tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51145163497972185552024-03-05T22:39:47.214+00:00Pure GNS<em>Pure GNS because I spend my life writing for other people, and this is just me. And it's a pleasingly immodest pun.</em>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.comBlogger58125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-12092765956723468392013-07-04T09:47:00.000+01:002013-07-04T09:47:40.961+01:00Graeme Smith 1968-2013Graeme Smith died peacefully at home on Sunday, June 30.
You can still donate to his fundraising page for the Beatson Cancer Centre.
He is much missed by his wife Clare, his family, friends and his many readers.Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-79852786780837699962013-04-13T12:39:00.000+01:002013-04-13T12:39:02.517+01:00Ever get the feeling you've been cheated?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm keeping out of supermarkets. Two quid for a bag for
life? If I'm going to spend that kind of money on a plastic carrier, I expect
it to last past the autumn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've just been cheated enough. Of about 40 or 50 years. And
I want it back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I went to see the nice oncologists at <st1:city w:st="on">Glasgow</st1:city>'s Beatson cancer centre on Tuesday,
hoping for my next bumper bag of harsh chemicals to keep the evil twisted part
of my DNA which keeps trying to eat my brain in check. Instead I found out that
the chemo hasn't been working. Despite a successful second operation in
January, the poison pills have failed to stop whatever was left from growing
another head and I have a recurrence roughly the size of a Brazil nut.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It seems I may only have three to four months to live. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would turn 45 this year. Given my generation, my social
background and the relative longevity of my family, I was expecting to see my
90s.<br />
<br />
I had plans: I wanted to be a published author; I wanted to be a dad; I wanted to grow old with Clare; I wanted us both to travel more extensively than we have. I'd even have quite liked to have finished learning to play the guitar properly. Circumstance is such a swindler.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It isn't fair. But of course it's not – fairness and justice
are human </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
constructs, they don't exist in nature. I can ask the
ridiculous question "why me?", but I already know the answer is
"why not?" </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not that I believe there's anything to ask the question of,
other than the logic and intellect we have evolved. And my lack of faith is a
comfort. I'm not afraid of death. It's merely oblivion. There was a time before
I was here, and I didn't suffer then. The religious have the foolish idea of
vengeful gods and devils to terrify them through such dark times. I may have to
eventually succumb to this terrible disease, but I will not succumb to the
virus of faith.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have some time left, and I will make the most of it. Of
course I'm afraid of dying, but of the process, not the aftermath. Cancer death
can be so cruel and undignified. At least with glioblastoma it seems that there
is no pain, no suffocation on pneumonia, no dwindling out of personality into
dementia. Eventually the tumour fatigue takes hold and you simply sleep it
away. But until then, I fully intend to enjoy myself as much as I can. I will
remain me until the end, and I will not waste that time on self-pity and fear.
And I will fight with every resource at my disposal. I have a strong mind, and
I'm not planning on going anywhere gently.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have one more chemo option left to me. The prognosis of 12
to 16 weeks is without treatment other than the steroids which keep the effects
of swelling under control and keep me feeling relatively well, but I also have
the opportunity to spend a night plugged into a drip at the Beatson every three
weeks for the foreseeable. That's pretty frequent given the timescales we're
talking about and will leave me a bit gubbed for a couple of days each time.
But in exchange for that, I get about a 10% chance of doubling the existing
estimate.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There's a quality of life judgement to be made there,
balancing a little short-term time I can be making the most of against
not-very-good odds of slightly longer-term time during which I might not feel
exactly lovely, but of which I can also try to make the most. But I'm a fighter.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I'm fighting for as much good time as I can get.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As part of that, Clare and I are currently enjoying a
weekend break in the Lakes, something we like to do around this time of year.
It's lovely here, and they have nice food and beer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, making the most of it. I just wish I wasn't also
carrying about this poison sac of bereavement and anger in my lower gut. It's
heavy and hurts, and gets in the way of my Good Time. Still, I just need to
fight that, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'll work out how I do that as soon as I can.</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-14616209521734795712013-02-27T09:47:00.001+00:002013-02-27T09:47:49.824+00:00Just getting my act together<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, I've been off the chemocoaster for over a week now,
and I'm starting to return to something approaching normal.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can't say it has been one of my better fortnights, though.
When I last left you I was beginning the 10-day cycle, and it seemed to be going
not too badly. The dietary restrictions – quite a lot of the fun stuff,
including alcohol, particularly red wine – weren't proving too much of a
problem as long as I was careful. I didn't have much appetite anyway, and the
anti-emetics seemed to keep the expected nausea under control. But there was
little I could do about the exhaustion – this particular type of daily
poisoning, Procarbazine, seems to be particularly draining. By the time the
cycle finished on February 15, there had been whole days in which I'd been
capable of little but sleeping – although I'd had some good days, too,
including one in which my mate Dave ran me up to Balmaha for a nice plain
cheese-and-alcohol-free pub lunch and I had a burst of unexpected energy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been trying to replicate that over the last week, slowly
recovering my energy and taking the odd trip out, and I'm getting there. Even
went out to a concert last Thursday, and I was out for dinner on Saturday. So
it's coming together,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next cycle is in mid-March, and I'm hoping it will go
more easily, not least because I'll be back at work by that time, and I don't
really want to take any more time off. I'm sick of sitting about – I've had
more rolling news than even I can take – I'm completely bored with the Pope, Oscar
Pistorius, the Huhnes, and horsemeat. There must be something else happening in
the world, a spot of light middle-eastern shelling for instance. I need to get
to work.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which I do on Monday, by which time my eyesight –
which had been deteriorating because of the effects of the steroids on my eye
muscles – should be up to some long-term screen use. I'm now on a self-reducing
dose on the steroids, and it seems to be having a positive effect. I can focus
much better, and reading is a lot easier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime, I've got nearly a week to pull myself together.
With my eyesight and the tiredness under control, it should all be pretty
positive.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is the point. It's OK to be tired. It's OK not do
stuff because I can't see properly. These are just symptoms, like the itchy
swelling I still have around my wound which, combined with the baldy patch last
year's regular cranial zappings left me, gives me a haircut I like to think of
as the Half Black Adder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Symptoms are there to be endured (ideally, worked around) until
they go away, and they will. In the meantime, I'll just get on with things. Even
if people are looking at the side of my head like I've just been let out for
the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's the best thing to do – life's too short for whining.</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-65605951970212039592013-02-08T20:34:00.000+00:002013-02-08T20:34:18.502+00:00Back on the chemocoaster...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are better ways to keep yourself occupied than being
sick and tired. But it's something to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I started my new chemo regime this week and, to be honest,
it's not too bad. Now the surgery is out of the way and I'm a lot
better after it, it was obviously time for me to have something else to keep me
feeling a bit crap. And so I'm back for a wee whirl on the Chemocoaster here in
the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tumourland</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Fun</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been on worse rides. As with last year's Temozolomide
regime, I get to take my chemo at home in capsule format, which seems so much
less unpleasant than for those with other cancers who need to go to hospital to sit
for hours with a venom sac attached to a vein as its contents drain a trail of
burning destruction into their circulation. True, I don't feel exactly lovely,
and there is a bit of a balancing act to be done to keep the contents of my
stomach on the inside, but this is so much kinder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The particular flavours of chemo I'm getting this time make
up a combination treatment under which two separate harsh chemicals gang up to
give whatever remains of the tumoury stuff a tanking, and stop it growing back.
I assume one of them holds its arms. Since my blood tests were all OK, I kicked
off on Tuesday as planned with an evening pile of capsules containing a drug
called <a href="http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/cancer-help/about-cancer/treatment/cancer-drugs/lomustine" target="_blank">Lomustine</a> which is taken as a one-off at the start of the
cycle. That went without incident, and I got a perfectly good night's sleep, so
Wednesday took me into phase two, fun with <a href="http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/cancer-help/about-cancer/treatment/cancer-drugs/procarbazine" target="_blank">Procarbazine</a>. This one I need to take daily for ten days
and that, frankly, is a bugger, since it seems to be unable to play nicely with
any of my favourite foods, not to mention a few others I don't even normally
eat, just for good measure. So, no alcohol, particularly red wine, no cheese,
no patés, no meats prepared with cures, smoking or marinades, no yeast extracts
(which rules out a lot of gravies and sauces, apparently), no bananas or
avocados, and quite a few other things TBC apparently – the list seems to vary
from source to source. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found one on Wednesday, I think, when reckoning that a wee
ham omelette would be a carefully light lunch, I found that the apparently
uncured and guaranteed allegen-free ham definitely had something else in it.
Cue 12 hours of stomach pain. I felt much better at 2am on Thursday when I was
eventually violently sick. At least that was some 18 hours after my last round
of chemo, so I didn't lose any of that, which is the main concern with all
this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thursday and today, however, went pretty well. Each day
began with a cheeky wee early-morning anti-emetic, a half-hour wait for that to
kick in, a handful of Procarbazine capsules, a wait for an hour or so to make
sure that had all settled, then my usual Losec and Keppra and dex regime. Then
a wee treat in the shape of some toast. It's been a gastronomic journey. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My stomach feels more than a little sensitive, but it's not
too bad. And I had a pretty good dinner tonight – woo for lamb chops! With luck things are normalising, as long as I'm careful. I hope so, I've got a
week of this still to go.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, it's only for ten days every six weeks and, as with
the Temozolomide, once I'm used to it I should be able to go to work through the
cycles.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What's more, tomorrow I get to try a different anti-emetic.
There is no end to this adventure.</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-447935856400282962013-02-01T20:08:00.000+00:002013-02-01T20:08:40.226+00:00People try to put us down... Just because we're still around…<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well, not me, I thought as I parted with the best part of
£160 this morning to watch a pair of septuagenarians rattle through a 40-year-old
album. Whatever The Who may have sung back in the 60s; given my current
condition, the sentiment "Hope I die before I get old" isn't one I'm
massively keen on these days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, My Generation isn't on Quadrophenia, the album/rock opera
the surviving half of the one-time loudest band in the world are touring when
they come round in June. And as far as I'm concerned, they can skip it from the
hits selection they're planning for the end. Unless they're planning on
changing the words to "Look, I got old and haven't died!". </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lumpy brain notwithstanding, I'm planning on lasting at
least as long as Townshend and Daltrey have, and ideally a great deal longer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The last thing I'm going to do is die.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although if I'd had access to anyone in authority at
TicketSoup, the SECC's ticketing service, during the booking process for this
show, the early expiration wouldn't have been mine. What a mess!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first shot was yesterday for their "pre-sale"
system, which didn't seem to work at all at first. Despite an early start at
the recommended 9am, I was over an hour in an apparent queue facing dire
warnings not to refresh the page or face losing my place. A place I'm pretty sure I never had. Eventually I had to
leave it to go to the doctor's, but four hours later I looked in again just to
see the same page with its useless spinning logo and no information. Later still I tried again and this time it
did make me an offer, but of what appeared to be not very good seats (although
still at the full price of £70 a shot) so I gave up to try again during the
general public sales this morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again, I went for it at 9am, and this time I was offered seats
which became magically unavailable three times mid-transaction, until I ended
up with something similar to the ones I balked at last night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What a disaster area: websites aren't supposed to keep
changing their minds. Online booking has taken most of the sting out of getting
tickets for big gigs these days: you pretty much get them or not, all the
nonsense of queuing or hanging about on phone lines is supposed to be behind
us. The big agencies cope with it all the time – is this the best <st1:city w:st="on">Glasgow</st1:city>'s own TicketSoup
can do? There's no excuse. If they haven't got the server capacity, they
shouldn't be in the game.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least I got my seats - my sister nearly didn't at all. Eventually
she was stuck with single seats in different blocks, despite being offered and
then arbitrarily refused pairs in other places on several occasions, just like
I was. She couldn't get the pre-sale thing to work at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can't help feeling that the SECC and TicketSoup should be
refunding their obscene £8.40 booking fee per ticket to each and every customer
they messed about today and yesterday – it's hard to see what service they've
provided for it. If they can't get the servers in place, they shouldn't have the
cheek to take people's money.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean, £70 a ticket is steep enough, but adding on
TicketSoup's pound of flesh plus their cheekily inflated postage fee, I expect
a seat on the edge of the stage and a lift home in Roger Daltrey's Range Rover with
a trout supper from one of his fish farms, thanks.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, on the bright side, it's given me something other
than cancer to rant about here for a bit. And now, at least with my tickets
booked, I can look comfortably forward to seeing Pete 'n Rog creaking across
the stage on June 12 and settle back down to the Recuperation-Go-Round here in
the Tumourland Fun Park.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is going well, thanks for asking. That's two weeks
today since they let me out of hospital and – boredom and tiredness aside – I'm
not feeling too bad.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The stitches came out without incident last week, and the
wound is well-healed, nice and clean and infection-free. It does still look a
bit swollen and sound a bit squelchy, but my GP tells me that's fine. I've also
had my steroids cut down to a relatively low dose, which I'm pleased about,
given how unpleasant I found the high doses this time round.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There are still some other side-effects: dexamethasone seems
to come with a whole package of 'em - <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dexamethasone#Side_effects">there are some
here on Wikipedia</a>, but I'm not sure this is even the full set. You might
remember that around this time last year I was singing the praises of the <a href="http://pure-gns.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/joy-of-dex.html">Joy of Dex</a> in
this blog. Well, not so much now, I have to say. I don't doubt it's an amazing
drug, but I'll be delighted to be off it as soon as I can.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The worst just now has been the effect it has on my eyesight
– I go through periods where things just seem to go quite out of focus, pretty
much as if I'd taken my specs off, and others of odd photosensitivity, where I
