The First Day My Cancer Felt Real

*Edit 26.06.17: My results have been downgraded! Click here to read my latest post ?

It’s all starting to feel real now.

I can’t see it.
I can’t feel it.
I can’t touch it.

But it’s there.

Looming, waiting, eating away at my core.

Today is the next step in my cancer journey. I have my first meeting with a specialist this morning.

I’m feeling hypersensitive and I’m an emotional wreck. Even the cold frost seems to chill right through my bones as I watch the clock.

It’s 7.47am. Just two minutes since I looked last.

Messages start pouring in from friends and loved ones. I’m eternally grateful for these people.
When life throws you a curveball, you truly do realise who will stand by you through these hard times.

I’ve been waiting for this day for two weeks. In the scheme of life two weeks is nothing, however, when you have cancerous cells eating away at your insides, it feels like years.

Casey is playing quietly.

She’s the reason I know I can beat this thing.
She’s the reason I get out of bet every morning, even when I wish I could curl into a ball and sleep for days.
She’s the reason I want to spread the c-word.

Us women need to stick together. I want women to realise that cancer can hit any one of us, at any time.

I quickly wipe my tears before Casey sees them. She’s the perfect distraction, but for once I want to acknowledge my feelings. I don’t want to hide from them.

Today, I want to cry.
I want to be sad.
I want to let myself feel the fear.

But I can’t. I have to pack.
I have to keep strong for Casey.

I gather our belongings and head to my parent’s place. Mum is going to look after Casey, and Dad is going to come with me to my appointment.

I foolishly told my Husband that he didn’t need to come to the specialist with me.
I said I’d be fine.

Not today.

I kiss Casey goodbye and Dad and I head off to Manukau Superclinic. 10.30am rolls around and I’m taken through to an office where I meet my lovely Specialist, Jo*.

Jo asks about my medical history. We discuss the symptoms I have – ones I never really knew were a problem until my smear test revealed that I had cancer.

The changes to my body were specifically to do with my periods, yet I had no idea that anything was wrong. I figured that after having a baby, my body was just taking some time to get back to normal. I’d been on the pill for over 15-years which meant it was hard to tell if my periods were ‘normal’ or not.

After a ton of questions, Jo begins to explain what will happen today. I’ll be having a colposcopy. A speculum will be inserted into ‘you-know-where’, swabs will be taken, and a biopsy will remove a small piece of my cancerous cells. All of this will be sent away for testing, and results should come back in two to three weeks.

Great, I think.

More fucking waiting.

Jo believes it’s highly likely that the tests will come back and determine that I will require surgery. This will involve a general anesthetic, and a cone biopsy will be performed. This is where a cone shape will be cut out of my cervix to remove the cancer. This will be sent away for testing, and all going well, that’s all that should be required.

That’s the big IF.

If the cancer has spread, then I’ll need a hysterectomy.

A hysterectomy would mean no more baby Haack’s.

It’s time to go into the exam room, and I ask Dad to come in with me. You’d think it would be weird to bring your father into a private exam room like this one, but it isn’t. I’m covered up the entire time and as he says to the Specialist, “we’ve been through a lot together”. And we have.

I love this man. He would do anything for me.

And anyone that is lucky enough to be a part of Ray’s* life knows just how lucky they are. He literally is the most amazing person, and he has a heart full of gold.

It’s time to get prepped for the colposcopy. I lie on the bed, with my legs in stirrups, and I feel thankful that this isn’t new to me. Having a child helps you accept that sometimes you just have to bear your womanly bits. And if I want to fight this cancer, I don’t have a choice.

I expected the procedure to be painful, but it really isn’t. The only part that’s uncomfortable is when my cervix is being poked and prodded. This causes cramping which is never nice.

In about 15-minutes, I’m all done. The nurse, Betty*, gets me to fill out a novel of forms, and then takes my height, weight, and blood pressure.

Dad, always the clown, get’s his height and weight done at the same time, only to find out that he’s shrunk in height. He’s devastated and for the trip home continues to explain that “he’s lost a piece of his manhood”. I can’t stop laughing. He has an innate way of turning what could be a shitty day, into something (almost) fun.

Did I mention again I lucky I am to have this man as my father?

I’m exhausted after the day’s events, but I feel like I’ve taken one step forward. After all, if I hadn’t had a smear test a couple of weeks ago I would have had no idea that cancer was living inside of me.

That’s the scariest part, I had no idea that I had cancer.

I lay my head down to rest and for once I wish I could fast forward time. All I want is to receive those results and know that I will be okay. That I’ll need surgery and then I’ll be rid of this damn cancer.

But for now, it’s back to waiting.
Let’s hope the results come sooner rather than later.

Until then…..

xxx

*Names have been changed 

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kylie is a survivor.¬†She’s endured events that no-one should have to experience. That’s why she wants to share her story; to help other women live beyond their pain so that they too can take control of their life, and live the life they deserve.

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