When I listen to the staff talk at the Marsden now, I hear the word "hope" recurring.
Rather than being on a straight through process they now "hope" that the radiotherapy and chemotherapy will work.
Whilst that is no doubt an accurate assessment of position, I always feel quite comfortable when those "in authority", and seemingly best placed to judge, don't.
It is just in my nature to be more resourcful when I feel more isolated and with the odds stacked against me.
Naturally, I would rather be secure in positive science than in "hope" but hope is not always a bad place to be as it places is the emphasis on the individual to act.
I have discussed the next period of treatment with work and, as ever, have had solid support. This is much appreciated and now gives me the licence to switch my focus to the healing process whilst being able to continue to contribute, albeit at a reduced level. In many ways there is not much change here, rather a difference in emphasis but I can feel relaxed and unworried going forward.
So things are very much down to me and isn't that where everyone should always be?
Tuesday, 3 August 2010
Monday, 2 August 2010
Some Encouraging Movement
The one aspect of my blood tests from last week that I did not know until today is that my "tumour marker" blood counts have shown improvement.
The tumours markers were part of the picture that was used to decide that my operation would not go ahead in July.
At the time the marker called CA19-9 had fallen from an initial 60000+ down to 10,000 at the end of the first three cycles of chemotherapy. However, when the chemotherapy stopped it was at 25,000 three weeks later. A further two weeks on and it had seemingly stablised at 20,000.
These markers take a couple of days to come through from the blood tests and, as of last Wednesday, it stands at 11,000.
It is important to note that it is not so much the number that is important as the trend. That indicates why it was seen as a negative thing when it bounced to 25,000 after coming off the chemotherapy in June. The aim is to get the readings down but, just as importantly, to ensure they do not go back up when treatment finishes. This will give some indication (though only an indication) that the tumour will not grow back straight away once an operation is performed.
The other indicator is the CEA, which as fallen from 85 to 75 having risen steadily since the initial chemotherapy stopped in June.
Technical and boring but something positive.
The tumours markers were part of the picture that was used to decide that my operation would not go ahead in July.
At the time the marker called CA19-9 had fallen from an initial 60000+ down to 10,000 at the end of the first three cycles of chemotherapy. However, when the chemotherapy stopped it was at 25,000 three weeks later. A further two weeks on and it had seemingly stablised at 20,000.
These markers take a couple of days to come through from the blood tests and, as of last Wednesday, it stands at 11,000.
It is important to note that it is not so much the number that is important as the trend. That indicates why it was seen as a negative thing when it bounced to 25,000 after coming off the chemotherapy in June. The aim is to get the readings down but, just as importantly, to ensure they do not go back up when treatment finishes. This will give some indication (though only an indication) that the tumour will not grow back straight away once an operation is performed.
The other indicator is the CEA, which as fallen from 85 to 75 having risen steadily since the initial chemotherapy stopped in June.
Technical and boring but something positive.
The Right Balance
So, I've got through the first few days of chemotherapy and am also a few days into my radiotherapy treatment.
It is time to lift the struggle and get focused on what is really important.
This course of treatment is designed as another throw of dice in getting me into operation and cure and is likely to be the last from that perspective. The important thing is to do my utmost to make it work.
It is impossible to know exactly what is the best way to approach things, but there has to be a sensible balance.
Radiotherapy everyday rules out some of the potential for commuting to and from work and work will have to take a lighter load anyway. Working has been useful in giving a focus away from the other issues and it has more often than not still been priority number one in the same way as it is for everyone in a normal situation. However, that is not sustainable over the next month. It is still a factor in the mix and discussions over my level are input have already started.
There is no opportunity to create some kind of sterile, restful healing environment. Try and do that with two young and enthusiastic and happy children who will be returning from South Wales today. What is important is to create an environment where I can be happy, whilst living a normal life.
It would be good to get out for more walks in the park, strolls by the river and just generally keeping the spirit high whilst also getting a good easy level of exercise.
