Cancer 222
Posted on December 13, 2025 Leave a Comment
When I started this blog, my intention was todescribe the process of having cancer, and dying from cancer. It has been ongoing for nearly three years now. I was diagnosed in January 2023 and started chemotherapy in June 2023. Until recently, I have been relatively stable. The chemotherapy worked for a reasonably long period, and the tumours didn’t really grow very much. The side effects were manageable. It meant I have had a reasonable life. We have been on lots of holidays, I have eaten lots of food. I have missed out on alcohol and parties, but life has generally been pretty good, even with the hammer of the gods poised above my head.
That has changed. The failure of the chemotherapy, the growth of the tumours, the side effects and sickness from the new chemotherapy, it is changing everything. I am constantly wanting to sleep. I even slept at night last night, which is unusual for me. This morning I was trying to read, but I was falling asleep. And food – I am just not interested. I did eat a little something last night and some breakfast this morning, but I don’t really care.
Reading about dying, and seeing some people die, I am aware of the tendency to grow inwards, to take less interest in the outside world. That appears to be happening to me. It is early stages but it is there. The question is why. I think it is about resources. As I was speaking about in the last blog, the resources are becoming more limited. There are fewer resources available to deal with the outside world, whether that is the big news stories or conversing with friends. It is becoming harder. Like my previous descriptions of life as a roller coaster, I have no idea whether I will steadily withdraw or whether there will be phases of withdrawal and engagement. I am only on my second round of the new chemotherapy, so I might just be getting used to it. On the other hand….
The other question is how long can I carry on doing the blog for? Presumably as I lose interest in the world I will lose interest in doing the blog. If you don’t see a blog is that because I am dead or I can’t be bothered? I don’t know. Anyway, I can’t be bothered to write any more today. Night night.
Cancer 221
Posted on December 12, 2025 Leave a Comment
I am feeling increasingly like I am fighting the battle of Stalingrad – and I am the Germans. I have limited resources, resources that in the past I would use outside, whether for working in the garden, working at my career, making a meal, driving long distances, mending something in the house, or whatever. These resources are being increasingly used to control my body, to enable me to function, often in the most basic manner. I am still able to do things. I can still drive, though over shorter distances. My record drive to Crimea and back, around 6,000 miles, I am not going to repeat. I do virtually nothing in the garden because it is too difficult. I walk only short distances. I do little in the house. Only a few months ago I always made breakfast and cooked at least one evening a week. Now I do virtually no cooking. When I do cook, I get exhausted. I chop a few bits on the chopping board, I fry something in the pan, and I am exhausted. I can still do my intellectual work, but nothing like the level I could even a few months ago. I started my MA in History with enthusiasm, believing I would get it finished before I died. I am still enthusiastic, but I find it difficult to get motivated to start working.
Motivation, that is one of the key concepts. Usually as people we are motivated to do a lot of things. My motivation to act has reduced dramatically in the last few months. I have less energy to focus on the outside world. I have to use a greater proportion of my resources to deal with what I have to deal with. Inside I am fighting these growing tumours in my abdomen. I am dealing with the poisonous chemotherapy drugs, which I know are helping, but at the same time they are killing me. I appreciate their value, I know they are keeping me alive longer than I would live without them, but at the same time they are destroying me. It is like friendly fire. Some of the enemy around Stalingrad are being killed, but my own artillery is bombarding those parts that are still working.
I am less motivated to eat. I now have a diet sheet that tells me to eat all the things we are told not to eat. Food with lots of calories. I just don’t feel motivated to eat enough of it. Christmas approaches. I have never been a great fan, but I do like, or I did like, a big dinner. I have at least two big beef dinners coming up. In the past, I would look forward to them. Now I am wondering which of the elements I should bother putting on my plate. One slice of beef instead of four? Half a Yorkshire pudding? Two Brussels? One roast potato? I am not sure I could manage all that and then eat any pudding (If it is Christmas pudding, I wouldn’t miss that – yuk!). When I wake up on Christmas Day, I will be on the third day of my 46th round of chemotherapy. In the middle of the day, around the time we eat Christmas dinner, I will flush my system and remove the needle. I hope my side effects will not be too bad.
The less I eat, the less energy I have to continue the fight. I can see the graph before me, the y axis of time against the x axis of sustainable life, approaching the red horizontal line indicating the final stages that is approaching. I am not sure when I will cross that line, that line indicating imminent death, whether it is weeks or months, but I really feel this is my last Christmas, and, for the first time since I was a child, I want to somehow mark it. Everything is now the last time. It is my birthday in a couple of months, likely my last birthday. I am hoping to reach 63. When I die, everyone will say, ‘That’s no age.’
