My angel and his awful ordeal

It's been a very long, exhausting and emotionally draining week. And it bears some introduction.

About 2 months ago, Ben developed an ache in his lower belly. Initially we just thought it was poor digestion, and a bit of a bug. After a couple of weeks had gone by and the pain hadn't gone away, he booked himself in for an ultrasound. The results indicated his organs all looked ok and there 'might be some excess bowel gas'. All sounded fine, except the pain persisted.

We were then distracted by some reflux and chest pain, which was overcome by taking antacids. This lasted for a few weeks. In the meantime the bellyache was still there, and was getting worse.

Ben then made an appointment to see a gastroenterologist, and got some blood tests done which indicated there may be some inflammation in his bowel. He was told to get a colonoscopy (a camera up the back passage) just to be sure.

When he had the colonoscopy done, instead of seeing inflammation they found a big ugly lump in Ben's large intestine. They took tissue samples (biopsies) and told him to expect a follow-up consultation in the next 2-3 days.

In the consultation, Ben was told the lump was a tumour and that he had bowel cancer. Needless to say, this came as an enormous shock for both of us, as well as for family and friends. I'm still not sure we've come to terms with it yet. It seems so wrong that he should get bowel cancer at the age of 31 (or at all!!!).

The consultant (who is the top surgeon in his field, I might add) was about to go on holidays, so he offered to operate on Ben this week.

Ben had surgery on Wednesday. It went very well; the tumour was removed and all involved seemed happy with the procedure. Ben's been recovering in hospital this week, and I've tried to be there as much as I can with him. The poor thing has had so much pain and discomfort, but there has been a noticeable improvement every day, and he is now off all his drips and is walking around and looking a darn sight better than he was a couple of days ago. He even ate his first meal of solid food tonight.

He gets discharged in the next day or two, whereby I'll go into full-time nurse duties (I may have to work from home for a while). It should take about a month for him to recover from the operation, but it will be at least a few months before his abdominal muscles are fully healed and he's able to lift (heavy) things. And there are some follow-up exams and procedures he'll need to have done too.

But at least he's young and fit, and the tumour was caught in time, before it could do irreparable damage. We were lucky that he'd lost a lot of weight (3 stone) in the past year, otherwise the prognosis could have been a whole lot worse. We will overcome this, and we'll have a healthy happy Benjy back in no time. Thank God.

This whole thing has really reminded me about what's important in life, and health is definitely up there in the top 3. And so are family and friends. Thank you with all my heart to all our wonderful family members and friends who have texted, called, emailed, facebooked, sent cards or flowers, and visited Ben in hospital. We couldn't have got through the worst without you. We love you very much.

And for those of you who are hearing about this for the first time, we hope you understand why it was difficult to let everyone know right away. We love you very much too, and know we also have your love and support to help carry us through the next few months.

My left arm

Ok, so it's not a Daniel Day Lewis movie, but it's still pretty interesting. My last 'arm' update (aside from my gratuitous broken-wrist-mentioning Facebook status updates) was written during my week of pain, when I first broke my wrist. I mentioned some flowers and cards I was sent - from work, and my friends Kate and Tom, Ben and Jo, and Alex and Asitha - here are the pics. I also mentioned the painkillers - here is my bedside stash!

My first day back at work was awful - I was so tired and overwhelmed. Fortunately that reduced significantly the next day, and it's been pretty good since. But it's easy for me (and others) to forget that my body is healing and I will (and do) get tired more easily.

About 10 days after the first (half) cast was put on I had a hospital appointment where they removed the cast, X-rayed my wrist again, and put a new, all the way round, fibreglass cast on. This cast was stronger and lighter than the plaster one. I asked the guy who put it on for me (an orthopaedic technician by the name of Tony who was awesome) to wash my arm for me as it had started to feel a bit manky. Here are some pics of my wrist between casts - can you see the bruising? (Apologies, my phone isn't exactly the latest model.) At least the swelling had gone down.


In the meantime I've taken my cast and sling to a wedding, to super corporate client interviews (tip: footy injuries go down well with male execs!) and have even braved London public transport with them. Unsurprisingly, not everyone on the buses and Tube notices my cast or takes care not to knock into me. Some lovely people have given up their seat for me, but they haven't been in the majority I'm afraid. And it's not easy to keep your balance and hang on to bus/train poles with one hand, let me tell you!

So now I am due to get this second cast removed in 10 days and I am practically counting down. Not that I should expect my wrist to be fully operational afterwards... I expect it will take a few months before it regains its strength. I am wondering what it's going to look like though... currently I am scratching the dead skin off it (not pretty, but I can't help myself) - you can see my two-tone thumb where I've scratched the darker skin off. Yes, ewww back to you. Plus I've been told my arm might be super hairy when the cast comes off. Nice...

Disarmingly yours :)

P.S. In case you're wondering, no I haven't let anyone sign my cast. I have a super corporate client and I don't think it would look very good. Maybe on my cast's last day..

I broke my left wrist...

...saving a goal at footy on Monday night. It was just a few minutes till the game was over, we were losing 3-5 and I was determined not to let the other team's star shooter, Carly, get another goal in before the whistle blew. So when the ball came at me, hard and fast, I stopped it with my left hand. Unfortunately the impact bent my hand all the way back and, as it turned out, broke my wrist. Needless to say it hurt like a bastard. I was in shock and couldn't think beyond getting an ice-pack on it. My teammates were awesome - running cold water over it, making a makeshift sling from a football jersey and generally being attentive. Thank goodness I was persuaded to go to a nearby hospital instead of being complacent and just going home with some frozen peas! I found a cab outside the school we play at, and off to the hospital I went.






The hospital visit was an ordeal in itself (aren't they always?). I had to queue at reception despite the increasing pain which, I'll admit, made me cry. It convinced the receptionist to put me at the front of the nurse queue, so I was grateful for being so emotional (it does help, sometimes). I called Ben to come and keep me company, and in the meantime I saw a nurse who gave me some pills (oh sweet drugs!) and sent me off to have my wrist x-rayed. The x-ray lady told me 'unofficially' that I'd broken my distal radius bone. I mentioned I'd fractured the same wrist when I was 10 but she assured me that it would have fully healed and this was an independent break.

Then came the waiting. Ben found me and we waited together. To pass the time he told me war stories of his broken ankle and broken knee. He also fed me the remainder of my lunch as I was starving. Finally a doctor saw me and told us officially that I'd broken my wrist and would need to get a cast put on it. He said I'd have to wait longer as an old lady had broken both wrists and was being attended to before me. (She'd come out of the elevator in John Lewis and slipped on their shiny floor, putting both hands out to break her fall... see Mum, it's not just sports that are dangerous!)

We continued to wait, and an hour went by. Both Ben and I could barely keep our eyes open. I jokingly said they'd forgotten me. Then a nurse came by and said the doctor had left without passing over my card. So they hadn't known I'd been waiting. And it was almost midnight (I'd got there before 8pm). Nice. Anyway soon after that she got me sorted with a soft half-cast, and made me laugh too, bless her.

So next week they take the soft cast off, x-ray the wrist again, and put on a full, hard cast which I have to wear for at least 4 weeks. Sexy. In the meantime I've taken a few days off work and am living off painkillers and glasses of milk. Living one-armed is sure an eye-opener! I can't open a can, put my hair up or do up my bra without help! Ben has been an angel looking after me, but he can't be here 24/7 so it's all been a bit of an adventure.

Thanks to everyone for the calls, texts, emails, Facebook messages, flowers and cards - you're ace! xx

P.S. I can't believe I just typed all that one-handed!
P.P.S. Thank goodness I'm right-handed!