I saw the oncologist yesterday, but the appointment didn't produce anything conclusive. The news in detail was neither better nor worse than what I'd already been told. It is - so far as is known - cancer of unknown primary, with metastases in the chest and neck lymph nodes. They're going to do an ENT endoscopy (a look to see if anything's hiding in my sinuses) but meanwhile I'm booked for a few cycles of a standard catch-all chemotherapy regime - cisplatin and docetaxel - starting in a fortnight. They really won't be able to say any more about prognosis until they see whether the chemotherapy has any effect. It makes everything still frighteningly uncertain; I want to know "How long do I live?", but I also know that all they can say is, "We want to keep you well for as long as possible". They are pleased, however, that I'm starting out otherwise fit and healthy: symptomless, in fact, and capable of a walk like this. The cough that started off all this investigation has gone.
Chemo sounds pretty nasty; looking at the scary information sheets, the thing that sticks out for its nastiness isn't the sickness or hair loss, but the finger numbness (due to "peripheral neuropathy") that's a frequent side effect of docetaxel especially. I don't think I mentioned that I'm a musician. It's only at an amateur level, and I wouldn't go so far as the singer-songwriter Melissa Etheridge, who discontinued her chemotherapy because of the potential detriment to her guitar playing. But it's still a worry.
Irene and I have been generally OK over the past few days, but I had a couple of bad patches. One was an episode of sheer panic at what they might do about the neck secondaries. I know someone who had radiotherapy for throat cancer, and needed teeth out first; nor has he fully recovered much sense of taste. But as it happens, they're not planning radiotherapy. My other down moment was when I made the mistake of thinking too long on what Irene said, about life being inconceivable without me. The effect on Irene is still the part of this situation that hurts the most acutely. And once I got on to that thought, I couldn't stop crying.
Mostly, though, I've felt in reasonable humour. My tattoo has healed perfectly in a week, which is very fast, and I even went and busked in the town square at the weekend. Unfortunately, the weather being very close here, someone fainted, and, quite apart from it being churlish to carry on playing while someone is lying unconscious nearby, paramedics bustling around you is a bit of a distraction. I only made £3.20, which would seem a bit mean to send to a charity, so I gave it to the Big Issue seller.
- James
