It is with immense sadness that Nicole and I post this last message on Tony's blog.
He passed away peacefully at Mt Olivet Hospital on Tuesday morning at 4:25 am. We were with him to the end.
He was admitted to hospital on Saturday, because his mobility had deteriorated to the point that he felt vulnerable at home about our capacity to cope. He became weaker overnight and was confined to bed by Sunday. He remained in good spirits all the while, but sleeping more and more. On Monday morning he was much weaker and slept most of the day, which continued into the night, until he just took his last breath.
He was so, so happy to have been in Brisbane this last six weeks so that he could spend lots of time with Nicole, Drew, Aiden (5) and Kai (1). He was there when Kai took his first steps and just enjoyed being with them all. His greatest disappointment was that he was going to miss out on being the quality grandfather to them throughout their lives that he had been looking forward to.
He was the love of my life and my soul mate, I will miss him terribly, but I promised him that I would get on with life in a positive way and so I will do my best.
Thank you to everyone who has posted such wonderful comments on this record of Tony's journey, I will treasure them forever.
A special thank you to my dear friend Rob Kerkin who has been with me throughout these last weeks and whose support has been lifesaving.
A celebration of Tony's life will be held at 2pm (Brisbane time) on Tuesday the 12th of February 2008 at Mount Gravatt Crematorium, Mains Road, McGreggor.
Thursday, 7 February 2008
Thursday, 31 January 2008
Blogging at 2.30 am - get a life
I'm finding it very difficult to sleep during the night. We've tried various remedies, including tonight the old warm milk trick, no matter how hard I try, I can't get past 12midnight, then I wake up about every twenty minutes for the next five hours - yuck. So tonight something different - get up and do some emails and computer work.
Tomorrow the doctor is coming down to give me the once over, and I'm to have some blood tests. Should be interesting to see what the tests say, because "your skin is much better looking today".
I've had a lot of visitors over the past week or so, mostly to say goodbye. Some have been harrowing, some touching - all tiring. More today and tomorrow. When I think about it, tho, I'm not going anywhere, so why not?
Oh , incidentally, there is nothing on night-time tv except skin care and and ancient movie on the ABC. So dull - stay in bed.
Tomorrow the doctor is coming down to give me the once over, and I'm to have some blood tests. Should be interesting to see what the tests say, because "your skin is much better looking today".
I've had a lot of visitors over the past week or so, mostly to say goodbye. Some have been harrowing, some touching - all tiring. More today and tomorrow. When I think about it, tho, I'm not going anywhere, so why not?
Oh , incidentally, there is nothing on night-time tv except skin care and and ancient movie on the ABC. So dull - stay in bed.
Tuesday, 22 January 2008
Maybe just a couple more...
I wanted to respond to all of the messages of support and love I've been receiving - I'm frankly overwhelmed!
For me, this blog was only ever a way of spreading information about my cancer and progress. But people seemed to have latched onto it in a way that I didn't anticipate.
I have to tell you that the brave exterior has collapsed a bit: I am absolutely terrified at the thought of dying. Oh, I'm through all of the K/R stages, I think, and its certainly not any religious consideration. Its just the uncertainty about how fast, how "well", the amount of pain, and my continuing worries about those left behind. I'll be gone, but their pain and loss will go on for a long time - it worries me a lot, particularly knowing there's absolutely nothing I can do about.
Details: selling car, organising funeral directors who won't make me choose Wind beneath my Wings as music, writing notices for the papers, organising a wake not knowing how many people might attend here in Brisbane. Just the normal stuff to do before you go away on a long holiday!
Once again, thanks for your love and support - it means more to me at this stage than you can possibly know.
For me, this blog was only ever a way of spreading information about my cancer and progress. But people seemed to have latched onto it in a way that I didn't anticipate.
I have to tell you that the brave exterior has collapsed a bit: I am absolutely terrified at the thought of dying. Oh, I'm through all of the K/R stages, I think, and its certainly not any religious consideration. Its just the uncertainty about how fast, how "well", the amount of pain, and my continuing worries about those left behind. I'll be gone, but their pain and loss will go on for a long time - it worries me a lot, particularly knowing there's absolutely nothing I can do about.
Details: selling car, organising funeral directors who won't make me choose Wind beneath my Wings as music, writing notices for the papers, organising a wake not knowing how many people might attend here in Brisbane. Just the normal stuff to do before you go away on a long holiday!
Once again, thanks for your love and support - it means more to me at this stage than you can possibly know.
Sunday, 20 January 2008
Maybe the Last Post................
This might be the last time I post on this blog, as things have reached an interesting new low.
I've spent the last three days in hospital (instead of having chemo) having tests to establish why my colour is that of a ripe mango. Of the two possible choices: a blocked bile duct which could be surgically fixed and therefore I could go forward; or a packed it in liver, guess which I got!? Those of you who guessed the worst case scenario collect a lollipop from the lady at the door.
Yep, my liver has packed it in as a result of those little spots that were picked during the surgery on 24 Nov. They have grown aggressively and quickly, and now seem to have got me. The oncologist has suggested that it will be weeks rather than months (he rather liked the idea of 2/3 weeks). The practicalities of the whole ting would seem to be that I will fade away over the next couple of weeks, ending up in a coma, then death. I've been assured that it should be relatively painless, as there are few nerve endings in the liver, which is a blessing for someone who doesn't thrive on pain - and in any case, thing how easily I got through all the chemo: it would hardly seem fair to change those rules now, would it.
Another practicality: we moved to Brisbane quite deliberately to spend time with grandchildren, and to disestablish ourselves from the Canberra operation of the business. I've decided for all that That I want a small service - up here I'm afraid. So keep you eyes peeled for the death notice in the CT for details. Non-religious of course.. Secretaries of Departments of State can piggyback it off appointments witt the Ruddster up here.
I've spent the last three days in hospital (instead of having chemo) having tests to establish why my colour is that of a ripe mango. Of the two possible choices: a blocked bile duct which could be surgically fixed and therefore I could go forward; or a packed it in liver, guess which I got!? Those of you who guessed the worst case scenario collect a lollipop from the lady at the door.
Yep, my liver has packed it in as a result of those little spots that were picked during the surgery on 24 Nov. They have grown aggressively and quickly, and now seem to have got me. The oncologist has suggested that it will be weeks rather than months (he rather liked the idea of 2/3 weeks). The practicalities of the whole ting would seem to be that I will fade away over the next couple of weeks, ending up in a coma, then death. I've been assured that it should be relatively painless, as there are few nerve endings in the liver, which is a blessing for someone who doesn't thrive on pain - and in any case, thing how easily I got through all the chemo: it would hardly seem fair to change those rules now, would it.
Another practicality: we moved to Brisbane quite deliberately to spend time with grandchildren, and to disestablish ourselves from the Canberra operation of the business. I've decided for all that That I want a small service - up here I'm afraid. So keep you eyes peeled for the death notice in the CT for details. Non-religious of course.. Secretaries of Departments of State can piggyback it off appointments witt the Ruddster up here.
Wednesday, 9 January 2008
Chemo's been very tough this time
Question: what looks like a skinny golum, but much yellower and less energetic?
Answer: Me. That was easy, wasn't it?.
