I used to be afraid of many things. Several things in fact, despite having a pride in being able to manage a spider or any such creepy crawly, I was quite the scaredy cat. It is for that reason that my knowledge of horror films is so distinctly lacking. My worst nightmare would once to have swallowed a goldfish, but even that causes less goosebumps in me than they once did. I’m not an ox, I still would not enjoy it and any trip to an aquarium equites avoidance at the tanks at all costs. Even the recent odd sighting of a mouse in the flat (mice in Spring, seriously?) has caused more of a whelper than the once or thrice shriek of years gone past. I say all of this, because I have quite a strong inkling that I now know what real fear is. It’s not an inkling in fact, I most definitely know what fear is now and it is all linked to My Myeloma. Myeloma, with it’s series of unknowns and what ifs is terrifying. My Myeloma, which seemed to have inherited the most dogmatic of personalities, so far, can do whatever it wants to me. What I want, what I will and what I need, is barely a factor. In my world, it is, what it is.
Where am I then? For the last few months, since the beginning of the year, I have been experiencing increasing pain in my left arm and in the left pelvis. The pelvis issue is a long standing issue, worsened by my holiday in November and maybe some excess (unnecessary) walking in Amsterdam. When one like me has such keep-you-up-at-night and cannot-climb-into-the-shower sort of pains, there is only really one way to find out what is causing these particular pains and that is the MRI Scan.
Long time readers with long time memories will know that I loathe the MRI scan. My first one on 20 August 2012 was, without a hint of hyberole, the most pain I have ever experienced in my life. I loathe the procedure, but most of all, I cannot abide waiting for the results of an MRI. I’m terrified of the big reveal. And that, my dear friends is where I currently find myself. Waiting for a Big Reveal.
I can imagine what you are thinking. You are probably thinking there will be no such big reveal, and the pains are just minor things and if there is anything lurking on her bones, then they can be simply zapped away. I say that to myself. Sometimes. Inside my head, I am thinking about massive tumours, secondary cancers and death. Housemate is currently particularly fond of telling me that the pain I have is a trapped nerve. The problem my politeness fails to reveal, is that I know my body. I have known every time I have relapsed by the new pains and I know that this is what is happening to me this time.
The problem with this time is, what do we do three transplants in and various treatments later, if I gave relapsed? Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. DON’T think about it.
Clearly I am thinking about it? So, planning ahead, and realising that I occasionally do need somebody to hold my hand, I asked for Mamma Jones or Big Sister to attend the clinic appointment that followed by MRI scan on Saturday 25 March. It’s mostly so they can listen and ask questions, in the event of me becoming a shelf shocked mute. We had five days to wait for this reveal and believe me when I say, it was a substantial wait. As I am a behind in the story, and to create some more suspense, I’m going to make you wait a little longer too…
In the four weeks prior to my scan, the nerve pain in my left arm had become unbearably worse. I couldn’t sleep properly nor hold a proper stance. I had taken to wearing a sling outside, not because I wanted to be on the cutting edge of fashion, but because I thought it would give my back a break from carrying around my 2 stone + of arm. Gone was the medically trained idea that it was caused by neuropathy caused by previous medications and in were words like, ‘previous disease’ and ‘tumour’. My personal favourite was ‘not to alarm you, but if anything changes, go to A&E right away’.
And with that, I was left in a long, hot pressure cooker.
As you might have surmised, initially, if there was an alarm, the Medically Trained People did not show it. A feat in medical training. I had lost feeling in half of my hand and had constant shooting pains in my arm. But, as the pains showed no signs of abating, I was prescribed medications. Lots and lots of medication.
I have always considered my pain relief systems rather light, but in the matter of a few weeks, I had gone from having 80mg of MST (slow release morphine) twice a day, six paracetamols and two Lorazepams which doubled up as my anti nausea tablets. To, 100mg of MST twice a day, plus breakthrough pain relief, eight paracetamols, 300g three times a day of Gabapentin, four lorazapam and then in increasing doses finalising at 50mg of Amitriptyline, to allow for something resembling sleep. Even my ever increasing nerves were unable to shit that increased intake of medication out.
