Cancer 156

Another day, another treatment. For the 28th time I am in the CDU being filled with the usual poisons. It is a nice day outside but I am not seeing any of it. I was in early but pharmacy had not sorted out my drugs, so there was a significant wait for treatment. Then the ward ran out of calcium follinate, so my second batch of drugs was delayed. Sometimes I wonder whether the NHS ought to introduce the concept of management, so the clinical staff can get on with their job and patients can get on with being treated. There are managers in other businesses and the NHS is fundamentally a business so it would benefit from similar treatment. If it introduced managers then they could organise the way the organisation works, enabling staff to work efficiently. It would even save money so more people could be treated with better kit and well paid staff. I know, it is an unrealistic fantasy.

In the scheme of things I have been feeling a little less well over the past few weeks. Inevitalby I fear it is my decline. Perhaps it is, we all know it is going to happen, and it is nearly two years since diagnosis. My bloods are fine, my CT scan showed little change, but there is more to it than that. There is the increased pain in my abdomen, perhaps partly related to my hernia, and there is the generic feeling of decay and unwellness which is probably unmeasurable. I am sick, both physically and sick of treatment. Chemotherapy makes me feel worse than it did, the negative effects last longer. I do understand how and why people say they have had enough and stop treatment, though it is a fatal decision. There is only so much a person can stand. Resilience is limited. The stiff upper lip becomes floppy, as does the grip.

What am I saying? I am not there yet. Most of the time I am having a good life, a good marriage, good food, good travel. I am reading a fair few books. Today I finished Nuclear War: A Scenario, which provided an excellent account of what might happen in a nuclear war – spoiler, everyone died. On the other hand, I read some crap, like this year’s Booker winner, Orbital.

On the other hand I am useless in the garden and at the general mending tasks around the house. When I complete a job I am pleased with myself. Yesterday I carried the winter tyres from the shed at the top of the garden, took the car in to get them changed, and then carried the summer tyres up to the shed. That is a big job now.

On balance my life is still very positive. I am not ready to finish things yet (though I am looking forward to the assisted dying act becoming law before I am ready for it) – it is just that the treatment can get difficult.