What I intend to do from a pyschological perspective is to believe that I can still make a big difference to the process. The cancer will do its own thing in conjunction with the treatment. I cannot control that, but I can put myself in the best frame of mind and the best condition to create an arena for the treatment to work in and that is exactly what I intend to do.
It is time to lift the struggle and get focused on what is really important.
This course of treatment is designed as another throw of dice in getting me into operation and cure and is likely to be the last from that perspective. The important thing is to do my utmost to make it work.
It is impossible to know exactly what is the best way to approach things, but there has to be a sensible balance.
Radiotherapy everyday rules out some of the potential for commuting to and from work and work will have to take a lighter load anyway. Working has been useful in giving a focus away from the other issues and it has more often than not still been priority number one in the same way as it is for everyone in a normal situation. However, that is not sustainable over the next month. It is still a factor in the mix and discussions over my level are input have already started.
There is no opportunity to create some kind of sterile, restful healing environment. Try and do that with two young and enthusiastic and happy children who will be returning from South Wales today. What is important is to create an environment where I can be happy, whilst living a normal life.
It would be good to get out for more walks in the park, strolls by the river and just generally keeping the spirit high whilst also getting a good easy level of exercise.
What I intend to do from a pyschological perspective is to believe that I can still make a big difference to the process. The cancer will do its own thing in conjunction with the treatment. I cannot control that, but I can put myself in the best frame of mind and the best condition to create an arena for the treatment to work in and that is exactly what I intend to do.
Sunday, 1 August 2010
A Social Week
Despite the madness on the medical front this week Kitten and I have been able to find some time to enjoy ourselves.
On Tuesday, I went out for a bite with Big John. We have been saying that we will touch base for a while and apart from being Big John starring as himself, he is one of the dads from school and football and husband to 15 - Love (the tennis coach who I mentioned meeting whilst ice-skating a while back).
Kitten got off to the gym as there were no sleeping children to worry about and Big John and I set off for a pizza. Neither of us were drinking and I took a discount voucher for the meal. Nevertheless, we elected to leave our handbags and "lippy" at home and indulged in old fashioned conversation rather than banter. All very strange for two grown men but entertaining. Big John was at the same school as me though five years younger and I never knew of him whilst I was there but it was interesting comparing to the backgrounds of how we emerged from the place. Cheers, for a good night out Big John.
It may not seem significant that Kitten and I have enjoyed some time to ourselves this week but it is an oasis within a difficult period both as individuals and in managing our little family.
Aside from our stroll in town on Friday, we went out last night for a quick bite to eat. On the way there I showed that I have lost none of my magic charm and neither have I lost the immediate ability to negate it.
As we were walking down the street towards the restaurant the sun was hanging low but above the roof-line and straight into our eyes. Kitten purred that she loved sunny evenings but I countered by saying that I hated the sun so low because I could not see anything. I paused and said
"But I can see you clearly and you are beautiful".
Kitten smiled at me and melted a little, so I followed on with
"Perhaps you are all I need to see".
I saw the "Home Run" lights flash in the stadium before adding "I'm doing well aren't I" and was promptly judged to have been caught at the boundary.
Today we even managed to catch up with "Car Crash" and his long-suffering "Mrs Forgiving".
Car Cash and I have been friends since we met in a pub when we were eighteen. He is also a Welsh lad and had been living in England for a couple of years when I met him. I was very proud to be his best man when he and Mrs Forgiving married some five years later.
Car Crash is named as such simply because he has had no less than twenty two car crashes and yet is still able to get insurance and drive on a public road. Not only that but he owns a chain of shops and spends his time going up and down our motorways. Perhaps I should put his number plate on here as a gesture of care to anyone who is reading.
All banter aside, we have not had the opportunity to catch up (other than by the occasional snatched telephone conversation), so it was good to go to theirs for lunch and have a chat and a laugh too.
