The Eyes Speak Volumes
About three months into lockdown, I began to feel something was not right. It was nothing I could put my finger on, just a general malaise. However, I did voice my concerns about cancer of the blood to my doctor. Why? I don’t know. My doctor looked at me, didn’t say anything but ordered a battery of blood tests. Everything was fine: I didn’t have leukaemia. I was as fit as a fiddle. The only weird thing was that at night my chest itched and I sometimes suffered from constipation, which was unusual for me.
Fast forward six months. I was experiencing some stomach discomfort. It felt as if I was having a heavy period; it felt gynaecological. Then I experienced two very uncomfortable evenings. I tried to make an appointment with my gynae, but he was fully booked so I went on the waiting list. In the interim I saw two other gynaecologists because I felt I couldn’t wait. They both examined me; they both said nothing was wrong.
I was still not happy so I made an appointment with a gastroenterologist. That was a disappointment because he was extremely unprofessional: not only did he not examine my tummy, but was quite happy to remove his mask and drink coffee. At the end of the consultation, he gave me something for constipation and told me to come back in six weeks.
I was still not satisfied, so I saw another gastroenterologist, who was much, much better. Following this second appointment I had a colonoscopy, which was clear. Following the colonoscopy, I was lucky enough to get to see ‘my’ gynae. During this consultation I had an ultra sound which showed a rather large mass on my left ovary behind which was some ‘free fluid’. My gynae told me he didn’t know what this meant and sent me to Mater Dei for blood tests the next day – a Saturday. He also referred me to his partner – an ultrasound fundi - for a second opinion. During that consultation, my gyne’s partner mentioned the word ‘hysterectomy’ which shocked me to the core. And even though he was wearing a mask I could see that he was concerned.
One thing I have learned during this time of Covid, is that the eyes speak volumes.
The blood tests came back and all the signs were good and both doctors were pleased. Despite this, I was booked for both a CAT-scan and an MRI, but over a month later. However, the next day there was a cancellation and I was called for a Cat-scan.
It’s a small world: the radiographer was the ex-boyfriend of my boss. He was very kind and patient and we made small talk. He explained the procedure, how the dye would feel as it went into my veins and so on. But after the Scan he seemed changed: he had difficulty looking me in the eye. The strange thing is, my gut feeling told me that he wasn’t being rude, but was simply avoiding any discussion about what he had seen. That was worrying.
By this point I was desperate for answers about what was wrong with me. I had two options: take myself to Mater Dei Emergency Department, or try to put pressure on my gynae. I chose the latter. I got in touch with my gynae’s assistant, Ms G, and told her about my concerns.
That woman deserves a medal. She is an absolute star! She got my tests brought forward, and showed such kindness, warmth, empathy and compassion. She was, quite literally, a life saver.
