My Journey

From mind to paper and back again.

My Journey – TMA 01 Rewrite

on November 25, 2008


The crystal white sheets sparkled in their own special sterile way, the smell of bleach from where the orderly had just mopped and dried the polished floor and the nurses uniforms were all pristine. As I looked around the ward the fear of the operation I was about to have set in. I was having a tumour removed and at that moment my pride and self image had been thoroughly injured. Still a teenager and was having to fight off cancer. While I lay in the bed waiting for my mum to arrive I thought of the day I had found out. The hospital appointment was for some different painkillers because the ones the specialist had weren’t working. It was as if he’d given me sweets instead of tablets they did that little. I thought about being sat down in the office with my specialists colleague explaining that the tablets weren’t working and then came the dreaded moment. The one that I hadn’t been able to get out of her head ever since.

‘I’m glad you came in, we needed to talk to you about the date for the operation to remove the tumour.’

I felt my knees go week. Had I not already been sat down I would have

fallen backwards into the office chair that I had been perched on throughout my appointment.

‘T… tumour?’ I managed to stammer the word through the tears threatening to burst their banks and overflow onto my face. The specialist I was with explained what this meant, that I needed an operation and soon. She explained exactly what would happen before during and even after the operation. None of this went in though, there was one word circling incessantly in my mind – Cancer. After signing the documents put in front of me and walking out of the hospital in a daze I went to my Mum’s house, the tears still rolling down my cheeks.

I came out of the memory and touched my fingers to my cheeks, they came back wet. I was still crying and getting upset then and months later there was still one word that ran through my mind even though I was about to have an operation to kill it. My Mum walked in a teddy bear in her hands as I looked up, a teddy wasn’t much use though, the theatre had to be sterile. Not allowed in there, no comfort. Just a stark cold operating table. Within seconds after my Mum arrived I was in a wheel chair, on my way to the preparation room. The two bands on my wrists tight and itching – one told the doctors and surgeons who I was, the other what I am allergic to. When I was lay on the bed the anaesthetist put a mask over my face and told me to count backwards from ten. The gas tasted like the sweets, Palma Violets, I can remember it even now years on. I started counting, ‘Ten, Nine, Eight…’ I got to seven before the purple mist clouded my eyes the last thing I saw was my Mum’s worried face as my eyes became heavy and uncontrollable.

The next thing I remember was waking up, being dosed up with morphine and being in a whole lot of pain, just how much was indescribable. The scar on my neck was ugly, one of a kind, it hasn’t got much better since in my opinion although others disagree. It will be there all of my life; a constant reminder of what I went through, a constant reminder of what I beat. If only I could look at it in that light, I fought it and won. Now is the time for moving on and making a new start of my life.

The scar has faded over time and my life’s in the process of being rebuilt with a new boyfriend, a whole new start. What more could I want or need? Hope? Faith? Love? All three?


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