We were due over at Notoplip's and Sushi's this evening but, whilst we are chilling, they are suffering the joys of having two kids to look after including a two year old who is, apparently, in full flight this afternoon. Good luck to them.
Special mention to SandD who have had another tough week. Our thoughts are with you.
I have spend the last few days getting through the chemotherapy and adjusting to the radiotherapy. As this treatment is "last chance saloon", I will be picking up the good vibes over the coming weeks and doing my best to get myself out of this unholy mess that I am in.
Being happy and hopeful are the best weapons that I have to offer at this stage of the game. The rest is in the lap of the gods.
On Tuesday, I went out for a bite with Big John. We have been saying that we will touch base for a while and apart from being Big John starring as himself, he is one of the dads from school and football and husband to 15 - Love (the tennis coach who I mentioned meeting whilst ice-skating a while back).
Kitten got off to the gym as there were no sleeping children to worry about and Big John and I set off for a pizza. Neither of us were drinking and I took a discount voucher for the meal. Nevertheless, we elected to leave our handbags and "lippy" at home and indulged in old fashioned conversation rather than banter. All very strange for two grown men but entertaining. Big John was at the same school as me though five years younger and I never knew of him whilst I was there but it was interesting comparing to the backgrounds of how we emerged from the place. Cheers, for a good night out Big John.
It may not seem significant that Kitten and I have enjoyed some time to ourselves this week but it is an oasis within a difficult period both as individuals and in managing our little family.
Aside from our stroll in town on Friday, we went out last night for a quick bite to eat. On the way there I showed that I have lost none of my magic charm and neither have I lost the immediate ability to negate it.
As we were walking down the street towards the restaurant the sun was hanging low but above the roof-line and straight into our eyes. Kitten purred that she loved sunny evenings but I countered by saying that I hated the sun so low because I could not see anything. I paused and said
"But I can see you clearly and you are beautiful".
Kitten smiled at me and melted a little, so I followed on with
"Perhaps you are all I need to see".
I saw the "Home Run" lights flash in the stadium before adding "I'm doing well aren't I" and was promptly judged to have been caught at the boundary.
Today we even managed to catch up with "Car Crash" and his long-suffering "Mrs Forgiving".
Car Cash and I have been friends since we met in a pub when we were eighteen. He is also a Welsh lad and had been living in England for a couple of years when I met him. I was very proud to be his best man when he and Mrs Forgiving married some five years later.
Car Crash is named as such simply because he has had no less than twenty two car crashes and yet is still able to get insurance and drive on a public road. Not only that but he owns a chain of shops and spends his time going up and down our motorways. Perhaps I should put his number plate on here as a gesture of care to anyone who is reading.
All banter aside, we have not had the opportunity to catch up (other than by the occasional snatched telephone conversation), so it was good to go to theirs for lunch and have a chat and a laugh too.
We were due over at Notoplip's and Sushi's this evening but, whilst we are chilling, they are suffering the joys of having two kids to look after including a two year old who is, apparently, in full flight this afternoon. Good luck to them.
Special mention to SandD who have had another tough week. Our thoughts are with you.
I have spend the last few days getting through the chemotherapy and adjusting to the radiotherapy. As this treatment is "last chance saloon", I will be picking up the good vibes over the coming weeks and doing my best to get myself out of this unholy mess that I am in.
Being happy and hopeful are the best weapons that I have to offer at this stage of the game. The rest is in the lap of the gods.
Saturday, 31 July 2010
Quiet Time with Kitten
Whilst week has been busy on the treatment front, it has been quiet on the children front.
The kids have been with my parents in South Wales, which has helpful in letting us strike into the new routine of daily treatment.
We miss the children a lot but we have also been able to spend a little time with each other. Effects of the treatment aside, the evenings have been more relaxed and yesterday we found some time to go for a stroll and a little time to indulge her with some shopping.
