Well, it's always good to start with a lie! It is in fact 6 days short of 9 months since we heard the verdict "Stage 4 Non Small Cell Lung Cancer. Inoperable. Incurable". I have to say that this was not totally unexpected, but still a shock.
Our lives since that day have been a roller coaster of emotions, and it is only now that I feel I may be able to try to make some sense of it all, although this may still be somewhat disjointed. We came out of the consultant's office with a prognosis of 6 months (average) without any treatment. Treatment of course was never in any doubt. Four cycles of chemo at 3 weeks per cycle, followed by 20 cycles of radiotherapy over 4 weeks.
Looking back, I guess I spent the first couple of months like a whirling dervish; so much to do to set things in order as best I could. Plans to make, people to see, things to do. I will be eternally grateful to Macmillan, who sorted out DLA, Car Tax etc for me. The house, which was already up for sale, has had its asking price reduced significantly in an attempt to sort out a move while I can still help with it. During all this, there were long talks with my rock, Tina, where I'm glad to say nothing was taboo. We had, and still have, what I call "our Smith and Jones chats" at the kitchen table; tears and laughter and lots of love.
Right from the start, I have accepted that Horace (my name for the little bugger) is going to get me. But I decided there and then that he will have to drag me kicking and screaming to the last great adventure. Tina I know did not react well. Despite all the medics and me stressing all treatment was palliative only, she still held out hope that it would cure me. It has taken a fair while for her to realise this is not very likely, and her courage and strength in facing it is an inspiration to me.
The chemo was fairly successful, reducing Horace by around 50%, and allowing my partially collapsed left lung to reinflate. I was fairly fortunate, and did not have any really bad side effects. In fact the worst part towards the end was getting bloods taken and getting the cannulas in because my veins had partially collapsed. Radiotherapy was a doddle until the last week when my oesophagus was beginning to burn slightly. Some antacid with a local anaesthetic in helped, and it soon passed when treatment finished.
The next period was in many ways the hardest. When the treatment was finally over it felt as though I'd been cast adrift. From being at the hospital every day, we now had nothing to do but wait, and I found that very hard. My first follow up scan was brought forward a couple of weeks because I was coughing up blood. However, the scan results were inconclusive because there was still scarring from the radiotherapy. I was however feeling a lot better, not great, you understand, because I was still quite breathless and short of energy, but certainly better than I was when first diagnosed.
I think that's enough for now, but I will return.............
No comments:
Post a Comment