M started his radiotherapy yesterday. Shared the waiting room with a couple where the male half had the same type of tumour and surgery as M. Difference is, he had seen a competent doctor in the beginning so his diagnosis and treatment were fast and his chances are good. Really chatty people till I told them M's condition is terminal. Sudden lull in the conversation then.
Having people who are terminal and those with a good prognosis being treated together feels a bit like carrying out abortions on a labour ward. pretty uncomfortable all round.
In real life, we're supposed to be polite and positive - and I try - but here in the blogosphere I can be childish and nasty and say it's just not bloody fair! Why should that bloke be the lucky one and poor M, who's one of life's good and gentle and kind people get the lousy treatment he did get. And the death sentence he's now got.
Three years of seeing different - and indifferent - consultants at two different hospitals. Being told it's all in his head - or he's an alcoholic - when he has a visible grapefruit sized lump in his gut, he's lost 7 stones,and his blood results are so abnormal his GP thinks she's misreading them. three times the poor woman sent him to hospital as an emergency. Twice he's sent home told there's nothing wrong - with his BP in his boots, heartbeat almost twice its normal rate and wildly irregular,and grossly anaemic.
During that second admission a new consultant, who was briefly on call and saw his notes, told me he was very seriously ill and probably needed urgent surgery. The consultant actually responsible for his care saw the same notes and said he was drinking too much and to go home and stop.
A few weeks later, after another emergency admission and my insistence he be transferred to the care of the doctor who had expressed concern, M went to theatre for " a quick look". He came back more than 11 hours later having had a massive tumour removed. By then, of course, the cancer had already infiltrated lymph nodes and he was too unwell to complete the chemo. I knew from the start what the likely outcome would be, but convention tells you, you have to keep positive, and where there 's life there's hope. It's just bullsh*t and there was no hope for him from the day he was put in to a system that never listens.
That's enough being angry. I'm being angry because there are some real sad thoughts coming through and I can't deal with them. Maybe later I can start to get out my misery at what I've already lost and my fear of what I've still to lose. Angry is easier.
