Tag Archives: cancer

watery windows

23 Tuesday Sep 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, home, hope, hospitals

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , ,

water windows
The windows in the oncology waiting room are the one source of beauty there. I had to go see my oncologist to set up my next PET scan and was surprised to find out she wasn’t back yet. In fact, I haven’t seen her for about a year, but put that down to her being out of town or otherwise busy whenever my routine check-ups came around. Since I get my PET scan results in the same day as the test I don’t need that follow-up appointment afterwards.

Well, not only did I find out that Dr Ana wasn’t there, but I was also told she might not be coming back. Turns out she had cancer (!!!) and although she seems to be physically recovered now it looks like she isn’t psychologically well enough to resume her duties. So I had a chat with the new guy and was impressed that he’d read my file and seemed to know my whole story. I told him that both Dr Ana and Ricardo had recommended I do the PET scans every six months for 5 years (after finishing my last chemo) and this guy agreed that this was a good thing to do. Though he did surprise me – when I suggested I might also get the chemo port removed – by saying I could have had it taken out ages ago. When I asked him the obvious, he said if the cancer comes back they’d just put in another one. Well!

So I am now waiting to find out when the next PET scan will be. If all goes well I should be getting the port out soon and will be able to stop living within six-month segments of time. Meanwhile, I keep on working and playing as best I can.

teeth

07 Thursday Aug 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, hope

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , ,

teeeethYou know that crumbling teeth anxiety dream? Well, it happened again – except I wasn’t asleep. There I was eating something totally innocuous (greek yoghurt) and suddenly half a molar fell out. Well, a filling that had previously been filling half a molar fell out. This makes the fourth one in the past 2-3 years, which is kind of getting ridiculous, as well as harder to ignore. Why ignore them you ask? Well, at the risk of sounding morbid, I just didn’t think that repairing teeth at great expense was a priority if I was going to end up back on chemo and/or dead in the next year or so. But with my (hopefully) final “six-month” PET scan coming up in September/October, I may have to start taking action. The deal is, if I get the all-clear next scan and they move me to annual PET scans – and remove that pesky chemo port – then I will finally feel less like I’m on death row and living between six-month reprieves, and more like, well, I don’t know anymore. But I will definitely get my teeth fixed! Or pulled. Whatever.

h is for happy

09 Wednesday Apr 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, hope, hospitals

≈ 12 Comments

Tags

, ,

h for happy
I don’t know why yesterday’s PET scan felt more – what? – meaningful, stressful, TERRIFYING. I mean, since I was first diagnosed with Stage IV colon cancer in May 2008 I’ve had more than a dozen of the fuckers, so why did this one feel so important? Maybe it’s because I’m nearing the all-important 5-YEAR mark, when I will “graduate” to having the scans less frequently and may also get the pesky chemo port removed. Or perhaps it’s because I’ve not actually been feeling very well lately, especially with abdominal issues. In any case, I was really feeling like this time I was about to get Bad News.

And then I didn’t.

I had arrived at the hospital bright and early yesterday, having opted to go on my own mostly because I don’t know anyone here who would really be of help if the worst thing happened. The best people I know for this are the friends who are actually working at the hospital. And with my trusty iPhone I can be in touch with all of you guys via Twitter. Believe me when I say that this is the biggest comfort I have when going through these tests. Knowing you’re all there. It means everything to me.

In a way it’s become quite routine, though things have changed a bit since Ricardo retired and Pilar has only been working part time. But at least Isabel is still there and, as always, she took care of me very well. This also means that I get my test results before leaving the hospital and don’t have to wait until whenever my next appointment with oncology happens. Anyhow, the routine is that I get injected with the radioactive isotope and have to wait awhile for it to be circulating before I get put into the machine. Then I have to lie still for about half an hour (which is ALWAYS the time I get an itchy nose or something similar). After that I am sent off to have some much needed coffee and some brekky while they have a look at the images. When I get back I either have to go through the machine a second time or else am told I can go. But not before I get my results.