feel I'm either lurching about in the dark, or quite dim lights seem very
bright. All of which makes reading, from paper or a screen, quite tricky at
times. Which is a bugger given what I do for a living, and is also why it's
been a bit since I've updated this blog. Still, I'm told that's temporary, and
it does seem to have been better over the last couple of days.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other side-effect which seems to be clearing up is an occasional
intense pain in the muscles and joints of my legs, which has given me a couple
of nights of really terrible sleep. It doesn't seem to be in a consistent
place, and moves depending on my position, as if it's coming from my back. I'm
hoping this one's just a side-effect – if it turns out I've got a bad back on
top of brain cancer, I'm going to be very upset with someone. Probably George
Osborne, since I'm fairly relentlessly furious with him anyway, and it would
save effort. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, that's all stuff I will find out more about on
Tuesday, which is my next oncology clinic, and also the day I find out what's
happening with my new and exciting combination chemo, the one which will stop
me enjoying red wine, cheese, and most of my other favourite things in what I
suspect will be interminable-seeming 11-day cycles over the next few months.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still, more on that next time – I'll keep you posted after
my winey, cheesy weekend…</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-82616016122038006632013-01-21T13:57:00.000+00:002013-01-21T14:15:49.715+00:00The Good, the Mad and the Ugly<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, I'm alive, thanks… just a little late. I've been home since
Friday: lighter another chunk of brain but feeling pretty well on it; missing
some hair and with the baldy patch tracked with some brutal-looking sutures to
meet this season's trendy freshly-vivisectioned look, but I was never that
lovely anyway.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So that's the Good and the Ugly. As for the Mad… well, we'll
come to that. It's been a hell of a week, and hospital was harder to deal with
this time for a number of reasons. It's good to be back here on my couch, tired
but relieved.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last year I was blithely <a href="http://pure-gns.blogspot.co.uk/2011/12/alive-and-kicking.html" target="_blank">blogging from my bed on the evening of operation day</a>, which
allowed me a certain professional smugness - reporting live from the field of
war, all that stuff - and this year I'd planned to do much the same. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I nearly did. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tuesday, the day the actual cutting took place, went pretty
well. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had a decent enough night's sleep, and it wasn't any surprise that at
6.30am I was being ordered both into the shower and into a charming little
surgical combo of toeless anti-DVT stockings, backless hospital pattern-printed
mini-dress, and a pretty much everything-less pair of what are euphemistically
referred to as "modesty pants", but which fulfil neither part of
their name well (if it hadn't been for the leg-holes, I'd have been inclined to
put them on my head, and while I realise a paper shower cap would be a useless
garment, even when applied to the right end these weren't far behind… not the
roomiest fit I've had, </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">they really </span><i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">weren't</i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
far behind</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But that was all OK, because it meant things were underway,
so with this brief adventure in medical cross-dressing and a quick email-check done,
I was all set and greeting Clare, who'd come in just in time to catch me being
wheeled away to the recovery room for pre-op prep, much earlier than I'd
expected. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As with last year, I don't remember much after that; there
was a brief chat with the anaesthetist, a wee shot of his wares, a bit of a
sore arm, and then nothing for four or five hours, by which time I didn't seem
to have so much as moved. Obviously I'd been in an operating theatre and had
some very intricate squelchy things done in my head, but as far as I was
concerned I was in the same place as before but the anaesthetist was telling me
it was now 1.20pm. Pretty soon I was
back in my room and Clare was in again to see me. At some point I also spoke to
one of the surgeons who told me that the operation had gone very well, they'd grabbed
98% of what they were aiming for, and that was a very good result.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So Tuesday was a fairly full day, what with coming round, a
Facebook and Twitter announcement along the lines of "surgery over, still
alive, both 'woo!' and, indeed, 'yay!'", dinner (5pm is a big event in
hospital), another visiting session over the early evening, a decatheterisation
(much less eventful than last year's) and subsequent return to my feet (and to using the proper loo, also
a major deal). Busy, really, but I did start to blog. Then midnight knocked on,
and despite feeling that I'd been rattling away for some time, I'd only written
something in the region of 160 words (the fashion show stuff above, pretty
much), and I was feeling tired, so I thought, "well,
I've done my bit for now – best I finish this tomorrow when I can make a better
job of it."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And that was the plan. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Until Wednesday happened. And so to the Mad...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If anyone ever offers you a night of sleep deprivation while
on a massive dose of dexamethasone, topped off with an anaesthetic hangover and
a dihydrocodeine hair of the dog, don't take it. I mean, do what you will in
the spirit of experimentation and all that, but I really don't recommend it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By lunchtime, twitching with steroid paranoia after a
morning of fractured sleep peppered with bits of nurse chat from the desk
outside my door as they dealt with at least half a dozen other people's
emergencies, I'd invented my own MRSA outbreak. I had enough logic still about
me to realise that since they still appeared to be checking people in and out
and letting other patients wander down to the canteen, we probably weren't all
crawling with antibiotic-resistant superbugs. But I still had to ask, and felt
much better once the nice, if slightly concerned, nurse confirmed I was
probably hallucinating on dex; I'd had steroid anxiety before, after all, so I
knew the feeling, it was just that the previous occasions had been at home, milder, on a
much lower dose, and without also inventing a major crisis in a busy hospital. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, she was soothing, so by the time my parents came in to visit me mid-afternoon
I'd calmed down properly, not perhaps to my most lucid, but enough for them to
go home apparently happy that I was fine, if a bit understandably woozy. Which
was good, because not so long after they'd left came the teatime terror. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Alone again once more, I was now onto full-blown anxiety. At
least this time I'd invented no little conspiracies, but that only helped a bit.
In every other way, this was much worse because the panic was just so much more
intense, yet utterly groundless: just the raw emotion with no underlying cause.
That's horrible, not least because it's illogical. How can you tell yourself
not to worry about something if there's nothing you're worried about?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the nice nurse came in to ask me how I felt.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Seconds after my slightly higher-pitched than normal
response, "utterly and unaccountably anxious and tense", and possibly
on sight of my white-knuckled grip of the sheets, she was on the edge of the
bed gently listening to me explaining as measuredly as possible the unfounded nature
of this blind, screaming panic, and that I knew it was the dex, but I couldn't
bring myself down from it. Some more soothing words and a phonecall for
pharmaceutical advice ensued, and diazepam appeared. And that, more or less,
was that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the time Clare visited at 6.30pm, I was fine. Still a bit
twitchy (although she says I looked like I'd had a terrible shock), but pleased to see her and feeling all right. Still, I didn't blog that day. It
should be an internet rule – don't post while drunk, and don't blog while
bonkers. It's for the best.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">After a cut in my dex prescription, another wee diazepam around midnight and a
unilateral decision from me that my choice of painkiller would from then be paracetamol
rather than the DF118s (as dihydrocodeine is apparently known to the
aficionado) which I felt were impairing my logic, I discovered that I could also
now lie more-or-less flat without twanging the wound, and I had a great night's
sleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By Thursday, I felt fine. It was a good day. Friday was
better because they let me home a day earlier than expected. And I've felt
pretty good since then too, thanks. The staples itch a bit, but I've had a
pleasant, if inactive, weekend. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So you're getting this blog post now, in my own good time.
Sorry, but there you go.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, thanks for all your kind messages of support;
they're always appreciated, as are all comments left below. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And Happy Monday! I'm having one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Remember, if you do want
to follow me on twitter, look for <a href="http://twitter.com/G_N_S" target="_blank">@G_N_S</a></span></i></div>
<div>
<div>
<div class="msocomtxt" id="_com_3" language="JavaScript">
<!--[if !supportAnnotations]--></div>
<!--[endif]--></div>
</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-12618088262458545322013-01-14T22:01:00.000+00:002013-01-14T22:01:39.004+00:00Here I go again...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here I am once more… in hospital, awaiting surgery.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been here in the Southern General since this morning,
during which time I've spoken to a couple of surgeons, an anaesthetist and at
least one another doctor, and I've been scanned, examined, weighed (that was a
bit scary) and had blood tests done. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of the time has just been spent sitting around, though.
That's pretty much all I need to do, now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until the morning, when they'll be cutting my head open
again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That should go pretty much like last year. I won't be
allowed to eat or drink from about midnight, and at some point in the morning I
will be chemically knocked out and the cutting will commence. All I remember of
last year's adventure is being taken to a prep room, having a needle put into
my arm, told that the coming injection might be cold and a little painful, and
then thinking, "oh, yes, that is a bit chilly… and a bit sore… actually,
it's really becoming quite…" and then knowing nothing until four or five hours
later when I woke up to see a nice man offering me morphine. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm expecting much the same this time. They'll be going in
though the same hole, and ideally the same wound, too, so that's nice. No more
bone cutting, all going well: just slice their way in through the scar, pop off
the titanium plates or clips which are holding in the piece of skull which was
jigsawed out a year ago, and commence the cerebral scrape. The aim is to get
out as much new tumoury stuff as they can, ideally but not necessarily all of
it, tidy round, get out and lock up. Last year I was back on my feet in hours
(that delay mainly because I was still plumbed into a bag, and it's not really
very amazing at all how that restricts your mobility) and I'm hoping for the
same again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm not getting to take part in the PARP inhibitor trial, as
it turns out. Because of the procedures that govern medical trials there would
have been a delay of perhaps six weeks to let me join that, and no-one,
including me, seemed entirely happy with waiting that long before the scrape-out.
So I'll miss the chance to help out with a science project, and be deprived of
the comedic value of its name. But, never mind, I'll go for a Chinese meal when
I get out and have prawn balls and squid rings instead. Even at 44, that still
cheers me up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway, it was only a trial. The only people who really lose
out are those running it, and they're my doctors and seemed pretty keen that I
didn't wait. True, they lose some data, but there will be more. From my perspective… well I'd liked
to have helped, and it might have been a wee extra which might have helped me
too, but it equally might have made no difference to me at all, and I probably
wouldn't have known one way or the other. I'll get the gold standard treatment
regardless – and that's tried and tested.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now it's just after 9.30pm, I've just had some toast, I'm
sipping a coffee, and that will probably be the last I'll have before the midnight
fast. Apart from the fact that the hospital will ensure I stick to that, I
wouldn't break it anyway – I've no desire to throw up into my own lungs while
under anaesthetic. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I've finished my coffee and this blog entry, I just
have to wait, and later try to get some sleep. True, I'm a little anxious –
after all, they are going to open my skull again, and they have really whacked
up my dexamethasone pre-operation, which might not help in that respect – but I
usually sleep well and I really have no reason to be concerned, so I'm not
going to be. After all, I'm getting some of the best care in the world here.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The risks of second time surgery are higher than the first
time in, but only very slightly. My attitude is that I've done all this before
– and coped very well. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, as Whitesnake sang, "Here I go again", except
I plan to do it with less ridiculous hair. That's including after they've
shaved up the right side of my head.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should be going in mid-morning sometime, and that means
I'll be awake for or during afternoon visiting hours and can come round to see
Clare. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm looking forward to that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-28422917969486955102013-01-05T21:24:00.000+00:002013-01-05T21:24:01.874+00:00Dex, more drugs, another hole…Well, the same hole, really. It now seems the osseous
trapdoor in the side of my head will be swung open once more to let some crack
medical stormtroopers flush out some recalcitrant cells which have grown back
after last year's drubbing.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oddly enough, I feel pretty good about this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's not just the mood-enhancing effects of the
dexamethasone (my steroid of choice). I'm over that now. But since I found out
on Christmas Eve that this year's pressie was some new tumour (next year, a
card will be fine, thanks) I've been aware there were different ways forward
from this. Now, since I went back to the Beatson on Hogmanay for a long chat
with one of my oncologists, it seems I'm in line for the best one. That's very
encouraging.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The best route, it seems, would be surgery to hook out the
new growth, preceded and followed by a new drug the Beatson is trialling
(called a PARP inhibitor, which is funny in itself) plus a slightly different
regime of the same chemo, Temozolomide.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This seems to be best because the bad stuff gets scraped out,
the chemo is the kind I coped with well last year, but I get it for longer, and
I get to do another medical trial, which won't interfere with the standard
treatment but might well enhance it. PARP inhibitors have been used
successfully against other cancers, and they've now proven that they can get
into glioblastoma (something many drugs apparently find difficult) and the
oncologists are "very excited" that they can do so effectively. I'll
be one of the first to find out if they're right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a big part of me which looks at stuff like this and
breathes, "Oooh! Science!". When people with "ologist" in
their job titles tell me they're "very excited" about a treatment I
might get, I do have to slow myself down to make sure I read all the paperwork before
signing it. It's not my fault, I'm a geek.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, having done that now, the route it appears I'm likely to
follow seems to be the best available. The trial might help me, but even if it doesn't, I still
get the gold standard treatment and the data it provides should help others.
Since I need treatment anyway, it's hard to see the downside.<br />
<br />
Look at <a href="http://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-us/what-we-do/our-new-brand-campaign/its-cancers-turn-to-be-afraid/?utm_campaign=enews_Jan13_SL2&utm_content=87248773667&utm_medium=email&utm_source=Emailvision" target="_blank">Cancer Research UK's new TV ad</a>: Cancer has an enemy – research. (Oh aye, and me – and ye're pure claimed, ya malignant wee neoplasm, ye.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://1.gvt0.com/vi/jWuyPi_nuJE/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/jWuyPi_nuJE&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/jWuyPi_nuJE&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, yes, I am embracing the combatant metaphor pretty
whole-heartedly: "Research has beaten polio, research has beaten smallpox,
research is beating HIV. And, one day, research will beat cancer."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other reason I felt so much better on leaving the
Beatson on Monday was the length of time they took to explain it all to me.
