Following radiotherapy at that time, it had grown back and worse – it was
pressing against my main cord in the spine and was threatening to paralyse me
totally. This was clearly being felt in my legs.
Things had to be done.
First of all I was booked for another MRI scan. I have only had two such
scans, as opposed to 14 CT scans, but they are not my most enjoyable past time
even if they are the most effective in helping in the battle against my cancer.
You see me and the small tube through which my body has to pass don't realty go
together very well - it's all a bit claustrophobic, although on this occasion
they did give me a tablet to try and keep me a little calmer - and it did work.
Incidentally, have I told you that when I was curate at Wollaton I met,
and indeed had a meal with the inventor of the MRI scanner, Sir Peter
Mansfield. I married his daughter, and was invited to the reception, where I
was seated next to Sir Peter on the top table. He was also a Nobel prize
winner.
The food in the City Hospital was excellent – one of the evening meals I
would willingly have paid at least £25 per person. QMC was not quite as good,
although still of quite a high standard, and the Community Hospital in Kirkby
in Ashfield, which was the final hospital I stayed in, didn't quite match up to
either.
Anyway, after arriving at City Hospital, it wasn't long before I was
transferred to the Queens Medical Centre in Nottingham, and in particular to
its spinal unit. A ride in an ambulance!?!? No, sort of an ambulance, with no
special suspension - just like any mini bus come to that, run by Arriva. I was
in such a mini bus on 6 such occasions for transfers between hospitals, and for
various appointments, but "Arriva!" - the same Arriva who run trains
and buses - their hospital transport was extremely uncomfortable, especially
after my operation.
Back to my admission to City Hospital - I do get side-tracked, don't I? I
was immediately put on bed rest – which means I couldn't get out of bed for
anything – not even to go to the toilet. For this latter natural process I was
given a variety of cardboard bottles and pans, which I found extremely
difficult to use. I was also thankful for the curtain round the bed.
And as the arranged day for my operation got nearer, it was carefully
explained to me exactly what I was going to have done - they were going to
remove the tumour from my spine, along with part of the spine itself. The
missing spine was going to be replaced with a cage filled with some sort of
cement and all that was to be screwed and bolted back to the spine above and
below where the missing had come from.
Bionic Man!!
I also had to sign many papers indicating that I was well aware of the
dangers, and what could go wrong. These included full paralysis of the body,
severe and permanent pain, and even blindness. I remember subsequently waking
up from my final operation and opening my eyes to see if I could still see.
Many of you will have followed me on Facebook during my period in
hospital, and you will have seen the comments that I have made. I do apologise
now if I chatted too much, but it so helped me. I do hope much of what I said
made some sense.
Yes it's true I became an Abba fan once again with my very favourite
piece of music being "Move On" - listen to it, and to the words. I
felt that that music and the words more than anything else expressed how I was
feeling at that precise moment in time, but more importantly what God was
saying to me. I still feel it.
I also found myself chatting much more with my fellow patients on the
wards, particularly once they found out that I was an Anglican priest. They
wanted to know about every issue from what the church spends its millions on to
what did I think of the new Archbishop of Canterbury – whose name was announced
whilst I was in hospital. I was able to engage with all these questions, and
able to answer hundreds more - many of which stemmed from some strange views
nonchurch people have of the church today, about what it teaches, and how it
operates. I also acquired the nickname "Father Ted" which pleased me
greatly, although I have to say I have never seen the program in my life,
although I know what it is about.
Those wonderful people, along with all those who looked after us, were,
and remain in my prayers. I was fascinated by the doctors and their daily
rounds each morning. They would arrive at my bed at 7:25am every morning and
they would ask me how I was, and they would know all that had happened to me
the previous day - they had read up all about me even at that unearthly hour.
And it was all done with military precision, with respect always being
shown to the Consultant, or the Senior Fellow or the Registrar - whoever was
the senior. And other people in other beds would have different teams coming to
visit the at the same time - all extremely exciting! A bit like Doncaster
Railway station, or any mainline station, with all the hustle and bustle, and
the comings and goings.
I was able to set up quite a rapport with these doctors, many of whom
would have been younger than my own children, and I was able to make them laugh
as well. I was even able to make them laugh just before my major operation –
and this pleased me greatly.
A sideline which I got involved in, was when one of the teaching
registrars (QMC and City are part of the University and are teaching hospitals)
came to ask me if he could use me as a "patient" for his doctors in
training - and whilst I was in QMC he, along with 5 or 6 of his students came
to see me at least 6 times and try and diagnose what was wrong with me, and
what the appropriate course of action would be.
Anyway, back to the real thing - my tumour, my spine, my cage, my cement,
and the bolts and screws needed to keep it in place. As my operation approached
- I soon realised that I was in fact having two operations – or rather one
procedure and one operation.
The operation took place on Thursday, 1st November, and the day before I
went into the theatre to have a stent inserted in my groin which was threaded
through my main artery up the spine to where the tumour was. It was then
inserted into the tumour to drain all the blood. If there was too much blood in
the tumour at the time of the operation, it would possibly mean the operation
could not take place.
So that takes us up to the procedure, and the operation. On both days I
remember going down to theatre, and then while waiting for my slot, being cared
for by some wonderful people. I remember the person more vividly before the
operation on the Thursday. She totally put me ay ease. I chatted with her for
what seemed like ages. I assumed she had been a nurse, as she was dressed like
one, but no, she started out working at QMC as a baker, and responded to an
in-house job advert after working in the bakery for over 20 years. I am
assuming she had been a good bakery, but she was excellent at the job she was
now doing. She was also a practicing Christian, and part of our discussion revolved
around how important it is to be Christ-focused in our lives.
So then came the injection, followed each day by 5 or 6 hours of sleep,
and don't remember anything else at all.
But before I closed my eyes, I did have a feeling that despite all I had
had to sign, and all that had been said to me about the possibility of things
not going to plan, I did have a feeling that all would be well.
How different to last time, when all seemed so bleak, God seemed very
close, and more than that, he was using me to get his message across in a way I
had never been used before. I have always been of the opinion that in our
vulnerability, God speaks so powerfully through us.
Not that I compare myself at all with St Paul, but that was his thinking,
and here I was, completely vulnerable, being used so powerfully by our loving
God.
WOW!!
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