Google & the curse of curiosity

I woke up early this morning (Monday) worrying.  And after a while it occurred to me that if I had not googled my condition I would still be feeling fairly gung-ho about things, I would regard what they had seen as an anomaly but would be sure that everything would be all right.  I would worry that they wanted to see me so soon, and the possibility of cancer would have crossed my mind, but because I googled it now I am mentally writing farewell letters, sorting out my will and choosing music for my funeral... (well, I've been doing that for years).  And yet, I know that in the unlikely (?) event that it is VC - the most likely outcome is total recovery - the likelihood of my having the "other sort" is very unlikely - and I feel well (because I haven't started treatment yet?).

So what I hope is that - when they re-examine me they find the abrasion has faded to nothing, everything looks healthy again, and they decide it was something anomalous.  I want to tell people - but so far I've only told Mark, Finn and Marion.  I think if I tell everyone it may be something dramatic I will feel foolish if it turns out to be something innocent.

I can see that part of this issue for me is about getting attention - and if I have a serious disease, I am entitled to attention - in a way that I don't feel entitled most of the time.  But this is a topic for another place.

Other possibilities....

A little light research (clue: look up the treatments and that can lead you to the disease).   I discovered that there is a condition called vaginal epithelial neoplasia... in other words new growth on the epithelial tissue (which is not the same as skin - but the sort of material that covers internal organs, glands etc. ).  Again, I'm not quite sure whether this is the same as vaginal abrasion - or whether it should spontaneously throw out cups of blood occasionally.  However, the interesting thing about it is that (as I had suspected) in 80% of cases it is caused by human papilloma virus.

Many years ago the sexual partner who bashed about a lot had a case of genital warts - as a result of which I was forced to have annual cervical smears for many years, until it was deemed that I was safe - some years after we had ceased to be married.  Oh dear. I do hope this isn't a long delayed reaction, but yesterday I was thinking about all the possible things that could have caused it and I'm afraid J's genital warts did come to mind. I'm sure it can't be - it's way too long ago - 25 years probably since we last had sex - well - 23 years at the absolute minimum (I can't remember, but I think we did have some post-marital sex at some point).  Surely that can't be it.

Not fibroids - something worse?

WARNING: this entry describes female anatomy - men of a sensitive disposition may prefer not to read on. 

I had a scan today - there is not  a sign of fibroids... my womb is totally healthy... hurray.  But what is causing the bleeding?  After an uncomfortable encounter with a speculum (to think those women's health feminists used to use them for self-examination apparently quite cheerfully) the gynaecologist declared that I had abrasion at the top of my vagina.  "There is bruising there".  Once upon a time I had a long-standing sexual partner who seemed to think that size WAS everything - and used, unwittingly, to subject my interior to a considerable amount of bashing about.  I was young, I protested a bit, but not enough, because I didn't want to hurt his feelings.  I tried to encourage him to do things properly...rather unsuccessfully on the whole -  but that was twenty odd years ago now, so I don't think that was where the bruising came from.  Mr O - who seems older and more grizzled than when I met him last (as I would too, were it not for my hair appointment yesterday) said he would give me another seeing to with the speculum with a fortnight, but this time he would use a microscope to examine the cells in this abraded area.  He said this sort of thing usually happened to women who used vaginal pessaries (not guilty) or after an hysterectomy (ditto).  He expected he might do a biopsy with a local anaesthetic next time.   Did he have any idea?  "It's definitely not fibroids."  "It hasn't bled for several days" I said  "It's bleeding now"  he replied - true, he'd shown me a rusty red swab prior to shoving into its plastic test tube and sending to the Path Lab.

In the car on the way home I was upset.  I allowed a tear or two to escape from my stern countenance. They hadn't said cancer, but that was clearly on their agenda.  I had a quick prayer, told God I was willing to die, if time was up - said it really didn't matter about the books.  Said at least I'd had a few years since the last horror.  I realised that all my stuff about coming from a non-cancer family was just bravado, why should I be safe, just because there was no genetic tendency? - lots of cancer (most?) is environmental.    Then I told myself to stop being melodramatic - they hadn't said anything about cancer - this was all my imagination, I was channelling La Dame aux Camellias - hoping I would be able to retire to a chaise lounge while all my former lovers arrived to have poignant conversations with me (ou sont les neiges d'antan....)

