I went back to ENT this week and saw Mr A and his team. It’s different in ENT. There are a lot of deaf and hard of hearing people who pop in for hearing aid batteries. There’s a fair bit of shouting.
But away from the maelstrom I met again with Mr A and his team. Mr A examined my neck and just like a few months ago one of the team put a camera on the end of a length of cable up my nose (ouch) and poked it down into my throat. Looking at the image on the screen Mr A gave a running commentary.
He started to get all enthusiastic. He said I was recovering well from the treatment and then he said there was no sign of a tumour. The tumour had gone. In other words the treatment, with all its pain and misery, had worked. All those days of coping with the mouth pain from hell, of falling asleep and falling over had been worth it. Maybe it had even been worth doing all that listening to the Proclaimers.
The assistant pulled the cable with the camera on the end out of my nose and gave me a tissue. Mr A passed the bin over for me to dispose of it, which was nice of him. A task considerably below his payscale no doubt.
He said this would be only the first of many examinations. I wouldn’t be able to say my cancer was cured until I’d been clear for five years. The next check would be in six weeks time, and after that the checks would be spaced further and further apart.
Then the dietitian piped up and quizzed me on my eating. She wanted to know how much I was able to eat. I truthfully and not without a hint of pride said I’d moved up to cod in parsley sauce, pasta carbonara, macaroni cheese. I was expecting to move on to a Jamie Oliver fish pie very soon.
I asked the dietitian when could my RIG get taken out? She said soon but let’s get you weighed first. I sensed a conflict brewing. The dietitian was cautious while I was impatient. I said I was fed up with having a length of tubing hanging from my chest. It got in the way when I was in bed (I have to remember to keep sleeping on my back) and it got in the way when I was getting dressed. In fact it got in the way most of the time.
She banged on about the amount I was eating, how many of those replacement drinks I was having. Trying to change the subject.
She said it’ll come out soon. She would phone me. Well I’m starting to get desperate. I’ll be like Blondie, hanging on that telephone, waiting.
But of course a bit more waiting is a small price to pay. Being tumour-free even if not yet definitely cancer-free is a relief which feels like it’s been a long time coming. Though actually from the first visit to my GP to now has only been just over six months. Even if an intense six months.
I have an appointment at the Dietitian Clinic next week.