So not only was I in constant pain, I was constantly exhausted, making me feel constantly irrational. A sleep however, even if it is drug induced, proved better than no sleep at all. Even if I did feel like I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.
Despite all of this, I still tried to be strong. I mean, I didn’t really sleep much in the week leading up to my appointment and I relied quite heavily on my friends to keep me distracted, but I socialised and I laughed. Thankfully, the weekend of the 25 March was not just the weekend I had an MRI scan, it was the weekend of my most dear friends’ wedding. The distraction was just the tonic, even though I had to leave early on one day because I felt like somebody was playing the banjo on my funny bone.
Wondering what was going on was never far away. I’m going to let you into a little secret, in November, as part of my attempts to medically retire, I received a letter saying that I had an outlook of 12-15 months. 12-15 months! Ever the pragmatist, I took this as the worst possible case for my 32 year old lifeline and hid it in a drawer somewhere in my brain. There are no finite treatments remember.
As much as I like to pretend I’m a fighter too, I’m more inclined to think the worst when expecting test results. Katy Perry wasn’t going to hear me roar. As the days grew closer and the pain increased, I couldn’t help but be reminded of this timeline and these facts. Add to that every possible consent I have ever signed for treatment, noting severe side effects (SECONDARY CANCER) and I had become a shaking, irrational, moody pants. Afraid of upsetting myself with my almost self fulfilling prophecy, but terrified of it being the truth and constantly, on loop watching my life slowly erase from the lives of the people I love.
Who knew that lying down on a machine for what was nearly 2.5 hours could cause that sort of fear in me, but it did. I think I hid my hysteria well, but that’s just my personal opinion. These discussions, less than five years into My Myeloma journey seem real now. I am afraid of dying, but I am so scared of leaving my friends and family.
I have long discovered that this is not a subject anybody who loves me wants to entertain. It’s definitely not something, in the middle of tests one can really talk about because one is trying to be hopeful. It was all I could think about. I felt so duplicitous and defeatest. Some mornings, when Housemate left for work, I would snuggle up to the Bruce Dog and think ‘are you going to remember me?’. I would then apologise to him that I couldn’t lie on my left hand side because my pelvis just couldn’t take it and worry he was going to hate me because one day, I won’t just leave on a weekend trip to my parents’ house. On the issue of my pelvis, this is indeed a mental fight I have with the dog on a daily basis. He doesn’t understand why I have to lie on my right hand side. He’s a bloody dog.
So, then the day came. My clinic appointment at UCH on Thursday 30th March. I was so nervous, I ploughed down a packet of Refreshers in my first 15 minutes of waiting. My need for sugar was greatly met by my Big Sister with a nice, unhealthy slam of Tablet. The best food with a medical name on the market. I don’t recall much of the waiting period. I know it was a few hours and I did my customary monthly pregnancy test. I remember Big Sister saying my favourite Medically Trained Person had a good poker face, but that was it.
What fate was going to greet me when I was eventually got called through? Then it happened, I was called through not by a registrar, but the Head of the Clinic. Bad news. I walked in with my best smile on and my head held high, for that is all I have always done.
The MRI scan did show disease in my neck, which is causing all the pain in my arm and my arm. Blah, blah, blah. My pelvis is also in such a state that it’s impacting on my muscles and it is for that reason, I have required a step stool to get into bed these last few months. Fortunately, these little nuisances can be treated by radiotherapy. Frustrating, sure, but fixable. I exhaled. Briefly.
For what came next, could well have been the worst thing I have heard since the day I found out I had myeloma.
‘You have stopped responding fast enough to all traditional Myeloma treatments…’
And with that, maybe a minute or so later, I cried.
To be continued….