Cancer 22
Posted on March 13, 2023 Leave a Comment
I was looking at the Dignitas website earlier, wondering why it is only in Switzerland that there is a civilised way of dealing with voluntary death due to illness or disability. I wonder whether I should join, if only to be prepared for contingencies. As it says on the website, many people join to be reassured and never make use of its services, just happy in the knowledge of its availability. At least it then becomes an option. Given the amount of pain I am in when the drugs wear off, and the limited possibilities for the future, Dignitas may become one of the real options.
This may be cowardice, and just speaking from the perspective of it being early in the morning without drugs, but I don’t think so. Throughout this process I have tried to consider all the possibilities at the time, those opening up, those closing down. At the start I had positive options, the complete cure, the freedom from cancer. That option has gone. Now it is the options with cancer, which include palliative management and a relatively long life (not probable), palliative management and a few months (maybe), palliative management and weeks (perhaps a high probability given that I am receiving no chemo and the last tumour grew at such a fast rate).
As I have said before, I think I am ready for any of these options – particuarly if they can be managed without pain. The Dignitas option is for when this cannot happen. When I have had enough.
The problem is I don’t think those around me are ready. Why should they be? They are the ones who are going to survive this and live without me. It may be selfish of me but I think I will be missed. On the other hand who was it who said the dead are soon forgotten, to be recalled occasionally and with sadness, but the living get on with their lives?
I am the dead. I am not jealous of the living, because while they will live I won’t exist, so jealousy makes no sense. I would of course like to live, and I will take options that give me a better chance to survive a little longer, as long as it is a good life. I don’t want to sit in this hospital for the rest of my life, recovering from some operation, unable to breathe fresh air, unable to see my house and my loved ones, constantly requiring drugs for pain, and watching the faiing lives of the people in the beds around me.
I am the dead. Most people do not have the grim reaper holding his scythe above their heads. They do not know when they are to die, whether tomorrow or in decades. It makes a difference being dead. It is not that everything becomes focused, and seen sharply in the light of mortality. My body is spending too much time trying to mend the wound I have in my abdomen. It closes me in, focuses me on my own body to the exclusion of other matters. I am not watching the news. I don’t know what the weather is like. I am not even reading a novel. The only outside influences I have now are people, both visitors and those who send me messages.
I have little hope. I am not even really dreaming of getting home, driving somewhere nice, having a holiday, and so on. My biggest hope is to get home to my family and friends.
Cancer 21
Posted on March 12, 2023 Leave a Comment
I have noticed that my blogs are not upbeat enough, though I keep saying they will be. Well, today I walked right round the ward and found the important places, the.kitchen and the storeroom. I actually wanted to walk further but I don’t think they will let me out of the ward just yet.
I am starting, at times, to feel some of my energy coming back; my desire to be up and at ’em. I might even be able to take my trousers off shortly. My stoma still isn’t working, apart from farting. Perhaps it is like a geyser, bubbling up for a while before it fully explodes. I want it to explode, then I can start eating properly. All I had today was two partial bowls of chicken soup and a couple of biscuits. I might treat myself to two more biscuits later when I drink my apple juice. I have not had any tea, which is unheard of.
I have just been listening to the nurse handover of me. The word ‘imdependence’ was used, along with ‘stable when walking’. There was talk of possibly getting day release for Tuesday!
One thing that still hurts is going for a wazz. The last time wasn’t as bad so perhaps by morning it will normalise.
I do genuinely feel a bit better. I am lying in bed but thinking I could spring upright. I couldn’t of course because my stomach muscles have been sliced through like an axe wound in a medieval battle as Jack and I discussed today. It isn’t of course. I was unconscious when I was wounded and have had lots of drugs to remove the pain. Medieval soldiers did not have these benefits, dying in agony instead.
Cancer 20
Posted on March 12, 2023 Leave a Comment
The dressing is removed. Let the air get to it. Just a few blisters, otherwise ok. The worst bit for me is that they cut through my belly button!
Cancer 19
Posted on March 12, 2023 1 Comment
After the tone of the previous two blogs it is perhaps time to be a little more positive. Last night was awful, with the realisation of death, the loneliness, the total helplessness, but there is no reason to despair. If I despair then I will lead a miserable life for whatever period I have left. And how would that help? I would much prefer to spend what remains of my life with my family and friends, and getting this damned book finished.
There is no denying that today has been difficult. I am sitting in hospital with a big wound, a stoma that has farted but not crapped yet, and I just want to get up and get moving. But I have achieved things today. First of all my mood is better. That helps with the rest. I have had most of my pipes and connections removed so that is good. I have started getting up and urinating myself, walking across the way each time. I have even managed to get my trousers on to preserve my dignity!
Getting my trousers on was quite an achievement as I had to reach down to the floor, but I did it. I have just been jabbed in the stomach, a form of warfarin to stop blood clots, and then I had oral painkillers. This morning I stopped taking diamorphin as I didn’t want to depend on it. The pain is a little elevated but it is worth it if I can manage.
Today my son and his wife arrived. They are up for the funeral, but it is good they have made it early so we can see each other. One doctor is going out of her way to make the funeral happen for me in one of the rooms. She is amazing. She is coming into the hospital despite not having a shift, just to make it happen. Again, the staff are brilliant.
Unfortunately I had to chase my visitors away because I was tired and feeling a little unwell because my gut has not started working. Hopefully tomorrow.
If I am not entirely upbeat it is because of the pain, not severe but continual, the heat in the room, and the boredom. I don’t have the energy to read or write properly. At least I have had some sleep.
I may start to write about death again in my next blog. I know it comes up a lot, perhaps that is because it is important!
Later – it is early morning. I am somewhat nauseous and in some pain. I will have to admit I cut the diamorphine too early. They did say not to be brave! I thought I could tough it out. I have to remember it is only 2.5 days since the surgery! I don’t need to be brave.
Cancer 18
Posted on March 11, 2023 Leave a Comment
I am having a bad night. It is 2am. I feel I have only weeks. At most levels I accept it, but sometimes the other side takes over. I have some pain and discomfort now, the vital signs are all over the place. I want a piss but I have a catheter so it drips into the bag continuously, frustratingly. My back is very itchy. I want to scratch wherever there is an IV in my body. They are on my hands and in my arm. There are drains from my wounds where I have been stapled and stiched back together. My stoma is a large hole just below my left ribs which tonight started farting. It was a shock. I have no control over it. No one will want to go to a restaurant with me. The bag only contains liquid so far but the nurse says faeces will gather tomorrow. I have started calling it a mangina because it is a front hole acting as a back hole but the image doesn’t work because the mangina is a sewer pipe, not a place of desire. Perhaps I should call it my front sewer, or perhaps a manhole. I have a needle in an artery and wires collecting heart information. I have a clip on my finger and my feet won’t stop dancing against the bed foot as I try to scratch my back with the mattress that is too small for me. I become more agitated. There is stereo snoring now across the way. I hate snoring. The alarms are continually beeping some coded signal that nobody responds to because they continually beep. The staff do respond to our personal beepers. The other people in the room atill snore, set off their alarms. The screen shows they have stopped breathing or have no heartbeat. No one does anything because the cause is a slipped clip, a tube blocked by a hand. Sleepers talk, wimper in their sleep, moan, and wake, sleep and moan, snore and are silent, like now, except me. I don’t like it. I want it to go away by the morning, or preferably sooner. It is now quiet, but not in my head. This bed is too short. A manhole cover, a better name for the stoma bag. Sewer, the hole itself. It is 2.09am. Time creeps when you are not having fun
Dr Nigel Hunt 