F5

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A reminder that my sister in law and nephew are raising funds for BEATING BOWEL CANCER, taking part in the BUPA  Great Birmingham Run. I’d really appreciate any donation however small, as recognition for the support I’ve had from my family and the Beating Bowel Cancer Charity. There’s not much time left, Sunday 21st October. Please let’s get Jenny to her target….and beyond. Donations can be made here ~ thank you J

https://mydonate.bt.com/fundraisers/jennyhagues1

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There should be a rant and rave of nonsense and manic writing here. There have not been many times when I’ve looked back at my writing and discarded my thoughts and ramblings, but on this occasion I’ll spare you trouble of reading a couple of pages of pointlessness. The weekend, post chemo. was manic, to the extent that at times I was unsure myself as to what I was doing. Friday meant I was back at The Christie, and after the scans and x-rays, chemo went ahead. Whatever it was that caused pain the day before had gone. The scans showed no blockages or leaks in the tube in my chest. I had planned to go out Friday night, but the nap I opted for on my return from hospital turned into a five hour sleep, and by the time I awoke, it was too late, and I was in no mood for Friday joviality. I’d been looking forward to it for weeks, but I know that planning ahead is pointless when things can change so quick. I can deal with the erratic sleep, the nausea, the fatigue, but the interference with normality is often difficult to come to terms with.

By the time I should have been meeting up I was barely in the mood for getting out of bed never mind getting dressed and going out. I knew that despite feeling rough, that was going to be all the sleep I was getting for a while, and it would be another 8 hours before I would be able to shut my eyes and forget about how rough I was feeling. There is a small alcove where my bed goes, with just enough room to prop my head up while I’m lying on my side. The effects of surgery still mean I can’t sit on my bum for any length of time, so the alcove comes in handy at various times during the night, I can fall asleep there easily, too easily really, it always results in a cricked neck as I fall asleep propped up against the alcove. Even more uncomfortable when you’ve also got a chemo pump attached. When I awoke mid morning it seemed like I’d been possessed, I needed to do everything, but could achieve nothing. I wasn’t even sure what it was I was supposed to be doing but by the time I had finished all I had done was build a tower of confusion. The electric bill needed paying, letter from hospital (yes it arrived) speak to Lew, emails that needed to be sent, dinner to prepare (even though I wasn’t eating), tidying up, washing, ironing, clothes to put away. By the time I realised I had lost control the damage had been done. As could be expected, after every high comes a low, and even though you know you are sinking into a depression, it doesn’t make it any easier. Well actually it does, especially when you know it’s only temporary. I returned to bed for the rest of the day, buried myself in self pity waiting for the chemicals to work their way through my body and release me back into the real world. The postman brought the all important letter from North Manchester Hospital, bilateral thoracotomy resection and right hepatectomy, not at the same time thankfully, although the thought of having to go through two major operations is quite daunting. Before Glastonbury as well, nothing like a challenge. The different interpretation of the MRI scans is interesting. The liver team think that the lesion in section II of my liver is now barely visible after chemotherapy, resulting in their decision for a one stage procedure. I think I need more explanation of their reasons for this when I see them, barely visible doesn‘t mean gone. What are they going to do with it? They can’t just leave it there because they can’t see it. The two tumours on my lungs are now clearly identified, one upper left lung, one lower right lung. The liver team envisage these both respectable, but the final decision on that is down to the thoracic surgeon. Don’t let me down now, I need both sets of surgeons to agree to surgery before either of them will go ahead individually. For the time being the chemical bombardment is over. I’m left defenceless, just the last dregs of chemo working on my rouge cells for the last time in a while. I’m hoping the next dose will be post operative rather than palliative.

I was still awake at 3am Sunday morning, knowing I had to be up and ready for the Glastonbury ticket sale at 9am. It never gets any easier, quite the opposite. I remember when you used to be able to waltz into your local record store and buy your ticket. The frustration and panic takes over. F5, F5, F5. Even with five of us trying it wasn’t happening. Then in the nick of time came the message, purchase confirmed. Glastonbury 2013 here we come ! It couldn’t have been closer, confirmation came through just as the ‘sold out’ apology went out cross the internet. The relief was tremendous, a tinge of excitement was allowed thinking of what was to come. It’s heart breaking to see so many of my friends who have not managed to get tickets though. Gutted for them. Tickets sold out in record time, 1h 40 minutes. I suppose it’s usual after a fallow year that demand will be so much higher, it happened to me in 2007 and I ended up working there rather than having to miss the festival altogether. What’s so annoying is that a large proportion of tickets will have gone to people who don’t really appreciate what it’s all about, and my friends who love and breath the festival 24/7 will not be going. I wish them all good luck for the resale in spring. Anyone who knows me, or has followed my blog from the beginning will know what Glastonbury Festival means to me, this is what I’ve been working towards since I was diagnosed, not being able to go would be unthinkable. It’s not a festival, it’s a pilgrimage. A lot has happened since I was last there, I didn’t imagine for one minute that things would end up quite so serious, but hey we’ve got this far, and now I can relax knowing that at the end of it  I’ll be sitting in a field where the last thing on my mind will be cancer, well for six days anyway. I wonder if they’ll show the football ?

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This entry was posted in 5-FU, Avastin, Be Clear On Cancer, Beating Bowel Cancer, Bowel Cancer, Bowel Cancer UK, Cancer, charities, chemotherapy, Dexamethasone, Festivals, Glastonbury, Hickman line, Liver, Manchester, Metastatic Bowel Cancer, Music, Oldham, Saddleworth, Springhead, Steroids, The Christie, Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to F5

  1. Sandy L says:

    I always look forward to reading your messages. You inspire me as I am going through loadsof bad stuff. for the last three years it seems as if its been one sstep forward and two steps back. Please keep up the good work. You just seem to take it on the chin and get on with it. My prayers are with you. Sandy L.

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