'The Story' 2: A nightmare Deja vu
I vividly recollect a thin warm trickle slowly dripping over my right eyebrow. The soft pillow pushed tightly down just on top of my clammy forehead, as I tried to release the throbbing pressure from my front left temple. It was about 6.30am and I was acutely aware I had to get up for work in 15 minutes, despite having spent the last 7 hours buckled into a foetal heap, nursing my relentless nausea. I pulled the pillow further over my eyes when Nick turned the hallway light on... I could hear the start of the comforting familiar stir to the house. The quiet bedlam began with Alaska's tail hitting his bed, and as he started to squeak, he informed me the cats were pattering down the stairs towards the kitchen in anticipation of little filled bellies.
I took a moment to stare at the black and white cat face print on my curtains before clutching my numb abdomen and unsteadily pulling myself up. My lumbar spine awoke with the points of intensity likened to the vigorous pressing of a concert piano in a trademark Nina Simone finale. Through clenched teeth I leant forward and pushed my body weight onto the slightly raised bedside cabinet, and as I slowly erected myself, I felt a flush of what felt like the blood leaving my face. Elbows hunched over the bright banister, I pathetically exhaled Nick’s name down the hall, in the hope to summon some assistance. On cue, his uncertain energy appeared down the stairs and I distinctively recollect the apprehension in his stance. He was tightly clutching the ‘sick bowl’ in his left hand. His jaw was as tense as a strained wire and as fragile as life and reality. It could snap at any moment, leaving his short yet unruly dark facial hair to drop into a nightmare-ish unfamiliar abstract state as the shadows from the hallway blended into the creases of his face. The familiar spark in his greenish-hazel eyes was a suspended blackness from the creeping gloom and I could just about make out his burdened apprehension. The inner points of his eyebrows were raised so high with fret they just about fused with his unkempt black forelock.
The vivid recollection of despair on his face will stay with me forever. Leaning my entire body weight over the banister, I declared to him it was ’just a bug’ and my back only felt worse due to the threat of retching. He was working in a class on agency in Pontardawe that morning and I had a marketing meeting in Swansea, so we had to make tracks and get on with our routine. Nick agreed to stay near and come running if I called – I was unlikely to get to the bathroom in time with my back pain, so we agreed that if I felt the need to be sick, I would use the bowl. He would hold and squeeze my lower back so tightly in an effort to not pull what I thought would be other muscles, not aggravated tumours. As predicted, I would do a little make-up, and call.... do a little hair... call... stand up to walk... call... and Nick would continue to be there, holding my waist so tightly in an effort to keep everything in place as I gasped between barren heaves and wiped the tears carefully from under my eyeliner. A quick mirror check, bags grabbed, Alaska tucked in bed and car keys snagged... we both wandered in a delayed hurry to our little red car, aware we were slightly late, but not really caring. Now Nick is one of those people who goes to pieces when it comes to taking direction form a satnav. We agreed he should drive himself to work so I would have time to ‘come around’... So... between us we dotted the school into google maps and off we went. Concentrating hard on anything other than nausea, we made small talk while I could feel the vibrations from the window tickling my fringe as I pressed my forehead on the misty window.... was that fever coming back? I opened my eyes again and questioned Nick if we were in the right area. I was sure we were meant to be heading to Pontardawe but found we were driving to an obscure location slightly out of Clydach. Looking at Nick, I could see the prominent vein protruding from his left temple and his squinted black eyes under his dark furry brow. I asked him if we were in the right area, with worry in his voice he said he didn’t think so.... ironically, we had never had a satnav error before (lucky we did today!), and I could see he was getting progressively stressed. Game head on, I told him to get out of the driver seat and swap, before he lost it. I snatched his phone and programmed the school address into my phone. I recall reassuring him it would take 15 minutes and as he rang his agency to notify them of the error and lateness, I turned the engine on and reassured him “I will get you there”. First part was a cinch, and focusing on the road borrowed a nice distraction from the relentless nausea and pain. At least in the driving seat you can push on the wheel when going over a bump and save a small grace on the pounding of the spine. That was until 7 minutes away and we hit road works on the main narrow road... the loss of things to concentrate on mixed with the stop and start motion felt my little energy spurt deplete entirely. Passing the temporary