I really, really can't type much. I'm falling asleep.
But a frustrating experience with Mrs Doctor today, resulted in me not going back to hospital on Sunday to have the 2nd R-ESHAP session, but to go to be 'urgently fast-tracked' through a CT/PET scan session.
So, another 'radioactive' internal image scan ... to find out what difference there has been so far. Remember, we were not going to be doing this until after TWO sessions of R-ESHAP.
Why suddenly change the routine? Well, because my pain-killers are going though the roof (I started on 'no more than 40mg a day' to my latest instructions of '4 x 20mg 'fast release' Oxy and 2 x 80mg 'slow release' Oxy tablets. (Total: 240mg a day). For the record, I've never taken any more than I've been advised to by my medical team. I always explain what's going on.
Also, I feel like crap most of the time, my sleeping is fucked due to background pain and ... fuck me, how many times have you read this tirade. But to sum up, they are concerned that I've had no real relief from the last R-ESHAP treatment. I have my private thoughts on this but will keep my mouth shut for a week.
Finally, the Mrs Doctor and lovely my Key Worker agreed that I looked like a bag of shite, although I'm paraphrasing ever-so slightly.
So, apparently I'll get a call on Monday to arrange my photo-shoot on Tuesday. Due to this fast-track, I should know 'something' soon. They said the results will be accessible the next day. Let's call it Friday then.
All bar the slightly angry conversations and minor details, you're basically up-to-date with where I am.
Can't write any more. Too snoozy. More soon.
Showing posts with label CT scan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label CT scan. Show all posts
Friday, 5 November 2010
Thursday, 2 September 2010
... 4 days off
(part 2 of a 2 part blog)
Monday morning.
I wake up, I visit the bathroom, I collapse back on the bed. Something is not right. I fall back asleep.
A short while later, I get up, stumble into the kitchen and fall over the pile of dirty clothes I cunningly left myself on the kitchen floor to remind myself to wash. I stuff them into the machine, press a few button and collapse back into bed. This isn't good. I feel awful.
And feeling awful has been the non-stop focal point of every waking hour since Monday am. Dreadful. Wiped out. Zonked. Zero energy. No appetite. No desire. No bloody music making, that's for sure.
I had a huge sleeping episode recently and although this could be lumbered in with that, this was a lot worse. The sleeping episode was just that really. A lot of sleep. This was feeling horrible on top and getting any solid sleep was hard. In and out, trippy dreams, feeling increasingly sorry myself and stupidly miserable.
Any hope that 'back to work day' on Tuesday would be better, were smashed within a waking second. No improvement. I cancelled my PET/CT scan appointment that I was suppose to have that day. Helpfully they said I could come in on the following day in the afternoon. I feel back asleep. In and out, trippy dreams, feeling increasingly sorry for myself and stupidly, stupidly miserable.
At a few points during Tuesday I made it to the Chemo Couch and tried to find something to cheer me up. I found the BBC website with the footage of the Reading Festival, something I used to attend pretty regularly in my 20's. An old favourite of mine, Limp Bizkit had reformed and I decided to watch the show. I think I must be the first person in history to burst into tears at watching Limp Bizkit play live.
As I watched the 'mosh pit', the sunsoaked revellers enjoying themselves, the memories came flooding back of the times I was in that circle pit, shirt off, leaping from body to body, charged up on energy and adrenalin - suddenly my pathetic body had never seemed so pitiful. By comparison, my mission today was to get a tin of peaches and some ice-cream from the local shop. That would be my feat of physical impressiveness, rather than a 90 minute slam-dancing session in the middle of a hot field. My self-pity reached new depths. I couldn't do anything, except sit or lie. It hurts to take a shit, for fucks sake. Truly pathetic.
Wednesday came around. I had to get up. I had to. Today, I was booked in for 'clinic' at my local hospital in the morning. Clinic is 'blood test' and mini-consultation once results are through (about an hour) to check if you're good to go for chemo the following day. After clinic, I would need to drive over the main cancer hospital for another CT/PET scan. That's the one where they make you radioactive - regular readers might remember this.
Getting up and dressed took about an hour. You can put one sock on and pause, drift away, stare into space. Knackered. After 5 minutes you'll put on another sock. Every time you pass a chair, you will sit. If you pass the sofa, you will lie. On top of this, I am not allowed to eat until after my afternoon scan. I am hungry. I won't be eating until about 2:00pm. Bah.
