I went to the GP’s surgery for 8.30am and saw Dr Mark Kent (Dr Mark) who examined me or more specifically my pulsating abdomen.  He asked how long I had had the pulsating and how long had my abdomen and stomach been distended.  It had only really become noticeable and acute in the last couple of weeks.

He immediately tried to get hold of a vascular surgeon at Darlington Memorial hospital but he wasn’t available.  Dr Mark said I had to be seen immediately so started calling Durham hospital instead and I asked him to try James Cook first as its easier for my family.  He did and they said they would accept me.

Dr Mark asked if there was anyone who could drive me there as I wasn’t allowed to and as luck would have it, Pat was home that day as his car was in for a service.  If no-one was available, they would have to call for ambulance transport.  It would be better if someone could drive me, then I’ve time to pack a bag.

I was a little bewildered and slightly alarmed by this turn of events as I was sure that the GP would just tell me it was normal, but I was going to a hospital, so they would surely sort me out.

I drove home, only 5 minutes, packed a bag and by 9:30 was being treated as an emergency in the acute unit at James Cook hospital under the care of the vascular surgeon there, Mr Green.  Pat stayed with me the whole day, I love him to bits.

I read the documentation Dr Mark had given to me to give to the hospital and sure enough the diagnosis was aortic aneurysm and/or epigastric mass.  Bizarrely I felt very pleased with myself for my correct self diagnosis.  I also discovered that my named GP was in fact Dr Alison McNaughton-Jones who lives opposite me and with her husband came on my recent guided walk around Neasham.

I texted Isabel, my good friend of nearly 20 years telling her I was in the hospital as only the day before, her and her mum and been round to my place for lunch.  Her mum was more worried than me.

So getting down to business, a nurse first stuck a cannula (like a tap) in my arm and took a few blood samples for testing.  Then a doctor came to examine me and my abdomen and made extensive use of his stethoscope and checked my pulses all over my body.  He then went off to get an ultrasound machine to test the pulse in my feet.  WTF, its my abdomen not my feet!  Apparently he was checking to see if bloodflow there is impaired.  We are none the wiser if it is or isn’t.  He told us that he had ordered a CT scan for me.

Eventually another nurse came and tried to take more blood samples, though directly from my arm as the cannula had been flushed with saline, after his second failed attempt another nurse had a go, this time successful.

Then a porter came for me to take me to the CT scanner.  I can’t remember how long the scan took, save to say the Scanner lady stopped halfway through to go and talk to a doctor, ooh dear.  The porter then returned me to the waiting room.

I was called yet again by another nurse who said I had to have yet more blood tests including one for transfusion purposes.  Were they going to operate on me that day or were they worried the aneurysm would rupture and I would bleed out? I never did find out the answer to that question.

Pat said that even the waiting room was now concerned for me as every time I came out of a treatment room I had yet more dressings on my arms.

We had a logistical problem in that Pat needed to get back to Darlington to pick up the car from the garage, but we didn’t know how long we were going to be at the hospital.  He rang Catherine his sister to see if she would be available to pick me up from the hospital, but she was in London, so he rang Bernadette another sister to see is she was available and she was.  Of course we had to tell them both why.

I hadn’t eaten since lunch with Isabel yesterday so was feeling a bit faint with hunger by this time, but was nil by mouth in case they were going to operate.

After a long day and my arm now resembling a pin cushion I was called to see the surgeon’s assistant.  He said a lot of people had been involved in looking at my case that day including the CT scan images and results of all the blood tests: surgeons, radiologists, haematologists etc and they concluded that the good news was it was not an aortic aneurysm.  I was not to be the subject of a ruptured one which was their fear. The bad news was that the Radiologist could see some sort of mass there and it looked as if it was coming from the lymph glands, but because the CT scan was focused on the aneurysm, not the mass, it was a grainy image.

He said that it was likely Lymphoma.  I had to leave the care of the vascular team and be referred to the Haematology team in Darlington (more local) and would be seen probably in a couple of weeks.  The pulsating was a result of the abdominal aorta resonating through the mass apparently.  He said I would need yet more blood tests and could have them there and then or wait until I got into to see the Darlington team.  I opted for then. He asked if either of us had any questions and I think we were still too stunned to take it in and said no.  But of course we had a gazillion questions. Jesus, I’ve just been given a death sentence and I’m just being sent home, it seems inhumane.

We finally left the hospital after 9 hours at 6:30 pm shell shocked and devastated and drove home in almost stunned silence.  I had only popped in to see the GP and by the end of the day I appeared to have a death sentence.

I can tell you we had and are still having a roller coaster of emotions.  Our googling had dredged up the fact that an epigastric mass could be anything from a cyst, a benign growth or lymphoma, surely I hadn’t enough tests yet to confirm its Lymphoma?  Lymphoma = cancer = death.  I was convinced that if I did have cancer, it had been caught too late and was now so advanced that it was untreatable and I would be dead by Christmas – its just too devastating for words.  My biggest fear was for Pat, how would he cope with my loss and living without me, it just doesn’t bear thinking about.  I almost can’t bear seeing him so wounded. I am only 55 and still have loads of plans for the future, it cannot be happening that I will not be here to do them.

Our whole world in the space of a day has been reduced to this one thing and waiting weeks (or months?) to get to see a consultant about it is the most tortuous thing imaginable and a quote by Virginia Satir given to me by Catherine Marshall sums it up perfectly:

“The certainty of misery is preferable to the misery of uncertainty “.

We decided that we needed more information and answers quickly so called up Phil, our nephew who is a consultant Radiologist and deals with this sort of thing every day.  Pat was a bit wary at first about calling him, but bowed to my pressure.  Phil was wonderful and professional and gave us a lot of information and facts about what the outcomes were and likely course of events.  We always think of him as one of the kids, but he has proved today that he is very far from that now and we are immensely grateful to him.

The nuggets that I take from Pat’s conversation with Phil are that there is no correlation between the size of the mass and it’s seriousness, it is likely to be treatable and the medical people have been able to see it and get to it because there is not much fat on me. He also said that whatever we do don’t google it! but of course we did and do nothing but that.  He has been swiftly elevated to the lofty position of favourite nephew.

My epitaph is already decided then, to misquote Spike Milligan – “I told you I wasn’t fat!”

I decided to name this as yet undetermined ‘thing’ Bertie, a gentle and unassuming name,  as it will be easier for friends and family to ask me how Bertie is rather than how’s the cancer coming along.

We end the evening by suppressing our thoughts with alcohol to enable us to sleep.

Can you show the blog link too – https://tinabertieblog.wordpress.com/.