Humankind's Best Friend

When I hobbled in the front door after coming home from the hospital, Betty was still upstairs lying curled up in  my PJ's where she had pretty much remained since I first went in to the hospital! I had to call her a couple of times before she believed her ears and she ran down the stairs at such speed that she skidded down the last few steps. She couldn't get a grip on the tiles her little legs were moving so fast in my direction!

It wasn't long before she was up on the couch cuddled in against me - a position she has rarely left since! There is a beautiful saying that says "God couldn't be everythere, so he created dogs instead". I truly believe that. To this day, Betty knows whether I'm having a good day, or a bad day. She knows how I feel often before I've even figured it out it out myself! And perhaps most amazingly, she has never jumped up on my tummy since the surgery. It's almost like she senses where I had the op.

Don't worry mum, I've got you!

Operation Great Escape!

By 10 days post-op, I was itching to get home. I missed falling asleep and waking up beside Fergus in our own bed. I missed being able to use our own bathroom instead of hovering over a commode! I missed the most amazing cups of tea that Fergus makes. And I especially missed cuddles with Betty!

They took out the last drip that morning. I had gone nearly 48 hours without needing IV pain relief or anti-nausea drugs, and there was no way I could listen to any more talks about chemotherapy and what to be expecting in 6 weeks time! With more than a little persuasion from me, and given that we lived only near by, Michael agreed to let me go home.The nurses, including Mary, helped in what became fondly known as "operation great escape"! As soon as the consultant left, I was told to wait for the oncology nurse to come back and have another chat.... Bless her, she was such a kindhearted and beautiful person, but I think she felt I hadn't accepted the cancer diagnosis as I didn't cry much in front of her! As a result, she came by daily, sometimes twice daily, to try get me to open up. She was right in a way, I was blocking the whole thing out as I could only cope with small steps at the time. Professionally of course I knew what was coming down the line, but I just was not ready to discuss it. I could not take one more of those talks!



So Fergus was called, nurses took out drains and cannulas, junior doctors were called to write up scripts and Avril was parked up on the footpath outside the door! I refused the wheelchair to the car and instead legged it out (ok....more like hobbled to be truthful!) with Fergus's help and we were off! There were lots of hugs and well wishes from the nurses, and even a few tears from some of the nurses! I've promised to come back when it's all over and visit!

A Chocolate-less Easter

Fergus arrived back in again first thing the next morning and was delighted to see I was doing better. After he went back to work, Mum, Yvonne, Avril, Leona, Fr Rob and Dee all took it in turns to sit with me in the Special Care Unit for a little while. It was Easter weekend so there wasn't much going on around the hospital. I was craving white chocolate so Dee went and got me my favourite - white chocolate mice! Unfortunately I was still not allowed to eat or drink anything but my wonderful family decided to eat them for me! And there's the photos to prove it!!!

Even Avril joined them in eating my chocolate!

Leaving none for poor ikkle me!!!

By Easter Sunday, they were finally allowing me to have a "light soft diet". I'm not sure which was worse - the fasting, or the food! Below is my first meal - an Easter Feast!

I was allowed back to my own room Sunday night and it was then that the visitors started coming in their droves! Cillian brought me in a massive bag full of easter eggs that he had collected on his egg hunt! Avril, Leona, Liam, Karena, my Godmother Brid and her husband Gerry came to visit from Meath, Mum, Dad, Tony, Yvonne, Leonie and Mick, Dee, Ray and the kids visited, Fionnguala and Eimir, Adrian and Carmel, Ella, Patricia, Trish and Ger from work came, Charlie, Mary Darcy, Fr Rob...and many more! It was lovely to feel so cared for and loved and it definitely expedited my recovery!

My Godmother Brid asked me if there was anything she could do to make me feel better. Big mistake!!!! Having visited her in Meath last year, Fergus, Ciara and I went on the Cu Chullan rollercoaster - the biggest wooden roller coaster in Europe apparently. It was scary! I remembered Brid absolutely refusing to go on it at the time - so I made her promise to do something for me... You guessed it... she is going to join me on that rollercoaster! We haven't made it there yet...but it's only a matter of time! Thanks Brid - you definitely cheered me up! x

Pain Beyond Words

The operation lasted 7 hours, the longest 7 hours of Fergus's life, When I woke up in the recovery room, I was feeling wonderful and high on all the pain meds! The first question I asked the nurse apparently was to check that the surgeon hadn't damaged my tattoo! Then I asked about how the surgery went!

