Ovareactions

I recounted the happenings of the past few days, expecting to be interrupted or dismissed. But Mr Byron¹ listened. He asked questions. He expressed concern. He couldn’t believe I’d been discharged from Sandwell. After performing an internal examination, he confirmed there was definitely something on the left ovary and ordered further tests to investigate. The next day, I returned to the Priory for blood tests, and the following day for a TV ultrasound. It was this ultrasound that sparked major concern for Mr Byron. What I found most alien about private healthcare is how accessible the consultants are. Mr Byron kept in touch via email, sending me his report the day after the scan.

“The scan showed a complex left ovarian cyst with cystic and solid components of 10x10cm which gives the impression of a complex ovarian tumour which will need urgent [sic]. We will be awaiting the tumour markers and the MRI results and then we can decide on the way forward.”

The following day, as a little Valentine’s Day treat, I went for an MRI scan. Another thing that amazed me about private healthcare – how quickly everything moves. When you’re promised something, it actually happens. It’s like a teaser of what the NHS could (and should) be like if we actually had a government that looked after it properly. In the meantime, I’d received a call rescheduling my cancelled appointment. 23rd February at… Sandwell. Where a couple of days ago they ‘didn’t have the specialists’.

The day after my MRI scan, I received an email from Mr Byron asking if he could call me on the 17th February. I convinced myself and everyone around me that it must be good news. He doesn’t want to speak to me immediately! He doesn’t want to see me face-to-face! It must be fine! On the day of the call though, I felt an internal panic. I didn’t want to admit it but I knew what he was going to say. Getting a cancer diagnosis isn’t like the movies. At least, it wasn’t for me. There was no collapsing in tears in a doctor’s office after being told by a sullen-faced doctor ‘I’m so sorry, you have cancer’. Instead, I was being FaceTimed in my parents’ living room by a doctor I had met for the first time a week ago. He explained in detail that my blood tests were ‘suspicious’. He flagged two tumour markers – CA-125 and alpha-fetoprotein (AFP). My CA-125 marker was 64 (the normal range is 0-35). There are a number of reasons why CA-125 can spike, including menstruation and uterine fibroids, so this marker alone wasn’t completely indicative of cancer. But teamed with the AFP marker, it was pretty clear what was going on. The normal range for healthy adults is 0-10. Mine was 728. It’s still unclear why this wasn’t picked up on at Sandwell. We’ve since requested my medical records and can see that someone had questioned the AFP levels on one of my blood tests, and yet nothing was done about it. There’s an ongoing investigation into what went wrong – the only outcome I want is for this not to happen to anyone else.

Mr Byron explained the results were indicative of a germ cell tumour and was quick to say how well they respond to treatment. The MRI hadn’t shown any spread. My liver looked good, there was no obvious free fluid and no lymph nodes. It seemed to be isolated to my left ovary, which he explained would most likely need to be removed. I can only recount all of this because we recorded the call. When you’re being fed so much information about things you barely understand, you don’t take it in. I’ve only just listened back to the call. Well, the first few minutes. I can’t bring myself to listen to the full twenty minutes. I can tell I was barely comprehending any of it; all I was repeating in response to everything was ‘okay’, like my brain was glitching.

Mr Byron detailed the next steps. He’d refer me to his colleague, Mr Baxter, a gynae oncologist at both the Priory and City. Another thing I learnt about private healthcare – a lot of the consultants primarily work for the NHS. The NHS has a lot of the the same expertise as the private hospitals but lacks the resource and funding to always utilise it in the same way. The care and attention I received at the Priory was possible because Mr Byron wasn’t also having to juggle incoming emergencies with running his clinic.

I met with Mr Baxter at the Priory the next day. He examined me again, reiterated what they knew so far, and explained that surgery at City would be the next step. All I could do now was wait. I wasn’t waiting long. Two days later, Mr Baxter called me and told me to pack a bag. It was a Sunday evening and Lambros’ family were visiting. I’d just ordered a takeaway from Yakinori for us. I’m still annoyed I didn’t get to eat my pumpkin katsu curry. There was a bed ready for me at City and surgery was planned for the next day. It was just the beginning of a whirlwind few months.

¹All names have been changed.