Cells

Sometimes as I sit here contemplating my fate and other things such as consciousness and spirituality, I can't help but think how different things might have been.

It's quite possible, indeed almost certain, that as my surgeon, Mr Speake was busily removing my tumour, some infected cells had already made their escape and were lying dormant in my lungs waiting for their moment to start their terminal duty.

And there they lay, hiding, inactive, invisible to the most sophisticated scanner in Edinburgh, dodging gallons of chemo drugs  sent into my body to seek them out. Knowing that as long as they remained quietly, cruelly, carefully inactive, hiding in some corner of my lungs, the chemo drugs would not find them. This they managed to do over a period of six months when I put up with all the miseries that chemo brought into my life, expecting to emerge at the end clear of cancer.

Of course the little bastards had other plans. It's as if they were waiting for their moment in the sun and knew when the chemo drugs had left my body, so out they came dancing round my lungs and multiplying at a furious rate, so much so, that  the radiographer can only tell us that they are there in multiples. I don't think anyone has counted them. Just too many for them to bother, as they know there are enough of them to kill me.

I keep telling myself if only I'd gone to my doctor six months earlier they would not have had time to infect my lymph nodes and blood vessels and would never have found their nasty way round to my lungs. But I try not to dwell on that too much. I can't blame myself for how my life is ending. I can only hope for a little more time to annoy you all with my witterings. Is there such a word? And sorry there have not been many for past few weeks, but I will try to do better.

I will know more on  the 9th  of March when I see my oncologist again and she has the results of my next scan which should be sometime towards the end of February.

That's all for now. It's snowing here in Edinburgh, but I'm hoping to make my way down to the National Gallery to see the Turner watercolours, before they are put away for another year. I missed them last year, due to chemo diversions and this year may be my last chance to see them, so I think I should brave the snow and get on with it. Bye folks, more soon, maybe on films or something. Tonight is Wolff Hall night.

Happy New Year (belatedly)

Nobody said it would be easy, but I didn't realise it would be this hard (as the man didn't quite say). I haven't written anything since Xmas day so I guess it must be time I put pen to paper, or at least hand to keyboard.

It's two months ago today I was told that I had metastases on both lungs, and I'm still adjusting to the news. I can sometimes forget about the cancer for an hour or two, if I'm watching a good movie or chatting to good friends or sleeping, but mostly it hangs over me, like the worst enemy imaginable, always nagging and reminding me it's still there waiting for me, knowing only too well that some day it will get me.

I'm walking down the street minding my own business, living my life, quietly nowadays, when the voice comes in to remind me I've got cancer and I know nothing will ever be the same, and I wonder why all these blameless people I see around me don't realise what my life has become. How can they behave as if nothing has changed when I'm feeling so bad?

I read the paper and a young woman of 35 has died of colorectal cancer, leaving behind twin boys five years of age and I know her situation was much more difficult than mine. Then I read that the NHS is cutting funds for some cancer treatments as we can't afford the cost of some new drugs which may prove useful. Where's the justice in that?

I discovered from a BBC radio programme about a new type of radiotherapy called stereotactic ablative radiotherapy which, according to the programme has proved effective in the treatment of some cancers, as it can be more accurately and effectively targeted, and especially effective in secondary bowel cancer on the lung. In some cases 100% effective. So I asked my oncologist about it and she agreed to see me yesterday to talk about it.

NHS in England has told it's hospitals to stop using it. It is more expensive in the short term but less expensive long term as patients require only 4 or 5 treatments as compared to 20 using normal treatment. It was provided in Scotland by the Beatson in Glasgow, but they no longer use it, for some reason which I've yet to fathom. My oncologist insists it was a clinically based decision. There are still a few hospitals in England using it as they were able to make a clinically based case for it. Scottish patients would need to be referred for it by the oncologist and the authority would have to agree the funding.

My oncologist will not refer me or recommend me for it. This is because I have too many lesions (tumours), multiple small ones, though exact number is unknown. She says there are 6 or 7, but no one seems to have counted. There are too many lesions for surgery to be safe, and they use the same criteria for stereotactic therapy decisions. So I have too many for surgery and/or radiotherapy and if I had only a few they would operate, as this is most effective treatment. Which seems to suggest there are no situations where stereotactic therapy would be appropriate. Heads I lose and tails too.

If this is confusing for you, don't blame me. Imagine how it feels for me. What a bugger!!!! to say the least.

A Happy New Year to you all, and thank you for your cards and messages and visits. I plan to see more of you all this year. Tomorrow I'm back at the hospital to see my surgeon Mr Speake.