My day consists pretty much of lying in bed until its time to get up for breakfast. Carefully wandering downstairs because my balance is not so good, and scratching some cereal around the plate till I feel I've at least had some exercise, if not sustenance. Then, I wander carefully upstairs again to have a long rest to recover from the sudden burst of activity. And so the days go on. I really am at bout the nadir of my experience with this stuff, and thoughts occur that maybe I'm reaching me end time sooner than we thought - or maybe its just the chemo. In any case, I am really just this side of a hospital case. It will be interesting to see what they do with the next bunch of crap, due 18 January. I'm tired now, so I'll have a little rest.
Answer: Me. That was easy, wasn't it?.
My day consists pretty much of lying in bed until its time to get up for breakfast. Carefully wandering downstairs because my balance is not so good, and scratching some cereal around the plate till I feel I've at least had some exercise, if not sustenance. Then, I wander carefully upstairs again to have a long rest to recover from the sudden burst of activity. And so the days go on. I really am at bout the nadir of my experience with this stuff, and thoughts occur that maybe I'm reaching me end time sooner than we thought - or maybe its just the chemo. In any case, I am really just this side of a hospital case. It will be interesting to see what they do with the next bunch of crap, due 18 January. I'm tired now, so I'll have a little rest.
Tuesday, 25 December 2007
Merry Xmas and an update
Well, Gaye and I are officially queenslanders now. We arrived on Saturday morning from Canberra, and immediately installed ourselves into our new home - and that's exactly what it feels like already. Of course, Gaye's mate Rob and our daughter Nicole - along with others - had done an enormous amount of unpacking for us, which made it so much easier. Thank heaven for family and friends!
I had my initial appointment with the oncologist we've been referred to: Paul Vasey. We're both very impresses. Youngish guy, maybe early to mid-40s, but very sharp, very empathetic. He's recommended that I start a four cycle (two month) course of something which escaped me at the time, commencing this Friday!! So much for building the strength and weight up.
In the meantime, I'm cruising along. I'm sleeping poorly, so each day is a series of mini-naps, which then of course makes it harder to sleep at note. I've had the doctor write me up a script for a sleeping tablet, so we'll see how that goes. Tried for the first time last night, but conditions weer not good, with present wrapping happening at 12.30, etc, but indications are hopeful. Roll on a full night's sleep. Maybe.
No change to cancer or prognosis. We're still playing an end game of uncertain length, but I have to say that the idea of a change of process and poison is a positive move: I hope that this time after it all happens, we get some relatively good news.
I had my initial appointment with the oncologist we've been referred to: Paul Vasey. We're both very impresses. Youngish guy, maybe early to mid-40s, but very sharp, very empathetic. He's recommended that I start a four cycle (two month) course of something which escaped me at the time, commencing this Friday!! So much for building the strength and weight up.
In the meantime, I'm cruising along. I'm sleeping poorly, so each day is a series of mini-naps, which then of course makes it harder to sleep at note. I've had the doctor write me up a script for a sleeping tablet, so we'll see how that goes. Tried for the first time last night, but conditions weer not good, with present wrapping happening at 12.30, etc, but indications are hopeful. Roll on a full night's sleep. Maybe.
No change to cancer or prognosis. We're still playing an end game of uncertain length, but I have to say that the idea of a change of process and poison is a positive move: I hope that this time after it all happens, we get some relatively good news.
Saturday, 1 December 2007
Surgery Rules!
Well, my little bout of major gut surgery is over, and shows good signs of having been successful, at least in palliative terms.
I went in, very nervous, on Saturday afternoon, to be cut up by a bit of a Canberra Dream Team. 3.5 hours later, I came into recovery - apparently but unsurprisingly wisecracking all the way. I remember nothing of it, but Gaye tells me it was all very funny, and had the surgeons in stitches!. I actually woke up (sort of) at around 9.30, to the news that Labour was in. That made me feel immediately better.
The time in the high dependency unit was unpleasant, mostly because I had tubes hanging out of me all over the place: nose, side, neck and a catheter. Yuck. Also the bloke in the bed next to me who had an hip replacement snored all night, and wallowed around like a whale. Poor bugger also had 7 hours of renal therapy a day and diabetes. Sometimes I feel a little inadequate when faced with the problems of others!
I've been down on the ward since Tuesday, and every day I feel a little better. I've had practically no pain, which is good, and I've farted and crapped, which is even better from a surgery point of view (honestly!). I'm now totally tube free, so I get in and out of bed at my pleasure. I do get a period of unpleasantness most mornings, where I get flushes and feel unwell, but that passes after an hour or so. And I've had a couple of vomiting spasms over the last two days, but they've been pretty unproductive, so I suspect they're indicative of nothing except repair.
Prognosis. Understand that this surgery was a bypass, not the resection we were hoping for, this means that it was entirely palliative. The cancer is still there, and heading north up the duodenum. This means effectively that I have no medium or long term future, and its uncertain how long my short term will be - it all depends upon what the very unpredictable tumour does. It could be 6 months, 12, or even three. All of which is a bummer, but............. them's the cards.
Brisbane is now ramped up. We are out of the house (settled yesterday) and have a rough date we can get into the house up there (18th December). The only uncertain thing is my health. As soon as the doctors are happy that I'm fit to travel, and don't nee then anymore, we're off. In the meantime, we're downsizing the Lexus (Oh no!) and getting into something a little cheaper.
I went in, very nervous, on Saturday afternoon, to be cut up by a bit of a Canberra Dream Team. 3.5 hours later, I came into recovery - apparently but unsurprisingly wisecracking all the way. I remember nothing of it, but Gaye tells me it was all very funny, and had the surgeons in stitches!. I actually woke up (sort of) at around 9.30, to the news that Labour was in. That made me feel immediately better.
The time in the high dependency unit was unpleasant, mostly because I had tubes hanging out of me all over the place: nose, side, neck and a catheter. Yuck. Also the bloke in the bed next to me who had an hip replacement snored all night, and wallowed around like a whale. Poor bugger also had 7 hours of renal therapy a day and diabetes. Sometimes I feel a little inadequate when faced with the problems of others!
I've been down on the ward since Tuesday, and every day I feel a little better. I've had practically no pain, which is good, and I've farted and crapped, which is even better from a surgery point of view (honestly!). I'm now totally tube free, so I get in and out of bed at my pleasure. I do get a period of unpleasantness most mornings, where I get flushes and feel unwell, but that passes after an hour or so. And I've had a couple of vomiting spasms over the last two days, but they've been pretty unproductive, so I suspect they're indicative of nothing except repair.
Prognosis. Understand that this surgery was a bypass, not the resection we were hoping for, this means that it was entirely palliative. The cancer is still there, and heading north up the duodenum. This means effectively that I have no medium or long term future, and its uncertain how long my short term will be - it all depends upon what the very unpredictable tumour does. It could be 6 months, 12, or even three. All of which is a bummer, but............. them's the cards.
Brisbane is now ramped up. We are out of the house (settled yesterday) and have a rough date we can get into the house up there (18th December). The only uncertain thing is my health. As soon as the doctors are happy that I'm fit to travel, and don't nee then anymore, we're off. In the meantime, we're downsizing the Lexus (Oh no!) and getting into something a little cheaper.
Friday, 23 November 2007
Well, we should be used to the trajectory that this cancer has forced us onto over the last eight months, but we aren't.