Despite it being Hogmanay, and despite the fact that he was undoubtedly busy,
the oncologist took great care to explain as much of the detail and
implications of what I'm facing to me, and to answer all the questions Clare
and I had. Even when I pulled out my notebook full of them. Information is all,
and that kind of care and attention from highly-trained specialists makes it
all so much easier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next week I get a similar session with the neurosurgeon who
will be going in (assuming he agrees to, and it looks like he's keen). I don't
know the exact day yet, but I'll let you know how that goes. Then there will be
scans, blood tests, a chest x-ray – all stuff I've had before – and a further
clinic with the oncologists. Once that's all sorted out and everything's as
hoped-for, we can get a date fixed and the cutting starts. Should be sometime
this month. But, again, I've had brain surgery before, I remained a smart-arse,
and I was back on my feet in hours. Sure, I'll be in hospital for a few days
after that just to make sure I'm OK and nothing's running out my ears, but
that's a good place to be in the circumstances – it's where all the doctors
are, for one thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I don't expect 2013 to be a particularly easy year. I'll
be off work for a few weeks post-surgery, and the chemo is a bit debilitating,
but that's mainly just fatigue, and I've coped with that pretty well in the
past. I avoided the other major side-effect, which is nausea, and I imagine
I'll do so again. But there's no radiotherapy to take this time since I've
already had my maximum 60 gray (a gray being the SI unit of absorbed radiation,
which doesn't come in shades and has nothing to do with handcuffs, and anyway,
you get ten more) and that was the biggest exhauster. It shouldn't be any worse
than 2012, and I dealt with that. Never bothered to read 50 Shades, though –
life's really too short.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right now I feel strong, healthy, and optimistic. There's
good science out there to help me feel that way as much as possible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So let's go.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>If you'd like to help,
please give a donation to the Beatson via <a href="http://www.justgiving.com/puregns" target="_blank">my JustGiving page</a>
(there's also a puff you can click on at the top left of this blog). Or why not
<a href="http://supportus.cancerresearchuk.org/" target="_blank">give something
to Cancer Research UK</a> and be cancer's enemy, too?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-60525995785852012302012-12-26T17:14:00.001+00:002012-12-26T17:14:22.998+00:00And now the Christmas comeback tour<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just in time for a happy holiday, on Monday I popped into
the Beatson for my latest scan results. And, like a crap 80s band, it seems the
tumour has been reforming for a bit of a Christmas comeback tour.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not in a big way. Not with the full original line-up. But
there's something there which wasn't when I had the last scan back in September.
That's why I felt so tired for a few weeks there. It wasn't so terrible, but it
left me unfocussed and too weary to work, although I felt better again once I
was back on the steroids, and after I'd got over the highs and crashes they threw
into the mix. I feel OK again now.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But my early unwelcome Christmas pressie from the oncologists
was a shock. While I always knew a return was likely, I'd been hoping that
because of my age and resilience it might be quite a bit away for a while. I'd
been hoping for, pretty much expecting, a festive all-clear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But no. So there we go. Something else to be dealt with. So
let's get on with it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'll know soon how that will be done. So far, I know of some
options. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The first is more surgery, the door in the side of my skull
gets swung open once more and the Southern General's neurosurgical crack troops
get in there and scrape out as much as possible of the new head that
glioblastoma just loves to try to regrow, and maybe apply some chemo directly
to my brain while they're in there. If surgery is possible, there will be a new
flavour of chemo to follow and, if it's appropriate, I may also be given a
trial drug which is currently being pioneered at the Beatson, and which they
think is pretty effective. So that, I suppose, is the one to hope for. Get it
out, get the surrounding area severely poisoned with as many harsh chemicals as
it takes, and get on with things. It seems I'm good at coping with major
surgery, so if that's the one, bring it on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I suppose is the next option to desire is the surgery
and the chemo without the trial drug, if it's not appropriate for whatever
reason. I don't yet know why it might not be, but I'll find out soon. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other is that if the neurosurgeons feel they can't get
the new stuff out without doing me too much damage, I go straight onto the new
chemo regime. That one at the moment is my least favourite, simply because I
can't help feeling "better out than in" (as Jo Brand said about Simon
Cowell and a life raft).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looks like the new chemo isn't much different in terms of
side-effects to the Temozolomide: fatigue, possible nausea (and I escaped that
one last time) and, rarely, actual sickness. Still just capsules to swallow, none
of the long sessions plugged into a venom sac with hours of pain and illness
that so many other cancer patients have to endure, so no biggie. This one will
be, if I remember this correctly, on a two-monthly cycle rather than monthly,
but each session will last eleven days rather than five, and there are some
dietary restrictions – no alcohol, no cheese, and none of quite a few of my
other favourite things. So that's a bit of a bugger, but just something else to
put up with. And only during the eleven day cycle – for the rest of the time, I
can carry on as normal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So there are still treatments I can have, and good ones. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This Friday, the oncologists will meet with the
neurosurgeons, and take a view on their approach. They've told me they'll give
me a call once they've had that meeting and keep me updated. But I'll know
everything on Monday (yep, Happy Hogmanay, Graeme) when I have to head back
into the Beatson first thing for a full and frank chat about the whole thing.
If they do go for surgery, I think it will happen pretty quickly after that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This time I'll go prepared with more and better questions,
too. On Christmas Eve I was a bit too shaken to ask everything I probably
should, and my reporter's instincts to haul out the whole story deserted me a
bit. I'll let you know more when I know myself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, I got over that quickly enough. By the time I was on
the bus home I'd converted the panic into fury, and that in turn to my usual
equanimity. By the time I was home, I was ready to explain it all clearly and
calmly to Clare. And she, my rock that she is, took the news with her usual
incredible kindness and strength. She hadn't been able to come with me to the
appointment for once – she'd had a dose of something, and while it might just have
been something she ate, it's just not fair to take what could equally have been
norovirus into a hospital full of sick, vulnerable people – but she still ran
me up to my parents so I could let them know. And they took it with their usual
support and calmness, too. They're good like that, we're a strong breed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And, after all, there isn't so much to worry about. There
are all those tried-and-tested, effective treatments to have. It's kind of like
I've had my head MoT'd and they've found something which needs sorting, so I
now need to pop it in for a service.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, I'll cope with it. Just another battle to fight and win.
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christopher Hitchens wrote during his final illness that he
wasn't fond of the combat metaphor so often used in dealing with cancer – everyone's
always said to be fighting or battling it, while he said something about seeing
it more as being under siege: "I am not fighting or battling cancer - it
is fighting me". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He had a point, since there isn't much I can physically
fight myself. But I have the best possible army of highly-trained specialists
at the Beatson and the Southern General to fight my war for me. Which I know
they will do to the best of their great abilities.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And anyway, there is a battle for me to fight. It's not one
I've found too hard so far, and I'll keep it up: I will maintain my optimism
and equanimity. I just will. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I won't be doing depression, because life is so precious
that it would be almost criminal to waste it being miserable. And I won't be
doing self-pity either, for the same reason. And just watch the news: there are
so many people in the world facing terrible inevitabilities I will never have
to, every day, and it would be self-indulgent – and not even in a good way, but
in a destructive, wasteful one – to spend time on whining about myself. Better
to watch, and understand, and feel compassion instead. Negative emotions are
the things to be fought, and in my own mind I will be rising to the
mountaintop, clad in anger, spitting iron and fire, to drive them away. And if
I'm going to be self-indulgent, it'll be in enjoying myself when I get the
chance. It is, as the song says, later than you think. (But not that late).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, I had a lovely Christmas Day. Clare and I had a nice
breakfast, and opened our presents, and then we went up to my mum and dad's,
where we had an excellent feed and some very pleasant drinks, opened some more
presents, gave others, chatted with the relatives, played with my sister's
kids, and had a comfy, warm Christmas time. Then we came home and watched
Doctor Who. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As good as it gets, all in.</span></div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-21410285316206550322012-12-16T19:15:00.000+00:002012-12-16T19:25:09.511+00:00Getting off the Information Overload<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tumourland</st1:placename>
<st1:placename w:st="on">Fun</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place>,
there are many rides. Not all of them much fun.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The one which has occupied me most recently is The Big
Dipper, the rollercoaster while hurtles
the lumpy thrill-seeker from the pits of fatigue to the peaks of steroid
anxiety over and over again, by way of an afternoon's entertainment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been off work for a couple of weeks playing on that
one. I don't recommend it - it gives you all the low bits first, which is kind
of rubbish, then a quick reintroduction of the old dexamethasone chucks in all
the highs and subsequent plummets in quick succession: now I'm wired, now I'm tired,
now I'm tense, now I'm knackered, now I'm anxious... woooargh!, throw hands in
air, go for a wee nap. There are better ways to spend your time. One of my friends
told me my last blog had a "great amphetamine flavour". It was
intended as a compliment. but I've never had many aspirations to be Hunter S
Thompson.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The other popular ride in the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Tumourland</st1:placename> <st1:placename w:st="on">Fun</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">Park</st1:placetype></st1:place> just now is the
Information Overload. I've written about this before: it's the one where you
get handed a huge tightly-wound tangle of difficult to process data and are somehow
expected to unravel it for use; to work things out for yourself and explain
them to other people without doing too much further damage in the process. That
one's a real blast.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just to make it a little more exciting, the Information
Overload also throws in the internet and the press as an exciting twist. Then
it spins you round and round until you're really very confused and quite dizzy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The internet is one thing, uncurated as it is: if you must journey
into its hinterlands, at least remember that you're also probably reading
randomly, and check things out with a trusted source – don't just accept
everything as if publication somehow bestows an equal value on it all. The news
media, however, ought to be one of those trusted sources, providing its readers
with reasoned, balanced analysis in easy-to-understand form. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It doesn't, though.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Take the case of Sally Roberts, who ran off with her
seven-year-old son Neon (I know, I know) in order to prevent him receiving
radiotherapy which medical opinion says he quickly and desperately needs,
because she was frightened of its potential side-effects and wanted to
investigate more "holistic" alternatives.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I think Roberts is a very silly woman, and I don't
believe for a second she had the right to make that decision on behalf of her
son, I have some sympathy for her insofar as I presume she is also very afraid,
and very shaken around by the Information Overload. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Look at it this way…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suppose you were presented (as I was) with radiotherapy as
an option. And the doctors (ooh, suspicious, authority figures) explain that they've
done years of research (ooh, scary difficult science funded by big evil companies
and probably involving bunny-blinding) and they've worked out that it works
very well (ooh, why isn't it perfect?) but there are some risks, some of them
potentially quite nasty (ooh, scary, it'll happen, it'll happen, aargh!), but it's
the best they've got, and actually very good for most people. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Supposing instead you were presented with… let's call it
fluffytherapy, as another option. And the alternative therapist (ooh,
alternative!) explains that after centuries of natural holistic chanting (ooh,
natural, holistic!) done by some Amazonian tribesmen for no related purpose at
all, they've just decided it works (ooh, just works!) and because it's never been tested
but is quite possibly too ineffectual anyway it has no known side-effects (ooh,
no side-effects!) and it smells quite nice (ooh, natural, therapeutic!) so it
must be good for you.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so the Information Overload spins the gullible, and even
the not so gullible, around until they're too dizzy to get off on the side
without the cliff. Did I mention the cliff? That's the third option, which is
that the major side-effect of not taking the radiotherapy is death.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All that data, so much of it worthless, and no-one except for the medical establishment Roberts
seems to regard with such suspicion to put it in perspective, to explain why the evidence supporting radiotherapy carries more weight than any supposed alternative. It's a shame that she sees them like that: they were very good to me - I had a meeting with an oncologist, a radiotherapist, a specialist nurse and others right back at the beginning, pretty much just so I could ask questions, and it was very useful even if I've barely stopped asking more since.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But maybe she needs another trusted source. Yet even in the quality papers, in the last week I have
read columnists who instead of trying to analyse the situation have reinforced her silliness by wittering about how not enough consideration is given by doctors to parents' instincts,
as if some vague feeling somehow has to be given equal weight to years of
research and experience. Sure, doctors should take parents' feelings into
account, insofar as they should be making sure that they understand why the
recommended treatment is the recommended treatment, and not Hopi ear candling
or whatever. But there the line is drawn - after that, parents have to realise
that they have a responsibility to protect their children, not a right to
endanger them. Some parents are full-body resurrectionists who want to prevent
their sick kids from receiving blood transfusions, others think the vile
practice of female genital mutilation is
in the best interests of their wee girls. Against hard evidence, instinct,
belief and mere preference mean nothing at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that was the quality press. Worse again, though, was
the huge steaming turd of an article dumped by one of the mid-market tabloids
on its readers, under the headline "Do Cancer Alternatives Really
Work?". </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'm not going to link to it, because I don't want to
encourage it. But, below the meaningless headline (what is a "cancer
alternative"? – a new way in which our cells can explode into uncontrolled
growth?) this piece of non-journalism used the Sally Roberts story as a run-in
to a seemingly random selection of descriptions of supposedly alternative
therapies, some of them quite dangerous in themselves, others inherently
useless, but all potentially harmful if regarded as in any way alternative to
the properly researched and continually developed treatments which we know work
and are getting better. And so a British newspaper and its website managed to
give apparent equal weight to the stupid and the real.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's not unusual. The standard of health and science
reporting in the country has long been appalling. Once again, I recommend Dr
Ben Goldacre's insightful but also very funny book <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/000728487X/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=000728487X&linkCode=as2&tag=gottheplo-21%22%3EBad%20Science%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=gottheplo-21&l=as2&o=2&a=000728487X%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">Bad Science</a> for a
well-written and clear take on this, and for some pretty shocking stories about
so-called alternatives therapies, too. Why not try his new one, <a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/0007350740/ref=as_li_ss_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1634&creative=19450&creativeASIN=0007350740&linkCode=as2&tag=gottheplo-21%22%3EBad%20Pharma:%20How%20drug%20companies%20mislead%20doctors%20and%20harm%20patients%3C/a%3E%3Cimg%20src=%22http://www.assoc-amazon.co.uk/e/ir?t=gottheplo-21&l=as2&o=2&a=0007350740%22%20width=%221%22%20height=%221%22%20border=%220%22%20alt=%22%22%20style=%22border:none%20!important;%20margin:0px%20!important;%22%20/%3E" target="_blank">Bad Pharma</a>, as
well?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I also recommend the website <a href="http://www.senseaboutscience.org/" target="_blank">Sense About Science</a>, which aims
to help us all decide what's real and what isn't when it comes to science and
health. It claims a database of 5000 scientists from whom to draw, including Nobel
Prize winners and famous names such as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simon_Singh" target="_blank">Dr Simon Singh</a>. It also currently
carries a corrected version of the tabloid piece I mentioned before, and I do
encourage you to read that, because it manages to point out some dangers and
clear up some misconceptions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'd also like to point to Sense About Science's excellent
leaflet <a href="http://www.senseaboutscience.org/resources.php/16/i-dont-know-what-to-believe" target="_blank">I Don't Know What To Believe</a>. Please give it a read, and bear in mind its ideas when you read science and health stories. More so if you write them. It's nice
and clear, even to us journalists, who were quite often the arty kids who
weren't that good at sums.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It doesn't contain all the answers, but it makes getting off
the Information Overload just a little bit easier.</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-60013810105244798772012-12-02T22:44:00.000+00:002012-12-02T22:44:02.136+00:00This year's Dexmas season begins...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just a year ago I was sitting in a bed in the Southern
General's very fine neurosurgery department, bored and slightly bewildered from a night rendered sleepless by general
hospital racket, an octogenarian escape artist in and mostly out of the bed
opposite and his nightwear, a 3am catheter removal, and regular unironic
professional awakenings to check I was sleeping naturally and knew who the
Prime Minister was.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Either through the sleep deprivation or some sort of
morphine hangover, I felt particularly disinclined to open the second door on
my advent calendar – the previous day's had been in the side of my head and the
choccy had been horrible. But I otherwise felt pretty good, under the
circumstances. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, exactly 12 months later, I feel pretty good again.
