Ball Gowns, Hospital Gowns and Lots of Scans

The title kind of rhymes... like it kind of works, right?  Whatever, you didn't come here for the cool title, you came here for the juicy cancer gossip. Don't worry, I got you.

So, here it is: Prom.

No one enjoys their prom, right?  I mean we're all disappointed at the end and it's a huge let down and we wonder why our parents spent a couple hundred pounds so that we could ride in a limo and wear a nice dress for a few hours.  Bad music, bad hair, bad food, (predominantly) bad company.  I don't even like limos.

Your prom was pretty bad, right?  Mine was really bad.  Also, if you're expecting me to collapse or something in the middle of the dance floor, that's not what happened... so I guess it wasn't "really" bad.  My prom was not that dramatic or exciting, it was exhausting and a little sad, but mostly boring... don't want to burst your bubble, but most of cancer - if you're lucky - is just boring.

I didn't have the fun prom day that I imagined it would be, the day I'd been looking forward to for half of my school career.  My prom day was not an awe-inspiring, princess day of hair and make up and brunch and champagne.  My prom day was consumed by several hours exploring Taunton's very own: Musgrove Park Hospital, starting with an MRI.

MY FIRST MRI.

We got to the hospital in the morning and I just remember being really, really tired.  I was always tired though, still am... that's that sweet fatigue life.  I'd probably been up half the night before because I wasn't really sleeping at the time.  The pressure of exams and coursework was hard to handle.  Plus, being a total awkward outsider throughout the whole of my time at school, the idea of having to turn up in front of everyone in a semi-tightfitted ballgown was pretty stressful... oh, and I guess the impending life threatening illness was a bit concerning too.  Enough to alter anyone's sleep schedule, I'm sure you'd agree.

I waited in the x-ray department, surrounded by people significantly older than me with my mum and what was probably a sudoku to pass the time.  Of course, my mum's also somewhat significantly older than me... but not like these other patients.  They were about five or six times my age.  I could see them looking at me as I was called through with sad eyes.  Old people don't like it when young people are sick.

The radiology nurse is one of my clearest memories of the time, simply because she was so terrifying to me.  More terrifying than cancer?  Almost.  She must have been in her fifties, stood at about 5ft2, slightly (more than slightly) overweight with dyed, gingery brown, short hair, and the overall vibe of an angry hedgehog with a hangover and a minor drug problem.  I'm sure she was neither an alcoholic or a drug addict, but this was vibe she gave me.  She was seemed stern and though I'm sure she did smile, she lacked the warmth required to make it seem remotely genuine or comforting.  She had the lung capacity of a small tortoise and breathed so heavily as she walked (excessively slowly, might I add), I always had cause to be a little bit frightened she was going to collapse.  I was surprised she could even hear me speaking over the sound of her deep, husky exhales and if it wasn't for her enormous breasts, I wouldn't have been sure that she was female.  Later in my treatment, when I had gone through enough chemo to loose all but my eyebrows and a few lashes, there was a time I was sure she sported more facial hair than I had on my entire body.

However, as I encountered her more and more over the years and throughout my remission, I have to say she grew on me... Maybe she just didn't like kids and by the time I was twenty one she had learnt to tolerate me, or maybe she'd just been doing a lot of yoga over the years and zenned out a bit.  I don't know, but she definitely didn't get me in the beginning and I struggle to like anyone who doesn't laugh at my jokes on the basis that that person is probably stupid or... no, I pretty much just think they're probably stupid.

First she brought me into a kind of changing room/waiting area zone. I'm sure this place has a real name but how am I supposed to know what it is?  She sat me in a changing room and grabbed scrubs off the shelves, a blue t-shirt and blue drawstring trousers.  Not even a flattering shade of blue, but better than those horrid white gowns that you tie up at the back, because let's face it everyone just sees your butt and my butt is reserved for the eyes of incredibly lucky men only.  Oh and at least half of my friends... and a few doctors... and almost anyone who's ever seen me really drunk... or changing... or just - okay, okay, a few people have probably seen it, but that doesn't mean I want to actively go around with my bare butt on display for just about anyone who's lucky enough to be in hospital that day to see.

