See No Evil

Apart from a slightly droopy eyelid and the whites of my eyes stained a yellowish red still with the aftermath of the surgery- you can’t really see my OM. It’s not particularly visible to a stranger, and even people that know you start to presume that you’re clearly ‘fixed’ now as it’s been 2 months since the op. I don’t feel fixed- fixed isn’t really where we are heading for. Some scaffolding is probably a more appropriate way of describing plaque radiotherapy. It does its job and we’ve just got to hope that it holds up the foundations it’s supporting. Having hugged my children and the dog this morning I head off to the lead lined department of radiology and nuclear medicine. Armed with homemade carrot cake and a separate box of frosting for my post scan snack. 6 hours of no food prior to this one so that there’s nothing present in your system that would confuse the radioactive infusion markers while they course through my veins searching for anything nasty to light up. The rest of my day will be very quiet as I have to keep a distance from those youngest and smallest around me. It’s funny how the children take these days as being the new normal. No-one should have to do this as part of daily life but there are thousands of us that do. Moving forward with the week I’m so excited to actually finally meet some fellow OMies at a task force meeting set up by our charity. A wonderful opportunity to put our heads together and make discoveries about each other’s journeys. There’s so few places and specialists that treat this disease it’s vital that we are all cared for the same. Having spoken out again on BBC3 counties radio health programme, I’m still determined to make a difference to people with OM, myself included. I think I’ve actually come to terms with all this now. It’s still such a short period of time to process it all, but like anything that’s ever been thrown at me, I do feel I’ve begun to accept the details and embraced the opportunity to make something positive from it all. It does help with the whole moving forward process.               ****Break for Scan**** Scan done, back on train, carrot cake in! I’m sat alone, deliberately. There’s very few people on the train and the nearest to me are male adults anyway. Heading back home where I’ll flop. An hour in the ‘Big Blue Chair’ while the juice roams round, then lying still, stock still, with your arms strapped by your sides for 45 minutes in the scanner is unbelievably hard work and very uncomfortable. I feel tired; waiting, yet again, for answers and results.