Yesterday it needed to be somebody’s fault.
The easiest target in my head was Oncobabe. After all, I’d told her in June that I was feeling pain that felt similar to the agony afatinib had removed last December. Take more painkillers and we might scan if you come back in six weeks feeling the same. I did. And look where I am now!
But what would it have changed? Bad news sooner. Next drug sooner. Next drug failing sooner. My tactical game with this illness is to play for time until they invent a cure. My body seems oblivious to my tactics though. I’m running out of time.
I wondered about doctors and physiotherapists who were slow diagnosing my cancer originally. A simple X-ray would have shown it. But even then I didn’t know about it until it had hit the bone. By then I was a dead man walking anyway. But might have saved my lower spine. All thoughts I’ve had before though. And put to one side before. What will be will be.
I wish my work colleagues had been cancer experts. I wish I’d acted on Internet references to bone cancer when suffering a bad back. But again, I was already too far gone for it to change any prognosis.
That vague grumble from my lungs was perhaps the moment I should have seen my GP. And demanded an X-ray or scan. But even then I suspect it would have reached bone and lymph nodes before any surgery.
I want to hit out. Blame somebody. Even if that’s me. The reality is shit happens. And this time it was my turn. Just unlucky. Very, very unlucky.