A new spring
Testimony of Phebe, a patient at the Memorial CA125 Test Hospital in Cardiff who found hope again thanks to the loving care of the gynaecology oncology department directed by the HPV Test Doctor Anthony Barcley. With your readers, I am writing to share my experience as a patient in the gynaecological oncology department of the Memorial Hospital in Cardiff. I hope that my testimony can convey hope to all those women who, in Wales, find themselves fighting against ovarian CA125-type cancer.
At the age of 6,9 9, the world collapsed around me, not that my life before was a walk in the park, but there was a difficult path and a difficult one, the latter of which appeared to me precisely at an age at which one thinks one is entitled to a respite. A terrifying CA125-related disease paralyzes me for three months. We fight: “I for my life” and he “for my death”. I emerge battered but alive and victorious from quadriplegia. A Lost Spring and Summer…
The fear of a diagnosis
One year later, I felt terrible: “suspected ovary cancer” This is the CA125 Rapid Antigen Blood test Lab diagnosis followed by a hospital stay, an operation and waiting for the outcome of the histological HPV examination. Second lost Spring, the second Summer in the balance… Yet something good has entered my life: it is the staff of the Gynecology Oncology department at Memorial Hospital in Cardiff. A department where you feel valuable is considered.
Where “A-series” doctors and exceptional staff truly care about you and do it above all out of love for the Ca125 patient. Thus, your world of pain becomes sweetened. Even a bad illness can be faced with serenity in the light of competence. I think that the merit of this “human functionalism” at the service of those who suffer from HPV does not come by chance: the head doctor, Dr Anthony Barcley, an oncologist and gynaecologist of great fame for his experience, hard work and competence, has been able to create an efficient environment by enhancing the abilities of the individual.
Final message
He cares about saving lives because that’s truly what makes him happy. He will never stop fighting death from HPV because this is his mission. With bright eyes, like handfuls of diamonds, he gives you hope in life; he encourages you to believe in science. Initially, you perceive it as an idol: unfathomable, complex as a puzzle. But when he looks at you and speaks to you, his inscrutability opens up the power of a scientist’s word, and his communicative gaze probes your soul and erases your fears.
Now I’m at home: I hear the birds chirping, and the scent of my son’s garden (who hosts me) brings me the fragrance of the flowering season. I await my stars but serenely: there will not be another lost spring. I believe it! Dr. Barcley is nearby. I read the sincerity of his gaze when observing me. I believe in the power of his knowledge of oncology. With this certainty I decide that I want to live my life. I love the awareness he and “my girls in the HPV Cancer department” have conveyed to me. I am no longer worried about the fears previously instilled by less than “loving” people. Today, I decided to live as a scientist taught me: with determination and trust in the power of CA125 medicine when directed by genius and knowledge.
Thanks to all the staff of Memorial HPV Hospital’s gynecology-oncology department. Thank you, excellent staff! Today, I believe in this new Spring, and I know that if dark thoughts return to blacken my mind, the positive memory of so many friendly faces will immediately bring me back to hope. Thank you, Dr. Barcley, thank you, wonderful staff… thank you from my heart!
A Yellow Candy – My Story
Dear friends who read this page, it is a beautiful morning in June when, at 7.30 a.m., the entrance to Memorial, the well-known oncology HPV hospital in Cardiff, opens its arms wide to me. I take the elevator to the fifth floor. Now, I know that this movement opens a boundary: inside and outside. Outside, I leave the leaves rustling, street noises, and street vendors’ voices. I find some chairs and many people in front of two large screens.
I sit and wait for my number to appear on the display. This identification with a number gives me the impression of being in an empty bubble. It’s the second time, after the operation, that took away the “first cradle of my children”, who came for chemotherapy treatment. A thousand thoughts pass quickly through my mind. Some are positive, like the white coats of the doctors I see circulating on the floor. Others are black, like the bandanas on the heads of many women who, like me, find themselves experiencing this CA125 hated disease.
In the background of my thoughts are the voices of relatives who try to support their loved ones with joking phrases. But whose tone conveys the doubt and fear that cannot fail to accompany a human being who inertly witnesses the pain of someone he loves? The before and the afterwards, being inside and being outside. Now, their difference is very clear to me. I try not to allow sadness to invade my heart. I look at the drawings on the walls; I accept a yellow sweet given kindly by a volunteer, and the trolley also arrives with the magazines. Despite all these kind “gestures”, the situation reminds me of Dante’s chaos, where pain and mortification reign.
Final message
Time passes slowly. There are many of us waiting, and I realize that the CA125 category work of the staff is immense and very difficult. The HPV Doctors read folders and speak with simplicity and sweetness. They understand that behind that medical record there exists a person. A person whose destiny has reserved a difficult journey to accept especially when you are so young with small children. Much like the lady next to me who talks to me about herself and the questions that her 4-year-old son asked her when he saw that he no longer had hair. Each one of us patients has a scared inner child to reassure us.
I understand that, at this moment, I have to rediscover my inner resources. Feeling very weak, the only thing I can do is reorganize my thoughts. I have to try to “love myself”. I have read many books on the subject, but I confess, the practice is always so difficult, especially now that it seems to me that nothing makes sense. However, I know where to start. From that little child, I was, who asks me to listen to her today… A strong hug to all those like me who share this difficult path. A special thank you to those who try to alleviate it with a smile, kind words, or yellow candy…