I had no pain at all as I was completely numb from the top of the scar down. The scar started at the lower tip of my breastbone extended all the way down my abdomen. I had no sensation at all in my legs - I couldn't even move them. It was a very strange feeling but at least I was pain free. Unfortunately, this was to be short lived.

My blood pressure dropped over night as I was brought to the special care unit around 9pm. They had to turn off the epidural and push the intravenous fluids. I had drains (x3), catheters, cannulas, epidural taped to my back, oxygen, BP monitor, ECG leads, oxygen sat monitor, body warmer, leg circulation pumps.... I had never imagined I would be hooked up to so much! I can only imagine the fear Fergus must have felt when he saw me like that.

Over the course of the night, as the epidural wore off, the pain became excruciating. And as the dawn broke and the day staff came on, it became worse, I never knew the human body could endure so much pain and still remain conscious!

The epidural then  dislodged... they couldn't sit me up long enough to re-site it as my blood pressure was so low I used to just vomit and pass out. They tried a morphine pump but that made me vomit more.... as did the Fentanyl pump. Then, consultant anaesthetist, Dr Costello came and gave me two transabdominal nerve blocks. I'll never forget the size of the needles - they were at least 6 inches long and quite a wide bore. Yet the pain of them going through my sides, severe though it was, was a distracting relief!

Eventually, that night and a lot more injections later, Dr Eby came back to see me. He had been on his way back home to Dublin on the motorway and had rang his on-call colleague to see how I was doing. Hearing the distress I was in, he turned back at the nearest exit and decided he would re-site the epidural with me lying on my side. God bless that man - between him, and many prayers, a few hours later I felt a lot better and the vomiting and pain settled.  Poor Fergus was finally able to go home with some sense of relief.

Checking in for the "Big One" this time...

I was admitted on Tuesday 11th April for "the big op". I was given another lovely private room - Room 10 - right next door to the nurse's station. Unfortunately, the building was so old, there were no ensuites, there was only one shower and 2 toilets on the entire ward - and they were at the opposite end of the corridor! But apart from that, I couldn't complain. The nurses were absolutely wonderful. Leona was with me checking in as Avril and Fergus had to work. When we were given the menu for this round's "last supper", having learned from previous experience, we decided we were going to need to escape and scavenge for something else! Baked beans and a cheese sandwich did not sound particularly appetising!

The first nurse to look after me was an amazing lady called Mary McDonough. She was outstanding - both in her skill as a nurse and in her kindness and compassion as a human. I will never forget her. She gave us permission to abscond across the road to the nearby pub, "the Sliding Rock", for dinner. I even had a cheeky Sambucca (with Mary's permission!) with a feast of chicken goujons and sweet potato fries! At this stage Fergus had joined us and it almost felt like a night out. Only the hospital bracelet on my right wrist served as a constant reminder that it would be the last evening out for quite some time.

We headed back over to the hospital later, and Leona went home. We had a few visitors, MT, Karena, Mary... people that wanted to wish us luck for the surgery. It was emotional, very emotional. When they left, Fergus and I just sat there together. The TV was on but neither of us paid any attention to it. I remember Fergus changing the batteries in the remote... even the littlest distraction was a welcome blessing. We talked a little, hugged a lot and cried some tears too. We were both terrified but Fergus, God Bless him, was being so strong for me. The nurses let him stay as late as he wanted but by around 11pm I insisted he go home and try get some rest. He left me with this photograph below which I placed on my locker.  If love alone could cure cancer, then we would beat this. I would have the most radical surgery the doctors could do and I prayed they would take all the cancer out of my body. They had to. I wasn't ready to die. And today, nearly 3 years on as I write this, I'm still not ready, and I wont be for some time to come please God.

My Motivation to Get Well

Fergus and Avril arrived in early the next morning before rounds had even began. I was so relieved that Avril was able to spend the day with him and keep him company while I was in theatre. The surgeons told us it would be a long operation.

We had lots of phone calls and messages of love and support, and then before I knew it, it was my turn. I wanted to walk to theatre but they insisted on the trolley. The porter tried to make some light hearted jokes. Fergus walked right beside me with Avril not far behind him. We didn't get much time to say goodbye at the theatre doors but I will never forget the look on his face as  I had to let go of his hand... I blew him a kiss and was wheeled further and further away from him. On his face was a mix of fear and an outpouring of strength and positivity for me.

