I’ve used this title before: in the blog I started to keep at the beginning of treatment; the blog that stopped in February 2012 and was accidentally trashed.
Time did not actually fly, it stopped that February. I had my third round of chemo, and was ill for the rest of the month. I was sleeping for hours at a stretch; the remaining colour from my face drained and what was left of my short term memory was zapped. March was much worse, I succumbed to a chest infection (so severe it was originally thought to be a pulmonary embolism or fibrosis); I had difficultly walking, or going for more than a few minutes without coughing.
And before I knew it , the year was almost over. My body was blown-up and distorted by steroids, my hair was still refusing to grow-back. I had a wound in my neck, that decided not to heal (a product of countless incursions into my jugular vein) and something wrong with my left arm and leg.
My dad died late October 2012. I’d finally managed a visit at the end of the summer; but he refused to accept the bald, bloated person was his dark-haired/athletic son. He was at that stage before death, where most of his bodily functions were beyond control; and I could see the fear in his eyes.
Death, like Cancer is the modern taboo; people are surprised when someone famous dies, as if they’ve been stripped of immortality. And when someone famous has Cancer, it’s suddenly front page news. But when you strip the text down, removing all the warlike expressions, all you have a big nothing. The media will quite happily cover Cancer if they can give it a human interest spin or trumpet a new scientific advance. I can hear an editor say: go easy on the blood and guts – it might spoil someone’s breakfast.
And when it comes to giving a realistic portrayal of Cancer, the film world is equally economic with facts. I watched the Cancer comedy 50/50 before having chemo; and whilst I did not expect to get high, have sex or go to nightclubs during my treatment – I was foolishly optimistic about the quality of life possible. Even concentrating on the simplest TV show was nigh on impossible.
Yet people who have little experience or understanding of Cancer, feel they know as much as you because they’ve read about Angelina Jolie or watched an episode of Greys Anatomy. If only the outcomes for us ordinary mortals were the same as those in fiction or those with access to unlimited funds.
I had lost my job and home when the Cancer diagnosis came. My possessions were in storage, and I was sleeping on a friend’s sofa. Luckily my friends daughter returned to university just prior to my Orchidectomy; but she was back when I was going through a catastrophic (and near fatal) infection, when each day seemed to bring a new crisis. She gave up her bed for me, tolerated my mood swings, and visited the chemo ward. She saw me, as I saw my father. Stripped of dignity and helpless. And she probably understands a lot more about Cancer than people twice her age.
People who should know better; or rather people who should possesses an understanding of humanity (because they are human too) frequently mistreat Cancer suffers. They make no allowance for a persons physical or mental state, for the reduced circumstances they often find themselves. Whether they be an employee of a Bank, Utility Company, a Local Government worker or Civil Servant, a Debt Collection Agency or Telecommunications Company: they hide behind their job.
Like the functionaries of the final solution, they’ve compartmentalised their life – cut out morality from the 9 to 5. They go home to a partner; maybe children, maybe not. They don’t give a second thought about the carnage they’ve caused by a threatening letter, phone call or denial of support. They don’t consider that Cancer may place it’s cold-dead hand on their shoulder too.
I’d like to talk in future posts about the strategies I’ve adopted to deal with those functionaries. About my experiences of trying to find a place to live: after spending a year or more in and out of hospital; of how hospital can be comforting but the outside is not . I’d like to suggest that apart from chemotherapy, radiotherapy and surgery things like a stable place to live and protection from harassment (by Private and Public Sector companies) are essential for recovery from Cancer.
And I’d like to talk about the people who cared for me, who gave me lifts to the hospital, who spent time with me when I was no company at all. I’d like to talk about Macmillan who have been there at every stage of my treatment, and provided invaluable support during my darkest moments. But first here’s what happened:
Today I had an emergency CT Scan, and will get the results in the morning. Its painful for me to raise my left arm, but I had too. There was deep red blood on the dressing when I removed it – the product of anti coagulation therapy. But the process was over in minutes, and I was home in half an hour. Back to my new flat - provided six months ago (a supposedly secure tenure – the so called Private Sector Opportunities Scheme). It’s on the market, which makes me feel like I’ve wasted all the time, energy and money put into the place. It makes me feel insecure, and apprehensive : what will happen if the landlord sells and I’m in the middle of treatment ?. But that story is for another day.