Well, actually I feel slightly sick because one of the cats licked my hand
while I was typing that last par and left a brown residue. Other than that,
though, post shower I'm all right.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven't been feeling so good for the last couple of weeks,
though. Not ill, but tired again. I was told that chemo fatigue could last for
up to six months after I stopped popping the poison back in August, but it had
calmed down a lot and I'd hardly had to take a day off since September. Yet
just around the beginning of November it started to come back, and around a
fortnight ago it got worse, this time with an exciting new edge of… well, a
kind of low feeling (I'm hesitant to use the word "depression") which
made the weariness just that bit more wearisome. I'd also had a weird set of intermittent
allergy-like symptoms - sneezing, runny nose and congestion, but none of the
other nasty cold stuff - for about six weeks, and the pressure in my sinuses
was starting to give me headaches. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I'd been warned to watch out for headaches, but these were
mild and passed quickly, so I wasn't concerned. I emailed The Beatson, but they
didn't get back to me, so I assumed they weren't very concerned either. But I
went to see my GP, who took some bloods, gave me an antihistamine, and signed
me off for a week's rest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which I needed. I went in to work the next day because I had
a meeting and wanted to make sure everything was set up for my absence, but I
must have looked a bit unfocussed and was told to go home. I then spent the
next few days flubbing around the place doing little more than eating or
sleeping, with the cats watching me with a triumphant air, seemingly convinced
they'd won the larger of the two feeding monkeys over to their ways. One of
them also began to see me as a conveniently well-padded immobile warm thing on which to
sleep, but that was OK because I was starting to regard her as a sort of
personal furry draft excluder. For most of the past week I've slept the days
away, and it has been chillier.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don't really like sleeping during normal waking hours
because it seems like a waste of precious, escaping time. There are also
side-effects, one of which turned out to be further headache potential from failing
to nod off in a comfortable position and waking up with a stiff neck until I
could crack it out. Another turned out to be waking up and reaching for my
Android tablet, only to find its black, shiny surface covered in sticky
pucker marks, as if someone had been repeatedly kissing it. Well, I quite like
it, but I'm not that taken with it. Seems one of the cats had been sitting on
it. So that made me feel a bit unwell for a while.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least the antihistamines had sorted out the
sinuses. But I'd discovered the other ill-effect of daytime sleeping, which is
letting broadcast media get too deeply into my psyche when I'm in a suggestible state. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As usual, I was starting my day with GMS on the radio for
the Scottish news and an entertaining grumble at the presenters for not asking
the questions I would have asked, followed by BBC Breakfast on the telly, which
I watch largely because I feel slightly sorry for Bill Turnbull ( it's his wee
face when he has the latest point-free celebrity talent-vacuum plonked in front
of him for interview, and I feel I can almost read in his expression: "I used to report
from The White House, you know", a sigh, and then, "never mind, just
two and a half years to the next general election".) Problem was, though,
that if I then fell asleep during Olly Murs or Joss Stone or whoever that morning's
personality gap was, I'd be out until lunchtime, which meant I'd wake up
irritatedly humming the theme from Bargain Hunt. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At least, I think it was Bargain
Hunt – it might have been Cash in the Attic, I'm not certain – the one presented by the slightly effete, mustached man who reminds me vaguely of Lenny the Lion. Actually, it might have been the theme from the one about the
rescue helicopters instead. I really don't care much – it's just the start of the evidence that falling
asleep in front of the telly just doesn't work for me in terms of relaxation
but subconsciously adds to my inner pool of bile and spite. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I've managed to
switch to a news channel and it's midweek during the day, I might just wake up
shouting during PM or FM Qs, but if I've gone to Channel Four I might sleep all
the way through Countdown and then wake up feeling hate-filled because Noel
Edmonds has come on. Sleeping later is worse – I've been so tired that kipping
off mid-evening hasn't affected my
night's sleep, but I have now found myself with a compulsion to enter
Masterchef, not because I fancy my chances as a cook, but because I want to
stand face-to-face with Greg Wallace and say, "right, baldy, you and me,
car park, square go, now". </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, anyway, that was my pattern for last week – sleeping,
despising… oh, and hoping for a virus. That was because the blood tests I'd had
were for a viral cause for the tiredness, but also for diabetes, so a wee bug
seemed like the far preferable option.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then on Thursday I went back to the GP and it turned out I
didn't have either of these things, so she gave me some antibiotics and signed
me off for a further fortnight. Later on she phoned me to say she'd been in
touch with The Beatson, who weren't terribly concerned but wanted me to go in
for a scan ( I was due one soon anyway) and to start taking the steroids again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's a low dose – 2mg a day – but that's four times as much
as I was taking when I came off them back in July. So I took that on Thursday
afternoon, and took the same again on Friday morning, and by Friday mid-day I was
ripped to the molars on dexamethasone and no longer doing the dinosaur after
I'd hauled myself to my feet. Instead I almost skipped down the road for lunch,
insofar as that is possible for an overweight, middle-aged Scottish man, and then felt a bit of a con as I emailed into the office to
say I'd been signed off for another two weeks' rest. But I couldn't have gone
in then – I'd have been unbearable. Anyway, once I'd finished my paper and got
myself all worked up about Leveson I was exhausted again and had to go back for
a bit of a sleep, from which I woke up hyper at teatime and chattered at Clare all
evening. I thought I was being quite insightful and witty, and she rather
charitably agreed when I checked, which suggests I was possibly also being
slightly paranoid.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I've been much closer to normal levels of energy since, but
there is still a slight steroid edge – looking over what I've scribbled here this morning,I can see it
in my own writing. It doesn't exactly read like The Diary of a Drug Fiend,
but it does read a little like The Blog of a Slightly Cynical Man who's had Too
Much Coffee.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Under more normal circumstances I'd probably have left out
the bits about the cat residue and Greg Wallace, for instance. But this is
supposed to be an accurate record of what's going on for me as the cancer treatment
proceeds, so here you go - you can keep the weird bits, too.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It's now Sunday evening, and I think I need a nap. By tomorrow, I think I'll be more used to the steroid again.
I've been on higher doses before, and coped fine.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
By then I'll be waiting for my MRI appointment, and then comes the
scanxiety. More on that next time.</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-77407111554943578692012-11-09T18:02:00.000+00:002012-11-09T18:02:07.982+00:00A new hope?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
There isn’t a good place to get cancer (I really don’t
recommend the head, for instance) but some are better than others. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a while there, it looked like America was about to
become one of the others. Again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the good guy won their weirdly complicated election, and
although ObamaCare doesn’t really come close to our free-at-the-point-of-need
NHS, it’s a step in the right direction, and it’ll be nice when it’s finished.
It’s also a progression Mitt Romney had pledged to reverse, despite having
introduced something similar in Massachusetts during his tenure as Governor there.
Which seems odd, unless you uncharitably see Mitt as a spineless flip-flopper who
only won the Republican candidacy over his more extreme (no, really) opponents
because he dribbles less and can dress himself, but is nonetheless in thrall to
the far right, which thinks ending ObamaCare is the right thing to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s odd that there are people in the world who think that
it’s morally correct to deny people accessible healthcare. Apparently it’s to do with
their right to choose. The choice between them paying a little less tax and someone
else getting to live, I presume. Yay for civil liberties.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that’s not a choice to be made for now, because Obama gets
to keep the nice Washington mansion for another four years. Which is good: he must
have just got the couch in front of the telly worked into his shape. That’s something
to strive for, and it’s a terrible thing to deprive a man of his own
properly-grooved sofa. Happily, Barack gets to watch his West Wing box-set in
comfort, and US patients get an era of renewed hope.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which is apt, because this is a hopeful week, running as it
does towards Remembrance Sunday. Which should be a day of hope, each scarlet
flower a symbol of optimism that the human species can renew itself after
horror and will remember not to repeat the stupidity.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of course, we don’t always remember. Which is why we need
the reminder.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
One spectacular example of forgetfulness recently came from
our plate-faced pudding of a Prime Minister, who seems to think that despite
the economy remaining in the toilet, a postal order for £50million would be just
the ticket for a wizard wheeze marking the start of the Great War, to “capture
our national spirit in every corner of the country”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Right, Dave. Because the First World War was <i>just</i> like the Jubilee and the Olympics,
which went awfully well. Let’s have another one! After all, we won, didn’t we?
There must be some brand advantage in that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or you could just buy a bloody poppy. It would be a lot cheaper, and commemorate the <b>end</b>, not the start, of one of the least laudable
periods in our history, when for complicated political reasons an almost entire
generation of youth was encouraged to trot enthusiastically off to conveyor-belt
death by disease, drowning in mud, and the exciting new inventions of chemical
warfare and machine-gun fire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s because of buffoons like the leader of the Eton Mess
that poppy day is at all controversial, that white poppies become a popular
alternative for those who wish to celebrate peace rather than war and others
simply refuse to wear a poppy at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I appreciate that sentiment, but I don’t agree. Abandoning
the symbol doesn’t help: we need to keep the red poppy, not as a celebration of
war, but as a annually-renewed reminder of its bloody foolishness; of the needless,
wasteful horror and terrible loss; that <a href="http://www.warpoetry.co.uk/owen1.html" target="_blank">Dulce et Decorum
est</a> really is an old lie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need to keep that splash of blood with its blackened
core, the gunshot wound worn above each of our hearts, centre stage amidst the
military show of Armistice Day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s our renewed hope. Every year. Sometimes, it even
works.</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-57940626182629259062012-11-02T17:37:00.000+00:002012-11-02T17:37:48.528+00:00Happy birthday to me...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
My earliest memory, I believe, dates from 42 years ago
today: November 2, 1970. It’s dark, I’m lying down and my father is bending over
me, saying “and tomorrow you’ll be two”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think this is a true memory. I’ve always thought it to be
so, and I seem to have recalled it many times throughout my life, particularly
as my birthday approaches. But whether this has refreshed it, or merely rebuilt it and
I just remember my own construct, I can’t be certain. According to <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Childhood_amnesia" target="_blank">Wikipedia’s
entry on childhood amnesia</a> (the phenomenon that adults cannot remember
early childhood clearly), "memories from early childhood (around age two) are
susceptible to false suggestion, making them less trustworthy". A bit like Wikipedia. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mentioned my memory to my dad some time ago
and he doesn’t believe it happened, but that could be because he doesn’t
believe I could remember it. I think it is more or less accurate, but I may have altered
some details. I’m pretty convinced of the words spoken, but my father’s face is
blurry – it’s undeniably him but I’ve no clear picture of him in his late 20s.
