Make it stop! I am face down inside the MRI scanner and shout straight into the metal bed so no one hears me. I have another go and still nothing so resort to the squeezy ball in my hand which is the alarm system. A voice materialises over the radio – “Are you okay?” I shout back, “turn the music down, it’s so loud and who chose Michael Bublé? Please just turn it off, I’ll manage”. My one request was anything but Country. The music stops and I’m left with the clanging, banging and whistling which is often melodic for the next 45 minutes. I am extracted from the machine and eased up, blinking and dizzy.
Monday 10 June
It’s just before 10am and I’m already through the first procedure. Only the pre-op nurse to see now. I treat myself to a steadying coffee – the night before was miserable. The next door room had a blaring TV which meant a midnight visit to the night porter, who got it switched off for me. Also, the floor below me stank of cannabis. I’d woken early too as I wanted to be at the hospital early enough to get a car parking space – which I managed (just) on an 8.30am arrival. It had already been a long morning constantly repeating my date of birth and spelling my surname.
I go to pre-op 45 minutes early and after a few minutes, I’m sent for my ECG. Reassuringly, I have the heart rate of an athlete and a good steady heart. Then back to pre-op where blood is taken – the cannula hole from my MRI where I was injected with dye proves useful and if I’d known, I’d have said leave it in. My blood pressure is checked and it’s off the scale – 196/110. Oops, but then I’ve just been lying face down in the MRI so while it should be 120/80 or thereabouts, this godawful reading can be explained.
Into the car and it’s 20 miles and 35 minutes following the Sat Nav to the Royal Alexandra in Paisley. My sister greets me with a hug. I’m pleased she’s here. We head to outpatients and she confesses that she’s been scouting ahead and has found where the clinic is. The consultant has me down for 1.30pm so we have time for lunch and a catch-up. There is a lot of chatter in the café about the Erskine bridge being backed up due to emergency roadworks in Dumbarton.
We arrive back at 1pm and check in. A nurse calls me in to check my blood pressure again and it’s now 186/96 so it’s going down. I’m told to get my GP to monitor it and it’s probably pre-op meds for me. Aside from that, everything else is essentially good news. I am lucky – my tumour is in a great, easy to get at place. The scar will be small, as will the one for the lymph nodes. Everything can be done on 3 July – a couple of pre-op procedures and then in for the lumpectomy. I’ll be called back a week later to the Inverclyde for wound care and to get the dressings off, and a week after that meet the Oncologist. The nurse agrees that Inverclyde is preferable because the Oban-Dunoon route will make it easier for me so long as I can get my husband to drive me.
I head back to Gourock to get to Dunoon and this time buy a pack of 10 tickets which halves the price. It’s now my preferred route. I’m in Oban at 6.30pm and on the 8pm ferry heading home. The final treat of the day – vending machine hot chocolate. Or not. I arrive home at 10pm and try and decompress – I have breakfast to serve at 8am so it’s bed and a second sleepless night.
11 June to 17 June
The telephone rings mid-morning. Can I pop in to see the Doctor tomorrow afternoon? The hospital has told the GP about my blood pressure and it needs to be investigated. I drive across to the surgery the next day and see the Doctor. There is a concern but first-off, I have to be given a blood pressure monitor for a week and then they’ll see about giving me medication to get it down.
Over the next few days my blood pressure is all over the place and ahead of schedule, the following Monday, head to the Doctor with the numbers and accept that I’m on blood pressure tablets for the foreseeable.
08 July
My breast cancer surgery has been postponed and will need to be rescheduled. On 22 June while at home, I had a subarachnoid haemorrhage, more likely than not, related to the fact that my blood pressure had been very high for a long time. The next day I was transferred as an emergency to the Institute of Neuroscience at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital from Oban, having been helicoptered from our home island to the A&E team there. A CT scan confirmed my (retired Doctor) friend’s instinct that I had indeed had a subarachnoid haemorrhage.
Thanks to the skill and care of everyone who looked after me, I was able to be discharged on 2 July and stay with my mainland family for a few days as I was not fit for the long journey back home. Eventually on 8 July, I am brought home by my husband – we had to battle to get a ferry ticket for the car of course.
I have a new date for my diary. My Breast Surgery Consultant will telephone me on 15 August for a catch-up and to start the process again. I had been put on Hormone Therapy in the Neuro Unit at the Queen Elizabeth and it should stop my tumour growing and I’m told not to worry about the timeline but to get well. So that’s what I do. We keep our business running and while I’m allowed by my husband to serve breakfast, we get help in for the housekeeping.Fortunately, we already knew who could work with us for the summer – as labour is scarce here in the Summer – most people already work a number of jobs and trying to find some help with the Housekeeping was a challenge.
I am fortunate that people want to help out as I am welcomed home after my “adventure”. Over the next few weeks, and as I get fitter, I start to take back some of the chores that have fallen to my husband this season – ironing the washed laundry, spending a bit more time with guests. We close for the season on 4 October, a scant few days before my surgery on 8 October – I have been working since 16 July, three weeks after my haemorrhage, which feels like a small miracle.
More in health.
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