Send in the Clowns By Holly Searle

Two months ago I was diagnosed with cancer. It seems like years ago now, as it's really starting to drag.

Since then, I have met and taken my clothes off for strangers, visited 3 hospitals, spent in excess of thirty hours waiting to see people or attending appointments whilst hemorrhaging lost income.

I have had blood tests, biopsies, cardiac reports, MRI's, scans, ultrasounds and one operation.

And this is just the beginning.

Because I decided on the living tissue op (boob off and reconstruction carried out in one fell swoop), it has caused a slight problem in communication between two of the hospitals that have been sharing my care.


In my post lymph nodes removal state, I still had a long list of appointments to attend prior to my big op on June 25th. These are starting to manifest themselves like some crazy most do list in my head that I need to complete as I edge closer to the big cut.

High anxiety.

I attend my surgical appointment to discuss my up and coming op to be informed it's now a week later on July 2nd (I didn't get that letter), and then wait around for two hours to see the cancer surgeon, who within moments of finally sitting down with me, it becomes apparently clear that he has none of my information or notes.

He is obviously more than a little stressed about this. But not as stressed as I am about it. Instead of fessing up and saying Look, there's been a massive cock-up, fancy coming back on another day when there isn't, he just tries to apportion blame elsewhere, which makes him look like a clown.

To add insult to injury, he starts calling my cancer my disease. He repeats this phrase several times during the course of our meeting. Disease, disease, disease. So much so that it really starts to grate on my nerves. I haven't got the Bubonic plague, I have cancer.

Seriously. I feel like Alyssa from The End of the F***ing World.

I am furious, as I do not leave knowing anything else or what he proposes to do. I do bag a body scan and a bone scan and the knowledge that if my cancer is bigger, after asking about the histology results from my lymph nodes, that my disease may have spread.

Great.

I am so angry. I have a whole weekend to worry about all of this and if my once sex-bombed re-imagined time-bomb body is hosting further possibilities.

My disease and I send emails of despair to those who might be able to shed some light on the situation. All weekend we stress.

Monday I make calls. I am literally shouting HELP as I have lost all confidence in the support from hospital two. Finally I get some.

The incredible supportive team at hospital one rescue me with their empathy, kindness and humanity. They tell me to come and see them and to talk. Then I realise I will be able to hear my lymph nodes histology result a day earlier than anticipated. So I brace myself.

They contain micro cancer too.

Thanks disease.

I ask the doctor I trust what he thinks. He tells me that there are four types of possible cancers that they look for in lymph nodes and that I have the more positive one. He says he thinks my prognoses in his experience should be okay.

But, I probably won't have radiotherapy but chemo instead.

It's all a big top of fun.

On the day my solo exhibition was beautifully hung in Bath, I sat under the hospital atrium in the bright sun light reviewing the images and enjoying that moment of pure joy and normality at the end of an otherwise hectic and emotional day.

Don't you love farce?

Do the Locomotion - By Holly Searle

I am finding this cancer interruptions a bit bloody annoying. The amount of medical appointments it has generated is almost record breaking. It's a task to remember them all to be honest, especially when they keep being rearranged to accommodate yet another test. I feel like a stream train struggling to get up a steep hill.

You can do it you can do it sang the carriages.

At the end of last week, one that I had managed navigated without anything to do with cancer (forecasted appointments already bagged), I get four calls on Friday from two nurses asking me multiple questions. Had I booked my Sentinel Node Scan? No, I hadn't. Was I meant too? I can't recall this part of the conversation with the doctor the previous week. The lovely nurse says well we need to get this sorted as the timeline is decreasing as we head towards the big op on the 25th.

I also have two bagged appointments in the wrong order, so the nurse says that she will change these. Then the other nurse calls from the other hospital to run through the plan for this week and to explain about my pre op op.

What?

Then she explains that prior to my big op, they need to carry out a biopsy of my lymph lodes, by removing several, in order to determine if the cancer is living within their cells. This will in turn, determine how much addition tissue will be removed during my big op.

I am horrified as I will find out earlier than anticipated, if I have cancer in my body's motorways.

I knew it was due, but now I am being forced to deal with it before I feel ready too.

Cancer, the gift that just keeps giving.

The first nurse never does call back with a rearranged prearranged new appointment.

To be fair, I am not her only patient and I have been on the phone to the other nurse for a while.

So, I do this myself.

I also call Macmillan Cancer and speak to the welfare team there as I am starting to stress about money. My mortgage provided has agreed to give me a two-month holiday. This will be a massive help but I still need the security of knowing that I will be able to claim something. I find out that I am entitled too Statutory Sick Pay (SSP). Looks like I might just stay in the red, but only just on £92.00 per week, a total drop of £700.00 per month to my income.

My Will has been made and my Life Insurance left in trust (all needed to be done anyway).

But I have lost my art mojo. This really upsets me as I have solo show coming up and even though I have some pieces, I can't seem to find my muse. She is probably as overwhelmed as I am with so many appointments and trying to balance life, work, money and bloody cancer, isn't really leaving too much time or energy for art.

I called Macmillan to have a cry and a talk as I don't want to burden my nearest and dearest too much. The man I speak too suggests I try doing something I enjoy. I think I can't at the moment as I am just too exhausted micro managing this poxy blinking cancer.

It's starting to railroad me from my life and I hate that

I decide to think about this time next year, when I will look back on all of this and be glad it's all over. I am focusing on my plans to finally leave London.

A seaside dwelling seems like just the ticket to start a new chapter in my life. So, once I am back on track, that's where I will be off too.

After all, life's a bit too short not to think about the future.