Cancer 153
Posted on November 12, 2024 Leave a Comment
I am back in the hospital today for Chemo 27 (I think – I am losing track). When I entered the hospital in the past there was an alien nature to it, it was a place I didn’t want to be. It smelled strange and was in no way comforting. Today as I walked in there was a familiarity, a comfort. While I still don’t want to be here I have grown so used to it that it is almost pleasurable, certainly safe, to be here. The corridors no longer look forbidding, the lines of trolleys attractive, the signs to x-ray, haematology, etc provide the well-known map. I have now been in so many departments I feel I could write a Rough Guide to the hospital. Accommodation, like a 1980s hostel in Morocco. Food, generally a lower standard than British Rail in the 1980s. Staff, wonderful, except for some of the trolley drivers who provide a simiar experience to driving in Bangalore.
I am sitting in the virtually deserted restaurant at the top of the building, where they serve inedible breakfasts (even to me, the English breakfast lover), and where they have introduced the horrible smells of the doyen of fake foods, Subway. The smell permeates the whole restaurant. Among the few customers there is always the person who thinks it is acceptable to play noisy videos on their phone.
From here I will walk down the 12 flights of stairs (96 steps if you are asking) and go to the cancer room. I don’t walk up them, sionce being ill I have discovered lifts, but I still walk down, and am quite proud to do so. What a walker I am. I usually end up doing a few thousand steps while in hospital. They are big places. There are so many ill people.
Tonight I will go home and be ill. I am always ill when I am treated. Tomorrow morning I hope to wake up well, though still with my chemo bottle attached. I have been less well on the second day recently. I hope it is a blip. I don’t want to be ill.
My ambition is to take away the job of my district nurses. I flush my Hickman line every week (while the nurse sits playing with the cats or chatting). Last week I took my own blood samples. Now I just need to be able to do the chemo detach, ie removing the chemo bottle, then I will be fully independent – at least on a Thursday. It will also save the district nurses a job. They should train all their able-bodied ill people to do these tasks. Give us a bit of independence.
Cancer 152
Posted on November 8, 2024 Leave a Comment
Briefly, I have had the results of my scan and there is no significant change, meaning that there is nothing present in my chest, and only the nodules that were already present in my abdomen. My hernia has not got worse. My bloods are normal.
All is well.
I was fretting a little about this one.
Cancer 152
Posted on November 8, 2024 1 Comment
I get my latest scan results today. For some reason I am not as optimistic as usual. At some point the chemotherapy will stop working and the cancer will grow. I have had a somewhat rough time of it in the last few weeks re diarrhoea, possible Covid, temperature probably relating to the flu and Covid jobs I had at the beginning of this week. I went out for a meal last night and left some food! This is unheard of. I must be ill.
My last blog generated a little discussion of assisted dying, highly pertinent as parliament is going to discuss a draft bill (https://bills.parliament.uk/bills/3741). I naturally support this bill as I am terrified of the potential pain in the last stages of life. The debate ranges around the safeguards for those who are choosing to die. There are always going to be problems where people are encouraged to make use of the facility, perhaps because the family sees the individual as a burden.
There is, to my mind, a false assumption regarding the importance of life, and the need to ensure that the individual has a free choice about when to die. We all die. Those of us who are terminally ill just know that we are going to die earlier than we thought. It came up in the discussion on my previous blog about the rationale for choosing death, and that perhaps it is a duty of the terminally ill to accept assisted dying. This is an interesting idea, recognising the emotional content of the topic, but attempting to rationalise it through a duty or necessity of dying.
I like to think that when I get to the terminal phase, where I am bed bound and in pain, where the doctors are saying that I am unlikely to have any more worthwhile life, that I will pop the pill with my family around me and experience a good death. I like to think that the decision will be made by me, though if I can’t make it then it should be a consensus among key family members. We are all reasonably intelligent people. We have discussed this. We all agree that assisted dying is fundamentally a good idea. I don’t think we will get caught up in the emotional claptrap.
Perhaps that is not the case for many people. Those who are vulnerable may agree to die because of family pressure, but is this necessarily a bad thing? Only those who are terminally ill and have little hope of any more good life should be able to be killed in this way, so I am not convinced that there is a problem. The final decision will presumably be made by medical personnel, after listening to the individual and their family. If there is a hint of pressure then presumably they can refuse to agree to assisted dying?
In the end, what is the fuss all about? If life is shit and not getting better then bang, wipe it out.
Cancer 151
Posted on November 4, 2024 3 Comments
I am a little depressed. It is an odd feeling, given that I am reasonably well, I have a social life, I am doing some work, and we are managing to get away on holidays and visits. I have no real reason to be down, but it is something to do with still being alive.
When I got this diagnosis I assumed I would rattle around for a while, gradually deteriorating, and eventually succumb to my cancer. I was told I might have two or two and a half years, and I am just coming up to two years, it has gone on a long time, perhaps too long?
I didn’t think I would be living with the stoma, the tubes, the drugs, the chemo visits (26) for so long. While I have the habit of them, and I try to make the best of it, it is all rather unpleasant. In a way I am living a half life, in the waiting room for death, unable to live normally, unable to do many of the things I liked doing.
I can’t help thinking others have had enough of it. At the start getting cancer is big news, but it can’t stay that way over the long term. People get on with their lives, while I change my stoma and spend time in hospital, trying not to be unhappy. Why should people continue to pay attention to my plight? I am old news.
Whenever I start thinking about depression I realise how selfish it is, even to think of imposing my thoughts on others in this way. Ignore me, my grip loosened for a moment, my upper lip unstiffened, but I am all right now.
It is good to talk.
Cancer 150
Posted on October 25, 2024 Leave a Comment
150 posts. It is rather a lot, many more than I thought I would be writing, particularly just after my operation when I really thought I didn’t have long left. Some people might be wishing I didn’t have time for all these ramblings. I don’t blame you. There is only so much to say about death.
The last few days have brought it home to me again. After the fever the other day last night I found it difficult to lie down, with much of my body aching. I did the foolish thing of playing with the internet. I usually avoid it for my situation. I am not a medic and my interpretations of.papers may be wrong.
Last night I found out that my bad lower back is a sign of cancerous growth, and also that my problem with my left arm is cancer that has spread to the bones. I stayed up most of the night, very uncomfortable, but also stoking my neuroticism. Knowing that I can get neurotic I usually try to avoid the overthinking that leads to such problems.
Last night was an exception. It is still a little troubling, so I am listening to Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures for a little uplift, or a reality check. It works. I am in a low mood, so I listen to something that generates a low mood. They match and I start to feel better. I wasn’t a psychologist for nothing.
Back to reality, my bloods are normal except for low calcium clearly dairy products don’t help as I live on milk, butter, yoghurt and cheese. I will get more pills for this. I am still waiting for the results of my latest CT scan
My 26th round of treatment starts on Tuesday after a six week break. Here we go again.
I wonder if and when I will decide to stop the treatment and get on with dying? Not yet, anyway. I have Joy Division to cheer me up when I am feeling down!
Dr Nigel Hunt 