Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries The One Where They Said I Was Going To Die... Part 1. The One Where They Said I Was Going To Die Part 1

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries – The One Where They Said I was Going To Die… Part 1.

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries The One Where They Said I Was Going To Die... Part 1. The One Where They Said I Was Going To Die Part 1

‘An Ellie Goulding song plays on the radio with a beautiful melody which stops me in my tracks. Ellie sings ‘It’s OK to be afraid.’ This reduces me to tears. Sketch puts his arms around me and we cry together for a while. We feel like she is singing directly to us. It’s OK to be afraid because it is and we are. Sketch says he is afraid of me dying. For once I cannot find the words to reassure him…’  Wenna’s Diary Extract, 5th March 2013.

 

i’m a mixed media, chalkboard and mural artist, based in north cornwall.

(Portfolio available to view HERE…)

I am also the author of Straight talking blog ‘Life after lymphoma – an irreverent look at remission and commissions.’

For more about Lady Sketch, have a read of my other posts HERE.

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries The One Where They Said I Was Going To Die... Part 1

 

 

Falling Out Of Remission

December 2012 saw me 4 months in remission from Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The boys and I were spending a quiet Christmas in Bude with my parents. Sketch and I had parted company that summer and I was balancing my broken heart with trying to ‘get the show back on the road,’ for the boys AND consider my next move. Now the lymphoma was over and done with I was planning to go back to work and pondering a house move as a fresh start for all of us.

You can read about my Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma diagnosis HERE

It was Boxing Day when I noticed the tip of my thumb had gone numb. I put it down to the thumb ring I was wearing at the time and duly removed it.

Wenna – 3 Jan 2013 at 09:11 – Via Facebook

Seen this and quite liked the format…

10 things I thought I’d never do in 2012

  1. Lived in a different place to my children for weeks at a time.
  2. Wore an engagement ring.
  3. Considered and accepted that death may well be just around the corner.
  4. Had my head shaved.
  5. Dealt with vomit without panicking for 10 day stretches at a time.
  6. Punched someone in the face and didn’t regret it.
  7. Removed my engagement ring.
  8. Weaned myself down from 169 mg of Morphine a day to none.
  9. Became a single mother again.
  10. KICKED CANCER IN THE ARSE!!!

10 things I intend to do in 2013:

  1. Tell my children how loved and appreciated they are EVERY day.
  2. Get on the road.
  3. Write my book.
  4. Relocate.
  5. Teach PJ how to walk and talk.
  6. Show Al how to see the good in the bad.
  7. Move on from the past.
  8. Eat well and grow strong.
  9. Get another tattoo.
  10. LIVE!!!

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Wenna – 9 Jan 2013 at 10:35 – Via Facebook

And the big house clear out continues…been reduced to tears this morn going through all of the get well cards you lovely people sent to me last year. A timely reminder of how much worse things could be!

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The best laid plans and all that… fate clearly had other ideas however. By the time I saw Dr K (my consultant) for a scheduled appointment in January, my hand, arm and shoulder were numb and growing weaker by the day. I was sent for an emergency MRI that afternoon with results due a week later.

An Uncomfortable Meeting

My next meeting with Dr K proved to be an uncomfortable one. They had found ‘white matter’ inside my spine and had no clue what it was. I pushed every which way for answers, but he was unable to give them. Could it be lymphoma returning? It could be anything. I needed another CT and another MRI scan plus an appointment with neurology.

I thanked Dr K for being honest in the face of my incessant questioning. He held my gaze and gently informed me he would ALWAYS be completely honest and open with me. There was the sense that he was genuinely perplexed, and we all came away feeling nervous.

Later that day it occurred to me that, in the numerous meetings I’d had with Dr K, I’d never once seen him look as uncomfortable as he did that day. A cold shiver accompanied this thought.

Wenna – 16 Jan 2013 at 18:14 – Via Facebook

Survived 45 mins in the MRI scanner today, after TWO sedatives… Good job I always carry them in my handbag! Pretty battered now mind…

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Wenna – 21 Jan 2013 at 21:48 – Via Facebook

Pain-free but slightly dopey. Tramadol 🙂

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Wenna – 31 Jan 2013 at 16:31 – Via Facebook

Completely fecked off to be back in hospital and away from my boys. Awaiting an MRI to confirm diagnosis. Fingers still firmly crossed, but the overriding feeling seems to be ‘here we go again…’ Apparently someone forgot to tell 2013 it was supposed to be our year 🙁

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‘After a week of anti-viral drugs which have made me horrendously sick, viral inflammation is ruled out. A letter arrives to say MRI will take place in a fortnight, but there is no way I can wait that long the rate at which my leg is weakening.