Our Decision to try Smile through it all - this was just moments before I was wheeled to theatre

In the pre-op room, I saw a nurse escorting a pregnant lady around explaining to her that this would be where she would be having her C-section in a couple of weeks. The pregnant lady gave me a big beaming smile. Perhaps she thought I was on my way in for a c-section... I did the best I could to muster up a smile back before breaking down in tears once she turned away.

To add to the pain, the pre-op room also doubled up as the neo-natal rescus suite for the babies delivered in the theatre. Having worked for a time in paediatrics and neo-natal medicine, I was well familiar with all the equipment. Seeing the little hats, baby warmers, newborn nappies, tiny paediatric stethoscope and all the other little instruments just added to the pain and raw grief I was feeling. There was no nervousness or fear. Just pure heartbreaking and gut wrenching sadness that it is difficult to put into words. Dr Eby put in the cannula and a nurse called Majella attached leads to my chest. She tried her best to comfort me, but i was inconsolable.

There seemed to be a very sombre atmosphere in the theatre this time round, or perhaps that was just a reflection of how I was feeling. The consultants Michael and Nik popped in to reassure me they were going to do their best to take as much as they could. Then Dr Eby placed the epidural as the nurses held me upright, sitting awkwardly over the edge. That was probably the worst part as he had to make a couple of tries to get it sited correctly. Then, I was put laying down and I just remember thinking about Fergus, praying I'd be ok for him and crying as the anaesthetic took effect and I fell asleep.

Biopsies and Some Retail Therapy!

After being discharged from hospital, it took a week or so to regain my strength. At the end of that week, it felt like the rug was pulled from beneath us all over again!
The following Friday, week,  April and we met with Dr Nik and Dr Michael O Leary together with an oncology nurse to hear just how bad the news really was.

The biopsies were back and our surgeon's initial suspicions were confirmed. It was bad news. The cancer had spread extensively and all the biopsies they took were positive for cancer. Ironically, only in medicine does the word "positive" mean the worst news possible! They told me given the aggressiveness of the histology, I would be needing surgery sooner rather than later.

The two surgeons put their heads together and, Nik having the next available theatre day, cleared as much of his schedule as he could and I was booked to go under the knife 4 days later.

Fergus and I had hoped, prayed and not allowed ourselves to believe things could get so bad, but in just that 15 minute consult, they had...and worse!

Walking out of the hospital that day, was one of the first times I allowed myself to utterly crumble.
The clinic we walked through was also running as an ante-natal clinic.
Walking through all those ladies with their pregnant bumps, the look of excitement and anticipation on their faces and those of their partners is an experience I will never forget.

Fergus held my hand a little tighter and I could feel his pain too. By the time I got outside the front door and turned left towards the car park, I just remember stumbling back against the wall while Fergus caught me in his arms and held me until I stopped shaking he literally squeezed all those breaking parts of me back together again!


After a few more tears, we needed to get practical again. I would be needing some comfortable clothes. Trousers for lounging around in, cozy pj's, snug hoodies, good books, crossword puzzles... all absolute essentials in any hospital bag! Not to mention a few bandanas for when the chemo would take my hair!

Plus, it was an excuse for us to go to one of our favourite places for a night - Dun Laoighre! We love the Royal Marine Hotel there with its beautiful sea views and pier walks. And of course, passing DunDrum would give us the ideal excuse to pop in to TGIF for my favourite loaded skins!

It was a lovely little break away from the scary reality that awaited us back home, but as we headed West on Sunday, we did so with the resolve that we would still stay smiling. And on the days we wouldn't be able to, then we knew we were surrounded by so many loving family and friends, they would do it for us.

“Hope” is The Thing With Feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers - 

By Emily Dickinson

"Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

A dear friend who has been through the cancer journey herself send me this poem. Thank you Onagh. These words brought me a lot of comfort on my down days. 

The Diagnosis - The Day our World Fell Apart

Ever since the day Fergus and I married in October 2015, we planned on having a family - as large a one as God would give us! But, after a year, nothing seemed to be happening. After multiple different hospital visits, I was eventually referred to an excellent fertility specialist who booked me in for an operation for the 29th March 2017.

He had forewarned me that I would more than likely be unable to drive for 6 weeks after the surgery and unfit for work for up to 8 weeks. So, being the keen motorcyclist that I am, and never wanting to miss out on an opportunity for a spin on the bike, I decided to drop it in to my mechanic on my way to the hospital.

