Post 140: So how long have I got?
What would I do without the community forum, in my life, to react to?
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My life outside my Darling and Mr Vicious is a small life without many interactions with other humans – you might even say it’s dull.
Also, the postal service has been challenged by the digital age, so there’s very little that drops through the letterbox these days. Instead, my email inbox is full of fluff.
So this cancer chemo course has been a dreadful bore. I feel like I’ve been lied to, and the chemo is more like The King’s New Clothes – invisible and costly.
The Macmillan blog is a daily therapy which helps me understand myself. I’m grateful for the opportunity to distract myself (and others) with words and images of the day’s mindful meanderings.
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Why are my ankles swollen?
This heart-related symptom could be another sign I’m more unwell than I think I am.
I remember my mother’s “heart attack clinics” where her heart health was assessed every month. Swollen legs were a major concern, and the water tablets she hated (but took) helped the transit out of water out of the lower body since her heart was struggling to cope with the daily chores.
So this is another indication of progression. A progression of older age, and my body’s struggles with itself.
Alongside everything else, I’m descending into a low – a low I don’t want to descend into just yet. I’m not old enough. I’m not ill enough.
Or am I?
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My lack of exercise is starting to worry me. It’s only me that can do something about it, and I really should make an effort to tone my flab and do some routine maintenance in the form of walkies down the road. So why don’t I?
It’s a simple enough routine, and yet the TV seems to pull me in with its all-powerful light-emitting tractor-beam which I can’t pull away from. I’ve become a couch potato.
Gone are the days, before the chemo started, when I could pop into town the mile and a quarter, on a whim, and not be bothered by the after-effects. It was a time versus energy equation which I had no reason to question back then. Now, however, I am daunted by walking just one way, let alone there and back. Four cycles of platinum chemo has ruined my confidence in what should be a straightforward, easy-to-achieve daily routine.
These little chinks in my armour are weakening my whole being, affecting my mental health too. And this is the big problem.
I’m now losing confidence in myself.
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Where did my “get up and go” go?
Somewhen in the last few weeks things have changed. My rapidly sinking outlook is the biggest issue.
It all boils down to greed and jealousy. What I feel I should be able to do, and the inability to look away from people the same age as me who still have their “normal” lives.
People with grandkids.
People with travelling holidays taking them around the world.
People at work earning money.
And on and on…
People like I was a few months ago. Why did the cancer have to choose me?
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I’m fed up overthinking this hideous situation I’m in.
It’s not fair.
Most days I’m okay with the crappy deal, but I’m not today.
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How long have I got left with a basic QoL (Quality of Life)?
Will anyone tell me? Because it’s really the only thing I want to know.
Bugger all the explanations about this bit of DNA and those chemicals reacting to these areas of the body and how the body as a whole is degrading and not coping any more.
I want to know how long I have left.
Can I untether myself from the local hospital and hospice and drive away down the highway to who knows where, with a cat basket holding Mr Vicious, and the passenger seat filled with my Darling’s warm and loving body?
Can I take off and be free from being poked and prodded, scanned and X-rayed?
What’s possible?
In my mind I’m starting to be overcome by negative emotions about the simple things that make me happy.
The pain management team are doing a great job, but I can’t see a time when I don’t need hourly doses of something or other to keep me well and smiling.
So I’m wondering if I’ve already missed the bus out of here.
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The oncology meeting in three sleeps’ time (sleeps if I’m lucky) could be a very short affair. I’m so troubled by my desire to get honesty that I seem to be stuck in a loop of despair.
I want the truth.
The ugly truth.
I want to know if I should be firing up the car engine and getting the cat basket ready for a trip of our lifetime.
Is that so hard to do?
Am I ready for the truth?
Will it affect my Darling too much? Would it be better to allow her to have more time in limbo rather than have her count down the years, months and days on a phone app?
Is it fair of me to ask?
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The forum is my parachute. It’s where I’m safe and supported by anonymous friends who I, in turn, support back.
You ask a question and I answer it – if I can.
I ask a question and you answer it – if you can.
Quid pro quo.
So finally…
How long have I got?
