Post 355: The day for me to be honest with my oncologist and myself.
The roads were busy on the way to the appointment. We were running late and more temporary traffic lights blocked our way and slowed us down. We got there eventually, only to find the oncology clinic was running late too — an hour late.
The sun was pouring into the waiting room, making me sleepy, so I was resting my eyelids in a corridor full of anxious individuals awaiting their fate.
I was not anxious. I was clear on what I wanted.
We were called eventually by our smiling doctor, who noticed that we were two, not the usual three this morning. Our son was not there. He was too busy.
“How are you?” was the first question, to which I replied, “Good.”
A stream of obvious questions followed, all answered in a matter-of-fact way by me, with confidence. I was on a roll, and I had mapped out where this meeting was going — unless the doc had any issues I didn’t know about.
The bone test was mentioned, and the PSA’s rise to just under my highest figure, which would be worrying if I was having treatment. As it is, I’m not. The ALP (bloods) was the same and ignored for the same reasons.
In fact, the only two items of note were, firstly, the bed mattress — which will be under review if the district nurse can be summoned to give her view of the worn-out item — and secondly, the use of morphine over and above the slow-release 30ml twice a day.
So there will be an action to ask for an urgent review of the mattress, and a prescription change and review by the Hospice doctor to make sure the drugs are working without extra side effects making my life difficult.
That was nearly it, but I was asked whether or not any treatment was necessary or wanted, to which I replied an emphatic no.
I said if I had any changes to my life, or new aches and pains, I would make them aware. But right now, I’m ok.
So that was that, and a three-month blood-test sheet was printed, and after a shake of hands we were off to the beach — and our son, and his fiancée’s dog, Byron.
I think my Darling was happy with the outcome. I certainly was.
Three months of peace is perfect — unless there are any changes to my symptoms.
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I drove down to the beach where we were greeted by a tall lurcher named Byron, waiting for us with a whip of a tail whirring around in welcoming circles.
We were sat chatting with tea and snacks almost immediately, and the dog was trying his very best to make his owners look like strangers with his blank refusal to behave. But for us visitors, it was sometimes hilarious.
We caught up with the patio laying outside, and the old rear brick wall now rendered with a white mist coat on it. The front garden is like a builder’s yard — pallets of stone and cement, power tools and a skip. The back garden is dog-friendly, but we didn’t get to sit in it because the clouds appeared as soon as we parked up, and a cold wind blew dust around in uncomfortable gusts.
So we stayed in the kitchen while they tried their level best to get Byron’s attention — but that was fleeting, because there were visitors to show off to. Ha ha.
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Sitting around the kitchen table, we chatted over our conundrum with beds.
The district nurse is one thing, but if that doesn’t work out we now have a few solutions to solve the problem — if we can agree on having a single, a small double, or twin beds as our future style of sleeping.
As I say, there’s a lack of unity on this vexing problem, but that may be part of a larger one.
On one day my Darling is up, the next she’s down. She can feel full and distant and is hard to engage with sometimes. She is worn out by looking after me, but continues to push through.
I’m not really allowed to do much, and that’s for good reason, but I’m sure I could help her more.
She was back at work last weekend and will be on her Friday meet-up and café routine tomorrow, while I have Big Sis to chat to at one pm.
What to do?
I don’t know. Yet.
I’ve been sleeping well while she sleeps fitfully. None of this is fair. None of it was asked for. But this is us — and we are unable to change much.
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Oh dear, a gloomy end to a happy day.
I need to call the tax office and volunteer my error. Also, I have a friend who wants to meet up soon, and another who is taking me out on Saturday.
We will get past this blip in our lives.
The going down precedes the going up.
Good luck
