Cancer 2
The NHS is doing a good job so far. I went to see the GP just before Christmas, who after an appropriate examination (not really my thing but I did find out that I don’t have a prostate problem) sent me for a sigmoidoscopy (for those not in the know it is a tube with a camera and various implements for snipping off lumps for biopsy, needles for tattooing and so on. A wonderful yet rather unpleasant invention. As we were just about to head off for Provence for three weeks the procedure was arranged for the New Year. I had the test last Tuesday, which indicated a 7cm growth 31cm up in my colon. The live visuals were mostly fascinating, including the colourful item that turned out to be the tumour. At least I have seen my own living cancer. I was immediately recommended for a CT scan, which I had on Saturday evening. I am now waiting for the results.
My experience so far with the NHS has been almost entirely positive. The people who have dealt with me have been kind and caring, yet practical and skilled. Obtaining this kind of diagnosis is not pleasant, nor are the procedures for obtaining the diagnosis. The nurses acknowledged my fears and dealt with them in a caring way. I was more frightened of the procedure than the potential outcome. I am officially less frightened of driving through a minefield than having something stuck up my backside. At least minefields are exciting.
The only problem I have experienced is the inability of people to tell me in a straightforward manner what they have found. After the sigmoidoscopy the two people who carried it out said – twice – that they would like to phone my wife so she could come along to the discussion about what they have found. That gave me a clue. Then, at the subsequent discussion (no, they didn’t get to phone the wife), instead of telling me what they suspected the problem was they asked me if I had thought about what the possible outcomes might be. I said that I had, and waited for them to employ that word. No chance, it was left to me to suggest that they had found a tumour, for me to mention the word cancer. They finally acknowledged it, and the look on their faces suggested they thought I was going to break down in tears and smash up the room, which I didn’t. It wasn’t until they left (quickly!) that I was given the letter that suggested a 7cm malignant tumour, so I was unable to ask for more details.
I understand that they were trying to be caring, to let me know gently, but that is not possible. In the end there is a single transition point. At one moment you do not know you have cancer, at the next moment you do. There is no breaking it gently. That transition from not knowing to knowing is fundamental. It is a life changer. It cannot be said gently.
I don’t like people faffing around with the truth. Just say what you mean and then I can deal with the consequences. Stress arises from ignorance.
To be continued, hopefully.
Dr Nigel Hunt 
Absolutely. Come out with it. Cancer is cancer. Faffing about, not saying the word, makes things worse. But we’ve come a long way. When I qualified, in the 1970s, it was common to tell the relatives the diagnosis but not the patient! Grim.
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