It’s amazing what four words can do to lift your mood, to leave you feeling happy all day.
On Monday, I saw my UC consultant on the advice of my new GP. I wasn’t looking forward to it, as I find him quite uncommunicative. Even so, I popped along and told him that I was there to discuss medication, as I had to stop taking my other meds because of the severe side effects. We went through my symptoms and noted that whilst most things had gotten worse, one particular cause for concern had almost disappeared.
My consultant then informed me that he wanted me to have an ultrasound and another colonoscopy. It seems he believes things are improving and we just need to get the “balance” right. This was the most optimistic statement he’d ever made. I then asked him if there was any chance my condition could subside altogether. “Oh yes,” he said: “Given the short time you were on the meds and the result, I think if we can get the balance right, there is a chance all your symptoms will stop“.
What? I was dumbstruck. I had believed my condition was incurable; certainly all the literature and advice I’ve read and heard over the last two years indicated as such. The last time I had seen him, he had confirmed it was incurable. So, what was this?
I asked again: “You mean it can all go away?“.
But now he was cautious again, “Let’s wait and see what is revealed in the colonoscopy“.
Too late! I had heard those words “… there is a chance …”
There is a chance … I will no longer have to cancel appointments because I am suffering an acute.
There is a chance … I will be able to meet with friends whenever I want.
There is a chance … I can go on a short (or even long) journey without pre-planning.
There is a chance … I can take more holidays, go on long flights, without the anxiety of the possibility of an acute episode inconveniencing all.
There is a chance … I will be able to leave home, or work without having to know the exact position of every freely available toilet on the route.
There is a chance … I will no longer have to carry my RADAR key with me everywhere I go.
There is a chance … I will be able to go for long walks in the woods, up hills; just exercise out doors for long periods again.
There is a chance … I may be able to break free of my confinement.
There is a chance … I can have my life back.
I so hope, so very much hope that the ultrasound (which I have had to postpone due to an acute attack this morning) and the colonoscopy don’t take away that chance.