Cancer 228

It is nearly 4am and today I am off to the hospital to start my 48th round of chemotherapy. Yesterday, when I realised it was time, I suppressed a sob. Do I want to do this? No. Do I need to do this? No. Why am I doing this? I don’t know. Am I doing this for myself, to stay alive as long as possible, or for my family, so they can have me around for as long as possible? I don’t know.

Every time it gets just perceptably harder. If I stop I will die sooner. This treatment isn’t going to be as effective as the last one, which worked for nearly 2.5 years. Perhaps this one will work for six months, perhaps not. So if I keep going I may get a few more months. Is it worth it? Today I will sit in the hospital with chemo drugs being pumped through my line while I distract myself with reading and writing, gradually feeling a little more ill as time goes on. Tonight I will feel awful. I won’t want to eat much or do much else with my time. Hopefully I will feel a little better tomorrow, though the side effects of these new drugs are much worse than the last lot, and I will probably be ill into next week. The week after it starts again.

It is relentless, and becomes more so over time. There is no let up. The treatment only ends when it fails. There is no sense of recovery after treatment. There is no hope.

There is only the life I have, and the quality of that life. I have always said that if my quality of life isn’t there then I will be ready to die. The problem is that my quality of life is gradually slipping away, and my judgement of that quality changes, so when do I start to think it should end?

Perhaps driving is a good indicator of quality of life for me. I used to drive to southern Spain, the Balkans, Crimea – long distances without any problem. I have driven in South America, North America, India, China. Since my diagnosis my driving has become more limited.

In the early days of treatment I drove to the Pyrenees and to the German Baltic coast at Rugen. Later it became more restricted to driving to the Netherlands. Now I may be restricted to the UK.

Soon perhaps I won’t drive beyond the boundaries of Derbyshire. And then…?