The Verdict

I’m writing a two-part blog entry today. It’s Thursday 20th July. On Tuesday, I had another PET scan of my whole body to evaluate the progress, or otherwise, of the beast now that it’s been zapped from all sides by radiation and poisoned, along with the rest of me, by chemicals. I will get the verdict this afternoon when I consult with the ologists. So I thought I’d write a two-parter – a pre-verdict episode and a post-verdict episode.

Pre-Verdict

I finished work on Tuesday at 11:00 and set off for the hospital for the PET scan. PET means Positron Emission Tomography. Another machine invented by the Klingons I guess. It’s been a good few days since I was doing this run into Boston every day. I’m pretty used to it now and reached there in good time. (One day while on treatment I got pulled over for speeding but was let off with a warning. And no, I didn’t plead sickness and treatments; it must be my winning personality!! It’s funny how I slow down now just on that stretch of road – as if that’s the only place the cops will be!). Once there, I’m called in and injected with – well, who knows. Something that will make the tumor and any cancer cells that have spread out to other organs shine like a beacon under the scan. I also have to drink a large bottle of barium fluid. As I said in a previous entry, it’s like drinking spackle (polyfilla). The bottle is labeled “Berry smoothie” and has a tiny picture of a blackberry on it among all the medical hieroglyphs. They’re not fooling me, it’s disgusting. Still, down it goes in four or five gulps over an hour.

I am very apprehensive about the results of this scan. I’m not usually a worrier but this is getting to me a bit; I’ve been wound up for a couple of days. I read a couple of internet mailing lists these days for sufferers and caregivers of esophageal cancer. Most of the messages make very sad reading. People go into enormous detail about their condition, the spread of the disease, what they are doing to fight it. Usually the saddest messages are the smallest – “Would you remove me from this list please? My husband passed away last month and I don’t want to keep getting these emails”. However, every now and again there’s a whoop of joy as someone receives good news from a scan either during treatment or afterwards when going back for a six-monthly check-up and finding no evidence of disease (NED, as this is known to the cognoscenti). So there’s three basic states and I’ve seen plenty of evidence of all of them – it’s shrunk, it’s completely gone (as far as they can tell), or it's spread.

So, I’m thoroughly nervous about this test. I am of course hoping for option two – completely gone (as far as they can tell). I’ll accept option one – shrunk. I’ll not address option three – spread, unless I need to. I’ve been grumpy for a couple of days. “So what’s new” is the rousing cry from the assembled readership, led by my loving wife. Well, grumpier than usual then, if you must get picky.

The scan takes about a half hour. It involves lying on a table and being inserted into a large cylinder which whirrs and pulses like a washing machine while the table slowly moves you through the area normally occupied by soapy water and wet underwear. The worst part of it would seem the most innocuous – you have to lie with your arms above your head. That’s no problem until 20 minutes have passed, but then your shoulder muscles start to scream and you begin to wriggle to relieve them, try as you might to lie still.

Well, how odd. Now it’s over, I know absolutely nothing more than I did just before the scan, but all my apprehension has gone completely. It’s back to the “It is what it is” attitude that I seem to have had most of the time. (Closely related, I’m sure, to that long river in Egypt – denial.). The nuclear medicine technician that did the scan saw me out of the treatment area with a cheery “Good luck on Thursday”. No trace of inflection in his voice as to what he may have seen on my scan images. So, here we are, it is indeed what it is. I just need to find out what, exactly, it is.

