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.