When I got home at 11.00 I realised the reason my legs were shaking was probably low blood sugar, so I treated myself to a beetroot and herring wrap - since I need to stay healthy I suppose (or should I just give in now and take up a gin,pork scratchings and cake diet?).   Then I went to Google "vaginal abrasion" - and discovered it can probably be treated with cider vinegar and/or yoghurt (wrong website) - I hunted for a long time to find anything about it that was not about abrasion caused by rough sex.  I found it eventually, by searching for "cervical abrasion" - and bingo - a lovely BMA website - full of technical language which mercifully a classical education allows one to understand (I knew it would come in useful one day).  And that was where I discovered vaginal carcinoma.  

Cancer of the fanny - it's not exactly dinner party conversation is it?  This will be the kind of disease, if I prove to have it, which will be a bit hard to talk about without frightening the horses.  And you don't hear much about it because it's the most uncommon of the gynaecological cancers (so at least it's exclusive - in a way).  There are two kinds, a pretty unpleasant kind that kills people quickly, usually young girls, peak age 17-21.  So I probably don't have that sort, and the other kind - squamous cell carcinoma - better known in its manifestation as a common skin cancer - the slow-growing kind that you can have for years which metastatizes in the lungs or liver.  Well, I think we know what happens to people with liver cancer - but let's just wait.  

There is another slight possibility - skin thinning as a result of the menopause and lack of oestrogen.   But given that I was awarded the Queens Award for Industry for Services to Oestrogen production only 2 years ago that doesn't sound very probable..  despite being the proud possessor of a Mirena coil which is manfully pumping progestogen into me.

Fortunately although rare, the common form of VC (yes, I may be getting the VC for courage in the face of quotidian dreariness) is very treatable - but in any case I don't know it's that - it's just that I can't find any other condition where this abrasion occurs.  The good news is that if it is VC then there is actually a cream - can you believe it? - that works in the majority of cases.  Failing that internal and external radiotherapy (side effects - "burning sensations" - don't they just mean burning?).  At the last resort there is our old chum the radical hysterectomy (abeste profanes!) - but at the moment I'm telling myself "it will all be over by Christmas!".   I guess if they get going swiftly and I do need radiotherapy it could be complete by Christmas... 

Anyway, that's just the worst case scenario - perhaps this abrasion was the result of the hysteroscopy in December 2011? I was thinking of taking to my bed for the next few weeks after reading all this, but then I decided it would be a shame to spoil my energetic mood, so I ate some chocolate and carried on!

Brain de-tox from Betty Herbert

 This is a nice idea - having an autumn brain de-tox, Betty (whom I met last year, but don't know very well, despite having read the first chapter of a book about her sex life) has suggested doing several things on a daily basis, and another few things on a monthly basis.

On a daily basis she suggests : Read something*/meditate or write morning pages*/look at the sky*/get out of breath

Over the month: see a film you've always wanted to see*/spend an evening listening to music you really like*/visit an exhibition or an historical site*/take a long walk/do a crazy spontaneous thing*

This all sounds good - especially since I do most of these already (the ones I've asterisked) and actually, I do do spontaneous stuff - e.g. inviting people to dinner on a whim, signing up for a bagpipe workshop, etc - perhaps not often enough, but not so seldom.  So really, we are just looking at my regular life plus some exercise.

In a way I'm a bit disappointed, since I had hoped there would be a lot of cutting down on screen time involved, but there isn't.  The scheme is to start from Monday until 20th October and to see if one feels better.  I would like to up my reading - and writing, films are taken care of by LoveFilm - we are always going to exhibitions and historical sites... long walks, not so hot.  But perhaps we could do one over the weekend, weather permitting.  Across Stodmarsh from Grove Ferry to the Red Lion perhaps.

Not the last post...

Nah, not yet.   I was thinking of all the things I could blog about - but I have failed to remember any of them.  I am tired and lacking in passion - this does not make for a good blog.

Here are some of the topics I might have blogged about in the last few days:

The Pope's latest pronouncements "God Bless our Pope, the Great! The Good!"
The Nairobi massacre and its aftermath
Ed Milliband's speech
The terrible effect of writing on one's friends and family
Tom Taylor and his descendants
Life: is there any point?- with reference to an FB page...
Twitter - how to use it properly?  Is tweeting pert comments to agents really the way to get on in literature!
Taking a child to university
A Portuguese restaurant
Lovely weather
etc.