So, nothing particularly exciting but we have the weekend in front of us and as I pull out of the chemo-lag we will be able to enjoy some freedom whilst also looking forward to the childrens' return on Monday.
The kids have been with my parents in South Wales, which has helpful in letting us strike into the new routine of daily treatment.
We miss the children a lot but we have also been able to spend a little time with each other. Effects of the treatment aside, the evenings have been more relaxed and yesterday we found some time to go for a stroll and a little time to indulge her with some shopping.
So, nothing particularly exciting but we have the weekend in front of us and as I pull out of the chemo-lag we will be able to enjoy some freedom whilst also looking forward to the childrens' return on Monday.
Into a New Phase
After the melodrama of Wednesday it has just been a case of settling into a new phase.
At the beginning of this blog I talked about not seeing this journey as a "battle against cancer" rather as the cancer being an intrinsic element of me that must be overcome.
In my very first post I talked about the journey being one of finding some emotional silence. By this I mean smoothing out some of the rough edges of myself to find more peace and calmness in my life. I will never be completely even-tempered, or "Mr Chill Pill" because that is not my nature and it never is my business to try and change my nature. So, in many ways, Wednesday personified a reversion to type against a backdrop of proactive measures that I have tried to instill to make the journey smoother.
Of course, I have always considered there to be battles to be fought along the path, but rather than seeing them as battles with the disease I see them as battles with myself. It is no different to if you are trying to hit a major deadline at work or whether you are trying to get your children to school on time. In any such scenario there are events that can conspire to work against you and which you must overcome to assert your will.
In my mind that was what Wednesday was about. All roads leading to the next phase of combined chemotherapy and radiotherapy treatment but "no free entry by the gatekeeper".
Some of the circumstances would have seemed innocuous given the fact that I had previously strolled through much worse. For example, I teetered through a reduced chemotherapy session (one that was one and a half hours rather than the initial nine and a half hours) but the difficulties I experienced were a combination of a number of different factors.
The point of all this is that it is good for the psyche to come through a rough day but with everything on track.
Some of the decisions I made, such as not going ahead with the blood transfusion with a borderline haemoglobin reading, may prove not to have been in my favour but can be redressed as early as next week if needs be.
There are battles to be fought but there isn't a war.
What I have tried to do all of the way through the process is to try and get one step ahead of the game whilst acknowledging that the cancer was already several steps ahead of me upon diagnosis.
It is clear that my case is considered to the negative side of borderline. That is easily deduced from the fact that when my operation was "deferred" in July the surgeon asked for me to be considered as a locally advanced case. In a nutshell, that means that the results from the initial treatment were not good enough and the nodal infection (i.e. outside the oesophageal wall - e..g between the lungs) was not brought under control enough.
That said, I have always felt very positive about the introduction of radiotherapy treatment. It is a targeted treatment that whilst not effective on its own with oesophageal cancer may prove to be exactly what I need in taking the initial treatment further down the road.
The initial treatment may not have achieved the desired targets but it did create improvement in my condition and the macro trend is heading in the right direction.
At the beginning of this blog I talked about not seeing this journey as a "battle against cancer" rather as the cancer being an intrinsic element of me that must be overcome.
In my very first post I talked about the journey being one of finding some emotional silence. By this I mean smoothing out some of the rough edges of myself to find more peace and calmness in my life. I will never be completely even-tempered, or "Mr Chill Pill" because that is not my nature and it never is my business to try and change my nature. So, in many ways, Wednesday personified a reversion to type against a backdrop of proactive measures that I have tried to instill to make the journey smoother.
Of course, I have always considered there to be battles to be fought along the path, but rather than seeing them as battles with the disease I see them as battles with myself. It is no different to if you are trying to hit a major deadline at work or whether you are trying to get your children to school on time. In any such scenario there are events that can conspire to work against you and which you must overcome to assert your will.
In my mind that was what Wednesday was about. All roads leading to the next phase of combined chemotherapy and radiotherapy treatment but "no free entry by the gatekeeper".