There are disagreements between Haematology and Neurology. Nobody really seems to know what is happening to me. Dr K says I need to be admitted to get the MRI done more quickly. If this is what needs to happen then so be it.

At this point it’s dawning on me: this is serious. I’m ill again.’  Wenna’s Diary Extract, 31st Jan 2013.

 

Lady Sketch Back In Hospital

Nervously Awaiting My Second MRI.

 

Hiding In The Hospital

By January 2013, Sketch and I had rarely spoken since the summer. As with a lot of break ups, things were less than amicable and feelings were running high. He had moved out of Truro and was seeing the boys sporadically.

I contacted him over Facebook to tell him I was awaiting another diagnosis and I was pretty sure it would be shit news. I wasn’t sure what reaction to expect given how the land lay between us, and was amazed by his response. He was gutted and instantly pledged his support.

Early Saturday morning Sketch rocked up on the ward, my MRI having taken place the day before. By then I knew we were headed into another shit storm. That morning they had stopped the anti-viral medication and put me on to steroids, which we’d been told would be counter-productive if it was a neurological issue. All signs were pointing towards lymphoma.

 

‘Dr P is on the prowl and I feel a sense of foreboding. Somehow he is always on shift when there is bad news to be delivered. I desperately want just 1 more day in ignorance, so Sketch puts his last pound into a wheelchair and takes me off the ward. We spend the day hiding out in the bowels of the hospital where only the porters go.

Sketch and I discuss our childrens’ future, reaffirming the plans we had for their upbringing. There are tears between us and Sketch tells me he is utterly terrified of losing his best friend. We return to the ward to find out that Dr P has been 3 times before going home for the night. There is a bed for me on Lowen. This is the cancer ward, which can mean only one thing.

Sketch moves me and my belongings down there, just as he did the first time. we find it an emotional process, knowing tomorrow will bring bad news. Sketch says he is here for me, if I want him. I find that I do. He is the only other person with first hand knowledge of exactly what lies ahead of us. Much as I hate to rely on him after everything that’s gone on, I need him.’ Wenna’s Diary Extract, 2nd Feb 2013.

 

No Point Of Reference

Sunday brought 2 visitors which was a happy distraction, until Dr P arrived. They were politely dispatched to the day room whilst the news was delivered.

The lymphoma was indeed back, this time inside my spinal cord, which is actually so bloody rare that they had no point of reference. It had also metastasized back to my liver. I had a 20% chance of survival this time.

Dr P filled me in on my treatment options. At that time, they were radiotherapy, which might turn me into a vegetable, or chemotherapy which might paralyze me. The tumour had migrated to the cervical spinal cord, a bit too near the brain stem for our liking. Radiotherapy that close to the important bits would likely drop my IQ and alter my personality beyond all recognition. So what about chemo? Well that would be administered via a port that would need to be installed into my spine at Derriford Hospital. I didn’t need him to impress upon me how dangerous that procedure would be.

Dr P also offered me the option to do nothing, meaning I would die at some point over the next 8 weeks. It wouldn’t be a case of 2 months then slipping peacefully away, he explained gently. There would be a rapid loss of mobility, speech and eventually, vital function as the lymphoma overwhelmed my internal organs. I would end my days paralysed, incontinent and being fed through a tube, potentially with the brain still in good working order. A prisoner in my failing body, not what you might call a desirable outcome.

 

‘The family muster at my bedside and it is all horrific. The first time I’ve ever seen Mum fall apart. There is frequent sobbing and so much fear. I have basically been delivered a death sentence, or so it feels. I ask Dr P what he would do in my position. His reply? ‘I would do nothing.’

A consultant at the top of his game would rather die than face the prospect of the treatment options I have available to me. But he doesn’t have kids. And I do. I refuse to give up on them, and tell him that doing nothing is not an option for me.’ Wenna’s Diary Extract, 3rd Feb 2013.