Before the gastroscope yesterday, we had two options, one palatable, one not so. Guess which one came up? That's right- the duodenal bypass (as opposed to the resection that we'd been hoping for). So tomorrow afternoon at 2pm, instead of voting for the 27th time ("vote early and often") I'll be lying on the dissecting table being carved up by a surgeon celebrating his 40th birthday and watching the clock to make sure he's home for the cocktail party at 7pm! (tongue is firmly in cheek about the clockwatching thing, of course).
The reason they can't do the resection is that apparently the cancer is heading north up the duodenum, and has involved the bile duct. That's a bugger. There doesn't seem to be any good reason why the cancer should be suddenly so active and aggressive: its just the unpredictable nature of the beast.
Things are a bit flat here in room 339 (phone number 6222 6839) at the moment, but I will try to update the blog between now and the operation. Trust me, I'd rather be out there voting!!
Before the gastroscope yesterday, we had two options, one palatable, one not so. Guess which one came up? That's right- the duodenal bypass (as opposed to the resection that we'd been hoping for). So tomorrow afternoon at 2pm, instead of voting for the 27th time ("vote early and often") I'll be lying on the dissecting table being carved up by a surgeon celebrating his 40th birthday and watching the clock to make sure he's home for the cocktail party at 7pm! (tongue is firmly in cheek about the clockwatching thing, of course).
The reason they can't do the resection is that apparently the cancer is heading north up the duodenum, and has involved the bile duct. That's a bugger. There doesn't seem to be any good reason why the cancer should be suddenly so active and aggressive: its just the unpredictable nature of the beast.
Things are a bit flat here in room 339 (phone number 6222 6839) at the moment, but I will try to update the blog between now and the operation. Trust me, I'd rather be out there voting!!
Wednesday, 21 November 2007
Things have gone off the rails a bit.
There's a bit to get through, so bear with me, please.
The results of the PET scan and the CT scans at the end of the chemo were pretty good. If you read through these posts, you'd probably come to the conclusion that I expected something that looked a lot like a cure - that is, the cancer beaten, and skulking off with its nasty little tail between its legs. When the oncologist told us that the CT scan indicated that the lymph nodes were clear, but the PET scan showed that the primary site was (only) severely degraded, we were both disappointed, although Paul told us that this was a very good result. This result meant that I would have to have four-monthly checkups, and when the cancer re-appeared, we would deal with it as best we could.
So far so good, although not as good as we'd hoped.
Then about three weeks ago, I started to have difficulty keeping food down again. Bugger!! So I've been in hospital for the last ten days while the old body has been re-hydrated, various tests are done, and results argued about. But in a nutshell, it appears that the cancer is back (or possibly never went away). It has invaded the stent put in nearly 6 months ago, and appears to marching north along the duodenum. How this was missed on the scans is a matter of some conjecture, but that's really here nor there.
The result is that I will need surgery in the next week or so, depending on the surgeon's NZ fishing trip! It will either be a bypass of the duodenum, or if the cancer hasn't advanced too far towards the bile duct, a resection of the duodenum removing the major site of the cancer. The second option is by far the preferred, although its beginning to look a little distant over the past couple of days. If the resection happens, I'm back to regular checks and handle things as they arise. If its the bypass, then things aren't quite that positive. Either way, at least a couple of weeks in hospital.
I will have another gastroscope on Friday (23rd Nov) to see how far north the cancer has advanced, and therefore how likely the resection is. In the meantime, I'm kicking my heels in a small but private room, gradually rusting up. By that I mean that I'm getting so little exercise that my body is starting to hurt in all sorts of places - its letting me down. The most exercise I get is a couple of laps around the ward. And this won't change until the doctors have a Plan in place. The Plan being, what surgery, and when. Then I can go home and wait. But there's more!!
We sold our house just on a month ago, and settle next Tuesday. So these last two weeks, while I've been resting in hospital Gaye has been readying us for the move to Brisbane. We'll be packed on Thursday, uplifted on Friday, cleaned on Monday, and outa there on Tuesday. Brisbane is still on track, but now the timing has to be a little doubtful because of the surgery. Originally, we had planned to leave Canberra around 20 December - for good. Let's see how it goes.
I have to say as a post script that I'm a bit embarrassed by the way all this has turned out. I haven't re-read the Blog recently, but I do remember that its relentlessly positive and full of good news. And somehow, its all gone skew-whiff.
Now that I have my modem working, I'll try to keep those of you who are still interested up to date.
The results of the PET scan and the CT scans at the end of the chemo were pretty good. If you read through these posts, you'd probably come to the conclusion that I expected something that looked a lot like a cure - that is, the cancer beaten, and skulking off with its nasty little tail between its legs. When the oncologist told us that the CT scan indicated that the lymph nodes were clear, but the PET scan showed that the primary site was (only) severely degraded, we were both disappointed, although Paul told us that this was a very good result. This result meant that I would have to have four-monthly checkups, and when the cancer re-appeared, we would deal with it as best we could.
So far so good, although not as good as we'd hoped.
Then about three weeks ago, I started to have difficulty keeping food down again. Bugger!! So I've been in hospital for the last ten days while the old body has been re-hydrated, various tests are done, and results argued about. But in a nutshell, it appears that the cancer is back (or possibly never went away). It has invaded the stent put in nearly 6 months ago, and appears to marching north along the duodenum. How this was missed on the scans is a matter of some conjecture, but that's really here nor there.
The result is that I will need surgery in the next week or so, depending on the surgeon's NZ fishing trip! It will either be a bypass of the duodenum, or if the cancer hasn't advanced too far towards the bile duct, a resection of the duodenum removing the major site of the cancer. The second option is by far the preferred, although its beginning to look a little distant over the past couple of days. If the resection happens, I'm back to regular checks and handle things as they arise. If its the bypass, then things aren't quite that positive. Either way, at least a couple of weeks in hospital.
I will have another gastroscope on Friday (23rd Nov) to see how far north the cancer has advanced, and therefore how likely the resection is. In the meantime, I'm kicking my heels in a small but private room, gradually rusting up. By that I mean that I'm getting so little exercise that my body is starting to hurt in all sorts of places - its letting me down. The most exercise I get is a couple of laps around the ward. And this won't change until the doctors have a Plan in place. The Plan being, what surgery, and when. Then I can go home and wait. But there's more!!
We sold our house just on a month ago, and settle next Tuesday. So these last two weeks, while I've been resting in hospital Gaye has been readying us for the move to Brisbane. We'll be packed on Thursday, uplifted on Friday, cleaned on Monday, and outa there on Tuesday. Brisbane is still on track, but now the timing has to be a little doubtful because of the surgery. Originally, we had planned to leave Canberra around 20 December - for good. Let's see how it goes.
I have to say as a post script that I'm a bit embarrassed by the way all this has turned out. I haven't re-read the Blog recently, but I do remember that its relentlessly positive and full of good news. And somehow, its all gone skew-whiff.
Now that I have my modem working, I'll try to keep those of you who are still interested up to date.