On Tuesday the 28th of March 2017, I rode my motorbike out to the garage to have the engine rebuilt. This was a job that was to take up to 6 weeks so the timing seemed ideal as, ordinarily, I would not be able to be without my "trusty steed" for such a long time! My sister-in-law Avril followed me in the car with my hospital bag in tow. I threw off my leathers to reveal a soft track-suit beneath and we headed for the admissions unit in the hospital.

My Trusty Steed

Bless her, Avril kept me company all day while the admission process got underway and I was shown to my room. Room 9, a bright airy private room on the gynaecology ward overlooking a rather dull and unremarkable green area. I was feeling nervous but positive and ready to begin "operation babymaking" as I laughingly nicknamed it!

Fergus came straight in after work and we chatted the evening away. As night time fell, he had to go home and my thoughts began to wander. The "what if's" and "maybe's" began to creep in. God bless the night nurse, Elaine, for giving me a sleeping tablet. I drifted in and out of sleep until the morning. I was up at sunrise, showered, hair washed and my "glamorous" stockings and theatre gown on by the time Fergus arrived in just before 8am.

The surgeon visited. He consented me for keyhole surgery first - "just to have a look and make sure there was nothing suspicious looking there..." Then if it looked clear, he would proceed with the laparotomy and the big surgery. At that point, I couldn't shake the feeling he knew more than he was letting on.

I kissed Fergus goodbye and was wheeled down to theatre. The staff were all wonderful! We were laughing and chatting easily as I was being hooked up to machines and I.V. lines. I remember the last words I said to the anaesthetist - "let's get operation baby making started!" He responded by laughing and said, "well if you wake up pregnant from this, there'll be serious questions to answer!" I fell asleep smiling... 

I woke up what seemed like just minutes later (it was in fact less than a hour) in the recovery room with a green clad theatre nurse sitting beside me.
I felt no pain.
I put my hand on my stomach but could only feel the 3 small wound dressings from the keyhole procedure.
There was no big laparotomy scar...

I looked to my right and said to the nurse "I have cancer don't I?".
She looked sad and worried.
I was no longer smiling.

The nurse asked me to wait a moment while she got Dr Nik to come speak to me. I stared up and the ceiling and its fluorescent lights for what seemed like an eternity. Then Nik arrived at the foot of the bed, and Fergus. They were both pale. Fergus looked like he had been crying. Nik wasn't far off it. The nurse's eyes welled up too. I don't remember the exact words but "cancer... metastases... tumour deposits... biopsies" floated through the air like missiles coming at me. I could feel the tears burning as they ran down the side of my face like acid.

I had cancer.

It was bad.

It had spread.
I would never experience pregnancy.
I would never feel my baby kick inside my body.

I would never give birth

I could die.

They wheeled me back to Room 9 with Fergus and left us to be with each other for a bit. Our hearts were broken. Every wish, dream and plan we had for the future had been destroyed in less than an hour.
How had it gone so wrong in just over 2 months since the last doctor told me it was "just a cyst"?

We cried and held each other.

The nurse came in and offered me pain relief. Truth was, there wasn't any analgesia on this earth that could have taken the pain Fergus and I were in that day. And even now as I write this, almost three years on, I still feel that pain and I relive every moment of that day far too often.

The next most painful thing was telling our families. Fergus made the phone calls to ask them all to come to the hospital so we could tell them together.

After lunch, they all arrived.
We told them a "softened" version of the facts.
There were a lot of tears.
Telling my parents I had cancer was one of the most difficult things I have ever had to do...
My heart broke as I told mum and dad I couldn't give them grandchildren. It still breaks today.

I remember my dad getting into the bed beside me and just giving me a hug - and for a man that does not do major public displays of affection, his actions spoke volumes...

But still we smiled... or tried to at least

We had to put on a brave face. We were going to need to be strong to get through the road ahead. We asked the families to be strong too and explained we didn't want pity, just prayers.
We began trying to see it as our second chance at life. After all, we wouldn't have discovered the cancer unless we were investigating my infertility. It's ironic really, but the baby we so desperately longed for but could never have, had given us a second chance and, hopefully, saved my life.

My sister-in-law Leona's recommendation - it was entirely medicinal and did assist in a getting some sleep.

About Me - on the Other End of the Stethoscope!