Much ADO About Chicken

The practicalities of daily life interrupted our misery and brought some much needed comic relief via Mum: ‘What the f*ck am I supposed to do about the f*cking chicken?!’

It transpired that Mum had been in the middle of preparing a sunday roast for the family including my boys, in Bude. When the news hit they had left for Truro immediately, complete with half cooked chicken on board. This caused much consternation and mirth, bordering on hysteria – a welcome opportunity to focus our thoughts elsewhere. The family left to collect the boys from my brother-in-law and finish off the roast in my oven.

I had contacted Sketch who arrived as they were leaving. TS clasped his hand on the way out and implored Sketch to ‘do his best for me.’ I relayed  Dr P’s news, and we cried together.

 

‘I’m acutely aware that as soon as Sketch leaves, I will be alone for the first time today, facing the harsh reality that I’m expected to die soon. Sketch clearly knows this too, and there are tears before he goes. He cuddles me and promises to return soon, before going to meet his taxi home.

5 minutes later I’m sitting alone and terrified on my bed, when the curtain moves. Sketch pops his head around and tearfully tells me that he cannot bear to leave me tonight. This is exactly what I need to hear. He lies on the bed next to me and we cry at the unfairness of the situation. The next few hours are passed looking at old photos on our phones and reminiscing. Happy, distracting memories of our time together. I drift off into an uneasy sleep shortly before sunrise. When I wake a couple of hours later Sketch is still there. He hasn’t let go of my hand all night and I realise, in a moment of absolute clarity, that I’m still in love with him.’ Wenna’s Diary Extract, 3rd Feb 2013.

 

Why Shouldn’t I Be In The 10%…?

The next day brought Dr K and CZ (my chemo nurse) to my bedside. We discussed treatment options which were more viable, after the horrible options of the previous day. Dr K proposed 17 days of radiotherapy which would neither drop my IQ nor turn me into a vegetable. This would be followed by high dose chemotherapy delivered through another line in my chest. No spinal ports required for which I remain eternally grateful.

They stressed that the doubling up of the chemo would be completely f*cking hideous, but necessary, as the tumours had to be clobbered hard. Dr K described the situation as ‘potentially catastrophic.’ The concept of quality time was discussed, and we agreed that if treatment wasn’t working, I would need to be told sooner rather than later.

This was the day that my odds of surviving plummeted to a measly 10%. You wouldn’t bet your life savings on it, yet my life was, quite literally, in their hands.

And so I agreed to the treatment regime. Dr K and CZ exchanged a knowing look. ‘We knew you would,’ they smiled.

‘If the time I have left cannot be prolonged by chemo, then I will want to stop the treatment. I will need to make the most of what time I have left with my boys and my family.

It is agreed they will scan reasonably early to assess this. Dr K is a humanitarian – he understands what is at stake here. Terrifyingly low chance of beating this, but must remember that somebody has got to be in the 10% and why shouldn’t it be me? It’s not like this treatment is being offered to me out of the goodness of their hearts. They clearly believe there is a possibility of it working otherwise, right about now I’d be on my way home with steroids, pain relief and their best wishes…’ Wenna’s Diary Extract, 3rd Feb 2013.’

 

Lady Sketch Falling Out Of Remission

At Home Waiting For Radiotherapy.

 

Preparing For The Worst While Hoping For The Best

And so shortly afterwards I was sent home, with steroids and pain relief, but also with a week’s grace before the 17 consecutive days of radiotherapy were due to commence. My situation was so shitty and it was then that Dad bought me my first leather bound journal.

‘You need to write. Letters to your boys, your happiest memories, a record of what is going on, anything… Just write now, while your brain is in full working order…’

And write I did.

“…God, this is such an odd situation to be in. Sometimes I can sit here with complete clarity and know that I’m going to die soon. It’s like I can accept this info with no panic or fear, and just know that it will happen. Other days I am literally paralyzed with terror.  What will it be like to just not be here anymore? How can I even begin to get my head around that concept…?

Mostly I firmly believe myself to be in the 10%, and am positive that the worst will not happen. But it is a conscious effort to stay in that place, especially while preparing for the end of my life just in case… each minute is a balancing act.” Wenna’s Diary Extract, 5th Feb 2013.

