Cancer192
Well, it was bound to happen. After spending the last couple of years with my head firmly buried in the sand regarding the performance of my little lumps of cancer, my claims about their hopeless performance, given that the cancer is meant to be aggressive, they are now starting to show their true colours. I saw the consultant today, and instead of the usual boring news regarding no change, my latest scan has shown that the little bastards are growing. OK, the biggest is still under 3cm, but the consultant appeared confident that we are entering the next stage, the stage of cancerous growth, and my current treatment is failing.
At the outset of all this, I was told I would have access to two treatments: this first-line approach that I have been undergoing for two years, and then a second-line approach, which would be the last treatment offered. It looks like I am going to be moving onto the second line treatment. The growth next to my stoma which is causing some problems may also be related to the cancer.
There is going to be a meeting next week to examine my situation. I won’t be there. I will be in Northumberland, but they will look at the stoma and see whether it should receive radiotherapy, and whether I should change treatment. I will find out what is happening in the middle of June (and no, I am not bothered about finding out earlier. It won’t change anything).
I had intended to take a break after next week’s round of chemotherapy, but this has messed everything up. When I move into the new chemotherapy regime, I won’t be taking a break for a while – or ever, so after discussion, I decided to take a break now, only a short break, as now the cancer is growing, it may continue to grow while I am off chemotherapy. The break is three weeks, effectively less, so instead of going to Denmark, we are heading north, taking in a decent hotel and then self-catering in Northumberland and probably the Lake District. This may be my last holiday longer than six days (assuming I can still get a six-day break when on the new treatment), so I want to go somewhere with good food, friendly people and decent scenery.
How do I feel about all this? I knew it was going to happen, but it was never going to happen now; it was always in the future. I have been living with everything being stable for so long that I carried on thinking it would continue, avoiding the truth, but enjoying life. Will the treatment work? Who knows. It might not work at all, it might work for a short period, or it might work for a longer period. In reality, it is not likely to work for very long. How do I feel? Daft question. I am not ready to die. I still have things to do, books to write, and people to speak to. As I have repeatedly said, I do not fear death; I fear dying. I don’t want pain (though I am living with it most of the time), and I don’t want to turn into a brainless blob, slobbering on a bed, surrounded by people who want it all to be over.
Choices, choices. They are starting to disappear.
Oh yes, how do I feel? Fine thanks; occasionally a bit more blubby (get a grip you big girl’s blouse), but still positive. My bloods were reasonably normal, and my cancer marker has not gone up, so my body is still fighting. We shall fight them on the beaches and all that.
Dr Nigel Hunt 
Hi Nig, it’s Click. Did you ever consider alternatives like ivermectin and fenbendazole. These things seem to have been tried successfully all around the world, although there is very little efficacy data as of yet. If all else fails it’s maybe worth a try???
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