Some of the circumstances would have seemed innocuous given the fact that I had previously strolled through much worse. For example, I teetered through a reduced chemotherapy session (one that was one and a half hours rather than the initial nine and a half hours) but the difficulties I experienced were a combination of a number of different factors.
The point of all this is that it is good for the psyche to come through a rough day but with everything on track.
Some of the decisions I made, such as not going ahead with the blood transfusion with a borderline haemoglobin reading, may prove not to have been in my favour but can be redressed as early as next week if needs be.
There are battles to be fought but there isn't a war.
What I have tried to do all of the way through the process is to try and get one step ahead of the game whilst acknowledging that the cancer was already several steps ahead of me upon diagnosis.
It is clear that my case is considered to the negative side of borderline. That is easily deduced from the fact that when my operation was "deferred" in July the surgeon asked for me to be considered as a locally advanced case. In a nutshell, that means that the results from the initial treatment were not good enough and the nodal infection (i.e. outside the oesophageal wall - e..g between the lungs) was not brought under control enough.
That said, I have always felt very positive about the introduction of radiotherapy treatment. It is a targeted treatment that whilst not effective on its own with oesophageal cancer may prove to be exactly what I need in taking the initial treatment further down the road.
The initial treatment may not have achieved the desired targets but it did create improvement in my condition and the macro trend is heading in the right direction.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Peace and Quiet
First off, a happy birthday to my god-daughter who I have renamed as the milky bar kid due to her latest pregnancy fetish. Less than a month to go for her now!
Today, is as far removed a day from yesterday as possible.
After having a snooze yesterday evening I felt like a different man. It felt as if a lot of different roads had led me to yesterday. The start of the combined treatment of chemotherapy and radiotherapy is the big hope and so, in retrospect, it was a big day.
In my thoughts, at the time, it was just another day but the cocktail of events proved it to a real roller coaster. A better metaphor would be a bungee jump; up and down, sideways and spinning.
The beauty of being treated at a hospital like the Marsden is their willingness to react to a changing picture on the spot.
I was in a hallway when I bumped into my specialist nurse to ask when the the blood transfusion was still required and what time it would be. She said that because I was borderline (after the latest result showed the blood count had risen the cusp) I should really have one "but you don't want one do you". I told her that I was willing to have one but would prefer to do it when and if I fell below the requirement. She rang and cancelled the blood order and then rang the doctor to get approval for my chemotherapy to go ahead after the drastic reversal in my blood counts.
The point is that all this took place in a corridor. Everyone is at the Marsden for the same reason, so there is no reason to feel uncomfortable about scenarios like this. You know that everyone is doing their best for you and listening to what you feel about things and acting immediately.
In reality I probably should have taken the blood transfusion to make sure that I get the best out of the radiotherapy, but my bloods will be done again next week and I will be in better physical shape to take it on board.
I haven't got anything against taking others blood and will be grateful for it. Psychologically though I feel that I do not want to let go of that control. I want to get my blood better. I will not shirk though if things dip again.
On this note I should mention that there has been more than one family offer of blood since I made my original point. That is very generous and I am grateful. Pyschologically, it would be a much better option that taking a strangers blood, but the blood is carefully screened to today and there is a big pool to ensure that the match is as I need it at that time.
There is a general point here about the blog and peoples' reaction to it. On one level the blog is meant to act as a quick source of information when I have key appointments. On another level it is meant to be cathartic for me and is meant to be an honest and open account of what it is like to journey through this experience.
Days like yesterday though can be unnecessarily disturbing for those around me and my aim isn't to upset anyone. It is a difficult subject though and I try to write and deliver a message which is reflective of what I know or feel to be happening. The drama in the day was real and not a matter of conjecture or supposition and it shows how violently things can swing around.