The only real weapons I have, apart from the chemotherapy, are the social support I get from family and friends, and my own inner strength. I have a lot of support (and it is appreciated, folks), and my inner strength is still functioning, though battered. Here in Stalingrad, I still have some artillery, some troops, some ammunition, andsome will to defend myself. My question is just how long can it go on? I am continually tired, yet I only sleep a few hours at night at best. It is now 0230, and I haven’t had any sleep. Perhaps I just don’t want to spend whatever time I have left sleeping.
Enough. I try to stay positive. I try to engage with the world. I read books that come out. I still look at the news. I just care a little less than I did, and that is worrying.
Cancer 220
Posted on December 6, 2025 2 Comments
A day with developments. I am unsure whether to call them good or bad, positive or negative. I think I am losing the ability to judge right from wrong. I was at the hospital today to see the consultant. Fortunately, I saw the main consultant, not the person I had last time with whom I found it difficult to communicate, not because of language, but because of culture. It was very difficult and I might come back to it sometime.
There were several new items at the meeting today. The main one was that I have been referred to palliative care. This gave me a strange feeling that lasted much of the day. Logically, what is the problem? I have been on palliative care for a couple of years, but there is being on palliative care and there is being on palliative care. Up until recently, I have sort of blinded myself to the idea of death. The treatment was working. I knew it would fail but I ignored this knowledge. Simple avoidance. We all do it. Today, during a discussion of pain management the consultant suggested I should be referred to the palliative care team. There is good reason for this. They are experts at managing pain (I hope), though I am not sure about some of their other activities. Later I checked and they do things like counselling – no thanks, tried it once and there was no point – and bereavement advice, both for the person dying and their family. I wonder whether I should go to bereavement therapy to mourn the loss of myself. Not much point really apart from the potential philosophical discussion about the meaning of death, and I have had that conversation plenty of times with plenty of people and I don’t need to have it again.
Where was I? Oh yes, being referred to palliative care tells me that I am now officially a dead man walking. People can tell me until they are blue in the face (!) that someone can be on palliative care for months or years. I know the reality is that this is the last gang in town (The Clash, Sept 1978, 2nd album, Give ’em Enough Rope). There is no NHS beyond palliative care. They provide the event horizon over which I pass into the black hole of oblivion. I have palliative care and then I die.
My morphine prescription was increased again.
I asked for clarification of the results of my CT scan, as the results were not explained to me on the previous occasion. Apparently I have new lumps and overall growth of over 20% indicating that the previous treatment was not working properly and it was time to move on to the next one. I say next one because I found out today that there are further forms of chemotherapy after this, but I also got the clear message that they are not going to work very well or for very long. My first treatment lasted over two years, which was pretty good going. This treatment may last six months, or on some occasions (me, folks) up to a year. After that these other forms of chemotherapy may provide a little more time, or not. But I read about this a couple of weeks ago, where the evidence shows that people in my position have around a year to live on average (11-15 months). I am not sure what proportion of my remaining life will be bearable and what proportion will be horrid, but I would like to emphasise here again that once it becomes horrid I would like someone to provide me with sufficient morphine or alternative to finish me off. This longwinded assisted suicide bill that is currently in Parliament with a limited chance of success is a real thing to me. It won’t be law in time but I would like to think killing poor folk like me should become easier in the future.
The current treatment may have to end because of side effects. Apart from the great long list of side-effects (think of a side effect, it is probably on the list, everything is on the list), one side effect, peripheral neuropathy, can get so severe that I may not be able to put up with it. I have had some of this before, a tingling in my hands and fingers. Apart from stopping me play the guitar (no bad thing, blah blah) it has not been particularly serious. It affects both hands and feet. I haven’t had the joy of foot neuropathy yet.
I do so look forward to side effects. They make chemotherapy fun.
On the positive side I have eaten properly today. I had cereal when I woke up, then a bacon cob in the hospital (it wasn’t good but I ate it). When I got home from the hospital I suggested that we go out for a meal. We went out to a Turkish restaurant and I ate a normal portion. OK, I didn’t have as much as I would have done, but I did have as much as a normal person would have. This is the first time I have eaten a full meal for weeks. I am now so thin that anyone who hasn’t seen me for a while will be shocked at my skinniness (OK, I am lying but I have lost a lot of weight. I was just so much overweight that losing around 15kg means that I am still very overweight). I think I will have some crisps. It is gone midnight so that makes it acceptable.
I can go back to the idea of eating out, which is a good thing, and going to stay in posh hotels, another good thing. I booked one for January. Look at me how optimistic I am that I will still be alive then.
Bugger it. While today was upsetting it is not going to get me down. Too many things to do, people to talk to, glasses of milk to drink. The ratio of crying to getting on with life is not changing yet.
