Sunday 30th November

A much, much quieter time on the ward last night. Son slept fairly well.

Me, ha!!! This chair is so uncomfortable!!! About two or three twenty minute bursts ~ my son says I look awful ~ full of compliments!!!

He eats a good breakfast of toast, jam, porridge and tea. I take him to the bathroom for a wash and teeth cleaning.

Later that day we have lots of visitors; family, as well as the oncologist, who lets us know he has secured a bed in a private room, down in oncology. Woo hoo. We can move away from all the coughing, wheezing and other strange bodily noises!

Waiting, waiting, waiting.

We make a move at tea time! And yes, it really was worth the wait. Our own room. We’ve even got a fridge to keep our drinks and fruit cool 😃😁😜😍👍

And there’s a day room with a fridge freezer stocked with ice lollies, and a cappuccino making machine.

I have just taken my shoes off, the first time since putting them on for school on Friday morning!!!!!!!!!!

And no, my feet don’t smell 😉

And I am lying down on my own bed!

Going to be a fab night’s sleep!

And my son has been to ask for a nightie for me! He’s returned with a pink patterned cotton creation ~ not open backed 😆

Saturday 29th November

Well, what an absolute rubbish night’s sleep, sitting in a chair beside my son. It was so noisy, people shouting, coughing and having xrays, meds and obs throughout the whole night. We didn’t sleep properly at all.

Our son had a second lot of paracetamol last night, and more dexamethasone first thing in the morning.

Breakfast arrives, but he’s sort of sleeping. Toast, jam and tea. Morning obs are done, but I’m not sure when the scans have been timetabled, or what happens next.

Just after eleven we accompany our son to the CT scan area. We wait outside until the procedure is complete.

An MRI scan is also carried out after lunch and our son seemingly takes everything in his stride. Maybe it’s better that he doesn’t understand the full implications of his situation.

The results are soon returned, and initial indications do show spread to the lungs as well as in his brain. Apparently this is the best kind of dreadfully bad news. It means the cancer is treatable with chemotherapy. It will be a long and bumpy slog, with stays in hospital, probably three to five days at a time.

The lead oncologist here who deals with testicular cancer is supposed to be amazing. This is a centre of excellence.

A melanoma oncologist, (whom I met last year), has just spent about half an hour talking about the scan results, and the plan of action. Our son will most probably stay in hospital until his first dose of chemotherapy on Tuesday or Wednesday.

He will lose his hair.

There could be at least six sets of chemotherapy infusions.

He understands quite a lot, but is absolutely devastated that we won’t be going to America for our Christmas holiday.

My sister, niece and mother visit this afternoon, and crowd around the bed in the same noisy Admissions Unit. We await a bed in the quieter oncology ward ~ it’s full at the moment.

The consultant oncologist also pops in and explains that chemotherapy will probably begin on Monday.

My husband has been here all day too,  but will be going home soon. I’ll be staying again tonight. In the same hospital chair.

I have never felt so hopeless, and so desperately sad for our son.

Friday 28th November

Our son had been vomiting for most of last week, so my husband took him to the GP this morning. They were then sent to the local hospital for a CT scan. When I finished school at lunchtime, I went there to meet them.

Arriving at the front entrance, to be told by my husband that our son has a large tumour in his brain was just heartbreaking.

The director of the hospital showed me the image from the scan, and it is quite substantial 4.5 by 6.5cm.

Having waited for the saline drip to finish, both my husband and I drive to our major hospital. A medical emergency.

We make our way to triage, and wait to be assessed. Lots of questions, form filling, and medical checks are carried out.

We are then taken up to the Medical Admissions Unit; a noisy and very busy ward. CT and MRI scans will be scheduled for tomorrow morning, and we will have to wait for the results before we know what is next. It could be oncology and chemotherapy here. Or it could be the neurological unit in Plymouth.

Our son has had iv saline, paracetamol, and a high dose of steroids (dexamethasone). He is on his second saline drip. As we wait for the iv antibiotics to be sorted, he says his head is feeling better.

The vomiting and headaches have obviously been due to the tumour in his brain. Poor, poor chap.

I stay overnight at my son’s bedside, sitting upright in a most uncomfortable hospital chair.

Tuesday 18th November

Only two departments to visit today. Firstly to see my lovely trials nurse for bloods, obs and a chat ~ my son said she was strict and severe, but also called her a pussy cat!

She is wonderful, caring and reassuring, listening to all I tell her. The vials of blood are taken, blood pressure checked (not as high as I thought it would be!), then weight and temperature. I’m asked to fill out a patient satisfaction survey and invited to a research symposium next May: sounds very interesting.

Wednesday 12th November

One year.

Twelve months.

Fifty two weeks.

Or three hundred and sixty five days.

That’s how long it’s been since my surgery to remove the melanoma in my lymph nodes. And all the scans I’ve had since then have shown no spread of the disease.

Being vigilant, eating healthily, drinking lots of water, gentle exercise and taking the medication, which I want to believe is the real thing, and not the placebo. This is my ‘new normal’ nowadays. As well as having a positive outlook on life, and not stressing over trivial things.

Tuesday 11th November

Our son has been booked into surgery and is first on the theatre list this morning. He is seen by nurses, the anaesthetist, and the surgeon. Despite all the previous sickness and anxiety, he seems decidedly chirpy.

He did have a laugh when the nurse showed him his notes, and someone had written ~ “Needs pregnancy test”, on the front!!!! The nurse was cross with whoever had done that!!

He goes off to theatre, and we have to phone at 11:30am to find out what ward he’s on.

When he comes round he is brought to the recovery ward, where he says he is a grumpy patient!

Just after 1:00pm we see the urologist, and preliminary results show no cancerous cells found. We have to wait two weeks for absolute confirmation.

But all is looking good 😃😁

A short time later we get him dressed, and the cannula is taken out of his arm. We wait for the discharge paperwork, and then we are on our way home.