Also, I think I’m in a bed, not a cot, and in my own bedroom: that’s dubious
because of another early memory I have, of being just a little older and breaking
out of my cot, which was in my parents’ bedroom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That apparently quite regular escapade is still occasionally
the subject of an amusing family anecdote, but I'm convinced of my memory of
doing it because I remember what it <i>felt</i>
like. One end of the cot was an integral blanket box, the outer face of which
was a curved roller door. I remember clambering onto it from inside the cot and
then the discomfort, the pressure on my ribs, as I spun myself round on my
chest on its angular surface so I could slide down over the roller. It hurt, but not enough to stop me doing it over and over again. I think it
would be hard to construct a memory of physical sensation like that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And tomorrow I’ll be 44. How very middle-aged. Still, it’s
fashionable to be middle-aged – everyone I was at school with is doing it, even
the cool kids.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not quite sure when you become middle-aged. Not halfway
to three score years and ten, anyway – 35 is young these days, and counting
anything by Biblical reference leads to nonsense about the Earth having yet to
reach its 6000<sup>th</sup> birthday and our ancestors having the opportunity to
own pet stegosaurs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The generally-accepted gateway to middle age seems to be at
40, and that is closer to the halfway mark suggested by <a href="http://www.statistics.gov.uk/hub/population/deaths/life-expectancies" target="_blank">UK National Statistics</a>, which is just about 80 (except for
viewers in Scotland). So by that token, I have been middle-aged for four years, or
ten per cent of my life. But these averages don’t really mean much, middle-age
is more a matter of mind than of numbers. I think it happens when mortality
first bites, at that point when our sense of invulnerability quietly slides
away and we see the final curtain flapping in the wind, even if it is still some way away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my case, that was just about a year ago. In the run-up to my 43<sup>rd</sup>
birthday various doctors interviewed, examined and scanned me to
ascertain why I had thrashed epileptically across the office floor at the start
of October; a week later I went for my first MRI, and disturbingly quickly
after that had what is probably still the worst day of my life so far - November 16, 2011 - when I woke up to a phone-call telling me my lovely wee Gran
had died, and then went into hospital to learn that I probably had a brain
tumour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Less than a week after that I was chatting with neurosurgeons who asked
nicely if they could cut into the side of my head to check. And on December1,
they did.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just days before that operation <a href="http://pure-gns.blogspot.co.uk/2011/11/i-need-this-like-hole-in-head.html" target="_blank">I started this blog</a>, so everything that followed - the
whole unpleasant business of being told that I did have a tumour and it was
likely to try to grow a new head, having to tell other people, and then the
vaccines and radiation and chemo, the tiredness and sickness and hair-loss – have
all been well documented. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So if you've read at least some of that, you'll realise that on the whole 43 hasn't been a great year for me. But
while I hate to cast myself as relentlessly optimistic – I do like to examine
all available silver linings for clouds – I can’t help seeing the upsides to
this year: I married the love of my life, had a couple of great holidays, and
my new-found sense of mortality reinforced my sense of how precious time is,
which has given me greater ambition to do things for the fun, satisfaction or
hell of them (more on that in later posts, perhaps). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And tomorrow, I’ll be 44. So tonight, Clare and I are off
for some posh drinks and then a nice meal in a new and highly-recommended
restaurant. Tomorrow, I will go out with my mates for some not-at-all posh
drinks, some increasingly badly-focussed pool-playing, a curry, and further
beerage to finish.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wish me a happy birthday. And if you want to make it
happier, click the donate puff at the top of the page and give The Beatson some
money. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They’re the reason I’m feeling good and ready for another year, after all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-25660197121653674132012-10-10T14:46:00.000+01:002012-10-30T11:11:49.808+00:00Enjoy yourself (It's later than you think)<br />
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Autumn was always my favourite time of year. Specifically now,
mid-autumn, when Keats' mellow fruitfulness is coming into its own but we haven't
quite got to the mists yet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should perhaps add that Keats' poem goes on to witter about
bees for whom "summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells". I'm not keen
on the image of clammy cells o'er-brimming at the moment; what with the brain cancer
and everything, I feel there's been quite enough of that sort of thing going on.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, I like mid-autumn. I like the light and the colours and
the smell of the season, and even though it's the time of year when things are dying
off, ready for the bleakness of winter, for some reason it always gives me a sensation
of excited optimism. And not just because there are conkers to be had.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it was into all this that I stepped from hospital yesterday,
walking into the cold, low sunshine of a beautiful autumn afternoon in which it
was good to be alive and abuzz with the knowledge that, for the time being at least,
I'm fine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'd just had my latest set of scan results, the pics from my
third quarterly intra-cranial photoshoot. They came out nicely, thanks. No change
- I'm still prettier from the inside out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I still have a hole in my head, but that's it - no extra tumoury
bits are visible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I have another clear quarter to look forward to. That's the
pattern from now on: another scan, another set of results, another all-clear. Grabbing
life in three-month chunks.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The next session in the big, bangy machine is around Christmas,
with the results due a couple of weeks later. Until then, no worries.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yesterday was also something of an ending, as it was the last
time I was needed at the Beatson's Clinical Research Unit, where I'd been taking part
in an experimental vaccine programme. I gave my last round of blood, and my involvement
was over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I joined, at the end of December last year, I was among
the first on this programme being conducted at the Beatson and a few other centres
around the UK, which was slowly accumulating willing and suitable subjects on whom
to test a vaccine which had been used successfully against other cancers, but not
yet on glioblastoma.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure, there was some small risk, but it seemed like no choice
at all. I was assured it would have no adverse effect on my other treatment, and
since at this stage they were testing for side-effects, I'd get a full therapeutic
dose, not a placebo. So if it failed, I reckoned, no problem, I'd still be getting the gold-star
treatment in which the Beatson specialises; but if it <i>succeeded...</i> well maybe, just maybe, it would help that treatment along,
maybe even save my life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I signed on the dots and since then I have had eleven pairs
of itchy intradermal injections into the same bit of my leg, and given blood in
various quantities, but no ill-effects. The programme is getting close to its required
number of subjects, which is heartening, my inner geek is pleased at getting to
contribute to cutting-edge science, and my sense of social responsibility is satisfied,
too. I'm proud to have been part of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking at my MRI pics, each shows a kind of rind around the
hole where the tumour once was, and that's apparently been seen in other recipients
of this vaccine. It's not cancerous and is perfectly harmless, and I like to think
of it as a barrier, either defending against or containing the bad cells: I realise
this is probably nonsense in medical terms, but I like the image.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm under no illusions: I know that radiation, chemo and vaccines
notwithstanding, the cancer is likely to come back. Not least because the doctors
keep telling me that, which I think is a good thing, as time is short and precious
and it's important not to fritter it away in the warmth of a false sense of security.
With or without cancer, we all waste too much of our least renewable resource when
we should be making the most of every minute.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And right now, I feel good. My fatigue is less frequent and less
unpleasant, and the stiff legs are easing off.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was told yesterday, "This is your time feeling well. Enjoy
it."</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes. I think I will.</span></div>
</div>
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-77654219076940857522012-10-04T20:43:00.001+01:002012-10-04T20:43:16.805+01:00Welcome to paradise<div><p dir=ltr>A year ago from Tuesday, I was to all appearances perfectly well, just back from an autumn break in the Highlands. </p>
<p dir=ltr>A year ago from Wednesday, I was sleep-dancing across the office floor, on the right side of my ribcage and with the sides of my tongue clamped between my teeth, wakening in a wheelchair to a paramedic's kind offer of air and a bewildered trip to hospital. The first of many.</p>
<p dir=ltr>The time between has been packed with scans, bad news, surgery, worse news, fear, intra-dermal injections, radiation, blood tests, chemotherapy, fatigue, steroids, stronger adjuvant chemotherapy, more jags and sangrial sampling, a gastric problem which could have pebble-dashed a warehouse, marriage, euphoria, more adjuvant chemotherapy, more fatigue, more scans, more blood, even more fatigue, stiff legs and the resultant Cyberman stride. Yet it honestly doesn't feel like a year. Time flies when you're enjoying yourself.</p>
<p dir=ltr>One year ago today, October 4, 2011, I was at home; slumped, drained and bemused, on my leather couch with which I would become so familiar, on my first of so many sick days with which I would become so bored, wondering what the hell was going on.</p>
<p dir=ltr>A year later, I'm sitting at a picnic bench under a big tree, in an almost perfect little cove on the north shore of Bermuda. It's 28°, the sea is blue, something's singing in the next big tree along, and there's just enough cloud cover to let me see my tablet screen and type this. Soon I will go in search of beer. Life's tough.</p>
<p dir=ltr>We're here in this island paradise as guests of my friend and former colleague Raymond Hainey: gentleman, journalist, and all-round good chap; and also one of the finest operators the Scottish press has allowed to escape. While he has been chained to the type-face, Clare and I have beached and lunched and beered, and when he hasn't, Raymond has generously driven us to the sights while we have generally got under his feet and cluttered his flat.</p>
<p dir=ltr>And I feel much better for it. Sure, I sunburned my feet on day two (I never burn anywhere normal, like on the shoulders - for me it has to be somewhere awkward, such as the ankles or forearms or feet), and I twisted a knee falling down the stairs in a pub (it was lunchtime, and I'd only had the one pint), but I feel so much healthier; lighter even.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm not going descend into hippy wittering about a healing atmosphere, because that would be nonsense. But sunlight lifts the mood, warmth relaxes, and the light exercise of sight-seeing is probably doing me no harm. The Boris Karloff stomp has eased off as my legs feel stronger, and although I still get tired, it feels cleaner, a warm sleepiness compared to the sickening, bone-deep fatigue which hit before. It would be nice to think that easing will continue back in Scotland. </p>
<p dir=ltr>Of course, I will have to return to the results of the scan I had just before leaving.</p>
<p dir=ltr>But in the meantime, I'm relaxing in Paradise. Still with a hole in my head, but relaxing.</p>
<p dir=ltr>I'm not worried. I <i>feel</i> good.</p>
<p dir=ltr>So far it's a happy anniversary</p>
</div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0Par-La-Ville Park, null32.292564 -64.78691tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-75301072807249656702012-09-14T17:19:00.000+01:002012-09-14T17:19:29.019+01:00Walking the walk<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’ve started making the old-man groaning noise when I get
out of chairs, except with more swearing. I’ve got to say – this cancer thing’s
full of surprises. My legs have seized up.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Not entirely, I should say. But it’s not comfortable.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every hour or so I try to remember to get up from my desk and
take a stiff-legged stroll around the office; to the kitchen, the toilet, the vending
machines - any destination which has some point to it and which takes me out of
view for a bit, so I don't look like I'm doing some kind of circular Boris Karloff
impersonation among the islands of workstations.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My wife Clare was first to call it my Frankenstein walk. Frankenstein
was, of course, not the monster but the scientist, who as far as I remember had
no mobility problems, but Clare's far too sensible to let that get in the way of
a perfectly clear description which everyone will understand instantly. I, on the
other hand, am far too much of a pedant not to, so I privately call it the Bangles
Bimble: I'm thinking of the mummy from Scooby Doo - I Walk Like an Egyptian.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The stiffness is the result of coming off steroids about six
weeks ago. I've mentioned it here before, but it's currently the after-effect of
my treatment which is bugging me most, so now it's going to bug you again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently the ligaments in my legs and back have loosened up,
but it doesn't feel like looseness: quite the opposite. I stomp around straight-legged
until things slacken off, I haul myself out of chairs with my arms if I have sat
for too long and am having difficulty with the knee-unbending and thigh-stretching,
and going up stairs is difficult. Which is a particular bugger when you live up
four flights. My adventures on Google suggest this could last for three or maybe
up to six months.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But it will pass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm also now off the chemo. Its abiding after-effect is fatigue,
which is much worse than the locked-up legs. But at least it comes and goes, while
the stiffness is always with me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As usual, day one of the final chemo was fine, but then... who'd
have thought there could be so many flavours of tiredness? Degrees, yes - but types?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Over the remaining four days of the course and for a day or two
after I experienced a weird series of ups and downs ranging from mildly sleepy to
bone-sick exhausted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At my worst, while I was still popping the poison, I noted that
each type of tiredness had a different feel or texture, and wondered if I should
become a connoisseur of fatigue and catalogue them here like whiskies. Then I wondered
if I might not just be rambling: I was quite tired - at that point a dull little
number with a sort of numbing sensation in my shoulders and arms, if you're interested.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was about three weeks ago. Since then I have had days when
I have been alternately energetic and shattered, days like yesterday when I
have woken up tired, and days like today where I feel more-or-less normal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m told the after-effects of the chemo could also last perhaps
six months. It might not be so long, given my relative youth and strength, but I'm
prepared for the days of unpredictable tiredness to continue for a while.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And eventually this, too, will pass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the meantime, the trick is to make the most of things even
when the symptoms are making their presence felt. Just marking time, looking forward
to the end of the stiffness, the end of the fatigue, and ignoring the present would
not be healthy. It would be like treating the working week as days to be endured
until the weekend comes, the month as time to be tolerated until payday; people
do that, but it's wishing your life away, and those of us on the cancer-go-round
are a bit sensitive about that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I get on with things. I go to work. I make plans to do stuff
as I always have and, mostly, I keep to them. I went to see Patti Smith in concert
last week and loved it, even though my legs were in agony after the two-hour stand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Maybe if I were a sporty type all this would be harder, but I play with gadgets and with words, and I don't have to move much for either.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, most days aren't tired days, these days. It's getting better.</span>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But when they are, I read and write and watch and listen and generally
learn new things. Oh, and play obscenely violent computer games - that's a good
one. Obviously, all that is as far as concentration allows; the fatigue regularly
dictates that I put down the newspaper, Kindle, laptop or handset and just kip.