Somehow I drive to Clinic and do the waiting thing. I moan a lot in clinic about how shitty I feel, but ultimately, they do not care, for my blood test is not showing anything too critical and the more important issue is to get the scan done and results back. The results from this scan will show how well I have responded to the treatment and how much more, if any, I am to have.
Then - some amazing news ... casually, in passing, my doctor says, "there's no point you having chemo tomorrow...we'll wait for the scan results". The words from heaven flowed from her lips. "No chemo tomorrow". I feel better already. OH GOD, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!. Some respite. In my current condition, you can imagine how much I was looking forward to another pounding with the very shitty chemo-stick.
As I walked out of that hospital towards another, I felt slightly better and noticed my pace was a bit quicker. However, I am still hungry.
So then. Back to the ol' PET/CT scan. I've covered this already, but in a nutshell, you turn up, get injected with some radioactive magic monkey juice, you wait 25 mins whilst drinking some water, you then get put into one of those long tube machines that cost a fucking fortune and about 30 mins later, out the other end will pop a picture of your insides - with all the nasty cancer stuff lighting up like glow sticks at a rave. These images will eventually be pondered over by some clever people and send back to my doctor, where I will be called in and told if it's time to start making holiday or funeral arrangements.
Inside the tube, I fall asleep. This is pretty impressive. Most people are intimidated by the whirling piece of NASA type technology that covers your head and torso. But I was so shattered that I lay down and bingo! - nap time. The 25 min scan session was over in a heartbeat.
I am rudely awakened by a junior lab-rat, who shows me the door.
After the scan, I find the hospital snack-shop. I sit in my car and tuck into my fast breaking healthy lunch of ice-cream, chocolate, crisps and fizzy drink. SUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAR RRRRRRRUUUUUUUSH!
Home again. Flop into bed. I did it. I did it. I did it. Sleep.
-----------
Today: Oh for fucks sake. Surely I should be better now! *sneeze*. Fuck it, i'm going to work anyhow. *sneeze*
I make it to the office at about 11:00am. I am dripping snot out my nose and sneezing regularly. I am drinking Lemsips and ... praise Allah ... I am feeling better. My work output is as pathetic as my body but just being here, plugged back into the system, talking to people, helping out a bit ... hour by hour, I'm returning to 'self'. It feels good to be back.
Conclusion: There is very little wrong with me to worry about. I probably have picked up what you lot get every other month - a cold, a bug, Man Flu, whatever you call it ... however, with an immune system that is as effective at fighting as the French Navy, I am floored by the smallest of germs. Pathetic.
It's been a really hard few days for some reason. It's certainly not been the first episode that I've been racked up in bed for a few days, but each time, it gets harder mentally. I am tired. I am tired of the downs. I am tired of chemo. I am tired of having to explain how I feel. I am tired of blogging about how tired I am of ... etc.
So, the wait is on then. The wait for the scan results. The results that dictate my immediate and possibly long term future. If I'm honest, I couldn't actually give a shit about the cancer, I just want the chemo to stop. I think I'm getting the cart before the horse there, but it's how I feel.
However, if you're so inclined, pray. Pray that in a week's time, I will be posting happy news about my scan results.
If, like our good friend Steven Hawkins, you've decided God doesn't exist, then send positive thoughts my way anyway.
Because ...
Because I really, really need a break from this. My body wants some uninterrupted healing time. I want to be able to get a few weeks of good times back. I was going to write that I want to run, to dive, to mosh in pits ... but to be honest, I just want to be able to eat, to shit and to go to work. I want to be a bit bored with the same ol', same ol'. I want things to be predictable. To be stuck in a routine. To be grinding out the weeks. To be, well, normal.
Most of all, I want the old me back.
-----------
Special thanks for M. for bringing me food supplies and listening to me moan. You saved my life. Probably.
-----------
Footnote: I'll post the results of my scan on this blog. I may need to talk to few people first, face to face (or by phone) but rest assured, you'll know not long after I do.
Until then, consider this an end of series cliffhanger ...
Monday morning.
I wake up, I visit the bathroom, I collapse back on the bed. Something is not right. I fall back asleep.
A short while later, I get up, stumble into the kitchen and fall over the pile of dirty clothes I cunningly left myself on the kitchen floor to remind myself to wash. I stuff them into the machine, press a few button and collapse back into bed. This isn't good. I feel awful.