Sunday, 4 November 2007
Second to last post - probably
Down to Sydney (Liverpool, actually) for the PET Scan on Friday. As usual, we drove, against the advice of the technicians at the nuclear medicine facility, who say not to. When I asked them why so time ago, they told me that driving set up tension in the shoulders and neck which could be misinterpreted by the scanner, but that an hour or so of relaxation between scan and driving should take care of that. No more discussion needed, really - driving took place, as did relaxation!
The process was as mildly unpleasant as last time, tinged with the apprehension around the results: last time we knew that I had cancer, this time we need it to say that I don't! The whole process takes around 2 - 2.5 hours: fifteen minutes being prepared (under the space blanket) and ten minutes being injected, an hour for the radio isotope to circulate around the body, 25 minutes for the scan itself, then at least half an hour twiddling the thumbs waiting for the pictures to be validated. Then of course the wait for the results to be given to me by the oncologist, which will be next Friday!
This last wait is very wearing - I am apprehensive about the results, although on balance I reckon that we're ahead of the game. I just don't trust cancer: its an evil, invasive, tricky little bastard of a disease, which seems to go away, then comes back to haunt one. I can't wait to die of old age!!!
More next week.
The process was as mildly unpleasant as last time, tinged with the apprehension around the results: last time we knew that I had cancer, this time we need it to say that I don't! The whole process takes around 2 - 2.5 hours: fifteen minutes being prepared (under the space blanket) and ten minutes being injected, an hour for the radio isotope to circulate around the body, 25 minutes for the scan itself, then at least half an hour twiddling the thumbs waiting for the pictures to be validated. Then of course the wait for the results to be given to me by the oncologist, which will be next Friday!
This last wait is very wearing - I am apprehensive about the results, although on balance I reckon that we're ahead of the game. I just don't trust cancer: its an evil, invasive, tricky little bastard of a disease, which seems to go away, then comes back to haunt one. I can't wait to die of old age!!!
More next week.
Friday, 19 October 2007
The beginning of the end!!
D2PC (or, Day 2, post-chemo)
Well, chemo is over. While I still have the hole in my chest, it is no longer attached by a thin tube to a bag of poisonous crap on my hip!! 17 weeks and 6 days with my little "friend", and I'm over it.
I had a CT scan on Monday as part of the restaging of the cancer, and I am happy to report that according to the doctor, I'm cancer free. Of course I will still have a PET scan in Sydney over the next two or three weeks, but the oncologist is confident that we've knocked it on the head. You bloody little beauty! (please note unrestrained joy not possible to convey in writing - just not good enough at it).
When I asked him whether this meant that I was cured, his response was along the lines of: "with cancer, you're never cured until you die of old age". I can live with that.
Another appointment in a month to (a) have my portacath flushed out, and (b) to ask him the hard questions about how we are going to monitor things to ensure that - should the cancer recur - it doesn't become as advanced as this time before we discover it. Or maybe my new reality is that I will live on tenterhooks around this for the rest of what will be hopefully (and I hate using that word) be along and fruitful life.
In the meantime, life continues on. I am feeling better by the day, although this morning while out on my walk with Oskar the Dog I tried to jog a couple of times and knocked up very quickly - and I'm paying for it now. Paul Craft says I should be back to a very unfit "normal" in one to two weeks. Can't wait. Although I went for a long bike ride with my sensei yesterday and held up okay - a 1200cc engine will do that, tho.
There are some learnings from all this which I intend to out down at some time in the not too distant future. The most obvious is that Cancer is not necessarily a death sentence, although everything we "know" as a society tells us it is, and we certainly respond in that way when told we have it. Another is that there is very big industry out there flogging quack cures and approaches. The give-away to these is, appropriately, that they don't give them away - you have to buy them. Warning: NEVER buy a book which details the unique approach to survival of a wholesome young cancer sufferer. Wait till you can pick it up from the estate of some other idiot who bought it, tried (or didn't) the "cure" and died. And don't get sucked in. Also, do your research: type cancer quackery into Google, and read the discrediting of most of the popular approaches, from the Gersson diet approach to the power of positive thinking as espoused by the very expensive Ian Gawler.
That's enough for now. More later.
Yeayyy!!
Well, chemo is over. While I still have the hole in my chest, it is no longer attached by a thin tube to a bag of poisonous crap on my hip!! 17 weeks and 6 days with my little "friend", and I'm over it.
I had a CT scan on Monday as part of the restaging of the cancer, and I am happy to report that according to the doctor, I'm cancer free. Of course I will still have a PET scan in Sydney over the next two or three weeks, but the oncologist is confident that we've knocked it on the head. You bloody little beauty! (please note unrestrained joy not possible to convey in writing - just not good enough at it).
When I asked him whether this meant that I was cured, his response was along the lines of: "with cancer, you're never cured until you die of old age". I can live with that.
Another appointment in a month to (a) have my portacath flushed out, and (b) to ask him the hard questions about how we are going to monitor things to ensure that - should the cancer recur - it doesn't become as advanced as this time before we discover it. Or maybe my new reality is that I will live on tenterhooks around this for the rest of what will be hopefully (and I hate using that word) be along and fruitful life.
In the meantime, life continues on. I am feeling better by the day, although this morning while out on my walk with Oskar the Dog I tried to jog a couple of times and knocked up very quickly - and I'm paying for it now. Paul Craft says I should be back to a very unfit "normal" in one to two weeks. Can't wait. Although I went for a long bike ride with my sensei yesterday and held up okay - a 1200cc engine will do that, tho.
There are some learnings from all this which I intend to out down at some time in the not too distant future. The most obvious is that Cancer is not necessarily a death sentence, although everything we "know" as a society tells us it is, and we certainly respond in that way when told we have it. Another is that there is very big industry out there flogging quack cures and approaches. The give-away to these is, appropriately, that they don't give them away - you have to buy them. Warning: NEVER buy a book which details the unique approach to survival of a wholesome young cancer sufferer. Wait till you can pick it up from the estate of some other idiot who bought it, tried (or didn't) the "cure" and died. And don't get sucked in. Also, do your research: type cancer quackery into Google, and read the discrediting of most of the popular approaches, from the Gersson diet approach to the power of positive thinking as espoused by the very expensive Ian Gawler.
That's enough for now. More later.
Yeayyy!!
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Getting close to the end, now..............
Once again, weeks have passed since last time I posted but not a lot has happened, although chemo moves inexorably on. I am now just one pump change and eight days from formally ending chemo. Today, then, is C6D13.
The last couple of weeks have not been particularly kind, as each major hit has impacted me a little more severely, and for a longer time. As an example, in the early days I used to be back to "normal" by about Tuesday after the big hit, but the last two have hung on longer, until this time its been just the last day or so that I've felt in the slightest bit "normal", and even then things are pretty relative! I've also noticed additional side effects as the process has matured, such as chest and arm pain, some shortness of breath after the tiniest exertion, some minor ear-ringing, a little facial numbness and an ongoing low grade headache. And of course the mucousitis which I wrote about last time. But compared to others I see in my weekly visits to the hospital, I'd rather be me (at least in the short-term!!).
Over the next couple of weeks, the plan is to restage the tumour/cancer. Next week sometime I'll organise a CT scan, then I'll have a biopsy on the cancer site by the gastro-intestinal guy (Thommo, remember?) and go down to Sydney for another PET scan. This last will have to wait a couple of weeks, as apparently the chemo interferes with the readings and throws up false positives - wouldn't want any of those, now, would we?!
