lives that day, and is
much faster than my battered Corsa. As I got in the car I said to John that I
did not want to go. The panic had made all my sensations feel a lot worse.
Almost killing Ozzie was a sign that things were going to be bad. John, as per
usual, told me to stop being so stupid and that everything will be fine. As we
got to the hospital we both said to each other that this, like all my other
appointments, was going to be a waste of time, and there was nothing really
wrong with me. As we were waiting in the waiting room I was looking around at
people who were all really poorly and had serious things wrong with them. I
started to feel guilty. I thought that I was wasting the hospitals time as
there was nothing really wrong with me, and someone who was seriously ill
should be having this appointment instead. At the end of the day all I had was
a trapped nerve, I would get over this and needed to stop being such a baby. John
reminded me that I do pay my taxes and national insurance and that they have a
lot of people who genuinely are time wasters and that I was not one of them.
The consultant called me in. I turned to John and said ‘here
we go’. The consultant asked me a lot of questions. He was particularly
interested in when I had a similar feeling before. About a year previous to
this, I went to Scotland to do some training with a colleague. On the way home
we could not find her car in Stansted airport car park, so I agreed to carry
both our bags whilst she looked for it. An hour had almost gone, and my right
shoulder was feeling the strain of carrying two female, what were supposed to
be overnight bags, but were not those of people who had travelled very light. For about a month and a
half after that evening, I kept falling over, and in particular falling down
the stairs. I would go to walk, but unable to move my right leg at some points
during the day. This was happening a couple of times a day, and my friends at
work kept laughing at me, as my leg coincidently always stopped working when I
was standing near the kitchen or by the cakes. I saw a doctor, who mentioned
that this was a trapped nerve from the bags I was carrying and that it would go
away. He made me feel like a time waster, so when it persisted for 3 months, I
did not go back to see the doctors, and it did eventually disappear.
He then got me to do
a few physical tests. I remember thinking that pushing my leg up in the air
against his hand was hard work. If I could not handle this I was never going to
survive child birth. I couldn’t believe how much I was sweating too. Attractive
and Lisa would have been an oxymoron at that point. With my eyes closed I was
hoping on a spot, moving my arms up and down, walking in a line, or trying to.
Whilst doing this I was thinking that all this was a waste of time and that I
have something really silly wrong with me. The consultant told me to come back
over to the chair. I thought to myself, he is now going to tell me what I know,
and what all other doctors have told me, and what everyone at work believes, that
there was nothing wrong with me.
He then looked at me straight in the eyes and said ‘you are
showing signs that you have swellings on your brain’. I just thought that makes
sense as I am always bumping my head, and being clumsy and at least I am ok and
it is nothing serious. I sighed with relief. I looked at John. John looked back at me, and
then he said to the consultant ‘swellings on the brain…so what does that mean?’
the consultant looked at us both and said that it is either one of two things;
you either have multiple sclerosis or a brain tumour. I smiled. I looked at
John and smiled. John did not look back at me and smile. I continued to smile.
Smiling was all I could do. But nobody else was doing the same. It must have
been a joke. Why was nobody else smiling at this joke? Why were they looking so
serious?
John’s bottom lip started to wobble. He then began to cry
and looked at me shaking his head saying ‘I am so sorry’. I just looked at him
and said, ‘it is ok, it might not be either yet’. John then asked the
consultant ‘what are the next steps?’ The consultant said that the next steps
would be for an MRI, but we would not be able to get an appointment for another
week. He then said that he was on leave, so I would not get my results for 2
weeks. At this point I burst into tears. The thought of not knowing my fate for
two weeks was unbearable. I can never handle the unknown. I couldn’t handle
this situation.
The consultant then agreed to call the MRI unit to see if
they could get me in any sooner. He dialled the number. He said ‘Hi, I have a
27 year old female with suspected Multiple Sclerosis or brain tumour who needs
a brain and neck MRI, are you able to fit her in today?’ Hearing those words
again made it feel more real. I could handle the terms swelling on the brain, I
just could not handle the official terms for these. I was sure that I was
asleep and that this was not really happening. I felt as though everything was
going on around me but I was not really there.
He put down the phone. He said that they have agreed to see
me but I would have to wait a while. John and I agreed, that waiting a while
was not an issue, and that a while was nowhere near as bad as two weeks. He
started to write a prescription and mentioned that he will call me that evening
or the next day once he had seen my scan, and if I did have multiple sclerosis
that I would then need to get some medication and take his prescription to the
doctors. My first question to him was, ‘would I still be able to have
children?’ Followed by, ‘can I still go on holiday?’ Both of which he answered
yes. He said that people live a long and happy life with MS and there are loads
of treatments available. I was just thinking of the worse, and picturing those
people who I knew who had this disease, who were severely disabled, and those that
had died. He was very upbeat about it all, so I thought maybe it won’t be as
bad as I initially thought, and if I have this illness it won’t be a big deal.
