Saturday, February 23, 2013

Hello Floodgates

Yesterday afternoon was pretty rough emotionally. I tipped over the edge from 'coping quite well' to 'completely-lost-the-plot-I-can't!-I-just-can't-do-this!!!'. My bravado was shot to smithereens.

And all over a hospital admin glitch and a tantruming four year old.

Thursday left me feeling quite turbulent inside. I went into that consult having read plenty about chemo and hormone therapy. But having a team of health professionals, my team of health professionals, give me the long list of side effects that would and could happen to me over the next five months, coupled with the sight of so many other patients in various stages of chemo had a profound effect on my stiff upper lip. All of a sudden I felt fragile and the weight of my situation began crushing my resolve. I tried very hard to shake it off and gave myself a stern talking to which got me through the rest of Thursday.

Friday morning we enjoyed a playdate at a friend's house. When we got home I booked my CT scans at the private imaging centre for Tuesday. The receptionist who took the booking quipped kindly that "it wasn't fair, I was too young"...she meant well but her pity just pushed my tears towards the surface. Next booking was the bone scan at Canberra Hospital's Nuclear Imaging. My oncologist had sent through the request but the female receptionist couldn't seem to find it. Not a problem, I thought, I'll just chase it up with Oncology and try again later in the afternoon. Oncology were helpful and friendly, told me they'd follow it up and to try NI in a few hours so I took a nap.

I tried again just after three but the young bloke at Nuclear Imaging couldn't find the request. I was starting to feel like piggy in the middle. It was at this precise moment that Harry walked in screeching like a cockatoo about a toy that wasn't working. Not being able to hear a thing I asked Master Four to go outside to Daddy but he refused and continued to scream all the louder. (What is it with preschoolers and their sixth sense for interrupting important phone conversations?). I apologised but the noise obviously didn't impress the NI guy because he said dismissively that there wasn't anything on the system. It was then that I begged him to help me out, could he please follow it up with oncology. By this time I was in tears. I'd been the good, brave patient for four weeks. I'd taken the loss of my breast with as much positivity as I could muster but a lost form was simply too much to bear. He said he couldn't help me and with that I hung up and started sobbing to the point of hyperventilation.

By this time Hubby had come in from the washing line and began dealing with our four year old drama queen. By the time he had put Harry in time out and convinced Jack to stop hugging his ratty big brother when he was being disciplined, I was found curled up in a ball on our bed...a complete mess.

My husband...my calm, collected knight in shining armour.

He held me, let me rant about how I couldn't cope anymore, then, when I'd calmed down, told me that I was going to go and sit out on the back deck with the cup of tea that he'd make, relax in the fresh air with a magazine and not worry about it. He would deal with it.

And that is exactly what happened. He understood. He had been watching me for weeks, watching how I had been holding everything in and was ready to swoop in and take things in hand when it all got too much.

I wasn't angry with Harry for throwing a tantrum. I knew that he was tired from preschool. I wasn't even angry with the Nuclear Imaging guy. It was just a case of the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

An hour later, both boys were happy and playing, I was back in bed resting and Hubby came in with the bone scan booked for Monday morning. Turns out that NI guy had me in the system as a fourteen year old. Silly, silly mistake. But it had all been sorted thanks to the lovely oncology receptionist and my fucking awesome husband. God I love that man!

 

2 comments:

  1. Dear Em,
    You were bound to have a bad day...you're only human after all. Besides, it's the hard days that allow us to truly appreciate the good days. It's the hard days that, usually in hindsight, give us the opportunity to be thankful for those amazing people in our lives who lift us up on those awful days.
    Your raw account of what you are going through is so inspirational and very brave.
    We can't wait for that great day when you get the all clear. In the meantime you are in our thoughts and prayers.
    Love, Julie

    ReplyDelete
  2. Thanks Jules, your support has been so wonderful! xx

    ReplyDelete

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