Cancer 94
Posted on January 6, 2024 Leave a Comment
This notion of dying is still lingering in me, partly perhaps due to this immense feeling of tiredness, and partly due to having a cold, which with a hardly functioning immune system is manflu++. I have my aches and pains, common enough but to my neurotic mind, increasing in intensity. I have visual problems, particularly in the early morning and the evening, to the extent that it can be difficult to read.
To change the subject, we are still in the sunshine of southern France, with new overnight snowfall on the mountains nearby. We have toured around, exploring the local Mediterranean areas of France and Spain, and seen a few fortresses, mainly Vauban’s. Living in this climate would probably have real health benefits, especially as I am eating more fish, in obedience to ‘local’ advice.
We are in Roussillon, which is northern Catalonia, ie Catalonia without all the nationalistic fuss of the Spanish Catalans. Here we go again, with my recent media experience of the Welsh and their ‘language’ still vivid in my head, I am again in an area where they have some signs with two languages on them – not as many as in Wales, so it is not such a problem. I do not know how many people speak Catalan in Roussillon, but I imagine it is far fewer than Catalan speakers in Spain. Visit any museum or public place in Spanish Catalonia and the first language is usually Catalan, which is useless for nearly all tourists. Language is primarily about communication, so the Catalonians are doing themselves a serious disservice by alienating tourists who can’t understand a word of their unintelligible language. I only found out the other day that Franco didn’t have a total ban on the use of Catalan – perhaps that was a mistake because by now it might have more or less disappeared like other dead and dying languages.
The French are not as flexible as other countries regarding the use of minority languages within the state. It is assumed everyone speaks French and uses French for all official business. There is none of this nonsense about wasting money putting everything into a minority language as we do with Welsh even though there are relatively few Welsh speakers in Wales (under 20% of the Welsh population as you are asking) and almost none outside Wales. The French just assume – rightly – that everyone will use the main language of the country rather than pander to noisy but misguided minorities (remember Brexit?) who insist on making life more difficult for everyone.
I might have said this before (allow my chemo-fuzzed brain its many failures) but I like to relate languages to the various football leagues. We have the top Premiership languages such as English, Spanish, Russian, Arabic, Hindi, and Mandarin, which are widely spoken around the world and are currently in no danger of dying out. We then have the Championship languages such as German, French (yes, you can argue both of those are Premiership, but leagues have promotion and relegation), Italian, and so on. Then we have the League One languages such as Greek, Serbo-Croat (come on, they are the same language despite the 1990s), Dutch, Danish, and so on. Then we move to the League Two languages that are surviving but may be in danger of leaving the league such as Finnish, Swedish, Czech, and so on, languages that are still ‘proper’ languages but may die out as the population starts speaking more English or another of the Premiership languages. Then we have the effectively dead non-league languages such as Welsh or Catalan, that are effectively moribund and only held together with a bit of old baling twine and lots of government money.
With globalisation there is an inevitable drift towards fewer languages because, as I already said, language is primarily about communication. English is still the dominant cross-country language in the EU despite our leaving because it is the most common second language in Europe. Languages will drift down the league tables and become effectively moribund or extinct as the big boys take over. Whatever the linguistic culturalists might desire, there are going to be fewer and fewer languages. This is not to say English will be the final dominant language, though at the moment it looks that way. It depends to some extent on political and cultural power and, as we have seen throughout history, that can change at any point. In Europe it is not long since French was dominant, and before that Latin.
I make no apologies for being Eurocentric. First, I am European, second, the world is Eurocentric.
Anyway, it makes a change from talking about cancer, though I am very tired….
Cancer 93
Posted on December 24, 2023 Leave a Comment
I had a terrible dream last night, one of those that takes over your whole self, even when you have woken up. Probably fortunately I don’t remember it in detail though I did for the first minutes after waking, but it was about having cancer, and I was bleeding heavily around the lower abdomen and groin area. I had to cycle while bleeding. I tried to soak up the blood with a cloth but it didn’t work. It was quite a long dream and shifted from being a fairly sensible one about doing research about cancer to a terrible one about cancer, blood and dying. I didn’t return immediately to bed as I may have returned to the dream. I stayed up for a few hours to rid myself of it.
