Alright, ladies and gents, buckle up because we’re diving into the good, the bad, and the downright hairy (and I’m not just talking about medical procedures that could make a lumberjack weep). We’re here to talk about the story of Mary de Courcy, who’s had more ups and downs than a rollercoaster designed by a sadistic engineer.
Now, it starts off with a Bang! – not in the way most would like to hear during a medical appointment, mind you. Imagine being told, “From today you cannot drive, give up work, and you can’t be left alone longer than half an hour.” I mean, that’s one way to ruin a perfectly fine Tuesday.
Mary, who, up until that point, was thriving as a psychotherapist (because who wouldn’t want to chat about their troubles for a living?), found herself on a whirlwind tour of specialists faster than you can say “MRI.” Honestly, I’ve seen family reunions with fewer specialists involved. It’s like a very grim game of medical bingo where instead of shouting “Bingo!” you’re more likely to be yelling, “Oh no!”
But bless her, out comes the neurologist and BAM – grade four brain tumor. Her reaction? “The whole process took, say, six weeks, that’s all. So I was very lucky.” Lucky? I’d hate to see what unlucky looks like—it’s like getting a parking ticket in the middle of a funeral!
Now, let’s have a round of applause for Mary, who decided to go under the knife. The docs could only remove part of that pesky glioblastoma without apparently turning her into a one-handed pianist. Imagine that chat with the surgeon: “Could you take it all out?” “Sure, but you’ll leave the operating table looking like a lopsided scarecrow!”
Fast forward through months of chemotherapy and radiotherapy (that just sounds exhausting, doesn’t it?) and we find our gal celebrating 70 and belting out tunes with the National Symphony Chorus. Yes! Give Mary a round of applause, not just for surviving, but for the courage to embrace the choir—now that’s how you face life like an absolute champ!
And isn’t it fascinating how the story takes a twist? After she gets off the “treatment merry-go-round,” Mary finds herself feeling a bit adrift. Can you imagine? All that glitz and glamour of hospital stays, and poof, you’re back to reality. She was wandering around like a lost puppy, not quite sure where to go. And let’s be real; the healthcare system isn’t exactly throwing a “Welcome Back to Normal Life!” party, is it?
A recent report from the Royal College of Surgeons in Ireland (RCSI) dives into the abyss of the “what now?” phase post-treatment. Would you believe they’re calling it Brain-Restore? Clever name, good luck finding it in the middle of an emotional hurricane! Thank goodness Dr. Ailish Malone is swinging into action. If that’s not a superhero name, I don’t know what is.
With a hundred types of brain tumours flying around like confetti at a wedding, they’re starting a program that’s asking the big questions: "Surgery! Chemotherapy! Radiotherapy! But now what?" Because frankly, being told to simply accept that life has taken a baseball bat to your plans isn’t exactly comforting.
Dr. Malone mentions that a common issue post-brain tumor is fatigue. Fatigue, folks! It’s like being tired but with a little extra pizzazz—call it cancer chic. And she’s here, trying to “join the dots” for people who need support and a bit of TLC.
Now, let’s talk about that quite relatable quote from Mary, who said, “I still haven’t gone shopping. That’s too overwhelming altogether!” Honestly, couldn’t we all relate to that? You think you’re handling brain tumours and then step into a supermarket—a sure recipe for instant paralysis. Aisle seven looks like the Bermuda Triangle of confusion.
Fast forward to Mary attempting to embrace the hustle and bustle of life post-tumor. Crowds? Nope. Shopping? Not a chance. But you know what she does do? Sing! And she’s hitting those high notes like she’s auditioning for the next musical blockbuster.
Mary wraps it up with a little self-reflection, feeling the pangs of regular life while never losing her fighting spirit. Bravo, Mary! What a testament to human resilience and sheer will.
So, if there’s anything we can take away from all this, it’s that while we’re all trying to navigate life’s rollercoaster—sometimes with brain tumors, sometimes with simply navigating dinner orders—we should keep on riding, singing, and living, even if shopping is off the cards for now.
As always, folks, stay healthy, keep laughing, and remember: life is too short to shop alone! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to figure out how to avoid crowds and get my own therapy—group therapy at the pub will do! Cheers!