I am prepared to blog on demand - if you particularly wish to see my opinions and experiences on any of these topics let me know!

Last Blog

For the last few weeks I have been pestered by an advert for trading options that only appears when I use my blog.  It is very offputting.  It is for a company called Top Option and I am assuming it is appearing with Google's permission since it only appears here.  I don't know whether it appears to readers - but it is quite annoying as it often doesn't cancel when you click it.

I did not come to this site intending to blog about this - but now, boringly, I am.  I think if Google cannot fix it, I will decamp to wordpress - and this may also result in a new more professional method of blogging - less personal - more social/political.

Awkward synchronicity

I wonder what it is that makes the people we are close to behave badly almost instinctively just when we are trying to do our best for them.   I am probably guilty of this too - but at the moment I am experiencing a very annoying phenomenon that is repeated every year at Christmas, and indeed at other times of stress and entertaining.  This is when the person who is the chief beneficiary of the event, manages to fall ill, decide they can't function, leaving the chief workhorse to get progressively more exhausted.  I am currently becoming knackered in the process of preparing the vast Tom Taylor descendants' party on Saturday.  This involves considerable cleaning and cooking, but most horrifyingly, the cleaning.  And tidying up the garden.

For some reason I was so tired today that I dozed off on a sofa in a school corridor while Finn was having his music lesson.  When I got home I continued working for another hour or so, and at 6 o'clock told M that there was a great deal of stuffed pasta and could he prepare it.  I did not say "I'm not having supper" - but nevertheless, the 3 of them scoffed it all, even though Finn asked "is Mum not eating?".   Mark said I "hadn't said I wanted supper."   For the last 20 plus years supper has occurred at regular intervals, 99% of the time cooked by me, the other 1% being takeaways, spag carbonara or the boys cooking, usually when I was ill or knackered.  This week, knowing that I have to cook a vast feast on Saturday, I have slowed down the efforts a little.  But usually we all eat supper together unless someone specifies otherwise.   If is sad that after 20 years I can still be left breathless by his utter thoughtlessness and selfishness.  He doesn't mean it, he just doesn't think.

Sometimes in novels or on telly one comes across husbands who say things like "are you tired darling, do you want me to cook supper?" But presumably these are just fictional characters - no wait, I was married to someone once who cooked supper on his own initiative - regularly.  Obviously there's more to marriage than - but this isn't about supper, it's about consideration, inclusion even.  I don't actually believe M is aspergic, he's too emotionally sensitive in lots of ways.  I am not feeling as sensitive and touchy as I was 3 or 4 years ago.  Maybe I'm just hungry!  but it's upsetting, and once again I feel that all the efforts of the last 20 years are - well not wasted exactly, but I suppose I just can't imagine making supper and eating it with the boys.  But perhaps I should do that.  I don't know, he's apologetic - but I'm hurt.  I shouldn't be hurt, I should rise above it, I should think of all the positives.

Passive agression?
But the fact is, these things ALWAYS happen around about the times when I am making super-human efforts to create something good for the family - in this case the wider family. So they always have a sort of passive-aggressive side to them, as if he is saying "you think you can make me work on this family project, I don't want to - I'm going to be ill, and if I can't get away with that, I shall be unhelpful and obstructive."  I have asked him if he knows he does this, but he denies it.  But every year, as the Christmas events - his birthday (which I feel like cancelling this year), the DAY and my family's day all evoke these sort of responses from him.   Which is why for many years I've fantasised about going abroad - Rome and Egypt always seem appealing - but Provence would do.  Which is why...

Resentment
Yes, obviously, I do feel resentful.  I am trying hard to write, but am not getting a chance.  I am happy to do things for the greater good - it's part of my bleeding raison d'etre - but why can't these feel like a collective effort.  I don't want to direct all the activities, I don't want to be the organiser - Oh God, why did I marry someone with the organisational powers and strategic thinking of a - oh, I don't know - supply your own creature - even a duck billed platypus has probably got greater abilities in this area than M. I bloody well hope my reward will be in heaven - but occasionally I can't help wishing for an earthly reward too.