I do resent that a little as wasted time, but it can also be pleasant, so I feel
I should just enjoy it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here in the Tumourland Fun Park, it's important to enjoy all
the rides.</span></div>
<br />
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-87499977865215084142012-08-22T23:56:00.000+01:002012-08-22T23:56:39.806+01:00Who's gonna drive you home?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Yesterday I popped into the
Beatson for a wee bleed and to pick up this month’s bumper bag of harsh
chemicals. My last. That’ll be six monthly poisonings under my belt come
Sunday, with no more due.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I should have got this round
of chemo last week, but my white cells were low and my consultant regarded it
as “a bit gung-ho” to dole out drugs which batter the immune system while it
was already punch-drunk. So the regular envenoming was deferred for a week, my
counts returned to normal, and this morning I took the first of my final five
doses. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Feeling fine so far.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’d like to think it’s my
last round. It’s the last I’m scheduled for, and the last I’ll get as long as
things remain as they are. If one of my three-monthly scans shows anything
tumourly trying to sneak back, I’ll be back on the Temozolomide sharpish, but
I’m not planning on that happening. I’ve told it not to.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I had hoped that the end of
the chemo would mean an end to the off-and-on tiredness which has plagued me
throughout this whole process. I’d reckoned that since it takes a month for me
to recover sufficiently between treatments, then a month should be enough to
get back to normal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Nah.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I’m now told that the
fatigue can last up to six months after the chemo stops; it depends on the individual,
and there doesn’t seem to be any way of telling how it will hit, other than
that younger, fitter patients recover more quickly. That includes me (no,
really) so with a bit of luck it will ease off sooner than later. Ideally
before I go on holiday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The other thing I wish would
just bugger off and leave me alone is the constant stiffness in my legs and
occasionally arms. It’s a bit like the sensation you get the day after a long
hill-walk, but all the time (I can’t really compare it to many other kinds of
exercise, having spent most of my life avoiding them, but I have been known to
enjoy the occasional countryside meander). If I sit still for too long I need to
haul myself up with my arms and then waddle rather than spring gazelle-like
across the room, as was once my wont. This, I gather, is a side-effect of
coming off steroids; they cause some muscle reduction, but also a loosening of
ligaments in the back and legs. I’m told pregnant women experience something
similar: I’m hoping this is the only symptom we’re going to share; I could do
without morning sickness, haemorrhoids or childbirth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But the really grim symptom
of all this is the news that I may not be able to drive again for a very long
time. I had previously been told that I would be likely to get my licence back
a year after the surgery. That was on December 1, so I was starting to look
forward to my licence's return. Counting down, even.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now I’m told that it could
be at least two years, and no-one’s very sure from when. It all depends on when
the DVLA (not my doctor, apparently) decides my primary treatment ended, or
indeed what my primary treatment was.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">If they decide the primary
treatment was the surgery (which my research suggests they won't) then it’s another
year from December. If they decide it was the radiotherapy and first round of
chemo, it’s a further year from mid-February. But if they decide the adjuvant
chemo I’m just finishing off is part of the primary treatment, then it’s two
years from now. And if I need any further treatment during that period, the
clock resets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This is quite crushing.
Quality of life is pretty important just now, and not being able to drive is a
massive limitation. Blind 75-year-olds and mental teenagers are allowed
licences; what makes me less safe than them?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Well, the huge hole in my
brain, apparently. But I have only had the one fit, and that nearly a year ago
(it’s how I found out about the cancer in the first place). Since then I’ve had
the tumour which caused it cut out, the area around it zapped and poisoned, and
I’ve taken anti-epileptics daily. I haven’t so much as twitched in all that
time. Surely I’m safe to be behind a wheel?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">It seems the DVLA thinks
not. They won't even ask my doctors for their opinion, I'm informed; the decision
will be made by a government medic who will never meet or examine me, based on
some forms which don't contain space for my doctors' input.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I understand the reluctance
of officialdom to have people with large chunks of their brains missing
hurtling around the countryside in cars. But I'm being checked on very, very
regularly. Even now the chemo's over and my monthly trips to the Beatson have come
to an end, I will still have three-monthly scans. Surely these could be used as
the basis for my continued right to drive, with my licence renewed quarterly
every time a scan gets the all-clear? It wouldn't be hard to administer
electronically, and it would save a lot of misery for a lot of people in my
position.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">The next scan is in
September. It was scheduled for the 28<sup>th</sup>, but by the time I got the
date I’d booked a holiday, so it was moved forward to the 19<sup>th</sup>.
Which is fine, but it means I won’t get the results until I’m back, so I’ll
spend my two weeks in the sun Not Knowing. Looming capitals intended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Still, it should be fine.
June’s cerebral photo-shoot wasn’t substantially different from March’s, and
I’ll have just finished my treatment, so there’s no reason to think September’s
will show any changes either. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">So if it is OK, can I drive
at least until the Christmas scan, please? It would at least give me something immediately
positive out of the cycle of quarterly anxiety I'm going to have to get used
to: the build-up to each scan, the wait
for the results, and the hoped-for relief when they come back clear. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Until they don’t. But that
might (just might) never happen, or at least not for years. Until then, I could
be driving safely and happily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Just a thought.</span></div>
<br />
Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-37780189311396130312012-08-09T21:49:00.000+01:002012-08-09T21:49:43.708+01:00Stating Points of View...<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dear Auntie Beeb,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Can I call you that? It’s just that I’ve known you since I was a wee
boy, ever since Brian Cant was the coolest thing on the telly. It’s like we’re
family.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anyway, you might have heard I’ve not been too well, recently. Just a
spot of light brain cancer, nothing to worry about, but it has meant that I’ve
been spending quite a lot of time in front of the TV. I get quite tired, you
see, and it's as good a place as any to have a slump.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But I can’t say I’ve been very impressed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have an established pattern, which is to come home from work knackered,
watch the news, have my tea, then fall asleep during the One Show, which you
seem to have designed for that purpose. I then won’t surface for an hour or
more, until around the time the grown-up telly starts. Unless it’s an
Eastenders night, in which case I will wake up to change the channel; these
people have voices like Stihl saws and even I can't sleep through that. Our
cats are convinced the ’Stenders theme tune goes <i>dum-dum-dum-dumdumdumdum-urgh-bloodyhell-click-zzzzzz</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’s not the most exotic or productive way to spend an evening, but it
suits me. And you’ve spoiled it, Auntie. This summer, there’s been nothing on.
Nothing I even want to sleep through.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">First there was football, all that Euro 2012 nonsense that <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country -region="-region" w:st="on">Scotland</st1:country></st1:place>
wasn’t even in. You even moved the news for that. You can’t do that: the news
is at six o’clock – there’s a law or an old charter or something. Moving it is
wrong.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Then there was tennis: <st1:place w:st="on">Wimbledon</st1:place>, the
All-England Lawn Tennis and Croquet Club’s annual knockabout. Tennis is boring
and goes on for hours; I hoped for a bit more tension from the croquet finals,
but you didn’t even show them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After that there was golf. Some blokes went for a walk, hitting little
white balls in front of them, and eventually one of them was given a claret jug
and some money. Whoopie-do, Auntie, whoopie-do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And through all this, there was the building threat of the Olympics. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
run-up alone seemed to last most of my adult life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The torch relay just went on and on and on, and it's not even
traditional: the Nazis started it in 1936. And I didn't even bother to watch
your rowing drama Bert and Dickie; it looked like a damp Chariots of Fire and I
can't help suspecting it was partly responsible for holding up Dr Who this
year, which is unforgivable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I watched the opening ceremony, of course, but I did so on iPlayer,
mainly because it has a fast-forward button and I couldn't face three hours of
bombastic special effects that night; I went to see The Dark Knight Rises
instead. Bits of the Boyle-fest were quite good – it really annoyed Morrissey,
for instance – but it did leave me feeling that both Paul McCartney and the
monarchy have now had their day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After that, though… well, the thing is, I don’t like sport, so the
Olympics have been a bit of an entertainment dead-zone for me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Maybe I should explain: I have never liked sport. I know, I know, you
don’t understand or don’t believe me. That’s most people’s reaction. Others
just look at me like I have just admitted to being a Scientologist or a snail
fetishist, or are incapable of processing the information and commence The
Football Chat anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I don’t know why I don't like it. I was never good at sport and went to
a school at which being bad at games ranked you lower than amoebic dysentery,
so that might be part of it. But I suspect it’s because I don't <i>get</i> sport. Don’t understand it. No
comprendo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In my defence, there's quite a lot not to get. Like the scoring in cricket,
for instance: I played the game (admittedly under duress) every summer for
about six years and I still don't understand that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Or football. Why is that interesting? The plot's broadly the same every
time, it has no soundtrack (well it does, but it seems to consist largely of
songs about Irish history and Victoria Beckham's bottom) and there is very
little chance of a car chase. Yet I've met people who can barely spell IQ but
who can and will talk at massive length about the intricacies of a game in which all I have seen has been some very highly-paid haircuts kicking a ball about for
rather longer than seemed necessary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So the Olympics are just the grand culmination of the general sense of
boredom and incomprehension you’ve inflicted on me all summer, Auntie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why would I feel involved? Why does every other armchair-bound slob seem
to gain some sense of personal achievement from the success of highly-tuned
athletes who happen to have been born in the same country as them? What have
they done to deserve this vicarious thrill, apart from pulled up the roots
their buttocks have sent into their couches and wobbled to the fridge and back?
Why are they all so offended when Frankie Boyle Tweets that Rebecca Adlington has an unfair advantage as
a swimmer because she has a dolphin's face? I'm sure Rebecca is a lovely woman
and a fine athlete, but she is also a celebrity and uses her media profile to
make money; which is fine, but it makes her fair game until she stops taking
cash from British Gas. "Eek. Eek, eeek. Eeeeek!", as she said
herself, while being awarded her medal and a herring.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nonetheless, I have watched some of the Games; I haven’t had much
choice. But that has just raised more questions.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why do we now have uneven bars? Is “asymmetric” too difficult a word
these days?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Why, Auntie, did you spend so much money moving to Salford, then just
weeks later head back to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">London</st1:city></st1:place>
to broadcast from a glass box balanced on some freight containers? And what’s
with the black marble altar surrounded by geometric patterns? Is this so Gary
Lineker can boost Team GB’s medal count by raising the aid of a dark, demonic
force and interview Bradley Wiggins at the same time?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And what makes Michael Phelps the greatest Olympian of all time? He must
be, all your presenters have said so. And yet, while 22 medals is quite a lot,
all he does is swim; Daley Thompson had to get blisteringly good at ten sports
to get just one of his. And he did it to an Iron Maiden soundtrack. How cool
was that?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You don’t need to answer, Auntie. I really just want to know one thing:
why is it that, with everyone now receiving digital TV and 24 channels of
Olympics available, can’t people like me keep BBC1?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Just in case you change your mind, here’s what I’d like to see on a
typical night’s viewing for the rest of the Games:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8.30pm Javelin
Catching with George Osborne<br />
</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Short
but sweet. Tune in tomorrow for the Michael Gove episode. And the day after for
Culture Secretary Jeremy Hunt. You see where we’re going with this?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">8.35pm My Great Big
Gypsy Website</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <br />
Sequel to My Great Big Gypsy Wedding in which the happy couples find their new
marital homes on a special mapping app comprising a huge arrow pointing to
Jeremy Clarkson’s garden.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">9:30pm The Only Way
Is Wessex</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <br />
The casts of various reality shows of the last few years are all put in a house
without food, drink or spray tan and not allowed out until they’ve read the
complete works of Thomas Hardy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">10:00pm News &
Weather</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
Followed by Reporting Scotland and Newsnight, with proper interviewees who
don’t wear Lycra for a living, and no abrupt cut off to the cheap local version
until the real one is finished.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">11:30pm The Late
Movie Double Bill</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
A couple of old classics back-to-back. Maybe The Maltese Falcon, or Gregory’s
Girl, or something from The Godfather trilogy. Not Chariots of Fire.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">3:00am All-Star
Indian Wrestling</span></b><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
With Dale Winton and Archbishop Philip Tartaglia. This doesn’t actually need to
be broadcast, we just need to know it has happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It’ll be ratings gold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Love,<br />
Graeme.</span></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-49149920737316453112012-07-23T21:58:00.000+01:002012-07-23T21:58:17.227+01:00Put a peep-hole in my brain…<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I got to see the latest photos of the inside of my head this week. There’s very little going on. You may not find that terribly surprising.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It cheered me up immensely, though. Since no news is good news, and I
hadn’t heard anything from the head doctors since my MRI at the end of June, I
was pretty confident there would be nothing to report. But it was still nicely
reassuring to see the scans from March and June side-by-side and note
little change.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a slight difference. The newer scan shows a kind of rind around
the cavity where my tumour used to be; apparently this has been noticed in a
couple of other people who have been on the same vaccine trial as me. I’m
assured it’s nothing to worry about since it doesn’t represent any cancer growth.
The tumour site is the same size as before, which is the main thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So it looks like the treatment is working, which is hugely cheering. Glioblastoma
is an aggressive cancer which likes to try to grow a new head when it can, but
not this time. Today is not that day. And I’m planning on holding this position
for years.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I certainly feel well enough. I'm still unexpectedly hit by fatigue at
odd times, but I can deal with that. It accumulates throughout the chemo,
apparently, so now the bursts of tiredness caused by the daily zapping I
received in the first few weeks of the year are at last receding, they're
replaced by seemingly equally unpredictable spells of exhaustion brought on by
the harsh chemicals. It’s nice to have a seamless change-over.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My physical signs are good. I feel generally stronger and the stairs to
my south-side eyrie no longer seem so excruciating. My platelet count is rising
closer to normal, I’m told, and it looks like I won’t need a blood transfusion
to fix my anaemia, as was suggested last month. And I've managed to regain the
20 pounds or so I pretty much excreted during that little spell on the campylobacter
diet back in May. I'm less pleased with that one: after all that, can't I at
least keep the weight-loss?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, it was all looking about right, so with no other impediment I
went back on the poison on Wednesday morning. And it was OK.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A spot of encouragement for anyone reading this who's heading for the
same treatment: it does get better. I've now had five of six rounds of adjuvant
chemo and, while it hasn't always been easy going, it hasn't generally been all
that bad.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This last one has been fine, or at least a good as can be expected. I
felt almost no ill-effects for the first four days of the five-day course, just
a spot of tiredness on Friday afternoon. I was knackered yesterday (Sunday) and
this morning (Monday) and have slept for most of both days, but that has been
all. Given the horror stories I hear of people receiving intravenous chemo, I'm
happy with my little exhaustion pills.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last month's was similarly easy, except the tired days were two and
three. May was bad, but that was because the campylobacter got to do me over
while the chemo held my immune system's arms – it was unfortunate, but not an
inevitability. April was the first on the highest dose – 400mg of Temozolomide
daily for five days – and I didn't feel great, my stomach was irritated and I
had no energy, but it could've been worse. March, which was at a lower dose,
and the six weeks of daily dosing during the radiotherapy in January and
February, at a lower dose still, seemed to cause no side-effects at all.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, I still have one to go. I could react badly and have another May
all over again, but it seems improbable. More likely is that one of my various
levels could drop below the threshold at which I'm allowed to take the last
course; but even that seems unlikely now and, even if it happens, there seems
to be some doubt as to the value of the last couple of adjuvant rounds. Which
is hardly encouraging when you're gearing up for a five-day poisoning, but
there you go.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, that's in three weeks. In the meantime, I'm off the steroids as
of tomorrow morning, which is just as well because, although they helped keep
my brain smaller than my skull when I needed that doing, they are quite nasty
in other ways. Their withdrawal means no more Losec, though, and I will miss that; it'll be back to the chronic
indigestion and chomping Rennies for me, I suspect. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, sometime around late September, the next scan looms like a
monolith. But it will cast no shadow over the preceding weeks: I'm getting on
with stuff. Then we'll see what we will see.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it will be fine.</span></span></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-60503417837015526822012-07-17T22:58:00.000+01:002012-07-17T22:58:29.609+01:00Sing if you're glad to be second-class<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So here’s me feeling all pleased about living in a country where, at
least where public transport is concerned, there are no second-class citizens.
