2. Ted the Tumour
On Monday evening, after my most recent episode, I landed back in England at 10:00pm. Determined to get a scan that evening I rushed home, dropped my bags, and set straight off to the hospital. Fully expecting to receive some sort of urgent response to my symptoms, I was amazed at how passive the doctors/nurses were with me. Unsurprisingly, the doctors fobbed me off and told me to contact my GP if I wanted any scans to check myself over.
The next morning, I called my GP to book myself an emergency appointment so that I could be referred for a scan. During my appointment later that day, my GP expressed how urgent an MRI scan was needed. The next day, I woke bright and early to head down to the hospital for my MRI. Hoping for a result of ‘all clear’, I lay in the giant doughnut-shaped scanner as it whirred away. “We’re just going to do another couple of scans, this time using some dye”.
Three hours after the scan, I was brought into a room to discuss results. “We’re sorry to deliver this news, but we’ve found a large tumour on the left side of your brain”. Oh, shit…
Here’s my first picture of Ted!
After asking for more info and to see a picture (see above) of my scan, I called my mum and told her the news. An hour later my mum was beside me as my doctor discussed the next steps. The surgeons would meet in 2 days, on the Friday to discuss the surgery, aftercare, and any logistics tied to my surgery. I was discharged and sent home, with a two-day wait ahead of me.
30 minutes into my drive home, I was called on a private number. It was the hospital, calling to ask if I wanted to have my surgery tomorrow as a theatre slot had opened up. “It would require you to come in tonight and being admitted, is that ok?” – Damn right it was ok!
After rushing home to see my family and pack essentials, I set off in a taxi ready to spend the night in the hospital. My mum came with me, and we arrived just shy of 10pm. I would be declared nil-by-mouth at midnight, so I made sure to cram as much food in so that I wouldn’t starve the next day. Biscuits, sandwiches, yoghurts, chocolate muffins – you name it, I had it!
The next morning, after a quick CT scan, I was anaesthetised and taken into theatre.
So long, Ted!
I was awake!
My surgeon stood in front of me, I was in the recovery room. My lips were so dry, I hadn’t drunk any water for over 12 hours! “Does my mum know I’m ok? Have you told her I am out of surgery?” – I asked this many times and kept being told that family calls would be done when on the ward. I was eager to get out of recovery.
One hour, and 2 jugs of water later, I was finally taken to my ward where my mum could finally know I was ok. I didn’t feel any different, I wasn’t in any pain – I was perky as ever, as though nothing had been done. Brain surgery, pfft!
Post-surgery desperately in need of a cleanup shave!
I was on my feet and ready to be discharged the following day. It was Friday, and the thought of spending any longer than needed in the hospital sounded daunting. I passed the time with family visits, phone calls, and god-awful daytime television.
This was my first experience of anything medical, so I didn’t know what to expect from a temporary stay in a hospital. I met quite a few patients, with many different ailments. One guy had broken back, another had a tumour in his pituitary gland which had just been removed.
Finally on Sunday, during a visit from my girlfriend and her family, I was given the all-clear and was discharged! I’d hear about my biopsy results within the few weeks.
