When you live with a body that never gets things right, well, eventually, nothing ever surprises you. Doing something incorrectly is as second nature to my body, as breathing is.
If you live in Scotland and you are aged over 50, every two years they send you out a bowel cancer test kit. All you have to do is supply a smear of your stools, from three separate dates within a ten day period, then post it back to them. It’s that simple and free, so to not do it, seems rather silly. I have to admit that I didn’t do the first one when it arrived, as it arrived on my 50th birthday, not exactly something that filled me with joy, in fact, I put it in the bin. Well, I already knew without someone rubbing it in, just how old I had become. Three weeks ago, my third test kit arrived and I once more set out to comply with their wishes. It all sounds really easy and it is, but when you have problems both with twisting your body and with your dexterity, well, it adds a new level of complexity to the whole thing. Once complete, I put it back in it’s prepaid envelope and asked Adam to post it, then set about life as always, and as always, forgetting all about it.
On Thursday morning Adam opened the post, he’s on holiday again this week, as he had more time off to take, to use up his annual leave before April. Amongst the mail was a letter for me, they had found blood in my sample. I knew there can be a lot of reasons for that and what they found was so tiny, that I’ve never seen the slightest sign of it, but it meant that I had to do the test all over again. Unfortunately, I am in the position that I can rule out two of the most come reasons, I don’t have piles or haemorrhoids. How can I be so sure? Simple, I have an internal examination from the district nurses when they give me my enema, that has now been three times a week, for nearly two years. They have never found anything, and I have never felt any pain. So when they say that there can be many reasons for blood being there, I can get rid of the two most likely ones, without even thinking about it.
I can only think that it is because I am so used to my body doing things that it shouldn’t, that I find myself in an odd position, I’m not actually worried about it at all. I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t slightly concerned but I’m not scared in any way. In fact, I am more worried about the possibility that I may have to have yet another endoscope, rather than what it might even find. For me, it has to be the worst process that I have ever had to go through, not so much the endoscope itself, but the preparation that you have to go through, the day before. I have had three endoscope investigations, all well in the past and I really don’t understand how anyone, actually drinks the two litres of that disgusting stuff they give you to clean out your insides. Not once have I managed to drink it all. How anyone could possibly drink two litres of anything in under two hours, totally bemuses me. It is for that reason alone, that I have found myself praying that no blood shows up in this second test kit.
I may be unworried, but from the second that Adam read the letter out to me, I could hear and see that he doesn’t share my calmness. Despite the fact that he has lived through every single little trauma that my life brings with it for the past 19 years, he has never become any better at putting it aside until there is something proven to worry about. I’m quite sure that he worries more about me than I do on any given day, but when something happens like this, I watch it take its toll on him over and over. In fact, I have always believed that the cruellest things that chronic illness does, isn’t to us who have it, but it’s on those who love us. We know how bad the pain truly is, how difficult daily life is, and every single thing that we feel or happens to us, but they don’t. All they have is their imagination and I know myself, just how dangerous a good imagination is.
I don’t think there is a single illness on this planet, that I haven’t imagined that I may have had at one time or another. When your doctors can’t tell you what is wrong with you, well imagination is the only thing that we have. It took them nearly 20 years to actually pin down that I have PRMS, so I know what it’s like to watch a body do things that there is no explanation for, but even back then, I knew its extent, if not its cause. I still remember what it was like to live like that, and I can see clearly its effect on Adam. Worse still, it doesn’t matter what I say or how I try to show him there is nothing to worry about, he still worries. Reading that letter tore him apart, and despite his attempts to show a calm face, I saw his pain and concern as he read it to me.
I thought that in time, he would see that worry did nothing but make him feel bad and the things that he worried about, never proved themselves to be bad as he thought. Time seems to have taught him nothing, or maybe, he just has a way of seeing only the worst possibility in front of him. Either way, there is nothing I seem to be able to do or say, to calm him. It just isn’t right, that my health should cause him such pain.
Please read my blog from 2 years ago today – 16/03/2015 – Ups and downs
Two Rooms Plus Utilities 