My name is Serena. I am now 37yrs old and living in the west of Ireland with my husband and our two rescue Jack Russel Terriers. I am a doctor and work in a very busy General Practice.

Our Family

It's now three years since I found myself at the other end of the stethoscope as my husband Fergus and I got the devastating news that I had metastatic ovarian cancer. That date was the 29th March 2017 and will forever be emblazoned in our brains, and in our hearts.

Our Wedding, 17th Oct 2015. One of the best days of my life!

You might wonder why I have decided to start a blog about it now, so many years on, Well the reasons are multiple. Firstly, it is because once you have a diagnosis of cancer, you automatically become an "oncology patient", and that label is one that sticks with you - for life. Even if you are lucky enough to go into remission, you will always be an oncology patient. But that doesn't mean that life is over! So I see this blog now as an opportunity to try spread some positivity. .. some hope. The diagnosis of cancer, no matter where in your body it may be, sends shockwaves of horror and an indescribable fear through the hearts and minds of the patient and their loved ones. Up until relatively recently, it was synonymous with pain, suffering and, often. death. Thanks to ever developing new treatments, it is , albeit slowly,  beginning to change, and change for the better. Hope can now be found along side, and often even replacing, horror! Faith in a good future can outweigh the fear. It brings a rollercoaster of emotions, "the good, the bad and the ugly" to quote Ennio Morricone, my favourite composer. But the message I really want to get across is this: firstly, it is ok to not be ok!  

And in an effort to cheer me up, the hospital provided me with some delightful lingerie - some sexy TED stockings! They were so tight, they took me nearly half an hour to get them on! By right, it would have been a job for two men, a can of WD40, a forklift and a pulley system at the very least!

My Sexy Ted Stockings

And as if that wasn't enough to make one crack a smile, they arrived with my tea shortly after. It was to be my last meal before I started fasting for the surgery in the morning. I do feel a tad bad for lying and pretending I was fasting already. but genuinely, when I saw this plate of congealed baked beans and egg, I suddenly lost my appetite!

My "Last Supper"

Secondly, even on the darkest of days, if you look hard enough, you might just be able to take some positives from it. Yes, I said "positives". With this, I am referring to the new way I try to look at life. Problems or tasks that once seemed hugely important are now just minor issues. For example, what does it matter if the house is untidy and visitors are calling? They're coming to see me, not the house!The dust will still be there tomorrow - it's not going anywhere (unfortunately)!  Besides, if they are the kind of visitor that is simply coming to inspect the house, then they are not the kind of friend I would want in my life to begin with!

The rainy days don't seem so bleak now, for if there was no rain, there would be no flowers! Spending time with family and loved ones now takes priority over work. Don't get me wrong, I still need to work in order to keep a roof over my head and food on the table, and I still love my job dearly, but it no longer eats away valuable personal time and, most of the time, it seems less stressful than it used to be. I am better able to separate my personal life from my work life - something I found quite challenging before my cancer diagnosis.

Having said all this, there are days when I cannot find any positives whatsoever! These days happen a fair bit if I'm honest. But what has changed here it that I don't allow myself to feel guilty for not feeling ok. Of course I am happy and so grateful to be alive, but I will repeat my mantra above - it is ok to not be ok!

Thirdly, I have found that throughout my illness, writing down my thoughts and emotions in my journal actually made me feel a bit better. It helped to slow down the thoughts that come racing through my head at the speed of light! There is a scientific reason as to why this works - basically, it is because our hands cannot type/write as fast as our brain processes thoughts thereby forcing me to slow down and take stock of the situation.

And finally, I have decided to share my story with you on the encouragement of so many friends who felt that perhaps one day, I might write a book on my experiences! I don't know about that if I'm honest! There are lots of bad days I'm not able to write about just yet...perhaps some day. But for now, I feel ready to share some of my journey with you in the hope that you find comfort, hope and the reassurance of knowing you are not alone. Never give up. As my good friend John (John Walsh, may he Rest in Peace) used to say, "chin up" and "fight until the bitter end."

Above all, remember,  I am living proof that despite the ferocious rollercoaster of emotions that comes with this diagnosis, it is possible to live, and to find joy and happiness in the midst of all the pain.

I hope that you can get some insight into cancer from reading my blog. If you are a cancer sufferer, then I hope it brings you some comfort and above all, hope.  And who knows, maybe a little laugh here and there along the way as we share the journey together!