Cancer 129
Posted on June 25, 2024 Leave a Comment
I arrived at the CDU (the cancer unit) this morning more in hope than expectation. Probably due to a chaos of people, no one had sorted out the deferment of my treatment from last week to this week. My infection of last week is now cleared up, and so I could be treated, but no one had got their act together, so it has been arranged (hopefully) for next week.
I could be angry that I am not receiving treatment again. Treatment is aimed at thrashing the bastard little lumpy things in my abdomen, and if I don’t receive my poisonous cocktail then the bastard little lumpy things will become bastard big lumpy things and bang – it is all over. On the other hand, not receiving treatment means that I have another week of feeling better and getting around more. It is a fine balance between wanting treatment to prolong my life and wanting at least some time when I feel well. At the moment, I am sticking with wanting treatment, but who knows how long that will last?
The wife made a joke yesterday. I was looking at the possibilities for a new phone. A certain phone offered seven years of updates as one of its selling points. The wife said, “You won’t need that, then.” It sounded better in the flesh, but it is not like the wife to make such jokes. Perhaps I should be offended? I don’t think so.
We picked up two new kittens yesterday, partly to replace the kitten that died on us the other week. They are called Die and Camilla. I named the first one. And no, it is not about death. The kitten has a spot on its back. I do like having animals around; they help my mood, even cats, which are intrinsically evil and hateful. I would rather have chickens, I relate to them better, and like talking to them, but looking after them is more of a hassle, and once I become fully incapable then it is impracticable. To be honest, it is impracticable now, given the limited amount of help I provide around the house. It is not that I don’t want to help, and often I feel I can help, but in the end, it is very difficult to do things. I am building up to going outside and clearing up the front garden, something I should have done weeks ago, but it takes time to work up the energy, and even then I can’t get much done before I have to sit down.
It is shit knowing that this is only going to get worse.
Cancer 128
Posted on June 20, 2024 Leave a Comment
Hospital again, for the third time in a week. Each time it is over 30 miles round trip, and then, because of limited parking, I have to get in early (by around 0730) to ensure I get a space, irrespective of the time of appointment. This then means that only Costa is open to get a cup of tea. As the place stinks of rancid coffee, I prefer to hang around in a corridor (as I am doing now) until 0800 when the main restaurant opens. Restaurant is a loose term. In the morning it only sells poor quality fried breakfast, which even I usually avoid. It has also recently opened a Subway, which smells even worse than Costa. I have never eaten anything from Subway, but I do wonder how anyone would want to given the smell.
I now understand why I am called a patient. It is not because I am ill, but because the level of patience required is Sisyphusian. Arrive at hospital. Do not plan anything else for the day. Bring a good book. I am currently reading Borderlands, a history of Europe told from the edges, by Lewis Baston. I have always liked borders. They are so much more interesting than the centre of things.
I am here today because this week’s treatment was cancelled because I have a severe skin infection, and it is being checked to see whether I can have treatment next week. It is clearing so I don’t see why not.
The problem with having a week’s delay on treatment with a fortnightly cycle is that it throws out all our plans. We usually plan something for my week off, but now my week off will become my week on. In the past this has meant losing money on holidays, but we have wised up to it and now only book last minute. It is also why any arrangements made with friends may be cancelled at the last minute. Sorry for being so inconvenient people.
My appointment is for 0900 so I dream of being away for 0915. The reality I may be sent for a scan or a blood test, with an appointment this afternoon, or be subject to some other activity which is designed to try the patience of the most patient patient.
Apologies for any spelling mistakes. I am writing this on my phone and I have big thumbs – and a skin infection so be patient.
Cancer 127
Posted on June 14, 2024 Leave a Comment
I had a particularly bad stoma spillage the other day. I won’t go into too many details in case you are eating, but I was changing bags when my remaining bowel decided to do a Surtsey over my stomach and trousers. It was a heavy and messy affair, but it is what you have to learn to live with when having a stoma, particularly when there is the additional burden of diarrhoea relating to chemotherapy. Some problems just don’t mix well.
