中Family and friends asked whether there’s a name for this kind of tumour.
Well, yes. When I was receiving the MRI scan results, my consultant surgeon actually mentioned the term “pleomorphic adenoma” but didn’t dwell on it. Neither did I pay too much attention or ask for details. “Adenoma” refers to benign tumours originating from epithelial cells of glands (e.g. the thyroid), whereas “pleomorphic” is an adjective describing the non-homogeneous nature of the tumour cells’ shape and size. In my case, the tumour probably started from a salivary gland. Back then, I wasn’t too concerned about the tumour’s origin since it wouldn’t affect the treatment or prognosis. Instead, I was more interested in its size, location and malignancy.
The medical term for the tumour is quite a mouthful, but the tumour did get named, unexpectedly! In the days after meeting my consultant surgeon, the imagery of “knife-on-neck” often played on my mind. I had to verbalise this uneasiness, and my very good friend (the one who rescued me emotionally in the car) duly obliged to be the listener. I lamented again on how this tumour was impalpable and invisible from the outside. He paused for a bit, as if something had come to mind, and uttered calmly:
This is a ninja tumour.
It’s impossible to keep a long face when one’s suddenly hit by such a cute nickname. The mood in the room was suddenly lifted. Friends have all fallen for this name, or simply called it “the ninja”.
Another question from family and friends —— how about a biopsy?
No, we didn’t bother with one before the operation because it’s not worth performing an invasive procedure when its outcome wouldn’t impact on the treatment plan. The histological analyses could wait till after the operation and conducted on the entire tumour. However, a CT scan was required to check the bone anatomy around the tumour, even though it’s pretty rare that a benign tumour would invade bones.
The scan was scheduled for the morning of the International Women’s Day, which also happened to fall on a Sunday. Without the usual hustle and bustle of people, cars and ambulances, the hospital site was quite peaceful. Only the most urgent cases are being dealt with on Sundays, so I believed my consultant really meant it when he talked about fast-tracking.
The CT scan clinic is part of the outpatients department. As I approached the department’s entrance, I suddenly realised it’s locked! Same for the side doors! Umm...... there must be a way in, just not sure where from exactly. After walking back and forth, I still couldn’t find it. I approached two paramedics who were taking care of their ambulances —— maybe they would have some insider knowledge? They dropped what they’re doing and kindly searched with me, but unfortunately to no avail. The clock was ticking. “Right, let me call the outpatients department,” I decided. No answer. Oh dear......
Then I noticed the hospital main switchboard’s number on the appointment letter. “Let’s give this a go, there’s nothing to lose.” Someone picked up the phone at the other end, hurray! Far from easing my nerves, the operator’s response was monotonic and uninterested, “just go to the main entrance.” The hospital is a complex of multiple buildings with many entrances; which entrance is the “main” one? I suddenly remembered previously coming across quite a large revolving door with the hospital’s name above it.
“Ah, you mean the revolving door?”
“Yes.”
“Then what?” I mumbled to myself. I was baffled, but the operator just kept repeating the same instruction. I didn’t have time to argue with him, so I just did as told.
It made sense once I got to the main entrance. From there one could reach different departments via a labyrinth of corridors and underpasses, as long as you followed the signs carefully. Since then, I reminded myself if I ever had a Sunday appointment again, I should allow extra time for finding my way.
Why do I remember this episode so vividly? That’s because over my numerous visits at the hospital, members of staff were all helpful and warm; the seemingly outsourced switchboard service stood out as the exception.
Finally I made it to the CT scan clinic, phew. It’s quiet. The tables have turned —— the nurse and technician had been waiting for me. The nurse, who by chance has the same name as my brother’s, was a softly-spoken guy with very steady hands. In came the CT contrast-feeding cannula on the first try, then out it came also effortlessly after the scan. The prick barely hurt and I didn’t get any bruises afterwards. Who said only ladies are good at tactile tasks?
I had to attend the CT scan with an empty stomach, so by the time I left the clinic after midday, I was starving. It was a beautiful day in early spring, so I made an impromptu visit to my favourite Japanese restaurant and celebrated the little progress in my treatment with a tasty lunch. I also took the opportunity to break the news about the ninja to the restaurant’s manager, who’s a friend of mine.
Carpe diem! Shortly after that meal, the UK was plunged into an unprecedented lockdown due to COVID-19, when eateries were only allowed to serve takeaways. The next time I set foot in the same restaurant again would be four months later, in mid-summer, when the “ninja” was ousted.