Cancer 196
Posted on June 17, 2025 Leave a Comment
I never did like roller coasters. Not that I have been on a real one, only the physical and emotional one that I am living through right now. Things have changed since my last post. Instead of moving on to the new (and final) treatment I am remaining on the original treatment, as the cancer growth was not determined large enough to make the change. Wahay! So I am back in hospital for my 37th round of chemotherapy today – assuming that my line is still working. I have little faith in the lines paced in my body. Not one of the 5 or 6 has worked properly. The current one, supposedly the best, failed at removing blood samples immediately because it is slightly wrongly placed and has myelinated. As it has not been used in a month or so I wonder whether anything can be put in. We will see in a couple of hours. The other problem is that I am having some abdomenal pain, but I won’t tell them that, will I? Just in case they refuse treatment. It is affecting my eating, which can only be a good thing.
Hospitals. I this is my fourth working day in a row. On Thursday it was Ilkeston for blood sampling, on Friday Derby for the consultant, Monday the radiotherapy consultant, and today Derby for chemotherapy. To say I am sick of it would be rather an understatement, but I put that against a faster termination of life and I keep on coming.
I am now awaiting a scan for the radiotherapy. They need to check the location of my bowel and my cancers. After that I will get one week, Monday to Friday, of radiotherapy to try and reduce the lump that is by the side of my stoma – and causing a bit of jip. That will be a fun week, Derby hospital five days in a row.
Oh well, at least the hospital has an excellent restaurant. Oh, sorry, that was my positive outlook on life on overdrive. The restaurant is terrible. Poor quality unhealthy food (I like my unhealthy food to be of good quality), though the tea is OK.
That roller coaster, as Ronan Keating said, we just have to ride it.
Cancer 195
Posted on June 13, 2025 Leave a Comment
I have decided that, assuming this is the final phase, that I should see it as an adventure, the last adventure. Why should dying not be an adventure? Lots of big adventures end with death, though usually they are not inevitable, so exploring the process of bodily decay and shutdown is my adventure.
Today I am back on the merry go round. I am in hospital to see the consultant, who will determine whether I should start the new treatment next week. If so, I have no idea whether it will affect me more than the last two years of treatment have affected me.
On Monday I see the radiotherapy consultant for the first time. This will determine whether I will get radiotherapy for the lump on my stoma. This lump is a bit of a problem both because it makes it difficult for the stoma bags to glue to my skin properly with attendant leaks. Sorry for the smell folks, it is my cancerous lump, and because it hurts like hell when it gets knocked, which is too common, eg against tables or doorways or when there are too many people.
I am hoping, though it is probably not realistic, that the radiotherapy might be used against my bag of marbles, ie the rapidly growing set of cancerous lumps in my abdomen. The optimist might say that the chemotherapy will have an effect, and I am an optimist, so….
Cancer 194
Posted on June 9, 2025 1 Comment
It isn’t looking good. It is getting worse by the week. The bastards are growing inside me.
This is the last day of our holiday. I am writing from a Swedish cafe in Grasmere. I have a blood test on Thursday, usual consultant on Friday and radiotherapy consultant on Monday. Perhaps a combination of drugs and radiation will knock the bastards back a bit, but I am not optimistic. They have grown significantly.
There are times when I wish fairy stories could be true. Wouldn’t it be good if the religious fairy stories about the continuation of life in an after life were true? If we could just say ‘See you in a bit’ to our friends and families when we die, knowing they will join us when they pop their clogs? Religion is a great invention. Not only does it help people deal with fear of death, it also serves to keep the masses under control.
It is a shame it is a load of bollocks. Not once through this damned illness have I wondered, ‘What if it is true?’ That is like thinking that Snow White really exists and Hansel and Gretel really had some trouble with a witch in the forest. No one believes these fairy stories so why do they believe the religious fairy stories, which are just as incredible, with the parting of the Red Sea or the raising of the dead?
It is simple. If you are told something is true when you are very young, and consistently told the same thing throughout childhood, and you are told these stories by people you trust, parents and teachers, then it becomes harder to question it.
Add to that the genuine fear of death people have because they can’t accept that life is a short flit through the world with no existence before or after then faith becomes understandable.
The problem is that much of the time we just don’t question things. Some people don’t appear to question anything.
The closer I get to death, nothing changes. It would be absurd in a Sartrean fashion to change now. It would undermine everything I believe.
That doesn’t mean I am not a) terrified of the dying process, pain etc, and b) upset that I will be missing out on perhaps a couple of decades of active life. I am both terrified and upset, just not about non-existence.
Anyway, who wants to play a harp on a cloud with a crossdressing angel, or have to deal with 72 virgins with all their issues about sexuality – and what happens when they stop being virgins? Do you get another set?
