A Bit of Spit!

 

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!”