The elderly, the disabled, young people, and middle-aged chancers who’ve had
their licences taken off them just because of a spot of light brain surgery, can
all relax in the knowledge of free or discount travel by one form or another
across the land.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And then, less than 12 hours after <a href="http://pure-gns.blogspot.co.uk/2012/07/on-buses.html" target="_blank">blogging about how nice that is</a>, I
pick up The Herald to find one of Scotland's leading churchmen, Cardinal Keith O’Brien, <a href="http://www.heraldscotland.com/politics/political-news/cardinal-calls-for-gay-marriage-referendum.18161005" target="_blank">calling for a countrywide vote</a> to declare perhaps ten percent of our population
second-class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The leading celibate bachelor and relationships expert wants, he says, a
referendum on the gay marriage issue. And he’d like it before the independence
one, please, because providing a legal basis for letting people with imaginary
friends deprive another section of society of a right everyone else can enjoy
is apparently more of a burning issue than the vote which will either tear our
country apart or give us a new beginning in freedom (depending on where you
stand on that one).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ah, but… a referendum. That’s pretty democratic, isn’t it? Doesn’t that
mean the will of the people is decided once and for all?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No. It doesn’t. We have a representative political system. The
weapons-grade democracy of the referendum is reserved for the really big
constitutional issues, such as devolution and now independence. And there’s a
good reason for this. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Under a representative system we have elected politicians who make
everyday decisions on our behalf, based on a previously-declared agenda to
which they sometimes even stick, and every few years we get the chance to vote
for the candidates we feel are least likely to bugger all that up. It’s not a
perfect system, but no-one has really found a better one yet: a delegative
system (such as trades unions use) or even electronic direct voting on every
issue would be unworkable on a national scale - pretty soon, no-one would turn
up to the meetings or bother to click, and the extreme loonies who did make the
effort would be in charge. We’d have the streets lit by burning paedophiles
within three months.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People who call for referenda on the smaller stuff are usually not really
big fans of democracy - what they really want is a great big apathy or
ignorance-driven mandate to do something deeply unpleasant that they can’t get
done by normal means. Like declaring homosexuals second-class citizens.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And, make no mistake, that’s what Cardinal O’Brien wants. He wants to
deprive an adult, thinking, responsible, voting section of society of a right
or privilege extended automatically to the rest of us. Which means he wants the
law to say: "You are not as good as us, you do not deserve our rights, you
are second-class".<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He’s a man you’d think might have a little empathy with at least part of
the gay community, given that he eschews relations with the opposite sex and
goes to work in a dress. But he’s had a rummage in the Leviticus pick ’n mix,
and has adopted the bit which decides that homosexuals are abominations, but
not the bit which forbids you to wear a watch. (It’s "observe times",
actually: see <a href="http://etext.virginia.edu/etcbin/toccer-new2?id=KjvLevi.sgm&images=images/modeng&data=/texts/english/modeng/parsed&tag=public&part=19&division=div1">Leviticus 19:26</a> if you don’t believe me. The King James
version is quite clear.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">Of course, that's true of most flavours of Christianity (honourable
exceptions for the Quakers and United Reformed Church, here) including the
supposedly democratic, everybody-equal old Church of Scotland. The C of S is normally
willing to leave much up to the conscience of the individual worshipper or congregation - to the extent that there is an openly-gay minister in Aberdeen - but perhaps it
has been shaken by the recent departure of a <a href="http://www.heraldscotland.com/news/home-news/protest-over-gay-ordination.17666414" target="_blank">couple of ministers</a>
and a congregation, the <a href="http://www.heraldscotland.com/news/home-news/risk-of-legal-battle-over-city-church.17870799" target="_blank">Buchanan Street Bigots</a>
of Glasgow's St George's Tron, over that very issue. Whatever the Kirk's
reason, it's backing the Catholics on this one and has come out (so to speak) strongly against same-sex marriage. Selectively sifting Leviticus for sin.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d thoroughly recommend having a flick through Leviticus, it’s a right
riveting read. A bit heavy on the blood sacrifices in the beginning (a lot of bullocks) but it soon gets down to some good solid prohibiting: 'no' to
bacon, shellfish and rabbit, 'OK' to locusts and beetles (which must have been
a big old "gee thanks" moment for the Children of Israel); 'no' to
lighting joss sticks (two priests are immolated on the spot by fatherly old God
for that one) but 'OK' to… actually, there aren’t really many more OKs. It’s
pretty much "don’t" from there on in.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course, the Biblical argument against gay marriage isn’t the only one
being put forward. There’s a semantic one, too, that says the word "marriage"
strictly means a union between a man and a woman. A lot of people are hiding behind that one.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've checked a few online dictionaries, and this definition does seem to be correct. But
so what? English is a living language, we adapt the meanings of words all the
time: "gay" being a very good example. That’s why dictionaries are
regularly revised. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The status quo of calling gay unions "civil partnerships" is just not good
enough. Less than two months ago, I was married in a civil ceremony with no
religious content: the rights and benefits of my heterosexual wedding are
barely different from those endowed on a homosexual couple, except that they
cannot technically call themselves married, or call each other "husband"
or "wife". And that is effectively telling them that in the eyes of
the law, their union is worth less than mine, is second-class.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'm glad that the Scottish Cabinet decided today not to have a
referendum. I'm irritated that they thought the demand was even worth considering,
and disappointed that they didn't just go the whole hog and put forward a bill to
legalise same-sex marriage in <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:country-region w:st="on">Scotland</st1:country-region></st1:place>
once and for all, but that should come soon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And, when it does, it is likely to allow churches to refuse to carry out
gay weddings. I'm not so sure about that: it sounds like a reasonable
concession towards religious freedom until you try swapping the word
"gay" with, for example, "black". But since there are other
churches which will do it, and the option of civil marriage will be very much
open, perhaps it's enough for now.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One day at a time, sweet Jesus, and all that.</span></span></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-11633460821478806062012-07-16T00:35:00.000+01:002012-07-16T00:35:04.126+01:00On the buses<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One of the plus-points about having brain cancer is that I get a free
bus pass (the other is reduced hairdressing costs). It's quite handy: not worth
growing a glioblastoma for, but a useful thing to have. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It's mine because the DVLA won't let me have a driving licence at the
moment, for fear I should embark on another bout of side-on disco dancing, this
time at the wheel. Since I've only had the one fit, and that nine months ago
and before the tumour was cut out, I can't help feeling this is a bit
over-cautious. But there it is – no more vroom-vroom for me until a year after
the surgery.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the meantime I have a little blue card which gives me free bus travel
around <st1:country-region w:st="on">Scotland</st1:country-region>, and some
reductions on the <st1:city w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Glasgow</st1:place></st1:city>
tube and local trains. Annoyingly, it seems to be the same as the one my mum
gets for being a pensioner, but it also looks like a YoungScot card, so I'm
hoping people just think I had a hard paper round.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">While it's a little odd to be – for this purpose at least – technically disabled,
I use it daily. I actually quite like public transport; it provides a great
opportunity to catch up on podcasts, do a spot of reading, and ponder the great
issues of the day. You know, stuff like: does Tom and Katie's divorce
settlement allow him to take the wean to McDonald's on Saturdays as long as he
promises not to sacrifice her to his weird octopus god? (For fear of a
complaining call from John Travolta, I should probably point out here that I
don't actually think the Scientologists worship un-nameable Lovecraftian
horrors. I think they're <a href="http://www.independent.co.uk/opinion/faith/this-is-what-happens-when-scientologists-come-after-you-7923556.html" target="_blank">far more sinister than that</a>. )<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course, public transport has its downsides: the varying condition of
the fleet, from the comfy, wifi-enabled buses heading out west to the
cabbage-smelling boxes aiming east; other passengers and their fascinating
range of personal habits and conditions; happy, smiling Glasgow bus drivers
with an interesting concept of clutch control: <i>Wait, wait… right, he's just about half way up the stair… change down
hard!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And, of course, the vagaries of city traffic. Just the other -
particularly rainy - weekend, an apparently unreasonable attempt to get to
Queen Street Station by means of boarding a bus which purports to stop outside
it led to a major round trip thanks to "an obstruction in the road" (given
the date, I guess this was the Orange Lodges getting their flutes rusty further
into town).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"If youse are no' goin' tae the city centre," the driver
informed us. "Youse hud better get oaf here."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What luck, we thought. The city centre is exactly where we're going. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We stayed on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One tour of some of the more exciting parts of the south side and an unexpected
trip over the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clyde_Arc" target="_blank"><st1:placename w:st="on">Squinty</st1:placename> <st1:placetype w:st="on">Bridge</st1:placetype></a> later, the driver announced that a patch of
pavement-free road under the M8 was now the city centre, and that was where we were all getting off.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As we splashed our way through ankle-deep puddles among fast-moving,
rain-blinded traffic to negotiate a way into Anderston Station from the wrong
side, I reflected that we were lucky technology hasn't moved on further: <i>First
Wormholes wid like tae point out that because of an obstruction in the
quantum, youse'll all be getting' aff somewhere just outside o' space and time,
from where youse'll huvtae walk tae Buchanan Street.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It also occurred to me that, were I actually properly disabled, I would
be in a bit of bother right now - as opposed to just soaked up to the knees and
swearing at drivers coming off the Expressway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of course, I'm not. And since my haircut is now substantially less
medical than before, I don't look it, either. To be honest, I feel a little guilty
about having a bus pass; OK, I have a serious illness, but I'm mobile and
employed and can afford bus fares. In fact, I'm a little surprised at how
readily it's accepted, since I'm clearly over 26, equally clearly (I would
hope) under 65, obviously equipped with the standard number of operational
limbs and generally self-propelling. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Still, it's nice to live in a country which has decided that those who
need free public transport (and a few like me who don't really) should get it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I wonder if Richard Branson can be persuaded to launch his
<a href="http://www.heraldscotland.com/news/home-news/branson-on-board-for-space-flight.18127062" target="_blank">£128K-per-person near-space flights</a> from <st1:place w:st="on">Prestwick</st1:place>…</span></div>
<br />Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-7797882406916261372012-07-03T23:57:00.000+01:002012-07-04T08:24:33.013+01:00A scanner, loudly<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last week I had my head shoved in the big, bangy machine once more, and
I'm now waiting for the photies to come back from the chemist.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So to speak. It was my regular three-monthly MRI, and the first which
may or may not give any useful information about how the hole in the head's
getting on and, more importantly, if it's still empty. The hole, I mean. Not my
head.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've had a few of these now and they're getting almost routine.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First there's a series of standard questions about pacemakers, tattoos
and piercings (no thanks, never wanted any); artificial plates and limbs (just
the bits of titanium holding part of my skull on); can we pump you full of tracker
dye? (if you must); and do you mind if we stick your head in a great big
magnet? (go for it, it's what I came for).<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then it's off to try on the
fetchingly ill-fitting but firmly non-ferrous hospital jim-jams and to have an
equally iron-free spike shoved into my vein. This time, as Lou Reed
more-or-less sang, things weren't quite the same, because they got the cannula
in first time without the usual jagging about my upper limbs which always seems
to end up leaving me with multiple stab wounds, a massive bruise round the bit
they finally manage to get it into, and a huge wad of ultra-sticky tape across
the hairiest part of my arm. At least, what was up until that point the
hairiest part of my arm.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Apparently I have very elusive veins which see needles coming and leap
out of the way. Which I can't help feeling is eminently sensible for them, but
often ends up being a bit nippy for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's odd, because back when I was allowed to give blood every three
months, there never seemed to be a problem; although I suppose the nice people
at the Scottish National Blood Transfusions Service are vampirising folk all
day, every day, and have got pretty good at dealing with all sorts of venous
variations. (Incidentally, it really doesn't hurt, so if you feel you can fill in
for me now I'm not allowed to donate any more, please book yourself in via <a href="http://www.scotblood.co.uk/">www.scotblood.co.uk</a>.