 

By this point I was using Facebook as a mini- blog. It was a pretty effective way of keeping everybody updated with the latest goings on, reaching out for support and getting things off my chest.

Wenna – 5 Feb 2013 at 15:30 – Via Facebook

Well I got my tattoo wish for 2013 anyway…nothing fancy, just 2 little dots on my back for the radiotherapy boffins to aim at when we commence the deep & crispy treatment next week. Might ask for aioli on the side. Yum! 😉

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Wenna – 6 Feb 2013 at 23:30 – Via Facebook

What’s on my mind you ask FB? Finding out my cancer is back, the prognosis is shit & I’m praying for a frickin’ miracle…

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Wenna – 10 Feb 2013 at 14:30 – Via Facebook

You guys are amazing. Thank you so much for all the lovely messages and supportive words. It all means the world to me and my somewhat bemused by facebook parents who are now beginning to see it’s not always the work of the devil!! Happy Sunday To You All xxx

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Extract from a letter to one of my best friends, to be given to them if the worst happened. (A bit dramatic in places but to be fair, I was hopped up on steroids and contemplating my own mortality!)

‘…As you know, we are in the 10% and I fully plan to be reading this letter with you in years to come, brushing it off as a near miss and getting on with life. But just in case it all does go tits up, I want you to know how much I adore you. I really do! Your sense of humour, the way you pick yourself up & dust yourself down, how kind and sweet you are to other people… I also love the fact that you’ve achieved that major thing I’ve thus far never quite managed – being a real, responsible grown up with a proper job and stuff!

I don’t know the rules from hereon in. I really wish I did. I don’t know if this treatment will work, but I DO know that you all have my word I will fight with everything I have. If I get the choice, I’m really not going anywhere. There will never come a time when I choose to give up, because I want to finish the job I started when I had my babies.

If I lose the battle, it’s someone or something else’s decision, not mine. Please make sure my boys know that I would never have given up on them. Ever. How could I ever leave them by choice?

As for what comes afterwards, I don’t know the rules there either. I don’t know if I’m allowed back to visit or watch you all. I promise not to turn up unannounced and scare the shit out of you, ok?!

If you ever want to find me, I’ll be at Droppy Nose Point on Bryher, or back in Stratton, checking in on my boys. You can also catch me on that bench just past Sainsburys that looks out over Truro and the cathedral. It’s the best view in town, and you know how Wenny likes the best!!

Take good care of you my dear friend. Trust in RCH, the haematology team, Sketch and the higher power of your choice, to take good care of me.

‘I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.’ 

Wenna xxx’

 

Lady Sketch Keeping Up Appearances.

A Quick Pedi Before Radiotherapy Started 😉

I’d love to hear your experiences of the Big Bad C – survivors, sufferers, friends, family – drop me a comment below. I will reply.

If my big old argument with lymphoma has caught your interest, why not give me a cheeky follow? I don’t harangue you with boring nonsense and spam mail makes me swear even more than I do already… your email address is safe with me!

Don’t forget to have a nosey at the rest of my blog HERE. It’s not all depressing I promise 🙂 Or if you’ve heard enough about being ill, check out my PORTFOLIO to see what I’ve been doing with my second remission.

 

 

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries The One With The Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma Diagnosis

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries – The One With The Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Diagnosis.

Lady Sketch – i’m a mixed media, chalkboard and mural artist, based in north cornwall.

(Portfolio available to view HERE…)

I am also the author of Straight talking blog ‘Life after lymphoma – an irreverent look at remission and commissions.’

For more about Lady Sketch, you can check out my other posts HERE.

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries The One With The Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma Diagnosis

 

Pre Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Diagnosis…

In November 2011 my second son PJ was born, to myself (Wenna) and my partner (Sketch).

Arriving via C-Section at The Royal Cornwall Hospital Treliske (RCH), PJ was welcomed into the world a week early. A complicated and difficult pregnancy had seen me endure escalating (and unexplained) pain, limited mobility and chronic insomnia. It had been a shit time for all concerned, and we were ecstatic to finally meet the little dude. A Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma diagnosis could not have been further from my mind.