MY current experiences have made me wonder whether we have got it all wrong. The zeitgeist is that we should be encouraging men to cry. I think we should be encouraging a return to the times of the stiff upper lip. Could we have survived World War Two if we broke down and cried every time something horrid happened? Perhaps crying really is a sign of weakness. Is there a place for a new book, “Real men (and women) don’t cry”?
There are places for crying, hidden away at night worrying about life, or watching a soppy film. Winston Churchill cried all the time and no one would say he was weak. We have spent several decades being told by psychologists that we should cry, we should express our emotions, that it is helpful. Is it? Or are we creating weak people? Look at the current problems with mental health. Instead of encouraging people to be weak, to need psychologists – which may itself lead to mental health problems – shouldn’t we be encouraging resilience, to get up and get on with it, to stiffen that lip and pull oneself together?
If I spent all my time moping then I wouldn’t be living this part of my life in what is a generally happy way. I would sit in my chair, cry about it, and give up.
(I know, I express my emotions through writing. What a hypocrite. That is the joy of unedited blogs.)
Let’s instead focus on resilience, strength and the good old British stiff upper lip. Crying is weakness. We all have our weaknesses but we should put it in context, ie keep quiet about it, instead of proclaiming to the world that we are weak.
Wipe up that shit and move on.
Cancer 126
Posted on June 3, 2024 2 Comments
Three days after the butterfly catcher slashed my jugular, I am still feeling it. Last night I felt a distorted pulse (this is a vein, not an artery), and at one point I thought I felt the line move. These feelings, along with a myriad of others, are no doubt largely psychosomatic, made up by my pesky subconscious, based on the idea that it is not normal to have plastic tubes inside your body, and the common wisdom that having your jugular slashed by a knife is not healthy. I know, it wasn’t slashed, it was just a small hole made very carefully by someone who has done this many times before, but the subconscious imagination demands its say.
Several people have said I look well at the moment. It is even suggested that I have lost weight. I do feel well, but my treatment starts tomorrow so I probably won’t feel well for long. I am determined to try and stay healthy, but it is a little beyond my control, with all these drugs pumping around, and further drugs to offset the impact of the first drugs. It is difficult to create a reasonable homeostasis with the drug combinations, but the medical staff have – so far – done a pretty good job of it.
I need to keep going for a long time yet as I have a lot to write about – though I am not very good at getting on with it at the moment. Apart from my unfinished novels about the civil war and about working in universities, I am starting on my account of Wingfield Manor, and I am just pondering an idea about how feminists have got the notion of power all wrong – but that is another story. I will just sit here and contemplate my pierced jugular and feel a little uncomfortable.
Cancer 125
Posted on May 31, 2024 Leave a Comment
OK, well that went fine. I could feel it as the surgeon cut into my jugular, and as he shoved the plastic piping through my vein to my heart, but it wasn’t painful. The most painful part was the injections of the local anaesthetic at the start of the procedure, but I was ready for those.
I was laid flat on a bed and sterile sheets were placed over my head and chest. My head faced left, and I could see a little of the room and breathe just a little air through the gap. The procedure didn’t take long. There were a few jokes about blood and a complaint that the nurse had provided the wrong bit of wire, but it was all good-humoured. I talked to the surgeon about his hobbies, butterflies and beekeeping. They don’t pin butterflies to boards any more. Boring. We also talked about the Holocaust, the Bosnian War, and the state of politics in the USA and the UK. Perhaps if I had said anything he didn’t agree with the hole in my jugular would have been much bigger.
I was then forced to hang around for an hour to make sure there were no ill effects. There weren’t. Then, as a certain person who came with me to the hospital in case she had to drive me home (she didn’t) ate pie and chips while I was suffering under the scalpel, I had pie, chips peas and gravy on the way home. Delicious.
Dr Nigel Hunt 