Seeing the World

While sleep has felt odd since chemotherapy, last night was a breakthrough.  No painkillers.

Ive not exactly been in agony from the cancer pain but there have been occasions where it’s peaked and niggled on irritatingly through the night.  My range of pain relief has also brought the uncomfortable side effect of constipation.

Last night, presumably as the radiotherapy continued to work its magic on my evil buttock tumour, I needed no drugs to minimise the pain.  While it’s not a situation that will last forever it is welcome.  Unlike a new three visits a night to the bathroom engine that is presumably flushing my kidneys out.

I pondered the hearing medical appointment as I drifted off.  Thirteen weeks to be seen.  Then told to see an audiologist in a further five weeks.  Surely somewhere in the system the middleman could have made a phone diagnosis to decide “deaf bloke needs an audiologist” and cut several weeks out of the process.

An eighteen week process when I have a rather major underlying condition that kills people in months seems bonkers.  And this is fast track!

The Yorkshire Clinic

It’s around nine months since my right ear was declared deaf. A by-product of facial palsy that hit at around the time of my cancer diagnosis in 2016.

The left ear occasionally comes out in sympathy, some sort of internal bubble forming that makes hearing echoey and pretty unpleasant.

Today I see an ENT specialist. I suspect they won’t be able to do anything helpful. Time will tell.

Although time isn’t exactly in great supply. While radiotherapy and chemotherapy seem to have had initial success in reducing my pain killer intake, it’s not inconceivable that I won’t be here once the summer has gone.

A rapid correction to my hearing would be a welcome way to ease the more unpleasant thoughts in my mind. Although the initial referral process to get this far has already taken many months. My deafness toured the Americas last year!

So I’ll head up to the Yorkshire Clinic soon and find out what can be done. Ironic that it’s the same venue that would have treated my cancer had my then employer’s BUPA covered secondary nastiness in the disease.

It would be nice to hear properly again. And enjoy the return of my long missing pretty boy face.

No Nay Never

After Wednesday’s ingestion of chemotherapy poisons I sat back yesterday to see how they feel flowing around my veins.

Fidgety and irritable.  And if that’s how you see me normally, I was much worse!  I also slept twice for extended daytime periods which is rare.  And night time thirst has grabbed me two nights running now.

The good news is I should hit the low point in another eight days!  Then they lift me up to peak performance before bombarding me with my second dose of chemotherapy.  And a further set of side effects.

Hopefully I’ll be fit enough for tomorrow’s Lancashire derby game between Blackburn and Oldham.

The Drug Count

As my chemotherapy commences, my drug count has increased dramatically.  Not satisfied with pumping poison into my declining body, they then prescribe four new medicines to take alongside the vitamin injection they game you the other day.

At present, my medical intake is as follows:

Eye care for Bell’s palsy – Hylo tear spray and lacrilube gunge topped off with night time taping of the eye.

Foot care for the ingrowing toenail – Daily salt bath, antiseptic spray and bandaging.

Pain relief as cancer can hurt – paracetamol, naproxen, tramadol, slow release morphine and quick hit oral morphine.  I’ve just come into a giant bottle of the latter today.

Chemo support medicines – folic acid, metoclopromide, dexamethasone, something else where I can’t read the label.

Then there’s also the constipation.  Apparently this will worsen unless I get lucky with a chemo side effect of diarrhoea.  There’s always something new to look forwards to!

Oh, and drink gallons of water to flush your kidneys out, eat pineapple and hope you don’t get thrush.

Fun times!

Sock Putting On – My Ultimate Measure of Personal Mobility

… it was all over in less the five minutes.

Granted, there was the pre-radiotherapy chat.  An opportunity to ask how effective the treatment is, how long this single session would last and were reports of two years of fatigue to follow likely to be accurate.  More like two days for a single blast.  Given the circumstances I’d have been rather pleased with two years.

Into the changing room.  Lower kit off.  I needn’t have worried about my undies.  Medical gown on.  My thorough dislike of this item of clothing recalled as I’m led down a corridor with my partially exposed rear hanging out.  I’m glad I’ve not used the constipation medicine today!

Then into a room, onto the table.  A machine similar in look to a CT scanner.  Adjustments made to my positioning.  Ruler out.  No giggles from the female staff, so I assume that’s average.  Then off they trot and a bit of buzzing.  Then half way through the machine changes position and buzzes again.

All the action took about five minutes.  Dressed.  Coffee shop.  Home.

The last two items there became complex.  The coffee shop burned my toastie.  It was returned and took an age to be replaced.  I observed numerous hospital staff queuing and pondered how many patients suffer daily as a result of coffee shop inefficiency in serving nursing staff.

And then a ninety minute drive home.  The wonder of some the nation’s frailest patients sat in uncomfortable transport in one of the nation’s most populated areas and wondering if I should have been seen closer to home.

I am, for now, pain free.  Let’s see what the night throws at me before getting complacent though.  Today’s gig shouldn’t benefit for a couple of days yet.

Good Old Fashioned Radiotherapy