Baby PJ thrived in the weeks that followed, but my health deteriorated rapidly. Excruciating back pain, loss of appetite, night sweats and bouts of uncontrollable  shivering left us fearing something bad was afoot.

Multiple Tests, Pokes and Prods

Cue countless visits to our GP, multiple blood tests and three courses of strong antibiotics for a suspected infection. Round the clock pain relief barely touched the searing agony in my spine, and I was starting to lose my shit.

Then my milk dried up, and PJ had to be unceremoniously dumped from the booby bar. Enough was enough. With Christmas gallivanting towards us and two boys to look after, I could barely function. The baby was blissfully oblivious, but big bro Al was acutely aware that Mummy wasn’t right. At this point, barely firing on 1, let alone the full 4 cylinders required to ‘do’ Christmas, we decamped to the health park.

On 23rd December 2011 I broke down in terrified tears to my GP and begged him to help me.  He promptly dispatched me to the Acute GP at A&E. Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Diagnosis minus 5 weeks…

To quote my Dad, ‘christmas fell over from this point forwards…’

The Chemo Diaries

The Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries are an open and honest account of the ensuing 2 years and beyond. Told through Facebook, Emails, Texts, Cards, Letters and Diary Entries.

Read on to find out more about my Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Diagnosis…

 

Lady Sketch Chemo Diaries The One With The Non Hodgkin's Lymphoma Diagnosis

 

 

 

Pregnancy And Me

My first pregnancy aged 25 was an absolute breeze. Glowing skin, serene attitude, cute little bump – the works. Al was such an adorably easy baby, that it didn’t take much persuasion to provide him with a sibling 7 years later.

‘LOVE being pregnant,’ I enthused to Sketch as we cooed over the pink lines on the pee stick. ‘No hormonal harridans here – this is going to be awesome…’

Hmph…

Wenna – 13 Jun 2011 at 16:14 – Via Facebook

Just heard baby’s heartbeat for the first time – strong & loud and brought a little tear to my eye 🙂

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Wenna – 8 July 2011 at 21:42 – Via Facebook

If I play music into my belly, the baby dances!

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I’d Rather Crap Into My Hand And Clap!

It was during my 4th month of pregnancy when things started to get shitty.  As is often the case with subsequent pregnancies, the belly popped out early. Only this time it just kept on growing. By my 5th month I was vast enough to attract commentary from passing strangers, and by the 6th? Put it this way, Sketch and I had a genuine fear there was an extra stowaway on board.

Having never been what you might call skinny, this extra weight took its toll. Back ache, leg ache, hip pain, heartburn, sciatica, swollen ankles… I entered my 7th month of pregnancy unable to sleep, barely able to walk and pretty hacked off with life.

It was my existing in this permanent zombie state that prompted a very dear (childless) friend to state:

‘I’d rather crap into my hand and clap than be where you are right now!’

She had a valid point.

Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Diagnosis Minus 5 Months

Wenna – 4 Aug 2011 at 18:40 – Via Facebook

Mildly concerned by how long it took us to plod home from Rosedale today, complete with little rest on petrol station wall to ease the aching back! Surely shouldn’t be this hard going at only 6 months?

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Wenna – 12 Sep 2011 at 14:29 – Via Facebook

Enjoying a bloody good pregnancy RANT with my friend T… it’s over messenger so no chance the baby will hear me!!

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Wenna – 14 Oct 2011 at 04:13 – Via Facebook

Sleep, sleep, my kingdom for some sleep 🙁

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Pregnancy pre non Hodgkin's Lymphoma Diagnosis

By this point, I was unable to get out of chairs unaided. I could walk pathetically short distances and the only footwear flexible enough to accommodate my pasty shaped feet was knitted!

‘Wow! You’re having such a big baby!’

These words prompted much gritting of teeth and fake smiling at the numerous people stating the bleeding obvious on a daily basis.

Having been concerned the baby was small-for-dates, my obstetrician did a complete about turn. Now the worries were that he was going to be too big, plus the knock on effect on my physical and emotional wellbeing.

There is a very good reason why some cultures use sleep deprivation as a form of torture. By 8 months I was ready to crack. My reprieve came at 39 weeks when PJ was delivered safe, well and not the gargantuan I’d begun to imagine. The misery was over and our little family was complete at last.