She sat me down in the chair and began to ask a series of questions.  Questions which I used to know off by heart... not the first time obviously, but I must've had dozens of them by the end.  Something about whether I'd had any operations, if there was any metal in my body, or on my body, if I had a pacemaker etc.  I don't remember all the questions, I just remember my answers to pretty much all of them were no.  Then they asked for the date of my last period and I never had any idea because I didn't care enough to count back then and it's not like I was getting pregnant or that periods are massively regular in your teens anyway, so what was the point?  It's not like now, now I'd be able to tell her the exact date and how long it lasted and all my symptoms, because it's all recorded on this really cool app on my phone.  TMI? I think we've well and truly established that I don't understand where the line is when it comes to sharing and oversharing.  

She left me to change, handed me a file with a list of severely outdated albums to choose from and came back five minutes later.  It was always awkward when they came back, because they knock but what are you supposed to do?  I never understood... Am I supposed to open the door?  Do I just shout back "come in!" like I've invited them around for tea?  Should I have come out of the room sooner when I had finished changing instead of awkwardly sitting around waiting to be collected?  What is MRI etiquette?  I still don't know.

Anyway, whatever I did, it was probably awkward.  The lady with the moustache then asked me what music I wanted and I'm pretty sure I either chose Westlife or McFly... Look, there wasn't much of a selection.

And then it began.  I was a little nervous because we'd learnt about MRI scanners in primary school when a boy in my class got leukaemia and I remember them sounding pretty scary but I wasn't that bothered.  I mean, it's just magnets, so it's not dangerous, but you're trapped inside a tube thing... I'm not really claustrophobic in small places, I definitely wasn't at the time, but my mum is and she probably unintentionally made me more worried about it just because she would hate it.  On the other hand, I wasn't really afraid of anything when I was fifteen, because I was a teenager and it is universally acknowledged that teenagers are invincible badasses.  Plus, I had such an attitude, I wouldn't even have known if I was scared because there's no way I'd admit that... even to myself.

When I first walked into the room I was greeted by the radiographer and helped onto the bed-like part of the machine.  I lay down and was then covered from head to toe in plastic.  Literally the entirety of my body was covered.  I had small squishy pads under my knees to make it more comfortable, they placed a thing in my hand that I could squeeze if I needed anything and then the nurse ruthlessly shoved headphones over my ears.  Someone pressed a button on the scanner which allowed the bed-like part of the machine to rise and back slowly into the MRI scanner and then they left the room.

I spent an hour inside a loud doughnut covered from head to toe in all kinds of plastic devices, making me look like a storm trooper and feel like I was in Avatar.  It doesn't sound too pleasant but it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. You'd think it would be incredibly claustrophobic, but like I said, I wasn't really afraid of stuff so the idea of being covered in lots of plastic and shoved into a hole on my own was no more frightening than lying in a regular hospital bed.  In some ways it was better, because I didn't have to talk to anyone or even make eye contact for an hour.

Also, in this hospital they put a thing over my head, kind of like a helmet, that had a mirror so I could see out of the scanner and into the room where the radiographer is... that room probably has a legit name, but once again, I don't know what it is. Anyway, if you just look at that you can see out and then it barely feels like you're trapped inside a big, noisy, medical cocoon.  I usually just shut my eyes though, I think I even fell asleep the first time.  I don't know how, but I always fell asleep during MRI scans.  If you've never had one, it's honestly kind of like being in a coffin in the middle of a building site.  I don't know how I managed to be remotely relaxed in that environment, but maybe it was just the fatigue.  I've always struggled to sleep, even at night, in a warm, comfy bed, but apparently if you just shove me in an enclosed space at 10am, with loud banging sounds and make me stay entirely still, while you blast McFly into my headphones over the sound of loud thumping noises for forty-five minutes to an hour, I'll be out like a light.

