Wednesday, March 03: My appointment with the oncologist was on Monday morning. I felt bad when the receptionist asked if I was coughing or had any other signs of Covid but I wasn’t going to miss the chance of seeing the oncologist so I shook my head.
When I mentioned it to the oncologist, she said they’d do a Covid test just to be sure. I agreed as long as someone carried it out as I know there is no way on earth I could shove an extra-long cotton bud down my throat to meet my tonsils, nor up my nose towards my brain. The specialist nurse said he’d do it. I did wonder if that might be the end of our barely-begun relationship. It was good to meet the person who has so far been a voice on the phone – can’t really say what he looks like because as we (I) were running late this morning, I left the house without my glasses so couldn’t see very much.
My list of questions wasn’t really very long: Is the breathlessness and the cough symptoms of a side effuck such as pneumonitis? If so, what’s the treatment, how long will I have it and what’s the prognosis?
As it was too early to have the scan done, I’d assumed this consultation would be a bit of a formality. Oh, no. The consultant did a thorough examination, including a fair bit of prodding at my neck. My blood pressure was very high and though she did say it was possibly because of seeing her, I should check it over the next few days. Oxygen levels were 100% so then she had me marching me up and down the corridor with her to check the levels of breathlessness and pulse rate.
It was as we were about to go back into the consultation room, she asked me about my friend, Sue – floodgates opened. She was apologetic about the timing of her question but as she said, when I’d stemmed the flow of tears, “There are no words.” Probably the best things she could say.
I explained we were going to meet with a mutual friend, Barb from Arran but currently locked down in Florence, on Zoom that afternoon, so she sent me off to get an X ray done immediately as sometimes there can be a wait and she wanted me to be on time. The specialist nurse did the Covid test (almost painless), and I had an armful of bloods taken.
The oncologist thought she might have felt a swollen lymph node in my neck – but couldn’t say for sure if it was that or if it was inflammation from the radiation. As she doesn’t like not being sure, she has decided bring forward the scan to see what’s going on.
Yesterday, the Covid test came back negative so I asked the specialist nurse what else could be causing the breathlessness and the cough if it’s not Covid and not pneumonitis. Is it, in fact, the tumour tweaking its tail? Is it growing instead of shrinking? Blocking my airways as it did before chemotherapy reduced it? He said there was a possibility of scarring of the lung tissue. That would be permanent. I’d always be breathless.
Today, specialist nurse said the bloods were all good apart from raised C-reactive protein (CRP) and would I mind arranging a urine test. That’s gone off for testing. I do think they should give you the label to attach to the sample container after it has been filled – and dried. Just a thought.
I’m a bit more worried than I was first thing on Monday morning before the consultation. It seems to have been such a medical-focussed couple of days and it seems a lot more things could be not going quite right.
As for the fatigue – “rest, don’t try to do too much” – so the contents of the larder will remain all over the kitchen worktops for now. And she thinks a two-mile walk is a bit ambitious. Better to do shorter walks and not get so tired. Oh, and on top of all that, I’ve been summoned for a mammogram!
I promised more lambs!