And feeling awful has been the non-stop focal point of every waking hour since Monday am. Dreadful. Wiped out. Zonked. Zero energy. No appetite. No desire. No bloody music making, that's for sure.
I had a huge sleeping episode recently and although this could be lumbered in with that, this was a lot worse. The sleeping episode was just that really. A lot of sleep. This was feeling horrible on top and getting any solid sleep was hard. In and out, trippy dreams, feeling increasingly sorry myself and stupidly miserable.
Any hope that 'back to work day' on Tuesday would be better, were smashed within a waking second. No improvement. I cancelled my PET/CT scan appointment that I was suppose to have that day. Helpfully they said I could come in on the following day in the afternoon. I feel back asleep. In and out, trippy dreams, feeling increasingly sorry for myself and stupidly, stupidly miserable.
At a few points during Tuesday I made it to the Chemo Couch and tried to find something to cheer me up. I found the BBC website with the footage of the Reading Festival, something I used to attend pretty regularly in my 20's. An old favourite of mine, Limp Bizkit had reformed and I decided to watch the show. I think I must be the first person in history to burst into tears at watching Limp Bizkit play live.
As I watched the 'mosh pit', the sunsoaked revellers enjoying themselves, the memories came flooding back of the times I was in that circle pit, shirt off, leaping from body to body, charged up on energy and adrenalin - suddenly my pathetic body had never seemed so pitiful. By comparison, my mission today was to get a tin of peaches and some ice-cream from the local shop. That would be my feat of physical impressiveness, rather than a 90 minute slam-dancing session in the middle of a hot field. My self-pity reached new depths. I couldn't do anything, except sit or lie. It hurts to take a shit, for fucks sake. Truly pathetic.
Wednesday came around. I had to get up. I had to. Today, I was booked in for 'clinic' at my local hospital in the morning. Clinic is 'blood test' and mini-consultation once results are through (about an hour) to check if you're good to go for chemo the following day. After clinic, I would need to drive over the main cancer hospital for another CT/PET scan. That's the one where they make you radioactive - regular readers might remember this.
Getting up and dressed took about an hour. You can put one sock on and pause, drift away, stare into space. Knackered. After 5 minutes you'll put on another sock. Every time you pass a chair, you will sit. If you pass the sofa, you will lie. On top of this, I am not allowed to eat until after my afternoon scan. I am hungry. I won't be eating until about 2:00pm. Bah.
Somehow I drive to Clinic and do the waiting thing. I moan a lot in clinic about how shitty I feel, but ultimately, they do not care, for my blood test is not showing anything too critical and the more important issue is to get the scan done and results back. The results from this scan will show how well I have responded to the treatment and how much more, if any, I am to have.
Then - some amazing news ... casually, in passing, my doctor says, "there's no point you having chemo tomorrow...we'll wait for the scan results". The words from heaven flowed from her lips. "No chemo tomorrow". I feel better already. OH GOD, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!. Some respite. In my current condition, you can imagine how much I was looking forward to another pounding with the very shitty chemo-stick.
As I walked out of that hospital towards another, I felt slightly better and noticed my pace was a bit quicker. However, I am still hungry.
So then. Back to the ol' PET/CT scan. I've covered this already, but in a nutshell, you turn up, get injected with some radioactive magic monkey juice, you wait 25 mins whilst drinking some water, you then get put into one of those long tube machines that cost a fucking fortune and about 30 mins later, out the other end will pop a picture of your insides - with all the nasty cancer stuff lighting up like glow sticks at a rave. These images will eventually be pondered over by some clever people and send back to my doctor, where I will be called in and told if it's time to start making holiday or funeral arrangements.
Inside the tube, I fall asleep. This is pretty impressive. Most people are intimidated by the whirling piece of NASA type technology that covers your head and torso. But I was so shattered that I lay down and bingo! - nap time. The 25 min scan session was over in a heartbeat.
I am rudely awakened by a junior lab-rat, who shows me the door.
After the scan, I find the hospital snack-shop. I sit in my car and tuck into my fast breaking healthy lunch of ice-cream, chocolate, crisps and fizzy drink. SUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGAAAAAAAR RRRRRRRUUUUUUUSH!
Home again. Flop into bed. I did it. I did it. I did it. Sleep.