Next I had an ultrasound of the tumour.  I would later discover that there were tumours all over my heart and lungs, but so far there was just the one obvious one poking out of my neck.  I thought it would be fun because of the jelly stuff they put on you and because I thought it was hilarious telling people I was having an ultrasound because... umm... babies.  It's funny now because I was a complete virgin back then, never even been kissed and yet I thought this whole sex baby thing was hilarious.  I mean, I still think sex is hilarious... babies, not so much.  They're a legitimate fear and risk now, but I like to think I now know enough about sex to realise why it's so funny.

My mum told me about ultrasounds and that the gel might be cold and that it's not actually that nice etc because she's had babies and stuff so she knew.  Wait, what?  Your mum's had babies?  Yeah, spoiler alert, I think she might have.

She was right.  The ultrasound turned out to be equally as underwhelming as the MRI.  They lubed me up with some warm jelly... or maybe it was cold, like my mum had said.  They say you always remember your first time, I guess not, but I've had both hot and cold gel during ultrasounds, I think it really just depends on whether they remembered to warm it up, but it's not especially pleasant either way.  The gel part is the bit everyone thinks is gonna be fun, but honestly it was just kind of gross and slimy and it got everywhere.  All over my neck, in my hair, it started running down my top... Guess it was just good preparation for the years to follow, though without the addition of "OH MY GOD! YOU GOT IT IN MY EYE! GET ME A TOWEL OR SOMETHING, IT'S BURNING."

They might have looked at my stomach too, to see if there were any sneaky lymph nodes below my diaphragm.  I may have also had an X-ray that day... or maybe another kind of scan.  I really should just check my medical notes or something rather than relying on my memory, but everyone knows how an x-ray goes anyway.

Then we left and rushed to get my hair done and I was exhausted and the last thing I wanted to do was go to prom.  I was tired and I wasn't excited because I just wanted a nap.  I sat in the chair and they put my hair in some curly side bun, which I have since decided looked horrendous but I was pretty pleased with at the time.

We had to rush home to my aunt's house so she could do my make up and then equally speedily make our way back home so I could get changed, and then I got dressed and we drove to my friend's house for photos and to get ready for the limo.  The tacky, tacky limo that I didn't even want to go in.  God it was so ugly, I was so embarrassed.  Whatever, you'd think I'd be more concerned about the whole cancer thing, but nah I had bigger problems.

I tried to have fun, but it really wasn't that fun.  I had a migraine before we got there, we drank a little champagne which made it worse because I hadn't eaten all day and also... I was fifteen and never drank.  I then spilled the champagne down my dress when I reached to pick it up off the floor, forgetting I had the glass in my hand... This is the moment I stood back, caught my heel on the inside of my dress and ripped a small hole in the back.  Not a great day all round.

We drove around town in the tacky, tacky limo, got told off for swearing at Domino's workers out of the window and then we arrived to prom at a tacky, tacky venue.  There was a presentation and some teachers made speeches and showed slideshows and honestly, as lame as it sounds, my teachers are some of the only people I could ever consider missing from that school.  Like I said, not a popular kid.  There was food, which I distinctly remember being godawful and a dance floor where they played music I hated and some cringy DJ who probably said some dumb stuff over the tragic music choices.  I danced with a boy I had a crush on and then he left without saying goodbye.  I think I was more upset about that than the cancer thing... how do boys always do this to me?

And that was it.  Prom.  Honestly, I don't remember much about the actual event, all I remember was hating it, but trying my best to enjoy myself because my friends were there and I'd been looking forward to it for years.  I didn't want the day to be marked as the day I had all those scans, but truthfully it probably always will be.  I don't remember all the dates of things that happened that year, but May 28th is one that I do.

My friends went to an after prom party.  I wanted to go but I was tired and not really in the mood.

My dad picked me up.

I still had a headache.

I silently cried the whole way home without him noticing.

I went to bed in tears, exhausted and disappointed, as my best friends got drunk in a field.