So this was it – the second prognosis after the aborted liver resection in September. Nog and I left the house early yesterday because we wanted to walk to the hospital through the park – the plan was to meet up with Pablo about 15 minutes before my appointment with the oncologist. And that’s basically what happened. Of course the appointment happened about two hours after the appointed time . . .
We finally got in to see the doctor, and there is no way to sugar-coat this, so here we go…
- my tumours are inoperable
- chemo might help slow down the inevitable
- without treatment I maybe have a year
It didn’t happen quite that succinctly. I had previously briefed Pablo on the situation and about all the questions I wanted answered, so he could back me up. In the end I did most of the talking but it was still good having him there. Nog came too because he didn’t want to be left at home waiting to hear the news, and in the end all three of us squeezed into the consulting room. Here is a pic I took of my two boys in the waiting room, standing in front of a decolourated Matisse print . . .
It was hard. I had to keep poking and prodding … trying to get something REAL out of the doctor. Because she didn’t want to tell me what she ended up telling me. Later she told Pablo she’d never had a patient so … well, so like me.
Afterwards we walked out of the hospital together and, since I hadn’t cried in the doctor’s office (I was soooo close…), I was determined not to cry while we went to find somewhere to have lunch. And when I ventured a self-pitying comment about being dead soon, Pablo quickly nipped that in the bud by saying that I didn’t have to worry because he and Peter weren’t that lucky. Ha! That snapped me out of it long enough to enjoy a wonderful lunch … photos to be supplied later.
But really … this totally sucks.
And I really, really don’t want to die.
Not like this, not so soon …
casa azahar 
Az…Az…I have no words. I feel so inadequate…
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Yeah, me too WC.
Let’s hope I haven’t scared everyone away. I really love it that you commented here about 30 seconds after I posted this … thanks for that, honey!
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Thinking of you. You have good friends.
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My god. I’m so sorry to hear this. If heart alone could save a life, you’d be immortal.
Are you going to go with the chemo? What is the expectancy if you do?
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Sucks if you do have the chemo, sucks if you don’t. I am so sorry to hear this. My advice-continue to beat up on me at Scrabble for as long as possible. And do what will make you comfortable, comfort is the key here. (((((((hugs)))))))
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I’m very sad to read this, Az. My thoughts are with you.
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Oh, Az. I can’t find the right words.
I wish I could be there with you.
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Like everyone else, Az, words escape me. And I wish I could be there, too.
We love you….
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Man. I am at a loss for appropriate words. I guess everyone would like to be there with you right now, if only to try to give you aid and comfort. I am one of those.
I feel that I am too far away physically. So, perhaps I will try to express some of my thoughts and hope that they are not inappropriate.
This situation reminds me of my mother in law’s final years. She had an inoperable metastasized bowel cancer. She elected to go without the chemotherapy, rationalizing that she did not want her final months to be filled with the sickness and weakness associated with that treatment. “Perhaps,” she said to her children, “If I was a young woman and I still had young children to raise, I would try the chemotherapy and see how much time I could get from it. At my age, it just doesn’t seem worth it.” They gave her from 2 to six months to live after her diagnosis, but she managed almost two years. She had very little pain until about a couple of weeks before she died. She managed it with sherry.
Your words resonate so powerfully with us all. No one wants to die. I don’t want to die, I certainly don’t want Jim to die; my life would be forever changed for the worse if he did. But, we do not live in a science fiction world where we have immortality treatments and nanomachines to eradicate things like cancer and multiple sclerosis and all those other diseases that kill us. Every person born on this earth is born with a death sentence on their head. You are facing yours sooner than anyone would like to think of it happening, and it totally sucks.
But the fact of the matter is, most of us refuse to articulate that truth. We spend our lives trying to ignore the reality of our life, which is that it will ultimately end, some time. When we have a friend receive a diagnosis like this, we run away from the reality, and try to pretend it won’t happen to us. Quite often we also run away from the friend, because their death process is too painful and frightening a reminder of what we all inevitably face.
I have been to more than one funeral for a teenager. Because of where I live, on the buckle of the Bible Belt, all of them have been very religious rituals, with preachers telling the participants several things. These run on the lines of “We should rejoice because this person was saved and is sitting at the right hand of God.” Soon after this sort of statement, some bereaved person will get up and make the statement that the young person was “Taken too soon.” Well, damnit, if God knows it all, if he has a plan and you believe the person was saved, then the person died EXACTLY when God intended and you should stop feeling so bad if you really believe they are in heaven.
The fact is, these people don’t really believe no matter how great their “faith” and that is why they are so sad and so scared. That kind of irony is why I am not a christian or member of any religion. I find most of it complete bullshit.