traffic lights, I could feel the familiar flush of what felt like the blood leaving my face again... and I hurriedly scanned the side of the road for a space to pull in... residents parking – BINGO! And without uttering a single word, I pulled over and got out to head to the passenger side. I muttered something about Nick having to drive the last bit whilst I slowly peeled myself from the driver seat and staggered around the car. No questions asked, he inserted himself behind the wheel and before I could swing my legs in, I cried “Oh fuck no” as I felt the familiar rise of yet another barren heave (the main problem with a dry retch is you don’t get the relief and your stomach continues to violently contort until a successful ejection). And with the rigorous rhythm of the intention of a burdened police dog, my stomach frantically distorted with each unforgiving jolt. I could feel a different nerve end implode down my back one by one. Slipped discs? Muscle spasms? It got to the lumbar spine, and my knees buckled from under me as I temporarily lost consciousness for a few seconds. I sat there with my right hip slipped under me and my legs buckled in a sharp paralysing pain. Unable to stop the violent exhaling, until finally my left cheek was on the cold wet curb, and my body was somehow half contorted under the car and side of the road. A white foam began to cascade involuntary from my gut onto the grey cold floor. Once... then again straight after. Then... as if not undignified enough, I recall the panic as the backwash trickled slowly back to my cheek on the curb... of course with my luck I would be on a slight decline. I lied helplessly as I could feel it hit my cheek and fringe.... YUCK! I can’t really remember what materialised after that... I know I could not move for a while, and it was only the threat of getting an ambulance is what finally got me to scrape myself into the passenger seat. Nick rang my manager to tell him even though I was on the way in, I was too sick to make it and Nick rang in sick too. He had to drive me to hospital. I vaguely remember having a small disagreement with him about ringing the GP and not going into A&E (amazingly!). After that my memory is very fuzzy, but luckily Nick has helped me fill in some of the gaps. As he drove me to Morriston A&E he watched to ensure I stayed conscious. On arrival, I refused a wheelchair until I took a few steps from the car and held myself up by the chin on the wall as Nick scrambled inside to get me one. I do recall sitting upright in a wheelchair being in unbearable agony, and I could not help wailing in pain, folding over to take the pressure off the spine and hip. We arrived in A&E just after 9 am... From then the day was a complete morphine induced blur. Nurses and doctors assessed me, differing teams came and went, all unhappy and unsure with the symptoms I was putting forward. As the day went by and I was allowed to lie in my crunched position, the wailing dissipated until I only had to switch sides. Nick stayed by my side for the entire day. He told me later he was desperately holding onto the fantasy of it being a kidney stone (which apparently was one of the options I missed while I was out of it!). My friend Rhiannon was working in the chaos next door and even popped in to see me with supplies... Apparently, her and Nick spoke for a while, but I cannot recall her being there at his point. By 9pm, I was wheeled down for a CT scan on my kidneys and was informed by a lovely general surgeon we would have the results in an hour. The weight of the situation pressed down on our hopes, as time ticked beyond and I was finally woken up by the surgeon sitting on the side of my bed. With soft words, she quietly informed me, she had called Mel, my mother, and Rhiannon back to discuss my news. Calmly, I squinted my face... let out a deep sigh, looked her straight in her glazed eyes and wheezed “the cancer is back isn’t it?’, she quietly nodded and put her hand on my leg. A look of absolute hopelessness in her young face. We must have been around the same age. I could hear Nick gasping through gritted teeth by my side. Fast forward to around midnight, where I was whisked off for a full CT and MRI scan, when eventually at around 1am in a small room with 4 doctors, a nurse and my close circle, we were finally told the news me and Nick had been fearing for a long time. The cancer never went! It had been slowly getting to work. Silently, cowardly, spreading in the way cancer does. Scattering microcells from my chest to the ribs, pelvis, femur, spine and later, we would learn the skull. All they could tell us was it was in-operable and incurable... they were sorry. I didn’t cry... I don’t think I was physically capable from the drugs. I recall feeling calm and accepting. It was a lot to digest and sounds like I got off lightly compared to the day/night Nick later told me he had. |
A ' no holds' page about my life with incurable advanced Breast Cancer, in the hope it will give a realistic, detailed account to other young women going through the unfortunate illness.
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