Here I am a day later and I am feeling fine. I am a little bit queasy with yesterday's chemotherapy but there is no sickness and no bad back either (though I will still be paying a precautionary visit to the mad Canadian on his return). So if you take yesterday and the day before from today's perspective then yes it was up and down but ultimately it has gone to plan. I've started my radiotherapy and had my chemotherapy and everything is on track.
It's not quite "happy dayz", but it is in the modus operandus - Go Forward!
Today, is as far removed a day from yesterday as possible.
After having a snooze yesterday evening I felt like a different man. It felt as if a lot of different roads had led me to yesterday. The start of the combined treatment of chemotherapy and radiotherapy is the big hope and so, in retrospect, it was a big day.
In my thoughts, at the time, it was just another day but the cocktail of events proved it to a real roller coaster. A better metaphor would be a bungee jump; up and down, sideways and spinning.
The beauty of being treated at a hospital like the Marsden is their willingness to react to a changing picture on the spot.
I was in a hallway when I bumped into my specialist nurse to ask when the the blood transfusion was still required and what time it would be. She said that because I was borderline (after the latest result showed the blood count had risen the cusp) I should really have one "but you don't want one do you". I told her that I was willing to have one but would prefer to do it when and if I fell below the requirement. She rang and cancelled the blood order and then rang the doctor to get approval for my chemotherapy to go ahead after the drastic reversal in my blood counts.
The point is that all this took place in a corridor. Everyone is at the Marsden for the same reason, so there is no reason to feel uncomfortable about scenarios like this. You know that everyone is doing their best for you and listening to what you feel about things and acting immediately.
In reality I probably should have taken the blood transfusion to make sure that I get the best out of the radiotherapy, but my bloods will be done again next week and I will be in better physical shape to take it on board.
I haven't got anything against taking others blood and will be grateful for it. Psychologically though I feel that I do not want to let go of that control. I want to get my blood better. I will not shirk though if things dip again.
On this note I should mention that there has been more than one family offer of blood since I made my original point. That is very generous and I am grateful. Pyschologically, it would be a much better option that taking a strangers blood, but the blood is carefully screened to today and there is a big pool to ensure that the match is as I need it at that time.
There is a general point here about the blog and peoples' reaction to it. On one level the blog is meant to act as a quick source of information when I have key appointments. On another level it is meant to be cathartic for me and is meant to be an honest and open account of what it is like to journey through this experience.
Days like yesterday though can be unnecessarily disturbing for those around me and my aim isn't to upset anyone. It is a difficult subject though and I try to write and deliver a message which is reflective of what I know or feel to be happening. The drama in the day was real and not a matter of conjecture or supposition and it shows how violently things can swing around.
Here I am a day later and I am feeling fine. I am a little bit queasy with yesterday's chemotherapy but there is no sickness and no bad back either (though I will still be paying a precautionary visit to the mad Canadian on his return). So if you take yesterday and the day before from today's perspective then yes it was up and down but ultimately it has gone to plan. I've started my radiotherapy and had my chemotherapy and everything is on track.
It's not quite "happy dayz", but it is in the modus operandus - Go Forward!
Wednesday, 28 July 2010
Through the Mill - But Out Safely
I am not really sure what happened with the whole blood count thing and I don't think anybody is, but it is the result that counts.
Whether someone was praying with utter conviction to God, to Allah or holding hands naked in a circle around Stonehenge chanting "Swordfish, Swordfish, Swordfish", I don't know but the rise in white blood count was dramatic by any standards and the rise in haemoglobin to the "break even" point was equally odd.
There was more to the day than I previously articulated because when I woke up this morning my back had gone again (the last time was at the beginning of this process when I was redeemed by the mad Canadian osteopath). I couldn't sit this morning for shooting pains from my knees to the top of my head but, fortunately, I was able to lie down for the radiotherapy treatment.
The radiotherapy unit is only two years old and has clearly been very well designed in look, feel and function. It is underground but feels light and airy and is full of straight lines and sweeping curves. It looks absolutely spotless and, like the rest of the hospital, has exceptional staff. In short it looks like a place of healing should do.