Post-Verdict

OK, I lied. Sue me. All that nonsense about not being apprehensive any more. By the time we got to the hospital for the consult, I was like a coiled spring. It didn’t help that we had a two o’clock appointment and we didn’t get into see anyone until three! Kath came in with me to take notes so she can remind me about what they said later on. Anyway, the chemo doc finally came bouncing in with a big smile on his face and said that it’s at least an option one. Whoop of joy. The tumor has shrunk substantially, by at least 50%, and is likely to be still shrinking from the treatments for a further one or two weeks. It’s also killed (we hope) the spread to the single lymph node that was contaminated. It now does not glow any more. So good news all round. So it’s now full speed ahead for the sawbones. He came in and sat down with us today and went into great detail regarding the operation, its statistics, the probabilities of complications, and so on. Rather sobering some of it. But I just want to get it done now. We’re off on vacation to Savannah for a week tomorrow, then when we return I will be having the cardiac consult and lots of pre-op tests on August 1st. The operation itself is scheduled for Tuesday August 8th. The surgeryologist wants me to go on a clear liquid diet from SATURDAY. SATURDAY. That’s THREE DAYS CLEAR LIQUID DIET. I’m not sure I’ll actually make it to the operation after all.

Vix and the Tunsley Boys

 
 

Father of the Groom

You may have noticed over the last few weeks just how much I've been looking forward to being father-of-the-groom for the second, and last, time in my life. (Last only because I've run out of sons to marry off, not because of any darker reasons). The deed is now done and the wedding fulfilled all the anticipatory wishes that had built up over the weeks. It was fab.
The last blog entry ended with the end of chemotherapy. That still left me with three more blasts of radiation to go. On the last day, I got the treatment and, as I got off the Klingon machine, the therapists threw confetti over me in celebration that I had completed treatment and that I would make the wedding. Well, not really confetti. Lots of little paper discs from a hole punch, but a really nice thought.
Then came confession time. The radiation nurse and doctor both admitted that, although everyone had worked extremely hard to get the treatments complete before the wedding, not one of them actually thought that I would be able to make it. Well, make it I have.
We flew over on 5th July and came straight to Dorset to see Kath's mum. She has also completed treatment but it has left her very weak. Angry too, because of the lack of energy. My mother-in-law has always had boundless energy (that's where her daughter got it from) and she cannot bear to be ill.
The wedding was everything we had hoped for. The weather was good, the setting spectacular, the stars of the show are both beautiful people, and I get to be father-of-the-groom. Duties of this august position? None whatsoever. Eat, drink, kiss every female guest in the place. Actually, I did end up with a duty that delighted me due to my son's thoughtfulness; he asked me to sign the register as a witness to the marriage, a moment that he later admitted brought a bit of a lump to his throat. Mine too if the truth be known.
The wedding was full of thoughtful moments and gestures. One of the best, and one that people couldn't stop talking about, was compiling and printing booklets containing small biographies of every guest at the wedding. This took them many days to compile but the effort was so worthwhile. It had its share of minor incidents also. The vintage bus turned up late. (They called it vintage, but it was a standard double-decker of the type I used to ride as a young man! Bloody cheek! Mind you, it was still pretty old.) Actually, the driver left the bus at the end of the ¼ mile drive, walked up the drive, and asked us all to follow him back. We politely refused and asked him to go get the bus and bring it down the drive, which he then did. Poor chap. Then he got lost in Bristol. Of such things are wedding memories made.
We felt that we made so many friends at the wedding. So many people that I’d never met before came up to me and gave me their good wishes in the fight against the beast.
The next day, we attended a wonderful barbeque at the home of the bride's parents, then we were back to Kath's mum's house for a couple of days before flying back. And here we are right now, in Club class after a BA upgrade. A nlce finish to a great trip.
So what does the future hold for us now? I have a PET scan on the 18th to see how the tumor is. I’m actually starting to have a bit of an issue with swallowing again which is a bit concerning. I hope it’s swollen tissues from the radiation but I’m more inclined to think that the tumor hasn’t responded as well to treatment as we’d all hoped. We shall soon see. On 20th we have consultations with all three main ologists to discuss progress and the upcoming operation. Now we’re in an area that I can understand. Radiology? Chemotherapy? Who knows this stuff? But operations? That I understand. Cutting and slicing, stapling, blood, the need to fart, - gosh, won’t we have fun with the blog when that all starts?