Armageddon plus six
Having being told to expect a meeting with a member of the oncologist team at Auckland Hospital this week or more likely the one after, we were surprised to get an email saying they’d a slot for us yesterday, at eight-thirty in the morning. Yay! Things were moving fast.
And that was where we hit Armageddon 2. With the tumour being situated where it is, apparently the experts feel the chances of it shrinking and retreating far enough from the important blood vessels in order to remove it are as low as 10-15%. Even with chemo! Of course, I much preferred the less than 50% of a week ago!
Taking in factual information like that is quite strange, and still processing it myself I realised Jas was quietly weeping. There was nothing I could do or say. My heart broke for him. At least I have an element of control and fully intend to beat this thing, even if we have to go to the bitter end to do so. But the man I love with all my heart can only watch on helplessly and that is not how he likes things! Ask anyone who has worked alongside him!
Having already determined to try anything and everything, something the oncologist would have gathered from my question regarding any available clinical trials - just give me the consent form and tell me where to sign - next week a fine tube is to be inserted under the skin of my chest and into a vein, and a week or so later I will have my first cycle of chemo, a cocktail of four drugs. This will carry on every fortnight for three months. Then it’s down to fingers crossed and the findings of another ultrasound. Meanwhile I have been given printed-out pages of the potential side effects I can expect, the worst of which as far as I am concerned is not the vomiting or nausea, or the fatigue or thinning skin, or the mouth ulcers and tingling in my fingers and toes. It’s losing my hair! To misquote Shakespeare, Woman thy name is vanity! That’s why I took things into my own hands and went straight to the hairdressers to get it all chopped off. Why give the tumour any more power than necessary!
Meanwhile, I’m eating well – dinner tonight is seared yellow-fin tuna, landed just this morning at North Wharf, with plenty of green salad. I’m still off sugar, diary and meat, and perhaps four weeks of waving away cake, biscuits and chocolate might just have contributed to the one glimmer of hope we were given. That the tumour hasn't grown any larger since the last ultrasound.
Onwards and upwards!
And that was where we hit Armageddon 2. With the tumour being situated where it is, apparently the experts feel the chances of it shrinking and retreating far enough from the important blood vessels in order to remove it are as low as 10-15%. Even with chemo! Of course, I much preferred the less than 50% of a week ago!
Taking in factual information like that is quite strange, and still processing it myself I realised Jas was quietly weeping. There was nothing I could do or say. My heart broke for him. At least I have an element of control and fully intend to beat this thing, even if we have to go to the bitter end to do so. But the man I love with all my heart can only watch on helplessly and that is not how he likes things! Ask anyone who has worked alongside him!
Having already determined to try anything and everything, something the oncologist would have gathered from my question regarding any available clinical trials - just give me the consent form and tell me where to sign - next week a fine tube is to be inserted under the skin of my chest and into a vein, and a week or so later I will have my first cycle of chemo, a cocktail of four drugs. This will carry on every fortnight for three months. Then it’s down to fingers crossed and the findings of another ultrasound. Meanwhile I have been given printed-out pages of the potential side effects I can expect, the worst of which as far as I am concerned is not the vomiting or nausea, or the fatigue or thinning skin, or the mouth ulcers and tingling in my fingers and toes. It’s losing my hair! To misquote Shakespeare, Woman thy name is vanity! That’s why I took things into my own hands and went straight to the hairdressers to get it all chopped off. Why give the tumour any more power than necessary!
Meanwhile, I’m eating well – dinner tonight is seared yellow-fin tuna, landed just this morning at North Wharf, with plenty of green salad. I’m still off sugar, diary and meat, and perhaps four weeks of waving away cake, biscuits and chocolate might just have contributed to the one glimmer of hope we were given. That the tumour hasn't grown any larger since the last ultrasound.
Onwards and upwards!
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