Gorillas Cant Swim

The tests requested by Dr Doom consisted of an Ultrasound Guided Biopsy and a Broncoscopy.  The Biopsy is self explanatory, the Broncoscopy consists of a thin piece of hose with a light and a camera at the end.  The procedure is fairly basic, they give you some mild sedatives which relax you and a couple of syringes of a clear snotty fluid which you snort and has the effect of numbing your nose and sinus cavity.  Once you are suitably numbed up, they stick the pipe up your nose and down into you lungs to see what they can see.  In my case it was not a lot. 

About 10 days after the biopsy I had my second encounter with Dr Doom’s bedside manner.  This time however he decided to give it to me over the phone.  It was early afternoon one Monday and I was at home on my own when the phone rang and Dr Doom’s familiar tones resonated in my ear.  “Mr Smith, we have the results of your biopsy, you have Epitheliod Hemangioendothelioma and we need to perform an urgent pneumonectomy and remove your chest lining.  I have made arrangement for you to be admitted to hospital the day after tomorrow (Wednesday) and will perform the surgery on Thursday”.  My response was short and a little predictable “I have what?, can you translate that into English for me” .  You have a malignant tumour in your right ling which has spread to your chest lining and we need to remove both.  I managed to utter “I’ll call you back” into the receiver and hung-up.  The next half an hour is a bit of a blur but consisted mainly of me losing it completely. 

In hindsight Dr Pneumathorax’s words slipped to the bottom of my list of "phrases you don’t want to hear uttered from a Doctor" and Dr Doom’s went straight into number one on the list.   

When I finally managed to get it together, I started the long list of phone calls to family, friends and work colleagues to explain what was going on.  At this point it all seemed a bit surreal, almost like it was happening to someone else.  I broke down a few times on the phone but in the main held it together reasonably well.  Three days later I was coming too after the removal of half my breathing apparatus and other parts of my body I would rather not have lost. 

Items removed from me – One Lung (in need of attention) & One plural chest lining (again in need of some attention)

Substances administered – Drugs, Drugs & more Drugs.  Too many to list in fact but included various anaesthetics, antibiotics, morphine, codine, antacids, anti sickness, epidurals, paracetamol, diclofenac and the list goes on and on…………

There are several phrases you don’t want to hear uttered from a Doctor, high on my personal list is the phrase “Mr Smith, we seem to have caused a pneumathorax removing your chest drain”.  “Bloody marvellous” I thought, has all the makings of an extra few days in hospital.  As it happened it meant an extra 3, Friday, Saturday and Sunday!  He compounded his error by going on to say “hmm, this is always a risk in these situations”.  As I looked on the floor for what was left of my respect for the man I suggested that it might have been an idea to inform me before he removed it.  On the upside, I did get to watch the opening MotoGP of the season and the weekends Six Nations Rugby in peace. 

The upshot of the extended stay meant that my case was referred to a consultant surgeon who reviewed my case and saw me on the Monday rather than me having to attend as an outpatient the following week.  I have referred to this man as “Dr Doom” on account of his brutally frank bedside manner.  I was warned of this by one of the junior Dr’s (not Dr Pneumathorax fortunately) but it was still a shock as to quite how brutal his frankness was. Dr Doom did for the bedside manner what the National Front do for race relations. Now I am not a guy who minces his words and have been known to offend the odd sensitive sole but this guy had all the subtlety of a JCB planting carrots! 

I went to his office and sat down after being ushered in and we went through some provisional questions about lifestyle.  After these questions, I expected him to come out with “So why do you want this job Mr Smith?” as the meeting had all the hallmarks of an awkward job interview. The following few minutes conversation will remain permanently etched on my memory, the exchange went along the lines of:- 

DD “We have found something on your CT scan that concerns use”
Me “Like what”
DD “We are not sure”
Me “You are sure enough to be concerned so you must have your suspicions?”
DD “We need to do some more tests and a biopsy”
Me “A biopsy? What are you looking for?”
DD “Malignancy”
Me “What do you mean, Malignancy?”
DD “You probably have cancer” 

The conversation continued in a similar vein for a couple more mins before I was told to come back in a few days for the necessary tests and told there was nothing more they could tell me.  I was numb, all sorts of thoughts were going my head and top of the list was “shit, I’m going to die, what’ll I tell the wife?”

A couple of weeks after returning from Dublin I started getting a bit short of breath which became progressively worse quite quickly. Within 2 weeks I was struggling to walk up a flight of stairs without having to sit down for 5 mins afterwards. I have to admit that this frightened the life out me as I was a reasonably fit and healthy guy who exercised and was not over weight. To suddenly not be able to do anything I wanted made me feel about 90 years old. A visit to the Dr's and one chest x-ray later I was diagnosed with Pleurisy (fluid on my right lung) and an appointment was set up with a chest consultant for the 6th March.

I attended hospital and underwent a barrage of tests and a lot of poking and prodding which concluded with the fitting/insertion of a chest drain. If you haven't seen a chest drain imagine a hosepipe attached to a sealed bucket with a tap in the pipe and you wouldn't be far wrong.

The fitting of the drain wasn't too uncomfortable I suppose, the local anaesthetic which was administered via injection which was actually worse. Even the biopsy wasn?t too bad despite the odd sensation of feeling someone take a chunk out of your lung without the pain. All of this however, pales into insignificance compared to the pain and discomfort I felt when they started to drain the fluid by opening the tap. The effect of fluid on the lung is to crush the organ thereby removing all the air. Unfortunately, there was so much fluid that opening the tap for only a few second drained nearly a litre of fluid. The net effect of this is to re-inflate the lung, the side effects of this are coughing, pain and nausea like I have never experienced. As the air rushes back in all you want to do is breath out, which you cant, this is interspersed with a coughing fit and the feeling that you are about to empty the contents of your stomach over the Dr standing next to you. All the while a pain kept shooting through my shoulder which felt like the Dr's assistant was stabbing me with the syringe used to administer the local (she wasnt but you get the idea). After a few seconds the Dr shut off the tap at my behest and everything bar the cough and the pain slowly dispersed.

Looking back I suspect that from a fly on the wall perspective it probably looked quite commical. At the time, however, I didnt know whether to laugh, cry, throw up, cough or lamp the Dr!

I was ultimately admitted and spent the next 6 days in hospital.

Lessons learnt #1. If they tell you it wont hurt and you should'nt feel much, you should ask them how they know as they are probably wrong.
Lessons learnt #2. Morphine? the drugs DO work.

Items removed from me - 4.5 litres of plural fluid
Substances administered - Copious amounts of morphine, antibiotics and a couple of bags of saline for good measure.

I started 2007 in pretty much the same way as a large proportion of the 38 others I have started, i.e. hung-over and full of good intentions.  As I suspect most people do, I often get a bit introspective during January probably due to the long nights and lack of cash.  The introspection is often interspersed with periods of reflection in the year just gone and a bit of forward planning for the year ahead. 

This time round I spent a lot longer reflecting on 2006 as it had been a particularly exceptional year.  It started with a large voluntary redundancy cheque which was swiftly followed by a new job.  Additionally, it included the purchase of a 2^nd property for investment and finished with my marriage to Lynne, my partner of ten years, in a ceremony that can only be described as the greatest day of my life. 

In fact the only downer on and otherwise exemplary year was a minor motorbike accident at Mallory Park at a track day with some friends in July, but more of that later. January was passing a pace and this year had the added bonus of a trip to Dublin, courtesy of my new employers, for our annual Christmas do at the end of the month.  The reason for mentioning this is that it is the last time I can remember actually feeling healthy.