One odd thing that I've noticed lately is that cancer and other serious illnesses are everywhere amongst my near contemporaries. One friend and close colleague has developed a nasty bowel condition over the past couple of months (diverticulitis?); another had a nasty and potentially fatal twisted intestine, while a third announced yesterday that he has aggressive prostate cancer and his future is uncertain. What is happening to the world?
And to add to the stress levels, the house is on the market prior to our shift later this year to Queensland. For those who are interested, we're no the web at allhomes.com.au at 32 Hawkesbury Crescent in Farrer ACT. Lots of photos which do the house absolute justice! The problem is that we're on exhibition twice a week for three weeks, and I am under extreme pressure to keep the house tidy. Not easy for a little grot like me! Luckily my real area of responsibility is the garden out the back, and given that we've deliberately designed it to be easy care, then its ............. easy.
I'll post next after the restaging process, with news about the future.
The last couple of weeks have not been particularly kind, as each major hit has impacted me a little more severely, and for a longer time. As an example, in the early days I used to be back to "normal" by about Tuesday after the big hit, but the last two have hung on longer, until this time its been just the last day or so that I've felt in the slightest bit "normal", and even then things are pretty relative! I've also noticed additional side effects as the process has matured, such as chest and arm pain, some shortness of breath after the tiniest exertion, some minor ear-ringing, a little facial numbness and an ongoing low grade headache. And of course the mucousitis which I wrote about last time. But compared to others I see in my weekly visits to the hospital, I'd rather be me (at least in the short-term!!).
Over the next couple of weeks, the plan is to restage the tumour/cancer. Next week sometime I'll organise a CT scan, then I'll have a biopsy on the cancer site by the gastro-intestinal guy (Thommo, remember?) and go down to Sydney for another PET scan. This last will have to wait a couple of weeks, as apparently the chemo interferes with the readings and throws up false positives - wouldn't want any of those, now, would we?!
One odd thing that I've noticed lately is that cancer and other serious illnesses are everywhere amongst my near contemporaries. One friend and close colleague has developed a nasty bowel condition over the past couple of months (diverticulitis?); another had a nasty and potentially fatal twisted intestine, while a third announced yesterday that he has aggressive prostate cancer and his future is uncertain. What is happening to the world?
And to add to the stress levels, the house is on the market prior to our shift later this year to Queensland. For those who are interested, we're no the web at allhomes.com.au at 32 Hawkesbury Crescent in Farrer ACT. Lots of photos which do the house absolute justice! The problem is that we're on exhibition twice a week for three weeks, and I am under extreme pressure to keep the house tidy. Not easy for a little grot like me! Luckily my real area of responsibility is the garden out the back, and given that we've deliberately designed it to be easy care, then its ............. easy.
I'll post next after the restaging process, with news about the future.
Tuesday, 25 September 2007
Its been a while
Its been so long since I put anything up, that I wouldn't be surprised if no one is still reading. Sorry.
Okay, to catch up. When last you visited, I had just been told that the tumour seemed to have vanished, a most unusual result for such an easy time in the chemo cycle. Since then, the chemo has just been a chore - something to be tolerated, rather than a positive force for good!! So I have just settled into a routine. Interestingly, the impact of the chemo has been a little worse each time - the effects are clearly cumulative. I feel like crap for a little longer after each "big hit" (next one this Thursday) with symptoms of nausea and an urge to vomit (unresolved, fortunately). Then feeling pretty low for now more than an additional week at a time, followed by another week in which I just feel very ordinary. Hmmmm.
The other big bit of news is that I had to be taken off the 5FU last Friday, just one day into it. Apparently, my bloods were marginal on Wednesday. On Thursday afternoon the left side of my face blew up like a watermelon: its called mucousitis, or inflammation of the mucous membranes in the mouth. Its been pretty ordinary until yesterday, when it started to go down. Today, back to 95% normal. Added to that is the mild dose of conjunctivitis I've had (unrelated, I think) and a constantly dripping nose, and its an attractive picture!!! Bloods again tomorrow: here's hoping they're back to normal, and the "big hit" goes ahead as scheduled on Thursday.
One thing I've decided to do is to take sick leave for the duration of the chemo. As I've been justifying it, I haven't been completing or achieving much lately, and I feel that I've been letting people down. Now at least, they won 't have any expectations of me, so it will be difficult to let them down. Having made the decision, my stress levels dived! Having said that, I went down to Melbourne overnight for a presentation at a Defence conference today. Did I mention that I get tired easily? Any real or sustained effort knocks me pretty flat.
Added to all that is that we're preparing the house for sale (it goes on the market on 6 October, auction on 27 October). So I really have been as useless as the proverbials on a bull! Much thanks to family and friends for covering for me, and being so pleasant as they "carry" me through the whole clean up and clear away process.
"Dancing with the Stars" is nearing its end tonight, so time to finish up. I'm back into this, so over the next month, I want to chat about some of the impacts of this whole thing - on me and others. I will be discussing spirituality, positivity, quackery, and why I've decided not to do the Ian Gawler thing. Things could get ugly, but you have been warned.
Oh, and one other thing. The two favourite speakers at last year's EXPAND conference (Michael Milton and me) have gone down with cancer. Does this mean that working with EAs is dangerous?
Okay, to catch up. When last you visited, I had just been told that the tumour seemed to have vanished, a most unusual result for such an easy time in the chemo cycle. Since then, the chemo has just been a chore - something to be tolerated, rather than a positive force for good!! So I have just settled into a routine. Interestingly, the impact of the chemo has been a little worse each time - the effects are clearly cumulative. I feel like crap for a little longer after each "big hit" (next one this Thursday) with symptoms of nausea and an urge to vomit (unresolved, fortunately). Then feeling pretty low for now more than an additional week at a time, followed by another week in which I just feel very ordinary. Hmmmm.
The other big bit of news is that I had to be taken off the 5FU last Friday, just one day into it. Apparently, my bloods were marginal on Wednesday. On Thursday afternoon the left side of my face blew up like a watermelon: its called mucousitis, or inflammation of the mucous membranes in the mouth. Its been pretty ordinary until yesterday, when it started to go down. Today, back to 95% normal. Added to that is the mild dose of conjunctivitis I've had (unrelated, I think) and a constantly dripping nose, and its an attractive picture!!! Bloods again tomorrow: here's hoping they're back to normal, and the "big hit" goes ahead as scheduled on Thursday.
One thing I've decided to do is to take sick leave for the duration of the chemo. As I've been justifying it, I haven't been completing or achieving much lately, and I feel that I've been letting people down. Now at least, they won 't have any expectations of me, so it will be difficult to let them down. Having made the decision, my stress levels dived! Having said that, I went down to Melbourne overnight for a presentation at a Defence conference today. Did I mention that I get tired easily? Any real or sustained effort knocks me pretty flat.
Added to all that is that we're preparing the house for sale (it goes on the market on 6 October, auction on 27 October). So I really have been as useless as the proverbials on a bull! Much thanks to family and friends for covering for me, and being so pleasant as they "carry" me through the whole clean up and clear away process.