However, I have a different outlook on death than many people, and that is because I had a near death experience when I was around 2 years old. I can remember it very clearly.
It happened when I drank paint thinner and was taken to the hospital to have my stomach pumped. After they administered the sedative, I left my body and watched the medical team working on me. Then my attention was caught by a very bright light in the corner of the room and I moved towards it. I found myself in what I perceived to be a meadow of flowers. It smelled wonderful. I wandered around for a bit, and after a time a group of three very bright lights came to me and told me that I had to go back where I came from. I was not supposed to be there, it was too soon and I had things that I had to do in my life that had not been completed. I did not see “angels” or “People” or “spirits” they were simply unimaginably bright light. Being as how I was around two years old, I proceeded to argue with them and told them I did not want to leave. They were amused, but firm and kind. I felt embraced and surrounded with unconditional love. Inexorably, I was sent back, and found myself awake in the emergency room with my mother crying and my throat sore and feeling like shit.
The result of this experience has been multiple. Years later, when I read about a book written about near death experiences, I said to myself, “Gosh, that is pretty much the thing that happened to me. Hmmm.” Unlike many of the reviewers who read it, because of my own experience I did not just dismiss the book and its contents as fiction . It made me reluctant to try to commit suicide even in my darkest and most depressed days. I knew that I would probably not succeed unless it was the right time for my death, and I certainly didn’t want to come back to my body after a botched attempt. And it has made me unafraid of death. I figure I’d like to see that sweet smelling meadow again; the actual experience of death and its process is not bad. It is getting there that is hard and painful.
I have had this conversation more than once, (although this is not really a conversation, just a comment on your blog) with extremely old people, with people who have family that is dying, with people who have fatal diseases that are taking them at a too young age or when they don’t feel ready. Many of them have been comforted by my experience, some of them were inconsolable and could not hear it. I don’t know if it will help you at all, but I offer it here because I care about you and this is what I know from my own experience. Death is not bad, it is a process we all go through. I didn’t finish the process, so I don’t know what is on the other side. but I trust that unconditional love I felt surrounded by, that was very real.
Meanwhile, embrace and enjoy the life you have. You have no way of knowing at this point whether you are actually going to die of this cancer. There are numerous instances of sudden, unexplained remissions from cancer and other “fatal” diseases. It is possible that you will experience a remission too. The power of the brain to affect your healing is phenomenal, don’t discount it.
I have gone on way too long on this comment, but my heart is very full. I wanted to share my insight and experience with you, for what it is worth.
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Promise me one thing – no fucking Terry Jacks! I know the guys a fellow Canuck but there can be no excuses for that.
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Az – courage, strength, dignity – you still have them all, in the face of everything. And friends in so many places. I’m so sorry to read this.
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Az, I’m so sorry.
I went through this with my husband who had pancreatic cancer and I thought I’d tell you briefly of his experience with chemo. He was initially prescribed Gemcitabine and Capcitabine (sp?). This combination was stronger than normal but they wanted to try it as he was so young (37). It made him violently ill so the Capcitabine was stopped and he just had the Gemcitabine. He had it on a Friday morning and he would have usually 2 bad days a week – Monday & Tuesday. He’d be tired and maybe a little sick but nothing too debilitating. He’d be brimming with energy after the chemo because of something else they give you to counter the tiring effects, not sure what, but the effect would last through Saturday and part of Sunday. By Wednesday he’d be picking up again. The chemo didn’t have any unpleasant side effects like hair loss.
I just wanted you to know this to make you aware, if you’re not already, that not all chemo ravishes your system so much that it affects your overall quality of life.
Whichever way you choose to go, I wish you a good quality of life with your loved ones. That’s what matters at the end of the day. If your time is short it becomes more precious.
Deb
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All I can say is shite!
Actually, that’s not all I cansay, I could say a great deal more, but it will do for starters!
Shit fuck and buggeration.
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Oh Az, really sorry to hear this news.
Lost for words apart from that. 😦
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Az, There is little one can say, except my thoughs and wishes, along with all those who know you, in RL or VL, are thinking of you… And send their and my best wishes…
Neal, aka MMF
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There is not much to add to what was said above 😦
:hug:
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All the best az, for whatever you decide to do. At least you have the facts now, so you can make the decision based on that, and it’s good you have support. It must be very scary though and I’m really upset for you.
Much love, and good thoughts to you,
Fanny
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so very very sorry Az. beautiful comment from magichealinghands. I hope it brings you some comfort
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Hi Az,
I’ve just seen the thread on hootoo. So sorry to hear your news, and want you to know that my thoughts are with you.