I feel I have learned something about dying over the last few days, not only because of the dream but because of the immense tiredness I feel as a result of driving 1400km to this villa we are spending Christmas and the New Year at in Ceret, in the far south of France, in the Pyrenees, near the border with Spain.
In the past, when I have been ill, I have always expected to recover fully and live normally. Even with my heart failure, I felt I was living with it rather than dying from it. With my cancer, it is very different. I am clearly dying from it, the key question is how long it will take to die. I have mentioned figures before, ie no one can tell how long they will last, the doctors cannot predict with any certainty, but the mean is around 2 to 2.5 years from diagnosis. I have now survived – lived – nearly one year from diagnosis (It is my cancer birthday next month so I expect lots of presents!). I have known this all along but it is only in these last few days that I have got a real feeling of dying. I have pains in my abdomen, soreness around my stoma, itchiness on my head and arm, general weakness and an inability to walk very far. I have difficulties getting up from a sitting position, and sometimes feel dizzy when I do so. My eyes are affected. I get blurred vision at times, they are weepy and sore. My body aches. My fingertips are tender. The soles of my feet are tender, particularly when walking barefoot. The list of aches and pains, soreness and tenderness is endless, and I have a strong feeling that they are all signs of the general decay, that they will not go away, they will just get worse until they finish me off. At times I am taking painkillers but I want to avoid them, it feels like giving up to give in to pain. I am taking a generalised antibiotic, with a prescription for 50 days – that wouldn’t be handed out to just anybody. It feels that the health service will ply me with any drugs that will make my life just that little bit better. I have a bag full of drugs with me that serve a variety of purposes. My stoma kit consists of three big bags. I am back to chemotherapy towards the end of January. I am expensive to maintain – but for how much longer?
The feeling throughout life that it is normal to recover from an illness is hard to lose, but I am losing it. I still hope that many of these problems will, at least temporarily, go away, though I must admit I am not fully convinced. That is what I mean by having a sense of dying, that idea that these multiple bodily problems are building up, that I am not recovering from them, that eventually they are going to finish me off.
Yet I remain positive. It is probably wrong to say that I have hope, because there is no hope, not in the normal sense. There is only hope that there will be a temporary cessation or diminution of these symptoms, that the cancer will spread slowly rather than quickly, and that I will have years rather than months to live. Bad dreams do not help matters.
But don’t worry. I still have a positive frame of mind, though at times it might not sound like it. Back to enjoying the holiday….
Cancer 92
Posted on December 20, 2023 Leave a Comment
I am testing myself. One of my greatest pleasures has always been driving, but I tire much more easily now (13 cycles so far….), so I am wondering if I can still do the distances. I did 200 miles on Monday, 120km plus 7 hours on a ferry yesterday, and 400km today. Yes, I am knackered. I really needed to stop at 3pm, but I am ready for my next 400km tomorrow. Cancer? Huh, it will have to try harder than that to stop me driving.
I do like France but it has its imperfections.
- Tea. Why can’t they do tea? When they have tea bags they are always odd flavours rather than good British tea. I don’t want flowery grass seeds or blueberry muffin flavour.
- Tea. Why do they think that tea can be mashed properly significantly below 100 degrees? They bring out a pot, with the tea bag separate, and expect the flavour to emerge when the water is 90 degrees or lower when the tea bag is added. Not going to work.
- Tea. They serve it without milk. Milk is essential for tea. It takes away some of the bitterness leaving a perfect flavour.
- Milk. Fresh milk is becoming more common but there is still often the expectation that UHT milk can be used. It can’t. Anywhere. It is a terrible product. They even expect people to put it on cereals at breakfast, where there are cereals at breakfast.