-----------
Today: Oh for fucks sake. Surely I should be better now! *sneeze*. Fuck it, i'm going to work anyhow. *sneeze*
I make it to the office at about 11:00am. I am dripping snot out my nose and sneezing regularly. I am drinking Lemsips and ... praise Allah ... I am feeling better. My work output is as pathetic as my body but just being here, plugged back into the system, talking to people, helping out a bit ... hour by hour, I'm returning to 'self'. It feels good to be back.
Conclusion: There is very little wrong with me to worry about. I probably have picked up what you lot get every other month - a cold, a bug, Man Flu, whatever you call it ... however, with an immune system that is as effective at fighting as the French Navy, I am floored by the smallest of germs. Pathetic.
It's been a really hard few days for some reason. It's certainly not been the first episode that I've been racked up in bed for a few days, but each time, it gets harder mentally. I am tired. I am tired of the downs. I am tired of chemo. I am tired of having to explain how I feel. I am tired of blogging about how tired I am of ... etc.
So, the wait is on then. The wait for the scan results. The results that dictate my immediate and possibly long term future. If I'm honest, I couldn't actually give a shit about the cancer, I just want the chemo to stop. I think I'm getting the cart before the horse there, but it's how I feel.
However, if you're so inclined, pray. Pray that in a week's time, I will be posting happy news about my scan results.
If, like our good friend Steven Hawkins, you've decided God doesn't exist, then send positive thoughts my way anyway.
Because ...
Because I really, really need a break from this. My body wants some uninterrupted healing time. I want to be able to get a few weeks of good times back. I was going to write that I want to run, to dive, to mosh in pits ... but to be honest, I just want to be able to eat, to shit and to go to work. I want to be a bit bored with the same ol', same ol'. I want things to be predictable. To be stuck in a routine. To be grinding out the weeks. To be, well, normal.
Most of all, I want the old me back.
-----------
Special thanks for M. for bringing me food supplies and listening to me moan. You saved my life. Probably.
-----------
Footnote: I'll post the results of my scan on this blog. I may need to talk to few people first, face to face (or by phone) but rest assured, you'll know not long after I do.
Until then, consider this an end of series cliffhanger ...
Friday, 16 April 2010
Look out ... it's Radioactive Cancer Man!
Today I was made radioactive so I could have a PET/CT scan. Just another ridicolous episode in my ridicolous life.
I was injected with a radioactive material and told to wait in a room for an hour. When you think about it, we put an enormous amount of trust in these people.
"Just stick this egg up your anus and chew this damp sock. I'll be back in 45 minutes."
I got bored within 2 minutes and discovered that as I walked across the room to get my phone, the Geiger Counter in the next room stared clicking louder. So I 'stealthily' took the following video.
I got busted just after I return to my bed, as there was a security camera watching me - and I got 'told off' by the nurses and was made to promise to delete it off my phone. I promised.
So, here is the YouTube video that I've now deleted off my phone.
Apologies for the finger in the way, I was trying to be spy-like.
Oh, you'll have to turn it up a bit, especially at the start, because i'm whispering like a spy.
I was injected with a radioactive material and told to wait in a room for an hour. When you think about it, we put an enormous amount of trust in these people.
"Just stick this egg up your anus and chew this damp sock. I'll be back in 45 minutes."
I got bored within 2 minutes and discovered that as I walked across the room to get my phone, the Geiger Counter in the next room stared clicking louder. So I 'stealthily' took the following video.
I got busted just after I return to my bed, as there was a security camera watching me - and I got 'told off' by the nurses and was made to promise to delete it off my phone. I promised.
So, here is the YouTube video that I've now deleted off my phone.
Apologies for the finger in the way, I was trying to be spy-like.
Oh, you'll have to turn it up a bit, especially at the start, because i'm whispering like a spy.
Friday, 9 April 2010
rough week, rough day
I can't actually be bothered to write this blog, but there is news, so I may as well tell it. For the point of a blog is to tell news. It's my commitment to you. Be grateful.
The last chemo session - 3b - was horrible, as per usual. Lots more of lots more of the same. Especially vomit. Lots of vomit.
The main difference came when I would normally be coming out the other side and returning to work - the 'chemo sickness' feeling left around Tuesday as per usual, but my body continued to be very weak. So much so that despite hauling my skinny ass to work on Wednesday for a tokenistic appearance, I couldn't get the same skinny ass back to work on Thursday. I just felt very weak, even going for a short walk would leave me breathless ...
Christ, this is pathetic.You get the idea. Moan. Moan. Moan.
