The level of confusion, for want of a better word is amazing. On the one hand, it is good news. Let the chemicals run through their routine and exit the system.

Take a couple of months off to reassess the situation.

Ponder the meaning of life.

Start working on all my projects.

Keep away from the routine of the hospital.

Janet was talking the other day about this situation. You start on this adventure in a bit of a daze. You ask a bunch of questions. According to Janet I was asking my fair share of questions. Except that I was repeating my questions. I was getting answers and repeating the same questions. As I said, in a bit of a daze.

You acquiesce to the advice given by the doctors. Specially if you like them. They seem to know what they are doing. Dr. Heldey has a huge collection of articles to his credit. Surely, he knows a lot of stuff about colon cancer and its metastasized state. He is very reassuring. All we can do is follow his advice.

There is a lot of talk of alternatives to the traditional medicines. There are no proofs, just a lot of information. It is very hard to sift through all the information. We have discovered that you tend to make sense of the information as time goes by, as the need arises to make sense of things. So much of the information is anecdotal. We have no idea if people are responding to the medication, the alternative choices, or not.

I have always maintained that I will not live just for the sake of living. I will not go through a regime that seems to be more work than it is worth. What price is life worth living for? All this work and you live an extra two years. Is it worth it? Probably to the people around you, but not for the person going through the chronic condition. At least not to this one. I keep reading about people going through all sorts of programs to live longer. Why the compulsion to live at any cost?

The health network has looked after me for the past year. Diagnosis, operation, Chemo. Everyone looking after the chronic. With a smile, a laugh and a hug. You, the chronic are being looked after by all these people. The chronic is not doing anything, while things are done to him. We are a bit powerless. Go to the hospital, give blood, get Chemo. Make sure you have taken your drugs before the Chemo. Go home, sleep, rest, make the best of the situation.

We have to move now from having things done to us to deciding what we need to do for ourselves. We have to follow through with some of the stuff we have been reading about. Make sense of all the messages we are getting. Again, sift through everything and make decisions.

I find the situation very confusing. Again not sure if that is the right word. I have a lot of projects to work through, a lot of time to figure things out.

I have been very disturbed since the last CT-Scan results. We were progressing in such amazing ways that the sudden stop has been very unsettling. We knew it was coming. Everybody stop reacting to their Chemo cocktail at some point. 17 Chemo sessions is a lot to put the body through and expect stellar results. At some point the body just gives up and stops reacting. I am there.

The repercussions of this are not known. We live day by day not expecting much. This is not a negative feeling. You just have to learn to appreciate all things at all times.

I was lying in bed last night when the visual of walking along a precipice presented itself. I imagine a whole bunch of us walking along this precipice not daring to look down. Some stones crumble off the edge as we take our walks and fall silently into the unseen depths below us. A bit of our life chipping away? Fewer days ahead?

The edge of the precipice is crowded. Some are closer to the edge, others further up the small hill that abuts the precipice. We are all milling about, recognising some faces, talking, making new friends, contemplating, sitting in silence. We lose someone occasionally as the ground beneath them crumbles taking them in the void below. Some people congregate taking solace in the crowd, others stray farther afield treasuring their solitude. Yet others remain close to the entrance hoping against hope for a way out. The nature of the crowd changes continuously.

People move towards the precipice, as life is coming to a close, then back off as they are given a reprieve of sorts, more time. Time for whatever you think deserves it.

In the distance you see a wall behind which there are suitcases and backpacks and purses and containers. Everyone comes here with their baggage, real or imagined. They topple to their fate leaving it all behind. It accumulates gathering dust, rotting into the ether, a reminder of sorts. I will let your imagination sort that one out. There are tags on everything identifying the owner, some still with us, others long gone. The dust of time hangs heavy in the air. No one ventures further in.

Should you dare look down into the precipice, you will see nothing. Deep, cavernous, never ending, the sides shrouded in mist. People toppling over in silence. No screams or shouts of surprise at the fall. If you listen carefully, you might hear a heavy grateful sigh. A soul leaving the body perhaps, a sigh of gratification maybe.

There is a sense if resignation amongst the crowd. No one has given up. There is no sadness. The inevitable fall is staring us in the face. Yet, we mingle, compare notes, talk, laugh and make the best of it. No longer a question of why but rather one of when?

The first did not have an answer, and the second is no better.

A number of you have been asking about the results following the original post. I received the results the other day and have not called the oncologist yet. He is not so much a numbers man, as a wellness doctor. As long as you seem to be doing well, he is happy. I seem to be doing well.

The numbers are on the positive side. All down or neutral. Not down by as much as the last scan, but down is a good thing.

I have to call him to get some clarifications. I had tumours on my pelvic bone, my lungs, and both sides of the liver. The results show the liver tumours to have gotten smaller. These are the ones that concern the oncologist the most.

He almost ignores the others. As long as the liver is responding, the others must be too.

I will call him.

Chemo starts anew next Thursday. Yay!

It was bound to happen this way.

We met with the oncologist, the ever lovable Dr David Hedley. The results are not in. It takes apparently 5 radiologists to come up with the results. They consult and deliberate to make sure the results are accurate. Love them for it.

We should have the results by Monday coming and will report accordingly.

I went to give blood this morning. All is good. The nurses in the blood clinic were delighted to see me. This is very bizarre. I have great admiration for the nurses. They have a difficult job. We are all sick and tired and in a foul mood. Some are depressed, others whatever. The nurses have to smile and keep us going, their own problems set aside.

One of my nurses has a three year old who had a cold last week. She is doingbetter this week, and has decided to share her cold with her mother.

The other nurse is getting married this May She is all stressed out by the planning. She has two children.

Talking to people helps calm nerves and reveals so much about them. They have issues and burdens. We should take a bit of time to talk to them to relieve some of the tension.

I love these women to bits.

Went to see Dr. Kennedy today. She was delighted to be the first to give the results of the CT-Scan as well as CEA blood test numbers. The CT-Scan results are outlined below. As you can see, a huge drop in the size of the tumours.

Janet and I were both a bit overwhelmed by the information and under-reacted, to say the least. Went out for lunch to celebrate. And cried. And hugged. And cried some more.

I have come to the conclusion that it is the crying that expels the cancer cells.

The CEA blood count is also down rather dramatically, from 1266. on November 18, to 392.9 on December 16. All pointing to a move in the right direction.

That is all I can write for now.

All sizes in cm 16-Nov-09 11-Jan-10 %
Liver 21.10 14.80 29.86%
Segment 7 8.20 6.20 24.39%
Segment 8 6.70 4.70 29.85%
Segment 3 2.40 1.40 41.67%
Segment 5/8 3.80 2.50 34.21%
Lung 1.60 1.00 37.50%
Right Lung Base 1 0.80 0.40 50.00%
Right Lung Base 2 0.80 0.60 25.00%

Surprise! We get Avastin today. Dr. Hedley feels that enough time has gone by for me to have healed. Damn the creation of blood vessels. Full steam ahead. We searched the web for the side effects of Avastin. It includes just about anything that is not included with the other drugs. name it, and it [...]

© 2010 I Have Cancer Suffusion theme by Sayontan Sinha