Wenna – 18 Nov 2011 at 19:22 – Via Facebook

Baby PJ arrived safely at 11:30 am weighing 7lb 11 oz. We are so very lucky xx

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The growing Realisation…

    Wenna – 29 Nov 2011 at 18:39 – Via Facebook 

It has been 12 days and every single bit of my body still aches and throbs… feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.
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Wenna – 30 Nov 2011 at 20:11 – Via Facebook

So in love with my boys. Still aching all over tho. WTF is up with my body and when will it realise I’m too busy for this nonsense?!
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Wenna – 3 Dec 2011 at 08:23 – Via Facebook

Wondering if it’s normal to get worse before you get better after a C Section? Certainly didn’t feel this horrific 7 days ago 🙁
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Wenna – 8 Dec 2011 at 10:11 – Via Facebook

PJ is 3 weeks old now. It’s time to rejoin the land of the living but still feel like hammered shite. Antibiotics not working. WTF is wrong with me? 🙁
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Wenna – 9 Dec 2011 at 20:18 – Via Facebook

V sad the breastfeeding stopped before we had planned. At least PJ is still thriving. Gutted tho.
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Wenna – 14 Dec 2011 at 10:12 – Via Facebook

Anyone on here ever seen an Osteopath and if so did it work? OUCHY 🙁 Pain killers not touching it today.

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Wenna – 17 Dec 2011 at 23:06 – Via Facebook

Completely fed up with feeling rubbish… it’s been over 4 weeks now, christmas is coming, I have 2 children and not enough time to be ill.
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Wenna – 20 Dec 2011 at 12:51 – Via Facebook

Please let this set of blood tests turn something up before I go crazy… taking so many pills I nearly rattle. God bless my gorgeously well behaved boys.
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Christmas At RCH Treliske

Wenna – 23 Dec 2011 at 13:58 – Via Facebook

Less than thrilled at the prospect of going into hospital this aft but fingers crossed I’ll be out and better in time for Crimbo. Really don’t want to miss my bigger boy opening all of his pressies. Hoping for a christmas miracle!
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Wenna – 23 Dec 2011 at 20:11 – Via Facebook

Breaks my heart to be separated from my baby and the prospect of not being with Al on christmas day. Stuck in hospital while they figure out wtf is wrong with me 🙁
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Wenna – 24 Dec 2011 at 10:13 – Via Facebook

Awaiting MRI scan to confirm infection in spine. May need surgery. A bit frightened 🙁
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Text to Dad. Christmas Eve 10:05 am

‘In same place. Awaiting MRI. May need to go to Derriford Hosp for surgery on spine. Very frightened: not supposed to use mobile, but pls can you call RCH and ask for Medical Admissions 1?  Mum is written down as next of kin. Love you X’

High Level Infection

So things were looking pretty bleak by this point. Nobody wants spinal surgery for Christmas. It soon became clear that going home wasn’t going to be happening any time soon.

A large part of my Christmas day was spent persuading nurses as to how much pain I was in. This was met with only varying degrees of success and it felt like the agony was never going to end. I drifted in and out of consciousness and tried to eavesdrop on what was discussed at the nurse’s station. Words like ‘sepsis’ and ‘dangerously high level infection’ were bandied around, but by this point my head wasn’t able to leave the pillow.

My Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma Diagnosis

The days and nights became a blur, but I am reliably informed that it took 5 weeks from admission to diagnosis. Evidently it was such a backwards presentation, I had some of the brightest minds in the hospital scratching their heads.

I moved ward 6 times, had my phone stolen, screamed in 2012 in excruciating pain, had 2 blood transfusions and slept around 18 hours a day. There were 3 biopsies, another MRI, a CT and an ultrasound. Finally they got to the bottom of it, and a meeting was set up with my parents and me, on Friday 13th January.

A notable date for the superstitious among us, and the irony was not lost on me that this should be the day my world tilted forever on its axis.

‘You have stage 4B Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. It has likely been lying dormant, and was activated by the pregnancy. This can only be a good thing, as it has not invaded your T cells, which might have happened otherwise. It is highly likely that your son has saved your life!’

To read more of the Chemo Diaries, and for more about life after My Non Hodgkin’s lymphoma diagnosis, why not subscribe to my email list? I won’t bombard you with crap and you will be the first to know when new posts are published!