The main outcome of the meeting today was that my treatment will take place on Tuesday, so another five days of not being able to open the fridge door, not going out, and not eating properly. Just when I was starting to think positively….
Cancer 219
Posted on December 4, 2025 Leave a Comment
The endless cycles of cancer. I think I notice changes much more than when I was well. In my state I need to notice what appear to be small changes because they might have massive consequences. This at least partially explains the roller coaster nature of my life. I was driving to have my blood test this morning with a lot of abdominal pain. After the test (which took three goes with the needle) I drove home, and during that 25 minutes my stoma bag filled, and I mean filled. If I had been going much further I would have needed to empty it before it exploded. The toilet looked like a chocolate bomb had hit it. A small animal could have walked across the toilet without getting wet, as it looked blocked. Are you getting the image? It was a lot of stuff. I must now be cleared from my time of constipation.
The thing was I ended up very tired and falling asleep this morning. There are a number of factors. I slept very little last night. I was in pain and needed to sit up rather than lie down. so I did. Blood was taken from me – not a lot but enough. My bowels emptied with a lot of fuss. These elements together tire me, make me think I am going to have yet another unproductive day. Oh yes, I am having my flu jab shortly, so that will probably knock me about a bit.
It is this constant battering of my body in so many different ways that I find increasingly difficult to deal with. Most of the things are minor, and alone I wouldn’t think about them, but I can have several things going on at once, and then in addition I am in paid, and I am a little sick of it. I know I am never going to be well, but it would be nice to get as well as I was on my previous treatment a few months ago. I was limited but nothing like this. It is increasingly difficult to get on with any mental work, let alone physical tasks The other day I managed to change the pull cord for the bathroom light, which involved standing on a stool. This morning I was to line the Christmas cake tin but I couldn’t finish it because I struggled to remain standing for the time it took. I just needed to sit down.
I ate a full portion of a bought-in shepherd’s pie last night, along with a few Brussels. It was too much, but I did finish it. That was probably a mistake. I still struggle to see a plate unemptied. That is the power of sitting at a childhood dining table, thou shalt not waste food. It presumably arose from the war experience of my parents, though it might have been because they didn’t have a lot of money and so food should not be wasted. It was rarely a problem as a child because I needed five or six meals a day to enable me to be as active as I was. It is not like that now. Being active means planning to stand up from my chair and go to the toilet, or, as is the case now so I had better stop writing, walk all the way to the GP surgery next door for a flu jab. I hope I can manage to walk home again!
Cancer 218
Posted on December 2, 2025 Leave a Comment
Tom Stoppard is dead. I didn’t know he was Czech until the other day. He wrote Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, an absurdist play based on Hamlet that I somehow liken to my two forms of morphine, zoomorph and oromorph. I don’t know which is which, but in an absurdist world it doesn’t really matter. In the play it is difficult to distinguish between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, whereas in the real world the zoomorph is slow release morphine that I take twice a day and oromorph a bottle from which I glug when necessary (actually, I don’t. I use a syringe, clearly marked with the correct dosage, it just sounds better to think I just upend the bottle and hope for the best).
I am using increasing amounts of morphine, both types. I have tremendously unpleasant things going on in my abdomen which scream at me regularly and ensure I never get a full night’s sleep. On a good night I sleep for an hour or two, wake for a few hours, and then sleep again for a few hours. On a bad night I don’t sleep. Everything is slowing down now, it is all starting to coalesce around my chair. Yes, we made it to Devon at the weekend, but I am shattered now. I just want to sit. When I say coalesce around my chair I mean it literally. My junk seems to gather.
My latest publication came out yesterday. It is an article entitled the ‘Siege of Leiden, 1573-74′, published in the magazine, Battlefield (The magazine of the Battlefields Trust and the Scottish Battlefields Trust), vol 30(1), pp 14-17. It is colourfully illustrated with maps and paintings of people such as Fernando Alvarez de Toledo, 3rd Duke of Alba. If there is anyone who doesn’t know about it, the siege took place during the 80 Years’ War between the Dutch rebels and the Spanish. Let me know if you want to read it!
In Hamlet, most of the key characters die, a bit like people having cancer. Is that absurd? Not really. What I think is absurd is the way people reference death. They talk of ‘passing away’ or just ‘passing’. On gravestones there is the nonsensical ‘went to sleep.’ I have a rule. I know I can’t impose rules from after death but I will haunt anyone who breaks it. I want no references to passing, passing on, ‘lost’ or any other nonsensical term for death. If you are talking about me and death (and you had better talk about me) then you say dead, death, or similar. I will be dead. I will not have passed from one place to another, from one life to another. We will have no absurdities here, thank you.
Dr Nigel Hunt 