Ding ding! Ready for round three everyone??

The latest adventures from Chicken HQ 🙂

So you know when I was last here – (circle back a year) – and I was just a-bloggin for the pure enjoyment?? I hadn’t had any hilarious, undignified treatment – just having a good old laugh at the expense of COVI-Dad!

Suffice to say, he’s made one mask (or, nosebag, as he likes to call it) last 14 months; he’s nearly been kicked out of the Common Room (primarily because he said that only common people go in there); he’s mounted a patio revolution when they wouldn’t let residents even go out on there during lockdown; and, guess what, he’s still bloody here, at now ninety flippin two!

So here are ladies and gents (Keith: you’re exempt), basking in the beauty of lockdown for what – 18 years now??  Who can bloody remember anyway? The last time I went to get my legs waxed the poor old Welsh farmer just turned me back on to my legs and shooed me away.

Latest news at Camp Chicken. Lovely lush lung cancer IS BACK. Woo hoo!!! It’s absolutely no problem. They said it would be more likely to come back than the old boob one – and, sure enough, 18 months after surgery to remove the top right lobe, the little old git has popped back to say hello. Welcome!

My right side has obviously had great reviews on TripAdvisor – because the new one has nestled itself RIGHT BY THE LOBE THEY REMOVED.  Must be the lovely views, the accommodating host – who knows? Everyone needs a repeat booking, let’s face it!

I had a routine scan in April. No problem; I’d had one six months after the first operation, and all was fine – so I was expecting the same. The only tiny thing which had been niggling was that I had been coughing in a different way (not a COVI way obvs!) and, I had unexplained fatigue.

Work had been very full on and stressful so I put the latter down to that. No more thought about it.

The day after the scan, my much beloved Oncologist, calls me.

Him: “Morning. Found something”

Me: “Is that a question or a statement?”

Him: “There’s an avid spiculate mass in the lower right lobe.”

Me: “Erm, it’s half past three I think? What are you on about?”

Him: “I will get RAM to see you.”

Me: I’m not a flippin sheep and I can’t have babies any more – do I need to go to the vet??

Him: “I’m retiring. You are my last patient. You have been fun. Good luck.”

Me: ?????

Some weeks later, I arrive at the hospital to see RAM.

RAM is called RAM because his surname actually contains 24 characters. So, as the best lung oncologist in the county, with not many of his Sri Lankan colleagues at hand for me to be able to familiarise myself or even pretend to be good at language, RAM it is.

RAM explains that at the current moment, there is little to offer me. Until the surgeon has a look, we can’t make a plan. As soon as I get to see the cutter, we will have a better idea. Fine.

Some bloody weeks later, I get an invitation to go for a ‘RIGID bronchoscopy’. OOOOOOh! I am not entirely sure what that means apart from, I’ll get to see Mr Actual Dreamboat (aka consultant surgeon Dr Ding Dong!) Things are looking up!

You will not believe it but I only got my fave gas man, Rasputin again!!

Him: ‘Vat are you doing here again?’

Me: “Dunno – ask my lungs!”

Him: ‘Zis part easy – I take care ov you.”

…at which point, he shoves a mask (no, not that kind!) over my face and off I go to the land of la…la…la.

Wind forward two weeks. Results are in.

The little blighter is growing around the main airway into my right lung.

We can have ‘radical radiotherapy’ to try to blitz it.  But – only puts us in a maintenance position.

Or….

We can have the whole right lung removed. Quite a risky operation – and doesn’t account for what would happen if it popped up in the left lung in the future. I’d be a bit lung-less! Hmm!

Well, without too many clues, I’d say – if it were Chinese Medicine, we’d call our decision: One Lung Go.

We chose number 2.

I had my pre-op today. Typical – the hottest day so far and there I am, in my hospital pants and sensible dress, having all sorts of tests and bits taken. I had student nurse A; who was lovely – but I can’t help thinking it could have been fairly early in her training.

‘ooooh! I’ve never worked an ECG machine befaw!’

I’m lying prone in pants (and, my friends, pants only, and those sensible white ones I never wanted anyone to see, ever) – but Nurse A is befuddled; needs to go and get her supervisor. I’m certain she was rushing off to make sure things got done quickly; however, she left the door ajar for all to come and wonder why anyone would wear such pants, who on earth made them – and more to the point, what idiot actually buys them?

Bits, bloods, obs and pant shame, we are done. I get sent home with a disinfectant shower and hair wash confection to use (not fans of a bar of Dove and L’Oréal, these spoilsports), and back I come.

In 7 days I’ll part with an unappreciated friend I’ve had for 54 years. So what? I’m fairly good at getting cancer in things I’ve got two of; a back up is handy. Here’s hoping the next one is of the toe 😂😂😂

I have 7 days to have fun with my lung – he’s coming out next week.

Stay with me, Chickettes!