"Dancing with the Stars" is nearing its end tonight, so time to finish up. I'm back into this, so over the next month, I want to chat about some of the impacts of this whole thing - on me and others. I will be discussing spirituality, positivity, quackery, and why I've decided not to do the Ian Gawler thing. Things could get ugly, but you have been warned.
Oh, and one other thing. The two favourite speakers at last year's EXPAND conference (Michael Milton and me) have gone down with cancer. Does this mean that working with EAs is dangerous?
Thursday, 16 August 2007
A bit too subtle for some?
It appears that yesterday's entry was not quite clear enough for some: I have been inundated with calls (well, two) asking what the hell I meant! So (heavy sigh.....................)
Yesterday I went to the oncologist to get the results of my mid-term chemo scans. After the usual social chit-chat, he told me that the scans showed no sign of the cancer, and that the infected lymph nodes had returned to normal. After we (Gaye and I) scraped ourselves off the ceiling, he went on to tell us that I should continue the chemo to ensure that every skerrick of nastiness is removed from the rather dilapidated temple that is my body.
I liken it to a game of footy. At half time you're ahead 50 nil, but the coach tells you not to let up, but to go out and put another 60 or 70 points on the opposition to ensure that they never trouble you again!
Chemo does not result in cures, but remissions. If I want to be absolutely certain the little sucker never returns, the surgeons will have to decide in about three months that I'm operable - something they've resisted in the past. If I continue without surgery, it is possible, but by no means certain, that the cancer will return at some unspecified time in the future. But because its a slow growing, relatively non-aggressive form of cancer, it should never become as dangerous as it was this time - we should be able to stop it before it does real damage with close monitoring. This time it got to stage 4 before we noticed it.
Clear enough?
Yesterday I went to the oncologist to get the results of my mid-term chemo scans. After the usual social chit-chat, he told me that the scans showed no sign of the cancer, and that the infected lymph nodes had returned to normal. After we (Gaye and I) scraped ourselves off the ceiling, he went on to tell us that I should continue the chemo to ensure that every skerrick of nastiness is removed from the rather dilapidated temple that is my body.
I liken it to a game of footy. At half time you're ahead 50 nil, but the coach tells you not to let up, but to go out and put another 60 or 70 points on the opposition to ensure that they never trouble you again!
Chemo does not result in cures, but remissions. If I want to be absolutely certain the little sucker never returns, the surgeons will have to decide in about three months that I'm operable - something they've resisted in the past. If I continue without surgery, it is possible, but by no means certain, that the cancer will return at some unspecified time in the future. But because its a slow growing, relatively non-aggressive form of cancer, it should never become as dangerous as it was this time - we should be able to stop it before it does real damage with close monitoring. This time it got to stage 4 before we noticed it.
Clear enough?
Wednesday, 15 August 2007
Mid-term Report Card
Dear Mrs D'Arcy
I am happy to be writing this mid-term report for young Anthony.
When Anthony (some here call him Tony) arrived here just four months ago now, he was faced with the challenge of a new environment, the need to make new friends, and to complete a new and difficult curriculum.
When he first started, he was filled with enthusiasm and good intentions, and presented as a high-spirited lad with honourable aspirations. He worked hard initially, and quickly settled into a routine of work, study and exercise. He also fitted in well, and made many friends who continue to support him well.
If I have one criticism of his approach at this stage, it would be that perhaps he took advice from many different sources when he first started, perhaps promised a bit too much to himself and those around him, based upon somewhat dubious and non-scientific sources? He needs to watch this as he continues on.
After his initial enthusiasm, I have to say that he slowed down somewhat in the middle stages. He will tell you that it had to do with a lingering cold, a dripping nose and a sore chest and shoulder, but in my opinion it is symptomatic of a possible longer term problem with his approach to life generally: he may not be a finisher. You will need to watch this in him, and reinforce in him the need to complete what he sets out to achieve!
I am pleased to tell you, however, that he has passed his mid-term examination with flying colours - sometimes sheer talent and ability can make up for a lack of application (this may seem unfair to some, but it is the way of the world). This morning, as I was marking his paper, I was amazed at the progress he has made. There is no sign of the peripheral difficulties he had when he came, and the central problem that he demonstrated has dissipated to such a degree that I am pleased to advise that it is on the run. When I discussed his progress with his football coach, he suggested that it was "a little like leading 50 nil at half time: you know you've got them beaten, but you want another 50 points in the second half to be sure!" I agree with this assessment. I am also confident that the opposition is in a sorry state after the first half whacking they received, and are unlikely to present much resistance in the foreseeable future!
During the next period, I expect Anthony to put in the same amount of work as he has in the last three months. He will need to spend another nine weeks at hard study, and while at times this may seem unnecessary, I am sure that if he sticks to it in good spirit he will continue to reap the results he wants. I know that his success in the first part of the term will buoy him mightily as he progresses.
He mentioned to me that he had made plans to move to another cricket team later in the year, but that his need to attend this school meant that he had to continue to play here. I would strongly advise that he re-activate those plans: there is no reason for him to stay and suffer in our cold when the sub-tropics beckon so hard. Can I suggest that January would be a good time for him to make the move? I can see him in maroon.
In the meantime, we wish him luck for the future, especially the next few months. I have no doubt that the rigours of this place will continue to test him, but the end is in sight, and a fine end it is too!!
Yours sincerely
O. N. Cologist
(Head of School)
I am happy to be writing this mid-term report for young Anthony.
When Anthony (some here call him Tony) arrived here just four months ago now, he was faced with the challenge of a new environment, the need to make new friends, and to complete a new and difficult curriculum.
When he first started, he was filled with enthusiasm and good intentions, and presented as a high-spirited lad with honourable aspirations. He worked hard initially, and quickly settled into a routine of work, study and exercise. He also fitted in well, and made many friends who continue to support him well.
If I have one criticism of his approach at this stage, it would be that perhaps he took advice from many different sources when he first started, perhaps promised a bit too much to himself and those around him, based upon somewhat dubious and non-scientific sources? He needs to watch this as he continues on.
After his initial enthusiasm, I have to say that he slowed down somewhat in the middle stages. He will tell you that it had to do with a lingering cold, a dripping nose and a sore chest and shoulder, but in my opinion it is symptomatic of a possible longer term problem with his approach to life generally: he may not be a finisher. You will need to watch this in him, and reinforce in him the need to complete what he sets out to achieve!
I am pleased to tell you, however, that he has passed his mid-term examination with flying colours - sometimes sheer talent and ability can make up for a lack of application (this may seem unfair to some, but it is the way of the world). This morning, as I was marking his paper, I was amazed at the progress he has made. There is no sign of the peripheral difficulties he had when he came, and the central problem that he demonstrated has dissipated to such a degree that I am pleased to advise that it is on the run. When I discussed his progress with his football coach, he suggested that it was "a little like leading 50 nil at half time: you know you've got them beaten, but you want another 50 points in the second half to be sure!" I agree with this assessment. I am also confident that the opposition is in a sorry state after the first half whacking they received, and are unlikely to present much resistance in the foreseeable future!
During the next period, I expect Anthony to put in the same amount of work as he has in the last three months. He will need to spend another nine weeks at hard study, and while at times this may seem unnecessary, I am sure that if he sticks to it in good spirit he will continue to reap the results he wants. I know that his success in the first part of the term will buoy him mightily as he progresses.