If I am repeating myself then tough. It is what is going through my head at the moment. This isn’t a well-structured book, it is a badly structured blog….
Cancer 193
Posted on May 31, 2025 Leave a Comment
I have always tried to be my true self with these posts, showing my thoughts and feelings as they are at the time of the post. This is why there are plenty of downs as well as ups, along with the confusion that is the way I am often thinking and feeling. The confusion is greater than ever. I had a phone call planning a meeting with a radiographer, so it appears I will be having radiotherapy when I get back from my holidays. This was mentioned as a possibility before, as treatment for the lump on my stoma. It is a little scary. I understand radiotherapy can take place every day for two or three weeks. Oh what fun that will be, probably combined with the new chemotherapy.
How will it all make me feel? I dont know. I have been lucky so far. I have not been confined to bed or felt sick beyond the first day of chemotherapy, but who knows for the future? And will it be worth it? How long do I have left? Now the decline has set in can it be stopped? Will I respond to a new treatment? If I do how long will it be successful for? I can’t imagine it will last as long as the previous treatment (two years).
Over the last few weeks I have felt the decline. It is in odd things. My legs ache. I am sleeping through the night more often (for most people that would be a good thing, but dying cancer patients usually sleep longer). I can’t walk as far as I could even a few weeks ago. I have a general feeling of malaise, a feeling of dying. Obviously I don’t really know what that is as I havent been here before (except in hospital just after surgery, but I wasn;t all there then), but it just feels like dying. Perhaps it is my neuroticism, perhaps it is my imagination, and perhaps I will spring back on my next blog and say what a load of nonsense I have been saying – because underlying it I cannot remove hope and optimism.
As I have said repeatedly, I don’t fear death, I fear dying. I fear dying in pain. If there is something about death I am not too impressed with it is that I would like to live longer. I am only 62, and I could have had many more years of happy life, more years of productive life, more years with family and friends. This is what bothers me more than most things. I know that once I am dead it won’t matter because I wont exist, but while I do exist it does bother me. I won’t let it get me down though, while I might have my moments of down, the bugger is not going to keep me down.
And back to my holiday. It is a nice warm day in Craster and we are off to buy some kippers – assuming I can manage to walk the 200 metres to the smokery….
Cancer192
Posted on May 24, 2025 1 Comment
Well, it was bound to happen. After spending the last couple of years with my head firmly buried in the sand regarding the performance of my little lumps of cancer, my claims about their hopeless performance, given that the cancer is meant to be aggressive, they are now starting to show their true colours. I saw the consultant today, and instead of the usual boring news regarding no change, my latest scan has shown that the little bastards are growing. OK, the biggest is still under 3cm, but the consultant appeared confident that we are entering the next stage, the stage of cancerous growth, and my current treatment is failing.
At the outset of all this, I was told I would have access to two treatments: this first-line approach that I have been undergoing for two years, and then a second-line approach, which would be the last treatment offered. It looks like I am going to be moving onto the second line treatment. The growth next to my stoma which is causing some problems may also be related to the cancer.
There is going to be a meeting next week to examine my situation. I won’t be there. I will be in Northumberland, but they will look at the stoma and see whether it should receive radiotherapy, and whether I should change treatment. I will find out what is happening in the middle of June (and no, I am not bothered about finding out earlier. It won’t change anything).
I had intended to take a break after next week’s round of chemotherapy, but this has messed everything up. When I move into the new chemotherapy regime, I won’t be taking a break for a while – or ever, so after discussion, I decided to take a break now, only a short break, as now the cancer is growing, it may continue to grow while I am off chemotherapy. The break is three weeks, effectively less, so instead of going to Denmark, we are heading north, taking in a decent hotel and then self-catering in Northumberland and probably the Lake District. This may be my last holiday longer than six days (assuming I can still get a six-day break when on the new treatment), so I want to go somewhere with good food, friendly people and decent scenery.
How do I feel about all this? I knew it was going to happen, but it was never going to happen now; it was always in the future. I have been living with everything being stable for so long that I carried on thinking it would continue, avoiding the truth, but enjoying life. Will the treatment work? Who knows. It might not work at all, it might work for a short period, or it might work for a longer period. In reality, it is not likely to work for very long. How do I feel? Daft question. I am not ready to die. I still have things to do, books to write, and people to speak to. As I have repeatedly said, I do not fear death; I fear dying. I don’t want pain (though I am living with it most of the time), and I don’t want to turn into a brainless blob, slobbering on a bed, surrounded by people who want it all to be over.
Choices, choices. They are starting to disappear.
Oh yes, how do I feel? Fine thanks; occasionally a bit more blubby (get a grip you big girl’s blouse), but still positive. My bloods were reasonably normal, and my cancer marker has not gone up, so my body is still fighting. We shall fight them on the beaches and all that.
Dr Nigel Hunt 