Gif
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Oh sweetie you’re allowed to cry! I know I am. With all the papers banging on endlessly this week about the bloody credit crunch sometimes it takes a shock to remind us what’s really important. Glad you have Nog, Pablo and others there for support, and sending you a big group hug from myself and Rog, and Max the dog, and Mittens the cat
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Goodness, hmh, what happens when you’re not at a loss for words! 😉 Thanks for your very moving comment.
And thanks to everyone for all your kinds words here.
I’m still feeling kinda numb (as well as massively hungover, but more on that tomorrow), so there haven’t been many tears … yet. I’m still not sure what to do about the chemo. My next oncology appointment isn’t until November 12th – they want me to have another CAT scan and more blood tests, but they weren’t given high priority status, hence the wait. Who knows, they might find even more cancer by then, especially as I’ll have gone without any chemo treatment since the end of August. Or not. I mean, if the mets spread over the summer while I was on chemo, who knows what they’ll do next. So it’s kind of ‘wait and see’ until then.
I guess the good news is that I’ll be able to do my ‘whenever’ classes over the next month. And next weekend Pipocas is taking me to Gibraltar and the Costa de la Luz. Plus zoomer should be able to make it over for a week or so. So I have lots to look forward to before the next cancer update. I wonder if I can just stay numb until then…
Anyhow, must go and make lunch. But before I sign off … this is especially for Blues … (bastard! talk about a vile earworm)
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Hi Azahar
Can’t think of anything to say except sorry, and that I love your attitude to the whole rotten business.
Sending a big hug from Scotland from me and the dog.
Puddock
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Az, I read this first thing this morning and it overwhelmed me. I immediately gave my kids a big hug. As if I needed reminding, life is so precious and every day is a bonus. You are an example of someone who has tried to live life to its fullest. Your bravery and optimism are an example to us all.
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O holy flamin’ ₤µ©λ.
I keep coming back and reading this in little bits. And I still can find nothing to say that hasn’t been said by those on the thread above.
I’m sorry.
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Well. I just came back to follow this thread and followed the link to the song you posted for Blues.
Caught me totally unawares and made me cry cry cry.
But we did have joy, and wine, and seasons in the sun, for too short a time, did we not?
Gotta go pull myself together. I have a client coming a a few minutes.
Love you.
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Must agree that song is a vile earworm.
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I emailed Zoomer and ORDERED him to give you “long, warm, and strong hug from me (I figure if anyone can give those, it would be you)”…
You have to insist that he repeat this treatment often during his visit.
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Crikey, I’ve always liked that ‘Seasons in the Sun’ song; I still do. But then I’m not is az’s position at present. But hey it’s good to be able to still disagree on stuff, even on this thread.
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You know? I have known Zoomer for how many years and it only just occurred to me that his screen name (most likely) has to do with camera zoom…. DUH! Talk about oblivious!
Shhhh… Don’t tell him!
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First thing I thought was “WITHOUT TREATMENT maybe a year” My brain (and my heart) translated that as an open ended contract. Maybe two years, maybe five, maybe twenty. Plenty of time for a bucket list and a shitload of living. Do your chemo, do the good patient thing, do the second opinion, do the town.
Still working on the time and the money for the trip but I have to time it perfectly. My doc says you shouldn’t be near any new bugs once your chemo starts. I’m looking at leaving some time after the 25th so that would be good. I now have several virtual presents to give you plus a big bag o’ popcorn. It occurs to me that you might like something from the dear old land of your birth. Maple syrup? Quebec separatists? Some snow? Winterpeg mozzies?
Let me know and hang in there, tough girl. 🙂 hug
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I have to admit that I left that link for Blues as punishment … 🙂
It might be all kinds of things, zoomer. My main concern is that the cancer spread so much since May, even while I was on chemo in July and August. So who knows what it’s been up to since then. I’m getting a two and a half month break from chemo, until at least mid-November, but so are the cancer cells.
Just bring yourself and lots of Orville’s, honey. Can’t wait!
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Life sucks, and I really don’t know what to say. Hugging and handing handkerchiefs are a little hard cyberwise – but are done anyway.
Anyway, being the pragmatical bitch I am I say there are no such things as a definite time frame. A year might be less, but also much more. You can never ever predict the lifespan of a certain person with a certain disease. What you have are statistical correlations. Like “of 1000 persons with this degree of this disease 500 will be dead after seven years”. That doesn’t say nothing about what is going to happen with a certain person.
I’ve spent a good deal of the last thirty years of my professional life in the border between life and death. It’s not until the very last moments, if ever, you really can predict the departure.
A dear friend of mine is now in her 3rd year with liver metastases (and others) due to breast cancer. She claims what have been the greatest threat to her life are chemo and hospital treatment in general. I guess after some 40 years working in hospitals herself she might be considered as a somewhat reliable source.