He mentioned to me that he had made plans to move to another cricket team later in the year, but that his need to attend this school meant that he had to continue to play here. I would strongly advise that he re-activate those plans: there is no reason for him to stay and suffer in our cold when the sub-tropics beckon so hard. Can I suggest that January would be a good time for him to make the move? I can see him in maroon.
In the meantime, we wish him luck for the future, especially the next few months. I have no doubt that the rigours of this place will continue to test him, but the end is in sight, and a fine end it is too!!
Yours sincerely
O. N. Cologist
(Head of School)
Thursday, 9 August 2007
Its Gorn - C3D15
Well, its happened - hair's gone. It happened like this.
On the weekend, Gaye and I went down to Kangaroo Valley (just inland and south of Wollongong, for the geographically challenged). We hadn't really been out of Canberra since the dreaded Black Friday, so we were up for it! We stayed at a top-notch B&B for three nights from Friday, and mosied up to Sydney on Monday, for a Tuesday meaning. We had a sublime weekend. Except for Saturday AM!
I have always said that when people started to notice the state of my hair, it was coming off. On Saturday morning we went into Berry looking for some Voltaren or similar for a painful shoulder. The chemist asked me whether I was on any drugs, and when I told her "a bucketload!", she looked at me then asked: "How far into the process are you? Chemo I mean." How could she tell, I asked - "your hair, of course - its typical of chemo patients. I bought the Voltaren, went around the corner to a little hair dressing salon, and 3 minutes and $15 later walked out a changed man.
But here's the thing - I have a really good head for it! And I want to know why brother Tim didn't tell me about the freedom that total baldness endows. I really enjoy it, as long as I don't catch an unexpected glimpse of myself in a mirror, or shop window reflection. I have bought, as promised, a snappy black fedora to accessorise the black overcoat. In the vernacular of the day, I look sick!!
But enough about me, and on to other things. On Monday next week I have the mid-process scan, as mentioned in the last post. Things haven't gone quite as expected in the last couple of weeks, with me having some odd chest and shoulder pain which has been affecting my sleep, and therefore my generally cheery good mood. Hence the Voltaren last weekend. I also have a little soreness in my neck/throat which is worrying me just a wee bit. In any case, if it gets any worse, its either mumps or Flu, rather than anything to do with the C.
More next week - you'll be among the first to know.
Oh, and I will post a photo in the next day or so, with and without hat!!
On the weekend, Gaye and I went down to Kangaroo Valley (just inland and south of Wollongong, for the geographically challenged). We hadn't really been out of Canberra since the dreaded Black Friday, so we were up for it! We stayed at a top-notch B&B for three nights from Friday, and mosied up to Sydney on Monday, for a Tuesday meaning. We had a sublime weekend. Except for Saturday AM!
I have always said that when people started to notice the state of my hair, it was coming off. On Saturday morning we went into Berry looking for some Voltaren or similar for a painful shoulder. The chemist asked me whether I was on any drugs, and when I told her "a bucketload!", she looked at me then asked: "How far into the process are you? Chemo I mean." How could she tell, I asked - "your hair, of course - its typical of chemo patients. I bought the Voltaren, went around the corner to a little hair dressing salon, and 3 minutes and $15 later walked out a changed man.
But here's the thing - I have a really good head for it! And I want to know why brother Tim didn't tell me about the freedom that total baldness endows. I really enjoy it, as long as I don't catch an unexpected glimpse of myself in a mirror, or shop window reflection. I have bought, as promised, a snappy black fedora to accessorise the black overcoat. In the vernacular of the day, I look sick!!
But enough about me, and on to other things. On Monday next week I have the mid-process scan, as mentioned in the last post. Things haven't gone quite as expected in the last couple of weeks, with me having some odd chest and shoulder pain which has been affecting my sleep, and therefore my generally cheery good mood. Hence the Voltaren last weekend. I also have a little soreness in my neck/throat which is worrying me just a wee bit. In any case, if it gets any worse, its either mumps or Flu, rather than anything to do with the C.
More next week - you'll be among the first to know.
Oh, and I will post a photo in the next day or so, with and without hat!!
Monday, 30 July 2007
C3D5
Sitting at home, watching TV and feeling just a little sorry for myself. Today (Monday) I've spent the day at home, with a pretty severe headache. Didn't move most of the day, and spent a decent amount of it asleep. A pity, really, as the weekend was a pretty good one, although Thursday and Friday were extremely ordinary. Back-tracking..........
Cycle 3 started on Thursday, and went very smoothly. I'd had a meeting with the oncologist on Wednesday, and he'd taken me through the process from here. I will have a CT scan in Canberra today fortnight. By then, half way through the treatment, the cancer should be showing one of two situations: either unchanged or worse, in which case we need to vary the treatment, or showing signs of improvement, in which case we consider what to do next - positively!! I'm feeling very confident - and quietly, so is the oncologist.
Thursday afternoon and Friday I was as ordinary as I've been. Very lethargic, easily tired and very fuzzy in the head. The anti-nausea drugs seemed to be working overtime, with me doing lots of heavy gulping hoping nothing else eventuated! Then on Saturday and Sunday, I felt pretty well, and we did a fair amount, including visiting WhiteHart Vineyard and going for a couple of walks. Then Harry Potter in the comfort of Dendy Premium (the only cinema which gives FF points!). Great movie and a very presentable pizza delivered directly to the Jason Recliner!! Fantastic!
Today, average and very dusty. This evening, tho, a little better. Top Gear cheered me right up!!
Oh and the hair? So far, its hanging in there: wispier than before, but sort of cute - or at least thats' what Gaye says, and she wouldn't lie to me!! THe girls in the clinic expect me to be nude-nutted each time they see me. Bad luck, kids.
Cycle 3 started on Thursday, and went very smoothly. I'd had a meeting with the oncologist on Wednesday, and he'd taken me through the process from here. I will have a CT scan in Canberra today fortnight. By then, half way through the treatment, the cancer should be showing one of two situations: either unchanged or worse, in which case we need to vary the treatment, or showing signs of improvement, in which case we consider what to do next - positively!! I'm feeling very confident - and quietly, so is the oncologist.
Thursday afternoon and Friday I was as ordinary as I've been. Very lethargic, easily tired and very fuzzy in the head. The anti-nausea drugs seemed to be working overtime, with me doing lots of heavy gulping hoping nothing else eventuated! Then on Saturday and Sunday, I felt pretty well, and we did a fair amount, including visiting WhiteHart Vineyard and going for a couple of walks. Then Harry Potter in the comfort of Dendy Premium (the only cinema which gives FF points!). Great movie and a very presentable pizza delivered directly to the Jason Recliner!! Fantastic!
Today, average and very dusty. This evening, tho, a little better. Top Gear cheered me right up!!
Oh and the hair? So far, its hanging in there: wispier than before, but sort of cute - or at least thats' what Gaye says, and she wouldn't lie to me!! THe girls in the clinic expect me to be nude-nutted each time they see me. Bad luck, kids.
Friday, 20 July 2007
A Quick Update
C2D16. Another week has passed, and apart from the fact that I can't shake a cold that I've now had for nearly two weeks, everything is going fine.