- Breakfast. Come on, croissants and pastries? When I am in a hotel I expect bacon, sausage, eggs, and so on. Ok, this morning we did get fairly good sausages and well-presented scrambled egg, but no bacon. And rotten tea.
- Breakfast. It needs tea. Have I already mentioned this?
- Driving. Every French person on the road tailgates. It doesn’t matter what speed you do they tailgate. They can’t stand a foreigner being in front of them.
- Driving. This applies to most British people too. Reversing out onto a road. Gross incompetence.
- Mealtimes. These are largely fixed. You will eat at 1230 and at 1930 every day. You cannot be hungry at other times.
- Food. Too much cream and creaminess
I should create some balance here. Some positive things:
- Food. Foie gras. Unbeatable. I don’t care about how it is made. Those ducks and geese would do it to us if they could. It is called being higher up the food chain.
- Food. Bread. So much better than nearly all UK bread.
- Food. Rough pate. Why don’t we have proper pate in the UK any more?
- Driving. The roads are so much better than in the UK. No potholes, smooth tarmac. Perhaps we need to introduce charges for using the motorways.
- Driving. There is no one in France, so driving on the ordinary roads is such a pleasure (except for tailgating. OK there are some people in France).
- Food. Availability of veal. Why is it so difficult to get in the UK?
- Proximity to countries such as Germany and Spain, where the food is better.
- Battlefields. Lots of them (past ones of course, I don’t want the other sort).
- Vauban forts.
- Secularism.
I have no doubt you could add more to both lists. Fee free.
Cancer 91
Posted on December 19, 2023 Leave a Comment
In Alencon.
The ferry today was not very busy, but it was still full of the odd people who catch ferries and go to France, such as schoolteachers and retired schoolteachers. Not that I want to stereotype people, but schoolteachers are basically middle class people who try to look different but in so doing they look even more like schoolteachers. You know the type, we all do.
The sea was rough, if I had not taken the Kwells I would have been seasick. Then again, I get seasick just thinking about the sea. It is a vile substance, smelly, wobbly, full of inedible fish, flat and boring. If I was prime minister I would abolish it, build dams across the North Sea and the English Channel, and drain it so I could drive to continental Europe with all those teachers. The Channel may have been a good thing in 1940 but it has outlived its purpose.
I visited the ferry shop. If, like me, you don’t drink, smoke or wear perfume it is pointless.
I am looking forward to holidaying in France. It has been a year since we were last there. We are escaping Christmas and New Year as usual. Christmas should be as it is in Spain, a half-day holiday. In the UK it drags on forever and so there is nothing special about it, just a commercialised nightmare, and then the pointless wait until the New Year, a wasted week in which little gets done. On top of that we now have to share Christmas with other festivals – it was bad enough having just one.
From today I am on my official break from chemotherapy, six weeks without being pumped full of poisons. I am hoping that I will feel better by the end of it, and that my body will recover from these annoying side effects. I realise I have been luckier than those who have to spend a week in bed after their treatment, or have more agonising side effects, but it has been bad enough and is/was building up with each cycle. The tiredness is the worst. I spent some time on the ferry sleeping. I never sleep on ferries. I am awake at night and rarely catch up in the day. I am a little worried about driving down to the Pyrenees, but it should be fine. My fingertips are so sore I cannot play my guitar – I know, I can’t play anyway – but I literally cannot press the strings down without agony. My face and head are still covered with festering itchy spots. My arm, where the PICC line was fitted, is also very itchy. My bowels, what is left of them, are in turn very loose and very hard. My feet are tender. My abdomen is painful. I get a sore throat too easily. The only thing not affected is my diet. If anything I eat too much, perhaps more than I did before. I had a kebab tonight. That is a first in France for me.
I know, it could be worse, and it will be, but not while I stay positive and don’t give in to sleeping and whinging too much about side effects. Oops….
Dr Nigel Hunt 