12. Unwelcome Home

Home Sweet Home?

Period: July 2011 - December 2011

It was over 30-hours since I had left Queenstown and, after an 8-hour coach ride followed by two 13-hour flights, I stepped out of Stanstead Airport in to a beautiful summers day. Unable to find my Mum, who had arranged to meet me, I gave her a call. I had been gone 9-months and I'd come home because I was very ill, yet neither of my brothers could find the time to collect me from the airport. My Mum, unable to drive or contact me, had arranged for a taxi to pick me up. That 2-hour drive from the airport was the loneliest part of my entire backpacking experience.

I quickly settled back in and found a job with my previous employer a couple of weeks later. Despite the illness, it is inconceivable not to work in my family and I wasn't anywhere near ready to give up fighting this crap (literally). I had a follow-up appointment already scheduled with the consultant in November and, as per the appointment letter, I called his secretary to request an urgent appointment. None came.

Realising there was a strong chance this would not be solved quickly - and Australia could be further in to the future than I had anticipated - I settled in to a job as a hotel receptionist. I managed to keep the severity of my symptoms from my colleagues for quite a while and carry on with a normal life, but it was a struggle. Cocodamol was a staple of my diet and I managed to slow the weight loss by drinking a lot of calories rather than eating. I just did whatever was needed to maintain some semblance of normal, no point making a fuss right? I even rejoined my local football team, training twice a week and playing on Sundays. Despite everything, I still hoped that if I lived right I would  miraculously get my health back.

In November, I finally saw the consultant. I have excellent communication skills and normally I find it very easy to develop a rapport. A key exception is doctors. I simply did not know how to communicate with medical professionals. I think it is quite common in Britain to think we shouldn't bother doctors - they are demigods who shouldn't be questioned. I think part of it also comes from the culture of the NHS. We are constantly bombarded with news articles telling us the NHS is in a financial mess and we do not wish to take up valuable resources unnecessarily.

On this doctors visit however, I felt more confident - I had finally accepted that this wasn't normal and I just wanted my life back. I explained my hospitalisation in New Zealand and described my symptoms as accurately as I could, with particular emphasis on the pain in my lower right abdomen. I was referred for an ultrasound and I was surprised when the appointment arrived for a scan of the "upper abdomen" - I can only assume the doctor was trying to rule out pancreatitis, I just wish he had explained this at the time!

A month later I had the scan and the technician explained that my pancreas looked fine. Before he packed away his tools I asked him to check the area of pain. I had obviously done some internet research by now (don't do it!) and I was actually hoping it was a grumbling appendix rather than Crohn's! But the technician noticed that a section of my bowel was enlarged and, when I prompted him, he said that it could be indicative of Crohn's Disease.

Christmas 2011 was not a whole lot of fun. I could clearly remember how much fun it had been the previous year in Wellington and I could not have anticipated how much it would have changed in 12-months. Furthermore, in our non-religious family, as with many others, the key enjoyment is food, drink and company. I wasn't able to tolerate much of the former two and being around other people just made me more aware of how ill I was. At least when I was alone I did not have to try to hide the fact that I felt terrible, or watch other people stuff their faces.