So it's cancer then

In June 2013 I was dieting on my crazy pills (CLA) and drinking Honey Lemon Black Strap Molasses, losing weight, feeling great, thinking this is easy… Had a little bit of difficulty swallowing food like pizza so googled it and put it down to an ulcer caused by H Pylori (simple GP breath test confirmed presence of the little buggers so treated it with antibiotics). Brilliant story of two Aussie scientists "Bazza and Robby" who proved H Pylori is the cause of ulcers – not stress or diet – Barry swallowed the bacteria – he got ulcers and the Nobel Prize. http://discovermagazine.com/2010/mar/07-dr-drank-broth-gave-ulcer-solved-medical-mystery

My ‘ulcers’ seemed to be bit better but not completely fixed so I went back to the GP to get another test – still positive for H Pylori but also a bit anaemic Dr Nguyen in Glebe sent me over to Robert Kim at the Centre for Digestive diseases in Five Dock. Robert held my hands out straight, talked to me about the brilliant work they do there with poo transplants (seriously) and sent me off for blood and CAT scans.

The next day I went for the CT scan – lying there the radiologist casually asked if I had had a scan before. No I hadn’t but it seemed a loaded question as they set about taking a few more scans. I did see an image out of the corner of my eye of what seemed to be an alien in my stomach but hey that’s what they may be supposed to look like.

Half hour later I was waiting in reception for the films when a nervous radiologist started talking urgently about seeing the GP today but that they would fax through the results rather than give them to me. It seemed amusing to be amongst waiting patients with someone trying desperately to shield me from the obvious discovery they had made – I found myself trying to calm her down and left to see if I could get to see Dr Nguyen.

Driving back, she called me wondering if I could come in that afternoon and bring someone with me… This was clearly cancer then (the only other ‘unlikely’ google result that kept popping up!). It wasn’t particularly a shock and I didn’t want to make a big deal of it so I said no I can’t bring anyone and I’m old enough and fat enough to figure out it’s serious. Having got an 'appointment' to see her after lunch - I went to the pub with Austin and we talked about the probability of cancer – no dramas just a realistic chat over a beer though I could no longer manage more than one slow beer – that had been a sure sign of something being wrong for a while!

Dr Ngygen was calm but concerned – we both were – "It’s obviously cancer" I said but had no real understanding of progression or what happens next. She kept saying how brave I was but brave is leaping into a burning building to save a small child – I just wanted to understand what to do next and how long I had to sort out the practical stuff. I think it was the first time I had heard the term ‘palliative’ - a word I hate as much as I dislike the word 'comfortable’ – but she said the treatment was debilitaleting so pretty much pack your bags was the advice I took from it.

She set about organising an appointment with The Prince of Wales in Randwick and gave me the number to call. I walked around the corner and made a cali in the sunshine outside the housing commission in Glebe Street. The next available was about month away – I mentioned it was kind of urgent and they organised for me to see the POW surgeon Prof Truskett the next day.

Back at the studio I tried to finish a job, to keep a normal perspective whilst taking it in – I think it was a Scott’s label but in between googling how long to live (first result was four weeks – happy days!) I managed to convince myself to go home early.

Laurel was naturally surprised when I walked in to the bedroom – I never came home early!

We are both practical people not prone to breaking down in a jelly mess and I think I simply said It’s cancer and it’s terminal. Laurel always thought I was the one with all the immunity in our family, never been to hospital or had a day off sick but as Glenn Hazeldine says "boy do the Ray’s do it big time when they do get sick".

Having agreed to wait til after POW appointment before discussing with Jack and Lizzie we set off the next day to meet the affable Prof Truskett. He was surprisingly gung-ho – looked at the scans and announced he could cut it all out along with the nodes – suddenly the outlook changed and I may live! – It seemed reasonable that the radiologist may have made a bigger call and surgery was an option. Depends on the PET scan and biopsy etc he said but for a moment we had hope.