So in I walk.......
Everything about the process is explained clearly and when I walk into the treatment area it looks space age and its populace is four uniformed women. I am sure that I can hear "The Girl from Ipanema" piping through the sound system and padding of Kitten's feet just outside the door.
But oh, hang on a minute, I am here to have X-Rays shot through my lungs and hammer a rather large tumour in my oesophagus.
No word of a lie though, when the meticulous process of lining me up for treatment by the machine that rotates 360 degrees around my body has finished the treatment starts to the accompaniment of Abba "Take a Chance on me" piping through the sound system. There was a backlit blue sky and tree picture to look at on the ceiling too.
My back held it together for the 20 mins or so and that is as good as the day got.
I was feeling nauseas all day, which is very unusual for this stage of the process. It can perhaps be linked to a combination of not having eaten much this morning, the disruption caused by the back problem and also the fact that, on chemo, I cannot stand the smell of the hospital. As soon as I smell it I see bags of chemotherapy drugs and can feel and taste their slow "drip drip drip".
Chemo was at 3pm so Kitten and I came back to the house and I tried to get some "scram" down me to mask the nausea. Unfortunately, it didn't work and I walked straight into the hospital, straight into the toilets and was ill.
As soon as the chemotherapy process started when the saline went in I was ill again. The nurses were really gentle with me, but this wasn't the same man (or Swordfish) who breezed through nine and a half hours of chemo on his first outing.
I managed to hold it together for the rest of the process but came home looking greener than the finest welsh leek.
I've since had a good sleep and am back to reasonable form.
Once again, I have gone from saying how good I felt the other day right into a bit of turbulence, but I have got the right result and that is all I care about.
Kitten was a superstar today and she even tolerated me doing a couple of things for work despite hardly talking to her all day!
Thanks to everyone for the good vibes.
Now I hope that my back can hold out until its erstwhile saviour (the mad Canadian) is back in town.
Whether someone was praying with utter conviction to God, to Allah or holding hands naked in a circle around Stonehenge chanting "Swordfish, Swordfish, Swordfish", I don't know but the rise in white blood count was dramatic by any standards and the rise in haemoglobin to the "break even" point was equally odd.
There was more to the day than I previously articulated because when I woke up this morning my back had gone again (the last time was at the beginning of this process when I was redeemed by the mad Canadian osteopath). I couldn't sit this morning for shooting pains from my knees to the top of my head but, fortunately, I was able to lie down for the radiotherapy treatment.
The radiotherapy unit is only two years old and has clearly been very well designed in look, feel and function. It is underground but feels light and airy and is full of straight lines and sweeping curves. It looks absolutely spotless and, like the rest of the hospital, has exceptional staff. In short it looks like a place of healing should do.
So in I walk.......
Everything about the process is explained clearly and when I walk into the treatment area it looks space age and its populace is four uniformed women. I am sure that I can hear "The Girl from Ipanema" piping through the sound system and padding of Kitten's feet just outside the door.
But oh, hang on a minute, I am here to have X-Rays shot through my lungs and hammer a rather large tumour in my oesophagus.
No word of a lie though, when the meticulous process of lining me up for treatment by the machine that rotates 360 degrees around my body has finished the treatment starts to the accompaniment of Abba "Take a Chance on me" piping through the sound system. There was a backlit blue sky and tree picture to look at on the ceiling too.
My back held it together for the 20 mins or so and that is as good as the day got.
I was feeling nauseas all day, which is very unusual for this stage of the process. It can perhaps be linked to a combination of not having eaten much this morning, the disruption caused by the back problem and also the fact that, on chemo, I cannot stand the smell of the hospital. As soon as I smell it I see bags of chemotherapy drugs and can feel and taste their slow "drip drip drip".
Chemo was at 3pm so Kitten and I came back to the house and I tried to get some "scram" down me to mask the nausea. Unfortunately, it didn't work and I walked straight into the hospital, straight into the toilets and was ill.
