As with most jobs, it’s often the fancy geams up in the Big Smoke that get praise and recognition. They are often the ones people look up to and see as ‘important’. And as with most jobs, there are people at local level that are actually making the difference.
The fancy teams in Belfast are undoubtedly experts in neuroscience and I’m sure they have done amazing things in terms of getting rid of as much of my brain tumour as possible and keeping what’s left under control. Who couldn’t be grateful of that, not to mention admiring? But they are also the ones that are completely nonplussed when you can’t stand up and start being sick. They won’t wait if your transport is delayed due to snowy weather. ‘Squeezing you in’to another slot will take weeks. You might have been psyching yourself up to discuss Post treatment scan results and be left even more stressed and upset at a time when you least need it. They are the ones that won’t ask for another scan even though you’re hugging the floor, terrified. You are a number and you’ll know it unfortunately. What they do is both admirable and valued, but support doesn’t just take the form of surgeries and pills.
Which is why I am so grateful I entered the system in such a shocking and rude way. There’s a great video on YouTube of the singer in a band. He’s up on shoulders and someone throws a plastic pint of beer at him. He turns and catches it, before take a swig. You can guarantee he’d never have caught that pint if he’d known it was going to happen beforehand. He’s just pulled off the coolest move ever and is a sensation! Think of me and my brain tumour as the pint......safely caught. But could he ever pull that move off again? The answer appears to be yes., just in a less dramatic way. This time I started falling over. My legs wouldn’t hold me and I felt sick and confused. The fancy team weren’t too interested, which I guess is cold comfort in some ways. But I was still left unable to walk, terrified and not understanding what was going on. Family brought me to my local hospital as I could hardly keep my eyes open. Instead of being thrown I was gently passed. The same team from a year ago took me in their arms and kept me safe. They showed the qualities that surely should take people into medicine to begin with. They helped and they did no harm. I couldn’t walk or see straight and they did everything they could to find out why, whilst taking care of me. They refused to let me out of their care until it was safe to do so. Just as they did a year ago. Nobody wants to be.in a hospital, but it’s given time to get me stabilised again, and ensure I can go home safely to get on with a very changed life.
As usual, my support cage has bolted in tight around me both in terms of medical help and family/friends. A year of hell and a year of amazing happiness. Like everyone else’s year really! Xxx
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