Here are the results of my scan in reverse order (worst first):
a. The tumours in my liver have got worse. My poor old enlarged liver, already peppered with numerous lumps and lesions, has defied the aggressive chemotherapy’s attempts to kill off the cancer cells; instead, they appear to be thriving. Any more nonsense from this cranky organ and I shall serve it up with fried onions and mustard mash and feed it to that annoying twerp Marlon Dingle from Emmerdale.
b. No change in my lymph glands. So no worse, but no better.
c. Something (I forget what) in my pelvis has shrunk slightly, but it’s nothing to get excited about, according to Dr Pedley. Best pack the bunting back in the understairs cupboard then.
d. On the plus side, I mentioned the problems I’m experiencing with mobility, but the dear doctor assured me there was nothing in the scan to indicate impending crippledom, and my legs will probably improve once the chemo and steroids have cleared my system. And it’s true, they do feel stronger already, although I’m not planning to enter any marathons.
See, that’s the good thing about preparing for the worst – anything less seems like a bonus, and Denise and I left the hospital with smiles on our faces and made a beeline for Sainsbury’s all-day breakfast. Discomfort eating.
So what, if any, are my options? I’ll have to weigh up quality of a shorter life against quantity of stringing it out for a few more weeks (possibly) with more chemo. There’s six weeks before I see Dr Pedley again, in which time my body should be completely drug-free and I’ll have decided whether to try a different chemotherapy regimen.
How long do I have left? Impossible to forecast with any degree of accuracy as it’s such as imprecise science, but the best estimate would be 9 – 12 months (which is longer than I expected, in all honesty).
Courage, mon brave. Now is no time to lapse into self-pity. Keep cheerful, which is what I’ve been doing by selecting the music for my funeral (amazingly therapeutic, strangely enough). Oh, and I’m back in Scarborough for a few days, or weeks, or however long the fancy takes me. 'Do what thou wilt,' said someone famous. Eek, I think it was Aleister Crowley!
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4 comments:
Eee matey! Sainsbury's all day breakfasts et al may put a smile on your's and Denise's faces, but reading your blog put a proud smile on mine. I know that will sound bizarre, given the lack of fireworks, 10 gun salutes and laps of honour round the ‘hood that will be taking place, but I just felt pleased and lucky to be able to call myself a friend of such a very special, talented, warm and witty person as you Chrissington(even in the face of complete adversity). I’ll cut short the love fest now… and just say enjoy lovely Scarborough, and I’ll look forward to seeing you when you get back.
Lots of love, Gaily-Mae xxx
Eee Gaily-Mae! Many thanks for your wondrous words. I feel truly blessed to count you as a friend. Couldn't we manage a small oompah band or a few kazoo-playing majorettes?
Much love from sunny Scarborough
C xx
Ah of course, kazoo-playing majorettes! Now where did I put that telephone number for the Forest Hall Royals? Hope they are stil around, otherwise I'm going to have to hunt out that broom handle with the old domestos bottle taped to one end!
Lots of love, Gaily-May xxx
Picking out your funeral music eh?
Now where have I read about that before... on the bus this morning, that's where. It's my 3rd time re-reading your books, so I thought I'd check your website to see what was new.
What can I say that hasn't been said already, I'll just wish you the best.
No matter what happens to the rest of us, Rowena M. Vincent will live forever in our imaginations!
Cheers from sunny (today it is!) Dublin
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