Every cloud has a silver lining, today I received in the
post my NHS Prescription exemption card and so for the next 5 years I don’t have
to pay for any NHS prescriptions. Bring on the drugs!
Last week was a busy old week with several trips along the well-trodden
path to the Churchill Hospital in Oxford. Below are a couple of highlights:
Wednesday 9th November
Today I had a tooth removed by a dental surgeon, though the
way he went about digging out the roots he might as well have been a tree
surgeon. I was half expecting to hear a stump grinder start up as he struggled
to excavate the stubborn tooth.
The procedure was a precautionary move as you want to try
and avoid tooth extractions any time after the radiotherapy as the jaw bone
will be permanently weakened and the risk is that when pulling out a tooth, half of your
jaw bone will come with it.
I know I went to hospital for the procedure but I wasn’t prepared
for them to have me strip down and get fully gowned up complete with some
fetching compression socks. I was just
pleased that I had put a clean thong on that morning. Easy ladies – I’m a
married man now, control yourselves.
The whole thing was over, complete with a couple of stitches
duly dispatched, within 40 minutes and I was released back into the community
along with yet more drugs and mouthwashes.
Thursday 10th of November
Over the past 6 weeks I have had more than my fair share of
examinations and scans, from X-rays, MRI’s, CT’s and ultrasounds but today I
had yet another type of examination and this one was a new one on me. I had never before heard of a PET scan and in
a fit of wishful escapism I convince myself that the term "pet" in this instance
actually referred to the fact that a young and outrageously attractive nurse
with a ludicrously short and overly tight uniform would stroke me affectionately
whilst yet another picture of my decaying body was taken.
Alas, a brief search via google burst my bubble and educated
me that a Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scan is an imaging test that uses
a special radioactive dye that is injected into a vein in your arm.
The purpose of the scan in my case was two-fold. Firstly to identify the precise position of
the cancer in my neck and where my right tonsil had been and secondly whilst
they are at it they will have a good rummage around the rest of my body in case
there are any other nasty surprises tucked away that might have been missed.
Before I can have the scan I need to have my mask made. No, I am not prioritizing my attendance at
the annual Fox and Hounds Masquerade Ball before my medical needs. The mask will be used to ensure that my head and
neck are kept perfectly still during treatment and also today I had to wear
it during the 30 minute PET scan so that the radiography team can mark on the
mask precisely where the radiotherapy beams need to be consistently delivered.
The mask fitting was a strangely enjoyable experience. I felt like I was being pampered at some
bargain basement health spa as a lovely chap called Will went about moulding the plastic
material to my chest, neck and head. First
the flat sheet of plastic had to be warmed and this was done by submerging it
in a tank of hot water which made the material pliable. Then, still warm, it was placed on me and
shaped by hand around me ensuring that every crevice and contour was followed
precisely.
The lattice structure of the mask was manipulated tightly
against my skin and I had no option but to close my eyes as Will’s fingers
smoothed the warm material over my eyelids.
Not being able to see had it’s benefits as my overly active imagination
took me to a sandy Hawaiian beach where Will was suddenly transformed into
Luana a dusky Hawaiian maid who quietly and seductively whispered the words of
a traditional Polynesian love song in to my ear as she gently massaged me with
warm coconut oil.
Alas I was returned to the real world as Luana’s gruff voice
informed me that the mask was completed and it was time to take it off.
Whilst the mask fitting was an enjoyable experience wearing
it for the scan was less pleasurable. Once I was lying flat on the scanner table the
mask was put over me and clipped into place securing me firmly to the
table. Then the radiographers left the
room or at least I assumed they had as my eyes where yet again forced shut. Whilst I lay there in silence, clamped to the
table waiting for the scanner to start up I couldn’t help but wonder if I had
somehow been duped and was about to become part of some horrible sadomasicistic
experiment. My hearing became more acute as I listened out for the faintest
jangle of manacles, my lips were kept tightly shut even though the mask would
have prevented a tangerine from being forced into my mouth.
Then much to my relief a soothing voice of one of the
radiographers came over a speaker to say the scanner was about to kick into
action and there I lay motionless for 30 minutes.
The claustrophobic feeling that crept up on me as the scan
proceeded left me glad that the 30 daily radiotherapy sessions that I am about
to undertake only last about 10 – 15 minutes.
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| Don's Gimp Mask |
The day ended with some good news, I finally received the
start date for my treatments. Radiotherapy starts 29th November – 5
days a week through to the last session on 9th January. I have two full day sessions of Chemotherapy
– one on 30th November and one on 21st December. Bring it on!
UPDATE: Today I have received some good news with the
results of the PET scan. Whilst the scan showed up a couple of things that need
to have a close eye kept on, the clinical team report that it appears that the
cancer is restricted to where the right tonsil was and the lymph nodes in the
right side of my neck. When waiting for critical results like these you cannot
help but play the “what if” game and so this has given us a real boost accompanied
with a huge sense of relief.
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