Big Cs and Little Cs
So, who remembers falling down as a kid and running to your
grandma hoping for some TLC, only to watch her spit into a handkerchief and
then apply the aforementioned spit onto your grazed knee or elbow stating,
“that will cure you, now go on and play!”
When I was a kid that bit of “spit” was a cure for
everything and trips to the GP were saved for bouts of appendicitis and broken
bones! This has clearly carried through to my adult years. I rarely visit my
GP, and my kids will confirm that they were sent to school no matter how much
they protested to be ill!
Fast forward fifty years and I find myself sitting in a room
with a consultant who calmy explained to my hubby that a recent biopsy showed
signs of a secondary cancer in his lymph node and that he would have to undergo
a series of tests and scans to find the primary source of the cancer. Once
found then the treatment
would be invasive and brutal!
It was obvious that it was going to take more than a “bit of
spit” to fix this one!
The consultant had used the word cancer. I looked towards my
hubby, and I knew he had been overcome by that very loaded word. He had stopped
taking things in as soon as the word came out of the consultant’s mouth. That’s
the affect such a small word has on you. Once it is uttered nothing else is
heard. Maybe that’s the reason it’s called the Big C.
The consultant calmly took us through the next stages and
left us in the care of a little nurse who had sat quietly in the room with us,
and I had hardly noticed her. She had been taking notes and I was to discover
that this little nurse would be instrumental in our journey over the next few
months.
The consultant had given us lots of information none of
which had gone in. This was clearly a scenario that was played out every day in
this consulting room but for us it was a first and the little nurse knew this.
When my hubby asked
“What’s the prognosis? What happens now? Am I going to
be, OK?”
It was the little nurse who answered, and it is her words
that have stuck with me.
“You are absolutely going to be OK! You are in the best
hands. The next 12 months are going to be tough, but we will get through this
together!”
Now I am known for being a glass half full type of person
and from that moment, I was positive. Even though he’d been told he could lose
his tonsils and several teeth before the treatment started. Even though that he’d
need a feeding tube fitted because he would find it difficult to swallow. Even
though the consultant had painted a pretty dire picture of the next 12 months,
I was positive!
The only other time cancer had touched my life the prognosis
was not so good. Mum was diagnosed with stage 4 terminal lung cancer yet even
then I remember being positive. I spent many an hour with mum making light of
the Big C. We compiled a list of all the little c’s that would kick the big c
into touch.
In mum’s case it was the
cupboard full of creams to apply to parts of her body I’d never seen before,
the chocolate and the crisps that she was now able to enjoy as putting on
weight was no longer a problem, as well the commode and incontinence pads that
now took pride of place in her bedroom. Of course, we also included the carers
and the constant stream of visitors. Any mention of anything beginning with the
letter c just made us smile.
So here I am again trying to make light of what I know is
going to be a tough 12 months. I have started my list of little c’s that, when
put together, will make that Big C small and surmountable.
As yet I haven’t shared this with my hubby as I know him
well enough to realise that he’s not quite ready to make light of this, but it
is helping me cope and keeping me smiling.
I started with a few positives as I remembered the day we cleared
our calendars of work commitments, how I tried to be positive about the cooking
that he wouldn’t have to do and cash we would save from his lack of drinking at
the local tap! I used my old teacher skills to make a colour coded spreadsheet
to help us count down the days.
As the weeks went on I added to my list the army of consultants
and clinicians. The oncologists who all seem to be called Claire.
Claire the Dietician, Claire the Chemo Nurse and
Claire the Dentist They just keep you positive without giving any
false hope.
Then there is the whole cancer community both online and in
person who are there to offer a place to
chat and a place to cry.
My list of little cs just kept growing.
Once his treatment started, we discovered the charity
Firefly with their cheery cab drivers who pick you up and drop you off after
your treatment
We have received cards from friends and daily text
messages from people who just want to check in.
Family and friends made casseroles and cakes
because they know
that my hubby is the cook and that I prefer to enjoy
coffee and a catch up with friends
Only last week my hubby was presented with a pair of crocs and a can of 0% Guinness.
Probably the most memorable little c was our Christmas
party in October complete with Christmas tree, Christmas music, Christmas games
and a cracking Christmas dinner because Christmas will definitely be different
this year.
I smiled as I added cannulas, constipation and the constant CT
scans
We are 15 days into treatment and 5 months since we began
our journey. Thanks to all the little c’s that surround us we are staying
positive
I’m not sure I’ll ever get an award for carer of the year,
but my cooking has improved and I’m sure you will be pleased to know that I
haven’t once spit into a handkerchief and uttered the words
“That will cure you!”
