19th Jan 2020 23:50
Good, Bad. Ying, Yang. Ups, Downs. Rollercoaster. Describe it how you want.
My last update covered the spread to other areas and increasing size of the cancer in existing areas. Not dealing with the liver spots had been my concern while other areas had been showing stability.
So before Christmas I had a consultation with one of the top liver surgeons in the UK. He and his team had seen my scans. He immediately said the increased liver cancer was not in the liver, but on the surface of the liver. He went on to say the liver spots were ‘cystic’ and suggested he would be surprised if there were any viable cancer cells left in them. He said the surface cancer would not be affecting the operation of the liver – whoopee! I also mentioned the warning symptoms that the PIPAC specialist had told me to look for concerning the cancer around the liver – back pain, right shoulder pain – which I had. He said he’d never heard of such things and put them down to muscle or skeleton pain – whoopee!!
An extra week off chemo at Christmas was excellent. Almost feeling normal. Lots of car job completed – huge amount still to do.
Then comes New Year’s Eve. Delaying chemo by a week meant it landed on 31 Dec. it started going bad as I left the hospital – flat battery (one of the outstanding jobs – trace the battery drain). Returning home I went almost immediately to bed and from there I got a taste of what it’s like to be alone on NY’s Eve while you can hear people celebrating and enjoying themselves. Below me, Clare and the girls watched a film while I lay awake upstairs to the increased volume. Ironic torture – I wanted to sleep, but the very celebrations I sought to distance were preventing that escape. A Happy New Year midnight text to Clare extracted a ‘ditto’ response. The film and family rolled on with no pause.
Then fireworks started up, going off like a gun fight in a spaghetti western – still no sleep. Eventually the baddies were all dead, the titles rolled, and sleep was a welcome relief. But the night had one last – not yet – to throw. Frightened earlier by the posse of gun swingers seemingly just outside the window, the little black night devil cat had hidden under the bed. She chose the moment just after the onset of sleep to make burglar like noises before jumping on my face.
Awake again, I realised for those across the world without partners, those without family, those that have lost family or been separated from family may well experience that lonely torment every year. This year more so, as they will not even have been able to celebrate with friends. A bugger of a world for many.
Two weeks later, back for more chemo and to see the oncologist. She was not happy with the scans showing progression, nor my other stomach pains. She’s changed my diet, to reduce blockage possibilities, and for the next round she’s bringing out the big guns – oxaliplatin. I was on it before, just after my surgery. It did shrink the live tumour then, but the peritoneum is different, and the cancer may well have mutated to be immune. Oxaliplatin is the nasty one, the one that means I must wear gloves to get things from the fridge, I heat fizzy drinks in the microwave to avoid pain, and everything tastes creamy. That sounds good, but it isn’t. Tea with milk becomes undrinkable. Wine too.
A small ray of light. After chasing for a year, I finally got a call from not one, but two of the centres trialing immunotherapy. Forms are completed and they’ll take a sample from my missing and now archived insides. Tests on that will show whether I’m eligible for the trial. Long shot – only 10% of patients are eligible.
Up the Back Passage 