John and I made our way to the MRI unit. Both shocked. Both
not really sure what to say to the other. Both relieved that I was being seen
that day. As I walked in the unit, I was greeted by a friendly lady who said
that I needed to fill out a few forms, and that I would have to wait a while,
but once she received the phone call from my consultant, she thought it would
have been unfair to have kept me waiting 2 weeks. John and I sat down, looking
through old magazines that are always in waiting rooms. There were only three
couples in the room. Everybody sat in silence. Apart from John and I. We were laughing
and joking about what wigs I would wear if I did have a brain tumour, and I was
joking to John that if I did die he would be a very rich man. He was already
half way to Brazil at that point. We would joke about things, then I would get
teary, and then we joked some more. With most things I have experienced in
life, the only way to get through it is to see the funny side, and most
horrible situations I have been in, have some sort of dark humour about them. I
prefer to laugh than to cry.
I was then taken to one side, and a man in the department
spoke to me about what was going to happen. I hate confined spaces; I would
always prefer to walk up stairs than to take a lift, because of the feeling of
claustrophobia. The idea of going in the tunnel mortified me. He then asked me
to choose a cd to listen to during the scan. I chose Girls Aloud as I wanted
something upbeat and cheerful, as I am sure that if I chose Cold Play I would
have wanted to end things then and there. He then gave me some clothes to
change in to. I was pleased with my outfit, a night dress with a dressing gown.
I love a good dressing gown. But then I was told to go and sit back in the
waiting room. I did not love that bit.
They eventually called me in. I saw the tunnel and began to
cry. I started to panic. I started to feel as though I could not do this. Half
an hour in a confined space was half an hour too long. I then looked up. There
was a picture of Winnie the Pooh and Piglet on the wall. I then thought to
myself, ‘get a grip Lisa, it is obvious that children have to come in here and
have this done, you are 27 and being pathetic’. I laid down on the bed. The man put a clamp on
my head that was pressing up against my cheeks, and a heavy pack on my chest.
He then put me in the tunnel and said that I needed to remain still. I went in.
My nose was about 2 inches from the ceiling, and I had a mirror that allowed me
to look at the people who work in the unit in their office. Girls Aloud ‘The
Promise’ started to play. The scan started to go. I could hardly hear the music
as the scan was so noisy, it sounded like I was sitting underneath road works.
Half way through the scan they stopped the music and asked if I was ok. Then it
continued. Half an hour had past and the scan was over. I was so relieved. As
the man helped me up, he said to me ‘your consultant will call you tonight’. I
said to him that I probably won’t hear from him until the next day. The man
looked at me and said ‘he will call you’. He then said to me ‘ I wish you all the best
with this’, I thanked him and he showed me where to get changed. I called John
to come and help me. John asked me what was up. I said to him that I know that
they have found something and mentioned to John what the man had said. John
tried to reassure me that they probably say that to everyone. I was not
convinced.
We got in the car, ready to leave the hospital. I turned my
phone on, and had loads of missed calls from my mum and brother. I called them
both and said what had happened. Then my dad called too. They were all very
shocked and upset. I felt guilty that I had upset them. Also I knew that we
would not know the results until the next day. We got home. I could not face
speaking to anyone at work. I could not face speaking to anyone. John called
them on my behalf. He spoke to one of the divisional managers, who was lovely
and very understanding. All the senior managers and HR were really good about
what was going on, it was just the support I had from my direct team which was
a problem, and at this point I did not want to speak to anyone who was not
supportive.
I went upstairs to turn
to Google once again, but this time I had some direction to what to search; MS
and brain tumours. Whilst I was on the internet an hour after my scan, I had a
phone call from my consultant. I was shocked to hear from him so soon. He
mentioned that my scan results showed lesions on my brain and that he can
confirm a definite diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis. The next steps were for me
to go to the doctors to get my prescription for steroids and to do a urine
sample. He said that he would write to
me about my next appointment for disease modifying drugs, and will get a MS
nurse to contact me. He also mentioned that I needed to notify the DVLA and
insurance companies. I thanked him for everything. I felt a massive sense of
relief. Finally I had got my answer, not the best answer, but at least I knew
that I was not making things up and that I could now be treated.