There is an old Swedish saying “boten får inte vara värre än soten” meaning something like the treatment shall not be worse than the condition it’s supposed to heal.
Personally I’m not all convinced of the necessities of expensive painful meds with little if any benefits to people with terminal diseases. They far too often are given to diminish the anguish of the hospital staff.
What ever you decide to do, az, it’s your life and wellbeing it’s about. Make the decisions you want, and what feels best for you.
xx
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as ever my timing is off – I replied to your email before looking at the blog and finding out the latest news. Shit hon, tell that fat lady to fuck off, she’s not singing around here for a while yet. S’cuse the language if anyone is offended, but heck, darn it and all.
Stu was given about 6 months I believe – he had 6 years and he got me for the last 2 so you have many surprises and joys to look forward to.
I don’t want to sound flip -certainly don’t feel it. Loving you. xxxxxxxx
You are an astonishing woman – continue to astonish, astound and boggle the stupid doctor’s minds.
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That’s a good saying, dq. We’ll have to get on Skype one day so I can hear it said properly in Swedish. I hope you got my last email?
Lizzie, I do hope to seriously boggle … that would make me very happy. When are you coming to visit?
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Az, that You Tube link is *evil* – I am impressed. Didn’t know you couldn’t read until you were nine or ten though.
Apart from that – what everyone else said. I’m shocked because I was hoping for different news. And for Nog too.
A/B
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Trust me to come late to the party – busy with the small things in life. This is the news I feared all along. So I can say stuff now – like Damn, Bugger, Poop, etc.
One thing I have learned over the years is that while the doctors can put a time line to things, one or more of those of us who have commented here may not see you face your final curtain because no one has a guarantee. No one has a guarantee beyond the next minute. For that matter, neither do you – you could be hit by a car or a falling whale at any moment. So enjoy your life, more so than before, and try to avoid confused bowls of petunias.
HEY! Now you don’t have to watch what you eat – [vbeg]
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Dear Az … so sorry to hear the news. Archie and I have been there in the past few years with our darling girl, got the T-shirt and really don’t want another one, but I admire your courage and your will to keep on keeping on. Archie told me just a few moments ago … and he was a damn sight more verbally explosive in his private email than he was on your comments section!
Chin up , darlin’, and I hope the way is easier than you currently envisage. Your boys look so loving I’m sure they will be there for you, as will the many friends you have on the internet.
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Buff and Arch,
I hope all this hasn’t brought back too many sad memories for you both that make it hard for you to visit me here. Just so you know – I really appreciate the visits. *hugs*
That goes for you too, Sara, Lizzie & nursemyra.
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Well, god damn it, fuckery bugger and bollocks. What totally crap news.
BUT don’t let ANYONE tell you how long you’re going to live, doctor or not. They don’t KNOW, how can they possibly know? They’re just guessing, based on other people – and they don’t know what a courageous heart they’re dealing with in this case, so sod ’em, they could be wrong, it wouldn’t be the first time.
I can feel how strong and determined you are from the other side of the Earth, so I hope you can feel it, too.
You are loved.
* Huge hugs *
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I’m so sorry Az.
You will be in my thoughts.
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Az, I found your blog through CJ and I just wanted to tell you that you are in my prayers. Your optimism is amazing. That right there is half the battle. I will continue to check on you and keep you in my prayers.
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So sorry to hear this, Az.
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Hello Erica, and welcome. Thank you for your kind words and prayers.
I really hope you’re right, truce. Some days are better than others in the ol’ courageous heart department.
Hi there, Clive and Elentari. Yeah, I’m sorry too. *hugs*
The other day I told my friend and student Pilar (not Pilar from The Team, another Pilar) about the latest prognosis after her class with Nog (he has taken over her classes because she needs them on a guaranteed regular basis). Anyhow, she just collapsed into my arms in a flood of tears and I ended up having to comfort her and make her feel better about it all. And – strangely or otherwise – it also made me feel better. And when Pilar asked if there was anything she could do for me and I said – “Yes, do your homework!” – she started crying all over again, but she was also smiling. Ha! I still have it. 🙂
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It’s pissing down rain here, right now, in the middle of the night. Kinda fits my mood, after reading this post, so much after the fact.
But, IS it a fact? When I had the heart attack and bypass two years ago, I was given 1 in 5 odds of still being around after 5 years. I have my days, but I think they’re wrong, with all that.
NOTHING in this life is carved in stone! We are all individuals, and as individuals, we have different experiences and lives.
You have a great heart, and that’s at least half the battle; you aren’t a sit-in-the-corner-and-let-life-pass-you-by kinda woman.
Much love and hugs…and a couple of furry pawprints for the beasts.
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Well, I should be writing a third ‘prognosis & treatment’ post soon … we shall see.
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