Silence! Silence

It’s all been going well. The pain is still a burden and I still need help in the shower. All dignity I have is lost to be honest. Nurses take turns washing me, dressing me and medicating me. I have nothing to complain about to be honest, I’m here, I’m alive and I can move my arms and feet.

I’m capable of eating full meals again but I now have trapped wind and my insides haven’t really settled post surgery so I haven’t farted or going to the toilet in a while. It felt weird to be honest. I was also attached to a urinal catheter, it felt weird sitting and chatting to friends whilst my pee was being collected in a bag below. Strange how nobody mentioned how awkward it was. Starting to laugh a lot more now, it just might be the fact that I’m still on medication.

I spoke to my mother and she said a little prayer. She says she’s doing alright and still seems to worry about my health. We laugh at how wonderful life has been and how fortunate I am to be in my current position. Honestly speaking if I was in Nigeria when this happened I would not have made it. I know a lot can be said about cancer in Africa but I can honestly say the actual number of people who die of cancer related illnesses is more than is that which is on record.

My favorite doctor walks in, but she seems to be in a less happy mood. She sit on the side of the bed and sighs. She tells me my tests came back and I had cancer. Cancer! Wait! Cancer! Wait! Wait! Wait! Cancer! I’m silent. I knew it was bad but not this bad. Not so bad that I was fighting with this thing I could not see and could not touch with my hands. She asks if I wish to be left alone and I nod. She leaves.

I’m alone now, truly alone. I was told alone. I sigh and let out a little cry. I felt cold, unfeeling. I rang my friend Jo, I told her what was said. We cry together on the phone. I need to cry with someone. The world had gone blank for a few hours as I let others know. I was numb and all was silent.

I would be meeting a new doctor, my oncologist. Dr Dark. I pictured him in my mind as a mysterious super hero who wielded the cure for cancer. With a needle in one hand and chart in the other, he would kills this villain and I’d be back to myself in no time. My initial appointment with him went a little different than my morphine hazed head had pictured. I was still struggling to walk and was wheeled to his office by my sister. I didn’t want to be there so early, I was exhausted and wanted to just rest in bed. I cannot remember much of what was said but I remember him looking straight at me saying his intentions were “TO CURE”.

I would be going to the Freeman Hospital and a few days. He said I had to start chemotherapy as soon as was possible. It had to be done. It was a quick growing type. It was a yolk sac tumor, it was a germ cell tumor, it was ovarian cancer. We had to get it before it came back to get me. It had ruptured before surgery and there was gunk everywhere. Egg baby as ironically named by my friend during the early days of discovery at Durham hospital was truly an egg baby and it was trying to kill me.