13. Pet Scan , The Gift that Just Keeps Giving.

When we arrived home, my head fully of tonsillectomies and over night bags. I stood in the kitchen and checked the email on my phone for the Pet Scan to print off to take to see Nicola 'the bum doctor' the following Tuesday. As I quickly scanned through the email and the attached 1 page Pet Scan report from Norwich, my heckles instantly came up remembering how they had all stood there when I asked about it lighting up and there was nothing else anywhere, and now I was having to sort out their lies 2 days before I was due to go for surgery next week. I read through the list of findings and my eyes paused over the 8th sentence down the page

'Enlarged ascending thoracic aortic aneurysm'

WTF........WTF...

I leaned heavily on the stool next to the breakfast bar and the kitchen seemed to spin for a moment. Panicking I scanned the rest of the page, and in the notes it said

Enlarged ascending aorta. referral to cardiology is recommended

Paul walked back into the kitchen and I just stood and stared at him. After what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes we looked at the document on my phone again and realised, this was another 'oh by the way' Norwich hospital had failed to inform me of. Fair enough it wasn't cancer, but basically having an aneurysm that could burst and I'd die within 8 mins ( google) seemed like it might have been worth a mention, but obviously fell under one of their 'NO's' when asked that day.

The following day I spoke to Mr Amen and said had he seen it, and would it stop me having surgery, and I hadn't been referred to anyone, by anyone, in fact reading the Pet Scan report was the first I knew about it. That day he kindly put my details to a cardiologist friend, made me an appointment to see her once the surgery was sorted and confirmed it was perfectly fine to still go ahead the following Thursday. So now basically I had serious issues top middle and bottom all on the one Pet Scan, the gift that just kept giving was certainly proving value for money.

The Bum Doctor.

The following week on the Tuesday I caught the train to Cambridge bright and early and arrived at the Nuffield Hospital, the same place I had been to for the biopsies a few weeks previously. Nicola, the 'bum doctor' seemed a lovely lady in her 50's. She looked like she had dogs, probably played hockey for a university at some point and now religiously attended WI. She wore no makeup had no 'hairstyle' to speak of, but was charming, considering the topic of conversation.

She too was more than convinced already that the Pet Scan had picked up on a polyp, which she informed me given my age, my gluten issues and my previous 5 years worth negative poo tests, she was more than happy to have a rummage, but thought for my sake there was no urgency until after I had finished my cancer treatment and recovered. We ended our meeting with a promise to keep in touch via her secretary and arrange a date to come in for a colonoscopy when I was fully over radiotherapy in the New Year. Relieved, and a little annoyed that what everyone else seemed to be treating as probably nothing, had managed to scare and drain me so much, I decided to reward myself with a Marks and Spencer food hall gluten free chicken and bacon sandwich and sat on the train back home with thoughts of toilet bags and new pyjamas whizzing round my head. Surgery was in 2 days.