As soon as the chemotherapy process started when the saline went in I was ill again. The nurses were really gentle with me, but this wasn't the same man (or Swordfish) who breezed through nine and a half hours of chemo on his first outing.
I managed to hold it together for the rest of the process but came home looking greener than the finest welsh leek.
I've since had a good sleep and am back to reasonable form.
Once again, I have gone from saying how good I felt the other day right into a bit of turbulence, but I have got the right result and that is all I care about.
Kitten was a superstar today and she even tolerated me doing a couple of things for work despite hardly talking to her all day!
Thanks to everyone for the good vibes.
Now I hope that my back can hold out until its erstwhile saviour (the mad Canadian) is back in town.
Smoke 'N' Mirrors - Back on Track
Sometimes drama just follows me around, today's events are a perfect example.
Yesterday my neutrophil reading was 0.44 and I cannot have chemotherapy below 1.00. My haemoglobin was 11.4 requiring a blood transfusion below 12.0.
I went to hospital today and was told that I would be having radiotherapy (which I have had) and that I would be having a blood transfusion and no chance of chemotherapy. The aim was simply to get me back on to tablet chemotherapy as soon as possible and have the intravenous as soon as my blood levels were back to some sort of normality.
By the time I came back from radiotherapy my blood test results were back from this morning.
My haemoglobin is up to 12.0, right on the borderline. So I don't need the transfusion though the probability is that I will need one next time as the trend is down.
My neutrophils count was bordering on the astonishing. It has gone up overnight from 0.44 to 6.11, which is the highest reading that I have had all the way through the process.
There is suspicion of a rogue reading, but the doctors have said that I can go ahead with my chemotherapy at 3pm.
Once again it can be seen that this process is constantly shifting and is full of smoke and mirrors, or at least, it is for me.
Yesterday my neutrophil reading was 0.44 and I cannot have chemotherapy below 1.00. My haemoglobin was 11.4 requiring a blood transfusion below 12.0.
I went to hospital today and was told that I would be having radiotherapy (which I have had) and that I would be having a blood transfusion and no chance of chemotherapy. The aim was simply to get me back on to tablet chemotherapy as soon as possible and have the intravenous as soon as my blood levels were back to some sort of normality.
By the time I came back from radiotherapy my blood test results were back from this morning.
My haemoglobin is up to 12.0, right on the borderline. So I don't need the transfusion though the probability is that I will need one next time as the trend is down.
My neutrophils count was bordering on the astonishing. It has gone up overnight from 0.44 to 6.11, which is the highest reading that I have had all the way through the process.
There is suspicion of a rogue reading, but the doctors have said that I can go ahead with my chemotherapy at 3pm.
Once again it can be seen that this process is constantly shifting and is full of smoke and mirrors, or at least, it is for me.
What's Going On?
So, it is off to the hospital shortly for blood tests.
Until I have those blood tests I won't have a clue as to whether I will have chemotherapy today. I am also unclear as to whether the radiotherapy will proceed unconditionally or whether I will need a blood transfusion first. I am assuming that it will go ahead, but I will ask on arrival.
The reason for the lack of clarity is that I was given the news of the blood tests yesterday and asked to go for a filgrastim boosting injection off the back of a telephone conversation with my specialist nurse. The questions I am posing above were not asked and I need to have a proper conversation with her or a doctor to find out what the plan is.
Until I have those blood tests I won't have a clue as to whether I will have chemotherapy today. I am also unclear as to whether the radiotherapy will proceed unconditionally or whether I will need a blood transfusion first. I am assuming that it will go ahead, but I will ask on arrival.
The reason for the lack of clarity is that I was given the news of the blood tests yesterday and asked to go for a filgrastim boosting injection off the back of a telephone conversation with my specialist nurse. The questions I am posing above were not asked and I need to have a proper conversation with her or a doctor to find out what the plan is.
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