Winter of Discontent!

There must be easier ways to get a week off work! The last 5 weeks can only be described as unpleasantly interesting for both me and Caz. Between us, we have garnered a much more intimate relationship with the Falkland Islands medical service. Although this new friend has welcomed us with open arms and treated us extremely well, we will be trying our hardest to avoid eye contact if we see her passing in the street in future. I have to try and think of a good excuse for the next dinner party invite…

It's amazing that something so small and innocuous (well at least on the surface) could potentially wreak so much havoc. A change in shape, colour and feel of one of the numerous moles that pebble-dash my skin has resulted in 2 visits to the surgeon, a week off work and at least 4 weeks off running – although it could have been so much worse. 

So small... the contrasting colour and irregular shape was an issue.

Caz has a very 'say what she thinks/get on with it/jump into things head first' personality, which, on many occasions, has caused mild infuriation with my very much thoughtful and considered approach to life. However, on this occasion, I thank god Caz did pick up the phone, book my appointment and order me to go to the doctor. Without such metaphorical ignition of a rocket, I would have probably still been thinking about going months later. Such procrastination in this case could have had extremely serious consequences…  

2 weeks of rest meant getting back to my geeky younger days. 

The first excision.

Both doctor and surgeon took one look at the skin-borne offender and within 2 weeks of my first appointment, I found myself on the surgeon's table, nervously trying to banish images of glinting scalpels and long, dripping syringes from my overactive mind. The surgeon had decided to take a chunk of skin about the size of an eye-ball from my leg, under local anesthetic. The initial shock of having to have this procedure had, at least partially subsided (I had originally deluded myself into thinking that it would be a very minor nick with 1 or 2 stitches at most, followed by a couple of days of recovery and then carry on as normal) and it was just a case of getting it done and resting for 2 weeks, before the deep stitches were removed.

Having this removed under local was the oddest sensation. When the anesthetic did start to work properly, there was no pain. However, I could still feel everything he was doing. I couldn’t see anything, but knew exactly when and where he was cutting and then stitching. Heaven knows what having something like a caesarian is like. Once out, the mole was sent off to the UK for the biopsy. This would take about 4 weeks. I just had to wait now and take it easy for a couple of weeks. Easier said than done, but I survived! 

You know it's serious when you get interrupted in a lesson by the secretary, with a message to ring the surgeon as soon as possible. The results of the biopsy were here and he wanted to see me at lunchtime; and no he wouldn't discuss them on the phone. With the ongoing pressure of work, the running and Caz's tooth issue (see below); I had put this whole sorry business to the back of my mind. It had now been unceremoniously dragged to the front.

The results of the biopsy had come back as a malignant melanoma – I won't bore you with the details. These results then had to be sent onto a specialist for advice on the next steps, but it was looking like I would need further invasive treatment. The big factor in my favour was the earliness we had acted on this. I can't remember when I had first noticed the change in the mole's appearance, but it was certainly under 6 months. The surgeon was also confident that he had removed it all – he had opted for a wider than usual excision. However, they were pretty certain that I would need more removed as a precaution. It was just a question of how much more. If not too much, then he was able to perform the excision and close with sutures. If more than this, then I was looking at a flight back to the UK and then skin grafting. Gulp!

As it turns out, I was fortunate. The specialist had recommended the lesser excision so I was booked in for surgery 2 days later. This time I had to go under general. The area to be removed was significant and closing it would be much more challenging. 

More taken out the second time around. Now to just think of an impressive story to tell the grandchildren about the scar...

It was going to be another first for me. I had never been under general, so was suffering the usual irrational anxieties: will I wake up again…? Will I wake up too early in the middle of it all…? As expected, these fears were never realized, although the procedure did take a good hour, as he took more than he first intended and closing was tricky. I was, however, home by lunchtime, with an order to get my feet up and rest! I was now facing the agony and frustration of at least another 2 weeks rest, but fingers crossed, this should be the end of it.

In the middle of all this, Caz had her own medical (or rather dental) emergency. Prior to coming out here she had a back molar heavily filled. This has caused her endless problems ever since, and the little blighter decided to celebrate my birthday by throwing a party of its own in the form of a huge abscess. In fact it was quite amazing how much swelling appeared overnight. One emergency trip to the dentist later and Caz had a clutch of pills and potions to get rid of the infection before the illegal little raver could be evicted. Unfortunately, this was a stubborn devil and the infection got worse. In fact, according to the dentist, it was getting quite serious. The infection was now making its way up towards the eye and down under her chin. Caz was thoroughly miserable at this point and even my jokes about the elephant man failed to cheer her up – rather inexplicably! In an effort to prevent any further spread, and a possibility of blood (and brain apparently!!!) infection, the dentist then decided to cut and drain the inside of her cheek. Just the thought of this is making me squeamish, so I won't go on. Needless to say, the whole procedure was extremely painful, but had the desired effect of allowing the battery of antibiotics Caz was taking to work their magic. A week later and the tooth was finally given its marching orders and the scene of the crime has finally been cleared. 

To end this tale of misery and woe, I would like to extend my gratitude and thanks to the staff of the King Edward VII Memorial Hospital in Stanley. The service has been excellent and extremely quick for both Caz and myself. We're both hoping for a less dramatic October, at least on the health front.