The final examination

I’ve had the ultra-sound scan.

It looks like this was the final check.  The question was, “Has it spread too far up the gullet to allow any operation, or has it spread beyond the gullet, in which case there is little purpose in the operation, it’s too late.

It was a fasting test, nothing since late supper / early breakfast at 04:30. Pretty grim. To make it worse I had a migraine during the morning, so I was already dopey from the sumatriptan.

First thing, the needle for the sedation feed doesn’t work. It’s alright love, I’ve got a spare arm if you’ve got a spare needle. I did ask her what the fallback is if that fails, but she didn’t reply.

The registrar introduces himself, a rather competant looking young man, “Can you walk into the theatre?”

With due respect that was a daft question. Why would I be standing here with a pair of crutches if I can’t walk?  But I suppose they must get all sorts.

“Lay on the bed please.”

At this point I’m getting edgy. Last time the pain was very bad, which is why I’m glad I’m having sedation. They take my glasses and my teeth. I may still have my trousers on but this really feels naked.

The nice Irish nurse was there just like last time, only this time she gets my name wrong and calls me Mr Cohen.

“It’s Cowen, like the taoiseach.”

“Oh sorry, you’re not a relative?”

“No.”

She seems relieved at this, well after all Brian Cowen was something of a disaster as Prime Minister.

Then a foul spray is squirted over the back of my throat and someone sticks a big gobstopper with a hole in it into my mouth.  This is it.

Next thing the gobstopper has disappeared, and I work out that I must have been out for the whole process. The question is, am I awake now?

After careful consideration I conclude I must be, which means this is the recovery room.

Should I sit up?  Maybe better not until someone tells me to. It could be embarressing to do a header from the hospital bed. There’s probably a rule against it.

Finally someone appears and I am escorted to meet my wife and son.

“Are you ok to walk?”

Give me my crutches and the answer is better than most. After all I’ve got 4 legs and I’m carefully keeping at least three on the floor at all times, and off we go to meet the registrar.

He was very helpful, and what he said fitted in with what I’ve learned elsewhere about oesophogeal cancer. It doesn’t normally present any symptoms, so people don’t go to the doctor until it is too late, and it has spread.

I went earlier than usual, because I was worried about not being able to eat. That is unusual. Many people go to hospital too late, and so the initial tests find secondaries, or maybe they get as far as this final test, but they fail, it has spread too far.

I passed.

And I really can’t write any more today.