After Meg had started to take her Growth Hormones for two weeks, she started to have severe migraines. From never having had any before, I did seem to think that this was more than a coincidence. At first, it was put down to being congested (having Turners meant that her tubes are tiny, so normal colds were always an issue, imagine every time you had a cold it would last for weeks, you could NEVER clear your nose, and it would immediately go into your ears, something everybody else can shrug off and put up with can quickly escalate into a miserable month of being proper poorly). We rang the hospital, and were asked to go in for a check up. It was decided that she would have to come off it, and re-start in two weeks on a lower dose. She continued to have debilitating migraines on a regular basis, and everybody just assumed that it was just 'bad luck'. A plethora of medication was tried to suppress, and relieve her symptoms, but she was not right for many years.
It was one Friday evening three years ago, that she came into my bedroom:
"Errm Mum?"
"Yes?"
"I keep losing the sight in my eyes, not all the time, but every now and again…"
"You've probably got some fluff in it or something, go and wash your face, it'll probably sort it out." (isn't it amazing how washing your face, or splashing some cold water on it will CURE everything!)
"Okay, night."
"Night."
The next morning, I asked if her eyes were better.
"Not really mum, it keeps going funny."
Perhaps it was the 'aura' that everybody kept telling us about with the migraines?
I decided not to take any chances, and took her to A & E to our nearest hospital. She was monitored, they looked in her eyes, and said…
"She seems ok, probably just migraine."
And we were discharged, just like that.
On the Sunday, her vision loss episodes were getting longer and longer, and her headache was at a level 8.
I rang Arlene on the Monday and asked her advice. Meg was usually a hard nut when it came to her pain level, she had had many accidents over the years, (mainly by her running into stationary items, such as trees, cars, boats…. She even managed to cut the circulation completely off in her wrist by tying a hairband around her wrist and sleeping with it on all night - in the morning, her hand looked like a marigold glove blown up and sprayed purple, and actually, that wasn't the first time she nearly lost a limb, she nearly lost her finger, when the end of it exploded like a cartoon cigar - but still she never winced or cried) so for her to be complaining of severe headache, which wasn't being pacified with any pain relief, I knew was bad news. It was decided I would get a second opinion at The Eye A & E (situated in the same hospital). So we made our way over and waited…. and waited…. and waited…. FIVE hours. We were finally called in at 5.00 pm.
I knew something was amiss when the Opthamologist frowned after looking at the back of her eyes and sat back, and then looked again. Twice.
"She has some swelling around the optic nerves on both eyes." he stated
"Yes, and?" like I had a bloody clue what he was talking about….
"I just want to scan the eyes."
"Ok."
We were ushered into another room where they did an ultrasound over her eyes. I didn't even realise you could have an ultrasound over your eyes!
"You will have to go up to A & E Childrens, and be seen by a Consultant there."
"What for?" I said, "And I'm not waiting another 5 hours!"
"They will decide what treatment she will need, I will ring them immediately to let them know you are on your way."
Meg and I made our way up to casualty, talking about what we would be having for tea when we finally got home, and other mundane everyday normal things.
However, when we were greeted by the Ward Sister at the door, something made my stomach flip - and not in a good way.
"Megan Cubitt and Mum?"
"Yes."
"Come straight through, we are expecting you. I'll let the Consultant know you're here."
Meg and I looked at each other and raised our eyebrows, both of us surprised by the welcoming reception.
We had only just sat down in a room just off the nurses station, when there was a sharp knock at the door, and in came The Consultant (who was a lovely lady), and two nurses.
"Hi Megan!" She smiled directly at Meg, and turned and introduced herself to me, hand outstretched. I shook it, but caution made me hesitant in returning the welcome. She plonked herself next to Meg and said, "Right then young lady, I think you are going to need a scan." I don't think we can get you one tonight (it was 6.30 pm by this time), and I'm not going to make you stay overnight, but Mummy will have to bring you in first thing tomorrow morning."
'A scan on her eyes.' I thought. 'Ok, that's fine.' Panic over.
Then she turned to me, "I need to speak in depth to the Opthamologist first, and then I will ring you at home with a time for her MRI, swollen optic nerves can be caused by many things, usually something pressing on the brain."
I didn't hear anymore after that. I just stared at Meg, and can remember, repeating over and over again, 'just get home… just get home… just get home…'
Walking out of the hospital, I remained overly upbeat, trying to protect Meg from anything else that would be thrown at her, and making life 'normal'.
When we got home, I had to run up to the loo (how normal is that!), and picked up the washing to bring down on my way (again, normal..) then phone rang. I hadn't even had chance to speak to Craig yet!
He handed me the phone, "It's the hospital?"
"Hello."
"Hello, is that Megans Mum?"
"Yes."
"Right, I've spoken to the Opthamologist, and a the MRI department, I can get Meg in first thing tomorrow morning - about 8.30 am, do you think you could bring her in for 8 o'clock?"
"Yes that will be fine."
"You might want to pack an overnight bag."
"Why is that?"
"I have to tell you that we're looking for a tumour, because that's how it's presenting."
"Where?" my voice getting quieter
"On her brain, I'm so sorry to tell you this over the phone, but I want you to be prepared."
"Ok, thank you."
"Try to get some sleep and I will see you tomorrow."
"Thank you." (why are we always so bloody polite in times of anguish!)
I put the phone down.
"They think she's got a brain tumour." I said to Craig.
"We can't lose her." I managed to whisper, before the true horror of the situation took over me, I thought I was going to collapse, I had never felt fear like it, nor do I ever want to have that feeling again.
Then both girls ran into the kitchen…
"WE'RE STARVING!"
No time to fall apart, the birds needed feeding, and tomorrow was fast approaching like an bullet train. I was standing on the track with no way out.
No comments:
Post a Comment