The hair situation has stabilised, and while I am very,very wispy, I am hanging on to a little. And if you caught me in a good light, you might think I was merely balding badly. I am assured by a couple of nurses, and one of my favourite naysayers, that I will be egg-like after the next major jolt - next Thursday. Thanks guys. Some have suggested a wig, others the currently fashionable tight gangsta beanie, and my in-laws a pom-pom topped hand-knitted number. I'm thinkin' snap-brimmed black fedora. Definitely more my style. I'll post photos.
I go in for the the first of Cycle 3 on Thursday next week. After the completion of this cycle - i.e. in just over three weeks from now, down to Sydney for a mid-treatment PET scan to see what's happening with the little sucker.
I don't really want to harp on it, but I am actually being treated very kindly by this process, and I'm reminded of it every time I go into the clinic (remember, twice a week for blood test and pump change). Most of those I meet are pretty debilitated by their treatment, and more than a couple look like death warmed up! My four days of crap after each jolt seems like a bonus! Not that I'm complaining, mind you!!
I suspect that the next treatment will affect me a little more heavily, there seems to be a slight accumulative affect.
Since I last blogged, Michael Milton, well known disabled down-hill skiing hero, has announced that he has an aggressive cancer in his oesophagus. Given his progress since losing his leg to bone cancer when he was eight or nine, this would be the last thing he would have expected. Michael and I both addressed a conference in Canberra in November last year. I sincerely hope we're not establishing a cancer cluster for the attendees! I wish him every bit of luck that I hope to have. (Incidentally, Michael got paid a shitload of money for his short speech, while I donated my much more amusing and better-received two hour workshop. Not that I'm bitter!).
The hair situation has stabilised, and while I am very,very wispy, I am hanging on to a little. And if you caught me in a good light, you might think I was merely balding badly. I am assured by a couple of nurses, and one of my favourite naysayers, that I will be egg-like after the next major jolt - next Thursday. Thanks guys. Some have suggested a wig, others the currently fashionable tight gangsta beanie, and my in-laws a pom-pom topped hand-knitted number. I'm thinkin' snap-brimmed black fedora. Definitely more my style. I'll post photos.
I go in for the the first of Cycle 3 on Thursday next week. After the completion of this cycle - i.e. in just over three weeks from now, down to Sydney for a mid-treatment PET scan to see what's happening with the little sucker.
I don't really want to harp on it, but I am actually being treated very kindly by this process, and I'm reminded of it every time I go into the clinic (remember, twice a week for blood test and pump change). Most of those I meet are pretty debilitated by their treatment, and more than a couple look like death warmed up! My four days of crap after each jolt seems like a bonus! Not that I'm complaining, mind you!!
I suspect that the next treatment will affect me a little more heavily, there seems to be a slight accumulative affect.
Since I last blogged, Michael Milton, well known disabled down-hill skiing hero, has announced that he has an aggressive cancer in his oesophagus. Given his progress since losing his leg to bone cancer when he was eight or nine, this would be the last thing he would have expected. Michael and I both addressed a conference in Canberra in November last year. I sincerely hope we're not establishing a cancer cluster for the attendees! I wish him every bit of luck that I hope to have. (Incidentally, Michael got paid a shitload of money for his short speech, while I donated my much more amusing and better-received two hour workshop. Not that I'm bitter!).
Wednesday, 11 July 2007
From the desk of Tony the Balding (really rapidly)
A number of people have commented that I'm now experiencing what they've been going through for years. Yep, I can see where they're coming from, but I have to say that what has taken some of you 35 years to achieve, i.e. an almost totally nude skull, I have had done to me in something less than a week!
And here's the thing - chemo is a bully. It picks off the crowning glory stuff with a laugh and a leer, and doesn't even touch the socially undesirable stuff that normally you'd pay others to take care of. What I mean is, the head hair generally is extremely wispy, but the little clumps in the ears and nose? Still rampant!
But I'm sort of persisting with it at the moment, despite initially thinking that I'd whip it all off at the first sign of thinning. I'm now going to see how bad it looks before I go that path.
In other news, last Thursday was Cycle2, Day1: today is therefore C2D7. Reaction for the four days after about the same as last time, perhaps a little worse - maybe there's something in this accumulation effect they promised me. And I've picked up a nasty head cold. When I had my blood test this morning, they told me it would be okay as long as it didn't get to my chest, in which case they might have to stop the treatment. No way that's going to happen!
Ran into an old work colleague last week who also has cancer. He's been down the Gawler Institute route, and follows the protocols pretty strictly, including two hours of meditation a day. Even Ian Gawler was apparently impressed by his positivity.
Mum's 93rd birthday on Sunday last, and the clan gathered to celebrate. 40-odd of us, with four generations and around a dozen great grandchildren. A terrific gathering, and lovely for me to see and catch up with all the nieces and nephews apart from those in Japan and England, and Townsville.
I'm being careful at work, sticking solidly to my comfort zone, and not taking on anything that will unduly stress me. Seems sensible.
Paul Craft (oncologist) and I have decided that I will have another PET scan after Cycle 3 to assess the progress of the chemo. I can feel in my bones that it will be a positive result (in that the cancer will be much reduced, of course). If that's the case, Brisbane plans are back on track - house on the market in September/October, with a move into the Brisbane house in mid-January 2008.
And here's the thing - chemo is a bully. It picks off the crowning glory stuff with a laugh and a leer, and doesn't even touch the socially undesirable stuff that normally you'd pay others to take care of. What I mean is, the head hair generally is extremely wispy, but the little clumps in the ears and nose? Still rampant!
But I'm sort of persisting with it at the moment, despite initially thinking that I'd whip it all off at the first sign of thinning. I'm now going to see how bad it looks before I go that path.
In other news, last Thursday was Cycle2, Day1: today is therefore C2D7. Reaction for the four days after about the same as last time, perhaps a little worse - maybe there's something in this accumulation effect they promised me. And I've picked up a nasty head cold. When I had my blood test this morning, they told me it would be okay as long as it didn't get to my chest, in which case they might have to stop the treatment. No way that's going to happen!
Ran into an old work colleague last week who also has cancer. He's been down the Gawler Institute route, and follows the protocols pretty strictly, including two hours of meditation a day. Even Ian Gawler was apparently impressed by his positivity.
Mum's 93rd birthday on Sunday last, and the clan gathered to celebrate. 40-odd of us, with four generations and around a dozen great grandchildren. A terrific gathering, and lovely for me to see and catch up with all the nieces and nephews apart from those in Japan and England, and Townsville.
I'm being careful at work, sticking solidly to my comfort zone, and not taking on anything that will unduly stress me. Seems sensible.
Paul Craft (oncologist) and I have decided that I will have another PET scan after Cycle 3 to assess the progress of the chemo. I can feel in my bones that it will be a positive result (in that the cancer will be much reduced, of course). If that's the case, Brisbane plans are back on track - house on the market in September/October, with a move into the Brisbane house in mid-January 2008.
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
Gone today!!
I spoke too bloody soon! After the walk/run with Oscar the Dog this morning, found clumps of hair in the beanie, then more in the shower (sob!). Bugger. I'm wondering how I can slip this past the girls in the clinic tomorrow - of course by Thursday it'll be too obvious.
So mark this day down: C1D20 - hair starts to disappear!!
So mark this day down: C1D20 - hair starts to disappear!!
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