the good cancer

April 10Th 2008. the day the good cancer appeared. Unexpected, unwelcome but with a vibrancy and tenacity to expand its residency throughout my body. The good cancer is entitled Hodgkin's Lymphoma. I euphemistically entitle it the 'good cancer' (even though to me good cancer is an oxymoron) because every specialist since the announcement of its arrival has proclaimed it in no uncertain terms to be the cancer of choice. The cancer that only affects 1 in 25,000 people in Australia and is one of the most treatable and curable forms of cancer. So I will give you a short history of how the 'pea' as my cancerous lymph node is labeled showed up or should I say stuck out.

It was a couple of weeks ago when I had been going for a regular MRI scan of my head, neck and spine. The reason I was getting regular MRI scans will have to be explained in a later blog as it is its own elaborate and very elusive discussion spring board. It was 8am on a Friday morning when a neurological registrar from St Vincents hospital rang me to explain that although my brain scan was clear the radiologist had found enlarged cysts in my chest region. I casually explained to the doctor that lumps were a common occurrence in my family and therefore there was no need to worry or more importantly to do further investigation. She explained that actually there was a chance the 'lumps' could be malignant and it was therefore important to undergo a plethora of tests, invasive procedures and prodding and to see a Haematologist to discuss my progress....

Blood tests and bone marrow biopsies complete I went to visit the Haematologist in the hospital's 'cancer clinic'. It was the first time the word Cancer and myself had been in close proximity and instantly I knew we were not friends. In the waiting room was an assortment of people suffering from or waiting for diagnosis in relation to cancer. So the stereotypical bald heads and ill looking members were present yet so were a plethora of healthy looking individuals casually perusing gossip magazines and watching Kerry Ann on TV. One gentlemen in his 70's (who I entitled the electric toothbrush) didn't have a voice box anymore and was talking with an amplifying device put against the hole in his throat. This was the soundtrack of the moments before going in to discuss my next stage of diagnosis and possible cancer, Kerry Ann discussing the benefits of juicing cabbage for younger looking skin and the electric toothbrush chatting to his wife imitating a monotonous and syncopated robot.

the doctor was upbeat and stated that he believed quite strongly that I didn't have lymphoma due to my lack of symptoms and that my lymph nodes were not pronounced besides a small pea on my neck just above my collar bone. With this said, and especially by someone from the medical profession and therefore the oracle of "empirical knowledge" I gained alot more confidence. Confidence that I would be diagnosed with some bizarre immune disorder or perhaps an allergy to the ink from my nearly acquired tattoo that was sketched into my back with traditional bamboo and needle contraption on the beach of Thailand (thankyou google doctor for alerting me to the connection between tattoo ink and lymphatic disorders).

The pea was removed the next Monday and by Wednesday the doctor rang and stated that I should come in tomorrow (a week earlier than I was supposed to). He said that the surgeon had said that he had observed that the lymph node that he removed in my neck looked suspiciously cancerous. The haematologist would have a results of the biopsy by tomorrow morning when I came to the hospital.

So I was greeted by the doctor with a knowing grin and the opening line of 'do you want the good or the bad news'. To this proclamation I instantly thought that due to there being good news, it must be that I didn't have lymphoma. So I asked for the bad news in which he stated that I did have 'Hodgkin's lymphoma' to that I wondered and then asked 'what the hell is the good news?' I am not sure how many times my haematologist had used this opening sentence to disclose to a patient that they had cancer. To this I wish to offer some personal and friendly advice. When someone is being diagnosed with a malignant disease such as cancer (of any form) you don't fucken tell them there is good news. You inform them unfortunately that cancer was found and then you allow the weight, the magnitude and the heaviness of the situation to lay upon the people in the room. For those immediate seconds is when the brain although possibly in shock and complete disbelief begins to breath in the thick and gelatinous air of the nearly acquired diagnosis. The heart sinks, the saliva quickly disappears from the mouth and the stomach begins to churn. For after that second and for the presenting future you have cancer.

the good cancer