They need 5000 donors a week in <st1:country-region w:st="on"><st1:place w:st="on">Scotland</st1:place></st1:country-region>
alone, and you might well save a life - maybe mine.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Equally, over at the Beatson's Clinical Research Unit, which has been
bleeding me regularly for the last six months in the name of medical science,
they're so good at it that I barely feel the needle going in. But everyone else
seems to have massive difficulty; from radiographers to registrars to locum
GPs, they either seem to have huge problems finding a vein which works, or just
have a good old stab away until they do. I've now found out for myself where
there are a couple of good 'uns, and I point them out as soon as anyone
approaches me with a Venflon.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This time, as I said, nae bother.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So with stylishly washed-out blue jammies in place, tap in arm, and a
final check for any old iron, I was off to spend over an hour lying dead still
in a very enclosed space.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">MRI machines are not terribly comfortable. They're quite narrow, not
really designed for the chunkier chap, so once I'm on the table I'm never very
sure what to do with my arms – and I become acutely aware that one of those now
has a tube in it, and my elbows can touch the sides, and I really have to try
to stop thinking about anything being pulled taut as the bench slides back
and forward. At least I'm not claustrophobic.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They're also very noisy, although you do get ear-plugs – usually just
before the radiographers ask their last-minute questions. You also get a sort
of frame thing over your head and then cushiony, spongey things are packed in
there round your ears. Apparently this is to keep your skull still in case you
fall asleep. There's nothing more disappointing than blurry photos.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I always do nod off. I've always been able to sleep just about
anywhere: in the past, any form of moving transport I wasn't actually driving
myself gave me an instant ticket to the land of nod; now I'm an enforced
passenger I seem to be getting used to that, but I'm now kipping off at café tables, since my
post-radiation/chemo/whatever fatigue, although much improved, is at the moment
kicking in around lunchtime. Being
inside a big, thumpy, magnetic tube seems to be equally soporific.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is A Good Thing, I reason, since I always seem to be in there for
absolutely ages: the radiographers give me some sense of time by waking me up
via intercom occasionally - I gather to tell me what they're doing next,
although it's hard to know thanks to the earplugs; they could equally be
informing me of their plan to shave something rude into the back of my
now-refoliating scalp while I sleep - but otherwise the tedious process passes
pretty quickly.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then the banging stops and I emerge feeling a bit dazed (since I've just
been woken up) and a bit uncomfortable about the cranial scar (since the head
packaging is pretty tight) but otherwise fine. Some people, I'm told, feel
tense and trapped through the whole experience; others don't like the dye going
in at half time. I just sleep through it, and I've never felt a thing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That was last Wednesday, and I've so far heard nothing from SupaSnaps.
Some day my prints will come.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But no news is good news, I reckon, since if the scan had shown anything
I'm pretty sure the Beatson would have been onto me sharpish to haul me in for
further jabbing and treatment. They react pretty quickly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since I've had no update, I'm taking it that I'll get a nice
"nothing there" result when I next see the consultant in a couple of
weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just before he tops up my poison levels once more. I'm not there to
enjoy myself.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-78972093920965082682012-06-24T21:09:00.001+01:002012-06-24T21:09:51.160+01:00That went pretty well. Now for the scary bit...<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, that wasn't at all bad. Sorry to disappoint anyone out
there looking for further tales of dehydration and high-velocity gastric
horror, but this round of chemo has pretty much gone as well as can be
expected.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">True, I took a couple of days off work, but that was more
through tiredness than anything else. And since I'm told I'm a little anaemic,
that's not surprising. I just slept to get through that. Other than that, it
hasn't gone badly at all.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I write this, on the evening of day five of five, I am
very tired. But that's about it. I've eaten normally throughout, and none of
the threatened nausea has manifested itself this time. No Saharan thirst, no
volcanic Simon Cowells. I feel I've had a bit of a result.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is my third round at the maximum dose of 400mg of
Temozolomide a day. Previous rounds at lower doses had no side effects, but my
first at 400mg in April hit me quite hard, leaving me tired, disturbed in the
gut, and generally knackered. May's was much worse, coupled as it was with a
cheeky wee dose of campylobacter, a normally fairly easily-squashed food poisoning bug which the immune-system reducing powers of the chemo allowed in by the back door to flatten me
for three weeks as it left violently by the same route.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this time has been fine. Day One, Wednesday, was no
problem at all and I was at work as normal; but that had been the pattern of
the previous two months, so I was still suspicious. On Thursday, I followed the chemo-consumer's instructions carefully: up early to take my anti-emetic, wait 45 minutes before popping the poison (the rules say "at least 30 minutes", but I like to
be on the safe side), then wait another 45 minutes before eating and taking my
usual daily drugs (Keppra and Losec and dex, oh my!); then it was a case of
waiting. After another 45 minutes or so I felt a bit shattered and rather unsure of
what my innards were planning, so I called in sick. But as it turned out I simply
slept for a big chunk of the day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Friday was much the same. Saturday was better – I went to my
cousin's wedding without serious incident. And she did, as promised, donate her favours money
to the Beatson - £200, no less, which is a lot of sugared almonds. Thanks Gael,
and all the best to you and Robert.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today has been fine. I was out at the allotment – admittedly
sitting in a chair supervising Clare (I love gardening, I could watch it all
day) – but still, I was there. I even planted some garlic. The plot's looking
great, we're getting some crops in, and there was massive amusement to be had
from the shape of some of the carrots. Esther Ranzen realised it way back: give
the great British public some campaigning consumer journalism and a singalong
and they'll love you; show them a rude vegetable, and you'll stay in work for
20 years. I even made it to my niece's 11<sup>th</sup> birthday party and
endured a squeal (I believe that's the collective noun) of about a dozen
pre-teen girls without relapsing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I'm tired now. But it's Sunday night, I can sit and doze
in front of the telly. I have no more chemo to take, and I feel pretty good.
Tomorrow should be a normal Monday.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is one more milestone this week. On Wednesday I have
to go in to the Southern General for my second MRI since the zapping stopped.
This is the first of these scans which may or may not be able to give any
useful information about the state of the hole in my head. The first really
only mapped out the radiation damage around it. This is the first which might
show whether anything nasty is trying to make a return.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a little bit scared about that. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should put that in perspective… I'm trepidatious, rather than
wracked with anxiety. I don't really expect anyone to find anything. First,
because it's still quite early to tell – this might be the first one which can
show more than the radiation damage, but it might not – and second, and most
importantly, because it's just early; people do die quickly from this cancer,
but I'm not planning to. I'm relatively young, relatively strong, and I'm
aiming for the decades rather than months end of the available scale.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, I feel better all the time. Bad reactions to the
chemo aside, I'm suffering less fatigue, working for longer, and generally
feeling that I can get on with things more.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That's got to be good. </span></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-831366733804848022012-06-20T09:23:00.001+01:002012-06-20T09:23:56.092+01:00Back on the venom-go-round<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh well, here we go again. Yesterday I picked up my bumper
bag of poisons from the pharmacy at the Beatson, this morning I started taking
them again. Could be fine, could be another five days of unpleasantness. We'll
see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I should have begun this round of chemo last week, but it
was deferred. My consultant said he was considering that anyway, to give me a
chance to fully recover from May's horrors, when the nastiness didn't stop
after five days but dragged on for a further three weeks courtesy of a wee food
poisoning bug called campylobacter. But when he saw my blood test results, it
was decided – although not terribly low, apparently they were below the
allowable threshold. No chemo for me that week.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This week I'm much better and up for a good old envenoming
once more. I'm a little anaemic, the nice registrar has confirmed, but not
enough to put it off further. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's harsh chemicals time.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It can't, I reckon, be as bad as last time. May's chemo not only burned its own trail of destruction, but kept my
immune system suppressed enough to allow a bug I would normally have swatted in
a few days get a proper hold to the full extent of its colon-tormenting
abilities. I'm back to normal, now – surely I only have the chemo to worry
about?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Well, as I said, we'll see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is always the chance I'll get through it with no
side-effects at all. I'm not betting on that one, but you never know. I had
none until I was moved onto this highest dose – 400mg of Temozolomide every day
for five days, if you're interested – and apparently you can get used to it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We'll see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That would be good. Just as last month's little episode gave
me some serious doubts about whether I was going to be able to attend my own
wedding standing up, this weekend my wee cousin gets married. Partly because of
me and partly because her husband-to-be has recently lost a relative to brain
cancer she has decided not to give out favours on her big day but to instead
donate the money to the Beatson. It's a generous sum, and I'm very grateful.
The least I can do in return is pop along and eat and drink at my aunt and
uncle's expense.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But, as I said, we'll see.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even if I don't just sail through the chemo, with the
campylobacter now battered out of my system I should at least expect to be back
to normal by Monday. Which would be good not only because I've really had
enough time off work recently as it is, but also because the following weekend
some friends of mine have also very generously decided to hold a benefit gig in
aid of the Beatson at GHA Rugby Club. It's a smallish affair, with only around
120 tickets, but they've already sold a lot of them for a suggested donation of
£10 a pop (if it's a donation rather than a price, the Beatson can claim Gift
Aid, too). Combined with a bit of a raffle, they should raise a very decent
amount indeed – they're aiming for £2000. Colin, Graham, and the rest of The
Ginhouse Rocks, I thank you. See their website <a href="http://www.theginhouserocks.com/">www.theginhouserocks.com</a> for ticket
info and a link to their JustGiving page for the Beatson.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which brings me to another point. <a href="http://www.justgiving.com/puregns" target="_blank">My own JustGiving page</a> is
currently sitting at £2550. With the proceeds from the gig, plus my cousin's
contribution, we'll be looking at increasing that by quite a lot – quite likely to well over £4000. The sums won't necessarily go through my page, but they will go
the Beatson, which is the important bit. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What would be really nice would be if anyone who enjoys this
blog - either on <a href="http://puregns.co.uk/" target="_blank">puregns.co.uk </a>or especially <a href="http://heraldscotland.com/">heraldscotland.com</a> readers – chips
in just a little, and we get the combined total up to £5000 this summer. That
would be a tremendous result.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We’ll see what you can do. I'm sure you can.</span></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5114516349797218555.post-10356472624426516162012-06-09T18:35:00.000+01:002012-06-09T18:35:12.236+01:00Living the dream<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been living the dream. Oh, yeah.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Didn't put my heart and soul into getting it, didn't spend
my entire life thinking only of it, didn't need it, didn't in fact under any
circumstances want it. But I've been living it nonetheless.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recurring nightmares are a bugger. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This one went like this: I'd have this terrible thirst of
mouth-cracking, throat-gumming, Saharan proportions, but I'd also have a pint tumbler
and a nice cold water tap, so all I had to do was draw myself a nice,
refreshing glass; except when I did, however deeply I drank, my thirst would
remain unquenched. I'd drink more and more and more, but I'd just get thirstier
and thirstier.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’d had that one occasionally for years. I Googled it
recently and there are all sorts of theories about its meaning. All mad, of
course: what it in fact meant was that I'd been sleeping with my mouth open and
what I needed was the actual real-life glass of water I keep at my bedside; a
quick sip and I'd go comfortably back to sleep. So much for dream
interpretation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thing is, for a couple of weeks there, much of my waking
hours were like that. I had a terrible thirst, but drinking water wasn’t
helping much in quenching it; I remained bone-dry and anyway felt a bit too ill
to drink very much, or eat anything at all. I was also weak, and tired, and
really pretty floored by high-velocity diarrhoea which looked like a
petrochemical by-product and left the Simon Cowells feeling like they’d been
skelped from the inside. Sorry for that image.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It all kicked off on day two of my most recent chemo, of
course, so that would be the cause of that. Not nice, but just another three
days, and all would be well…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">By the following Monday, after a pretty rough weekend, I’d
been off the chemo for 24 hours, and if anything felt worse. Tuesday was no
better, and Wednesday wasn’t too great either. This was getting a bit worrying,
partly because I wasn’t certain the human body should be able to pass that much
effluent without having first taken anything in, but mainly because I was getting
married on the Friday and felt I should probably be there for that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was trying manfully to pull myself together with the aid
of groaning and Imodium, set in long periods of inactivity punctuated by very
short bursts of extremely urgent action, but Clare did the sensible thing and
called the Beatson, who told me to keep taking the Imodium but to get to my GP
for blood tests, and start taking this stuff called Dioralyte which apparently
rebalances your sugars and salts and lets you rehydrate. Marvellous stuff. I
instantly stopped being thirsty for the first time in over a week and felt so
much better.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So we got married, you’ll be pleased to know, without
incident. My innards decided to forever hold their peace, which was nice of
them.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was a lovely afternoon: just us, our parents and siblings
plus a registrar in one of Glasgow’s plusher West End hotels (true, most of us
are southsiders and some from Lanarkshire, but we got a special visa as long as
we promised to go back again). The whole ceremony was over in about 15 minutes
so we could get down to the important eating and drinking part from lunchtime. It
went well.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Marriage wasn’t necessarily something we’d thought we’d do;
Clare for feminist reasons and me because I had no desire to seek validation for
my life choices in the dubious eyes of the state or the non-existent eyes of
God. But it suddenly seemed right, so we just did it anyway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I didn’t really pop the question; in fact Clare did. Just after midnight on the 21<sup>st</sup> floor of a Gran
Canarian hotel overlooking a concrete skate park, on a balcony with a pretty low balustrade
and the light behind her. I felt I should say “yes”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So I did, and we did it. We’ve been married a fortnight now
and it’s great. We’ve already had a luxurious night at Marr Hall at Bishopton, and
there will be some kind of honeymoon and a belated stag do later in the year.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m feeling a lot better, too. Not entirely back to normal –
I lost more than 20lbs very quickly through this particular experience, and
that takes its toll, even on those of us who can afford it – but pretty much.
Seems I had some kind of common food poisoning bug on top of the usual chemo horror,
and it’s running its course.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which is good. Because I’m back on the anti-cancer poison
from Wednesday. Wish me luck.</span></div>Graeme N Smithhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17087192351624340057noreply@blogger.com1