The actual 'news' is this - I've just returned from a double-visit-day at the hospital. First up was to tidy up my PICC line and snip down the length as it's slowly been coming out ... then it was back in the afternoon for my second CT spleen scan. You may remember that I had a CT scan way back at the start in December and if you haven't seen it, the image is on this blog here
I'm going to write more about this situation later on - but without giving too much away, I've seen the CT scan results, I've actually already got the CD with the images on (I've got good contacts!) and although I await my Consultants opinion next Wednesday, it's fair to say that we are not looking at a miracle here.
In fact, the size difference is pretty negligible - to these untrained eyes anyhow ... it's still a monster and I know this, as it's in my bloody body - I feel like someone has tucked a balloon stuffed full of Paxo under my left hand ribs. I haven't slept on my left hand side since November. So, the images have only confirmed what I already knew - it's changed - but it's we are probably talking about a 3-5% change here. Worth the last 4 months of shite? You can answer that.
So, if you are of the betting persuasion, then I suggest placing a large amount of money on the word 'spenectomy' being used in upcoming blogs.
So that's why I am so grumpy tonight then? No, actually. I can live with that. Or without that, as it will probably be. The reason I'm so grumpy this Friday night is because of my ridiculous anticipatory nausea issue. Somehow my mental mind and body decided that the aniseed flavoured water than I had to drink before the CT scan (about a litre, over the course of an hour, so things show up on the scan) must have been chemo related - and so now I'm back on my chemo couch, on a Friday night, feeling bloody nauseous again for no reason. I wouldn't mind, but I've had this exact procedure and drink before with no side effects, so I know it's another phantom sickness. I was looking forward to a night off - feeling a bit better - making some music, relaxing and now I know that the only way out of this feeling is to go to bed ...
Some days I want to just say OH FOR FUCKS SAKE, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK LORD.
Today is one of those days. So stop reading now if you are easily offende ...
.. ah.
The last chemo session - 3b - was horrible, as per usual. Lots more of lots more of the same. Especially vomit. Lots of vomit.
The main difference came when I would normally be coming out the other side and returning to work - the 'chemo sickness' feeling left around Tuesday as per usual, but my body continued to be very weak. So much so that despite hauling my skinny ass to work on Wednesday for a tokenistic appearance, I couldn't get the same skinny ass back to work on Thursday. I just felt very weak, even going for a short walk would leave me breathless ...
Christ, this is pathetic.You get the idea. Moan. Moan. Moan.
The actual 'news' is this - I've just returned from a double-visit-day at the hospital. First up was to tidy up my PICC line and snip down the length as it's slowly been coming out ... then it was back in the afternoon for my second CT spleen scan. You may remember that I had a CT scan way back at the start in December and if you haven't seen it, the image is on this blog here
I'm going to write more about this situation later on - but without giving too much away, I've seen the CT scan results, I've actually already got the CD with the images on (I've got good contacts!) and although I await my Consultants opinion next Wednesday, it's fair to say that we are not looking at a miracle here.
In fact, the size difference is pretty negligible - to these untrained eyes anyhow ... it's still a monster and I know this, as it's in my bloody body - I feel like someone has tucked a balloon stuffed full of Paxo under my left hand ribs. I haven't slept on my left hand side since November. So, the images have only confirmed what I already knew - it's changed - but it's we are probably talking about a 3-5% change here. Worth the last 4 months of shite? You can answer that.
So, if you are of the betting persuasion, then I suggest placing a large amount of money on the word 'spenectomy' being used in upcoming blogs.
So that's why I am so grumpy tonight then? No, actually. I can live with that. Or without that, as it will probably be. The reason I'm so grumpy this Friday night is because of my ridiculous anticipatory nausea issue. Somehow my mental mind and body decided that the aniseed flavoured water than I had to drink before the CT scan (about a litre, over the course of an hour, so things show up on the scan) must have been chemo related - and so now I'm back on my chemo couch, on a Friday night, feeling bloody nauseous again for no reason. I wouldn't mind, but I've had this exact procedure and drink before with no side effects, so I know it's another phantom sickness. I was looking forward to a night off - feeling a bit better - making some music, relaxing and now I know that the only way out of this feeling is to go to bed ...
Some days I want to just say OH FOR FUCKS SAKE, GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK LORD.
Today is one of those days. So stop reading now if you are easily offende ...
.. ah.
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