The trigger has been pulled.

I’ve been in two minds whether to write or not to write. It feels like such a long time ago since I was in the depths of Eye Lady (not her real name) and seeing the wonderful Mr Salvi at Sheffield and grappling with the depth perception of steps.

I got some verifocals which bring about a whole new challenge when walking on uneven ground. The biggest child started high school and and is basically the spitting image of myself when I was that age, dressing like she walked straight out of the 90’s (although apparently telling a teenager that they look like a younger version of yourself is not ‘cap’ ‘bruv’) All was going well and life was… well… living… until it wasn’t. It all turned a bit serious tbh.

They say that once you have had cancer, you live with a loaded gun against your head, you crack on with everything, go back to work, make tea, do the washing, argue about shoes being left in the hallway and generally don’t really think about it, yet there is always something in the back of your mind wondering if the trigger will ever be pulled. unfortunately for me the trigger has well and truly gone off.

16th May was a beautiful morning as I made my way to Sheffield for my regular 6 monthly MRI scan. The sky was blue, the roads were clear AND I got a car parking space in the Hallamshire hospital multi story car park (if you know, you know!) it was my 5year scan after my ocular melanoma diagnosis and eye extraction and I was feeling very relaxed. Everyone says that if you get past your 5 year scan, you’ve nailed it, it’s the big milestone for anyone who has had cancer. I was feeling pretty ok and confident.

It was all pretty straight forwards, the MRI machine played its funky rhythm which makes you feel like you are in a 90’s disco and I had the standard snooze after all the ‘breath in, breath out, now hold your breath……………………….. resume breathing’ malarkey that goes on. I continued on with my day without giving it a second thought.

Fast forward a week and I had a phone call from the delightful Mr Salvi from Sheffield – remember, he was the consultant who had an amazing collection of socks! At the time I thought it was a bit strange as usually you either don’t get a phone call (a good sign) or a random radiologist rings you within two weeks to say everything is ok. Mr Salvi said that he wanted to ring me himself as I was his favourite patient (I swear I didn’t pay him to say that!) He then had the absolutely horrible task of telling me that he was really sorry but my latest MRI had shown metastasis of the disease into my liver.

For those who don’t know, this is the phone call you definitely don’t want to have. If ocular melanoma cancer has spread to your liver, it’s essentially game over. It’s classed as stage four secondary cancer with a pretty poor outcome (you can guess what that is)

Reeling from this news, I proceeded to thank Mr Salvi, apologises for the inconvenience and ask how his family were (WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!!!!) He told me that Leeds (my local hospital) would be in touch about further tests and potential treatment plans and that he hoped that they would throw everything that they had at me to try and slow down the growth of the cancer.

So much was going through my mind at that point, the most pressing was about the kids. The smallest was just weeks away from finishing primary school and the eldest was just becoming a teenager, how the hell could I tell them what was happening and completely turn their world upside down?

I don’t think anything prepares you for that phone call or how you react to it. There is also not a right or wrong way to react to it. We decided to f**k off to the Lake District to climb up big shit and deal with it all in a week or so. We were waiting for Leeds to get in touch and I couldn’t wallow in my own self pity, I needed to do something to make me know that I was still alive… walking up mountains and pretending everything was ok ticked that box. There is nothing like getting lost on the trails and climbing up what felt like a cliff face (I kid you not) to make you 1 – question your marriage (#jokes) and 2 – make you feel like you are not dying.

There is so much more to write which I will get to, we are two and a bit months into this ‘journey’ (gah, I hate that phrase) but I’ll leave it there for now. I’ll probably continue to write as it is quite helpful, I never expect anyone to read it!

Laters,

HC