Post 158: Rest, recovery and recollections.
I don’t often re-read the blog after it’s been uploaded, but sadly I did yesterday and got a real shock from its incoherent wanderings. Perhaps I was more ill than I thought I was, or perhaps I should re-read more often?
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As I get older I find I have more time to do the odd festival event that catches my eye. The local festivals around here are small and well meaning but, on the whole, a little embarrassing.
But saying that, I’ve been keeping my eyes peeled for anything that might help my writing — or rather my blog.
I realise now that to improve my blogging skills I’ll have to prostrate myself at the feet of an expert who can constructively criticise my have-a-go spirited but innately flawed efforts — especially after yesterday’s confusing missive; it must have been the drugs, ha-ha.
Maybe that’s it — I need to experiment with drugs to enhance my creativity like painters and free thinkers of old. Or maybe not.
In any case, I signed up for a festival event which is basically a beginners’ guide to creative writing. Obviously I’m petrified of going alone and roped my youngest in to go with me. I’m glad he agreed to chaperone me, as the thought of spending two hours in a school environment is quite uncomfortable — worse still I might have to write something that has to be read out, and that is scary. But it’s all in a good cause and I’ll never get better without a bit of hard graft — and I do want to get better.
It’s funny how time flies and crawls slowly on many levels of life at the same time. The chemo is stretching the limits of my patience lately, yet the “writing event” that I booked months ago is suddenly and shockingly next week. Two examples showing how our brains can comprehend differences in the perception of time — slow and fast — while the fact remains that time is a constant. We are such strange creatures with our very large brains (some people actually use them; not me).
I’ve come to realise that it’s quite possible I could have been a better and more clever person, but I’m simply not — and I’m OK with that.
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As for a much more important thing to focus on, my health: I’m today a little clearer about what happened at yesterday’s meeting.
In a nutshell, my oncologist Dr S and I are now not strangers.
These two meetings, two weeks apart, have opened all the doors to my way of thinking about my health and my future.
Yes, the first meeting was an outpouring of emotion about how I really felt deep down, and yesterday’s ironed out the future. It was not intentional that I would be so open and honest with Dr S, but what it did was remarkably good: she now knows crucial factors about how I see my future and what to avoid.
I think she was right to offer me a way out of having the last chemo cycle. I was a bit surprised by the offer, but as I see it — if it’s going to do me good in some way I should have it and hope that there is a chance it holds back the cancer - like it’s supposed to.
I’m not against chemo per se — if it brings down the PSA, I’m in. If not, then it’s over.
Later on in that meeting I dug up a little thought I’d kept buried. I had no intention of saying it, but I’m glad I did. We were talking about the likelihoods of my upcoming rest versus another bout of chemo. I wanted to know how long I could expect a resting time to be, when trying to figure out when another bus might be suggested for another trip along chemotherapy lane.
So, after a bit of hedging from both of us, I asked the hidden and buried question: “What happens if I don’t want the next chemo? What happens then?”
This could have been a fierce and bloody fight of positivity versus negativity — a clever or dumb debate — but it wasn’t. I asked politely and Dr S answered politely.
“It is your choice and I understand your reluctance to consider another chemo after the troubles you’ve had with Carboplatin,” she replied. She continued, “There are other treatments, and radiotherapy can be used on particular areas of concern when they arise.”
I was immediately calmed — not that I was stressed in the first place. I was calmed because I was genuinely given the choice of having chemo in the future. This is perhaps obvious to many cancer patients reading this, but it’s a big question that takes some asking.
It’s not that I’m faced right now with a dilemma of massive proportions, but at some stage I will be. I now know my rights, if you like. If I want, I get; if I don’t, I don’t.
I’m not going to think on this anymore. I’ve got the last chemo to go and I want it to work well and see me right. I’m not at all thinking of giving up. I want my Darling’s hand in mine forever and a day. But there are some considerations that need to be aired, and their consequences shared.
This bus I hopped on six months ago led me to places I didn’t want to go, but that’s what happens when your body is attacked by this and defended by that; there’s always the chance of life-changing repercussions.
I’m still here on the bus nearing the terminus.
There will be a rest for me, but as yet an unknown length of time.
My blogging may be lifted out of the mire by a little schoolwork next week — if I’m (and you’re) lucky — but I wouldn’t count on it.
I feel so much better today after the morphine dulled all my senses yesterday. It needed to be done, but it’s not much fun being tranquillised.
I’m looking forward to a day with my Darling’s hand in mine tomorrow — I need to show some love back to my extraordinary friend, wife and love of my life. She is always there, always beside me. Even if I don’t mention her, she’s there.
Take care.
