It’s been a day over three weeks since I was first told I had cancer, and I can safely say now, the worst part of this has been the waiting. It’s all I seem to have done for the last three weeks; wait for appointments, for the MRI scan, for the first week’s MDT, for a CT scan, for the second MDT, for the diagnosis, for blood transfusions, and to be told how my cancer is going to be tackled. And after being told I have a Cervical Adenocarcinoma of 6.8cm which is to be dealt with by means of chemo-radiation, I’m waiting on another appointment at the Christie in Manchester with the person who will be my doctor there; again, this isn’t to start treatment, it’s to discuss it. And all the while I’m here dying to get this thing out of me, dying to have it gone, dying to be able to get back to a normal life again.
Except I’m coming to realise that now I have cancer, my life will never be normal again.
At first, I thought I would be given a radical hysterectomy. Even though this came as a shock, I could deal with it. I could resign myself to losing my cervix, my uterus, my ovaries and pelvic lymph nodes. Because the cancer would be going with it. It would be one operation and then it would be gone. It wouldn’t be able to come back. And in a couple of months I’d be back to as near normal as possible, maybe back in work even. But because of the size of this thing, a hysterectomy isn’t an option anymore and I’m facing the hard slog now. I don’t get to do this quickly and quietly and privately anymore. Now I have to have chemo. I’m going to get sick. My hair is going to fall out and anyone who sees me over the next few months or however long this is going to take is going to know. All of my friends. All of my family. All of my neighbours. The teachers at school, the people I work with, the people at the supermarket. They’ll all know that I have cancer just by looking at me. It’s no longer a private battle. And it’s going to suck.