After Isabel gave me the good news yesterday (all clear but I still have inflammation around the scar tissue) I walked home in the sunshine with happy tears streaming down my cheeks. Why on earth have I been so lucky? And why do I feel like this time is so different? Why do I still feel different since yesterday (and in a good way)? I really don’t know why or even how to explain this difference. All I know is that I’m Happy. With a capital H.

 

here I go again…

08 Tuesday Apr 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, hope, hospitals

≈ 8 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

petexam… PET scan time! By the time many of you read this I’ll probably already be in the machine, since I have to be there early, around 7.45. The plan is to get home in time to do my lunchtime Sevilla Tapas Tour, which was booked long before I knew my scan date. Peter is on “standby” in case I get bad news as I rather doubt I’ll be in the mood to be sociable if that happens. As you can tell, scanxiety is much the same as always. Hoping for the best, terrified that I might hear the worst, wishing I’d eaten more broccoli, had drunk less wine, etc, etc.

But if all goes well this might be my last every-six-months scan, although I don’t “officially” hit the five-year mark until the end of July. If I do “graduate” to once-a-year scans then I think they may also remove the chemo port, which would be a relief. But I’m getting way ahead of myself. I just want to be okay. I know that I’ve been incredibly lucky so far. Please, please, please let my luck hold out some more. I really want to watch Morcilla grow up.

Fingers crossed everybody!

on coveting…

25 Tuesday Mar 2014

Posted by in cancer, health & happiness, home, hope, life stuff

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

, , , ,

tulip chairI want this lily chair. Just like I want the dragonfly. And I mean, I really really want them!

So what, you say? Well, it just surprises me that I am suddenly coveting THINGS. For those who don’t know my cancer story it may sound silly, but ever since I was diagnosed back in 2008 I haven’t really been into buying things. Well, other than gadgets – computers, iPhones, etc –  things that are useful and fun NOW (carpe diem). And more recently I’ve been into buying experiences, mostly travel related. Even after moving house three years ago I kept “decorating” to a minimum. New curtains, some kitchen stuff, a chair or two… mostly because I tend to live from PET scan to PET scan. What’s the point of spending money on STUFF when my next scan might show I’ve only got a short time left to live? With that in mind, I know I was a bit reckless not only getting one young cat (Loki) to keep my beloved Azar company after his best mate Sunny died…. but then I took on two more rescue kittens! Duh. Then again, when it comes to cats I’ve never been what you’d call sensible.

But to get back to coveting. I honestly don’t understand it. According to the docs I will finally be released from needing PET scans every six months if the next two turn out clean – next August will mark five years since I finished my last chemo. And then I will only (only!) need PET scans once a year. It’s a curious thing, living in six-month stints of time. Of course I make plans, and work towards a future. But always bearing in mind that, for example, all those plans I’ve made for beyond April this year (next scan) may never come to pass. And before you say “oh well, Shawn, none of us has any guarantee that we’ll be alive six months from now”… well, you are not me. You (probably) weren’t diagnosed with stage IV cancer and you (most likely) haven’t been told by your doctors that they can’t understand why you’re still alive. In any case, I don’t go around thinking I’m about to die, which is why I keep making plans and hoping for the best. But you know, all things considered, I’m cautious about what I hope for. And so it just seems silly to spend money on THINGS.

Except suddenly I’ve found myself not only wanting things, but quite outrageous things. Like the dragonfly sculpture. I don’t know why but as soon as I saw it I felt like it belonged to me. That I absolutely had to have it. Then today after attending a press luncheon at five-star hotel Gran Meliá Colón I passed through the lobby on my way out, and instead of walking by their fabulous bright red rose and lily chairs (as I’ve done many times in the past) I decided to try them out. And as soon as I sat down in the lily chair… it felt like mine! It’s absolutely the most comfortable chair ever. Perfectly designed for reading, watching tv, whatever. And I want it!

So what’s going on? Why am I suddenly wanting to buy not just STUFF but crazy expensive stuff that I don’t even need? Is my body trying to tell me that it is cancer-free for good now, so I should feel free to buy what I like? Or is it telling me that I may as well blow whatever money I have on crazy stuff that’ll cheer me up because I won’t be here this time next year? Or what?