James Dorrington copyright stefdoris December 2001 |
After a sudden breakdown in October 2000, I have been living on an emotional roller coaster. Until then I had been at the height of my life. I played professional football for Southend United under 17's with a potential career as a footballer. I had achieved highly predicted GSCE grades. A few months earlier I had won the "Jack Barren Award" for being "Pupil of the School", in recognition of my academic achievements and my work in Physical Education. I felt great, my spirits were high. I was partying with my friends, relaxing with my family and living life to the maximum. Nothing had ever been seriously wrong with me. I loved sports, didn't drink and had never smoked. My only vice was McDonalds. Suddenly life changed ... It was Monday, 30th October 2000. My school had teacher training day, which meant an extra day off studying for the happy pupils. I had decided to go with my friends Phil and Ad to Basildon, the next big city in the area. I wanted to buy the new Championship Manager computer game, a hearts desire for a football freak like me. We were waiting for the bus and I remember thinking about the science homework, which I had to hand in the next day. Suddenly, my mind went blank. Apperantly I had collapsed at the bus stop and hit the pavement. I had gone into a fit. My friends phoned an ambulance and contacted my dad. When I regained conscience I was sitting in the waiting room at Basildon Hospital. I felt drowsy and my throat was dry. Minutes later I was sick all over the floor. I started to cry. My dad cuddled me. He told me not to worry, and that everything would be okay. The next days are very vague in my memory. During this time I was having two or three fits per day. The doctors thought I was epileptic. I woke up a few times with my dad by my bedside, reassuring me that everything was going to be fine. Most vividly I remember him saying: "Whatever it is, we will fight together to beat it." The "Cat Scan" at Basildon Hospital, which scanned my head for abnormalities, did not produce a clear diagnosis. As a result I was transported to the Great Ormond Street Children Hospital in London, in the late hours of Tuesday evening, 31st October 2000. The Children's Hospital at Great Ormond Street enjoys a reputation for being one of the best hospitals in Europe. I was treated well, having my own room with TV and video. On Wednesday I went through a MRI Scan, which is a higher intensity scan than the Cat Scan. Due to the fact that nothing had ever been wrong with me and that I led a generally healthy life style the doctors at Great Ormond Street also thought that my fits were caused by epilepsy. However, the results of the MRI Scan proved to be far more disasterous than that. I was diagnosed with having a brain tumour in my left temporal lobe in my head. Up to date the medicine has defined four different types of brain tumours, with grade one being a slow growing tumour compared to a fast growing tumour at grade four. I have a grade three Glioma, bordering grade four. Even worse, the tumour had developed so fast that by the time it was discovered it had raptured a blood vessel, which had bled into my head, causing the fits. My dad and the doctor informed me of the MRI results on Thursday, 2nd November 2000. I was going to have a three hour surgical emergency operation to repair the blood vessel and remove as many tumour cells as possible. This was to be followed by radio therapy to destroy the remaining malignant cells, which could not be surgically removed due to the risk of brain damage. Theoretically the odds were on my side. The tumour was "well" positioned at the top left corner of my head, enabling a surgical intervention. I was young and physically strong. The general outlook was therefore quite positive. However, an odd feeling remained... Everything that I was told that day remains a blur. The words bounced off me, unprocessed, incomprehensible. I was in a daze, trying to understand what was happening but unable to take in the meaning of what was going on. My thoughts evolved around my sports activities. I played football and cricket. I had been captain of the local cricket team, as well as being chosen to represent the county. I also had been selected to play for a professional football club. I was fit and healthy achieving goal after goal. The breakdown, the hospital, the tumour...everything was unreal, a nightmare I desperatly wanted to wake up from. The operation took place on Friday morning, 3rd November 2000. The fits had stopped since Thursday due to the medication I was taking. I can clearly remember the hour before the operation. I was unusually calm and relaxed. Somehow just going along with everything that I was being told I felt neither nervous nor scared. My dad, being as constant support by my side, encouraged me. He told me that he was very proud of me for being so brave. His presence and his support helped me to stay strong when everything around me seemed to darken. The operation lasted four hours. The doctors had tried to remove as many tumour cells as possible. When I awoke from the anasthetic I felt surprisingly not as bad as I had anticipated. I stayed in intensive care for one day, being under permanent medical control. On Saturday, 4th November 2000 I was transferred to my own room again. One of the first things I did was taking a bath. Things like that seem so unimportant during our normal lives. But I can clearly remember the feeling back then. I have never enjoyed a bath as much as I did at that moment. My family visited me and made up for the less than tasty hospital food with some delicious burgers from McDonalds - my favourite. The stitches were still covered. The fits were controlled by the medication. I felt torn between being confident and scared, engulved in a tense uncertainty. The results of the operatin had not yet been established. On Monday, 6th November 2000 the bandage was removed. I had 30 stitches on the left side of my head. The scar seemed overwhelmingly big. My family came to visit me after they had finished working. During the next days I started my recovery. Family and friends visited me regularly at the hospital. Nevertheless, by Wednesday I had run out of things to do. Being used to being out and about all day, busy with sports and my friends, the slow hospital routine became too monotonous. I started to be bored. I wanted to be home. |
James Dorrington copyright stefdoris December 2001 |
