For those of you who have asked the question 'How do you adjust to/cope with/come to terms with the knowledge that you have a terminal illness?', I think the considered answer must be, 'by degrees'. You may think, more than two years on since I was first given the news, that I'd be reconciled to the idea by now - but I am still insulated from reality.
So there are times, such as now, today, when I simply can't take in what is happening to me, when a sense of sheer incredulity takes over.
I 'know' that my life must be under threat because I hear people, skilled, well-paid, difficult-to-reach people, tell me so in a matter-of-fact way. It is implicit, rather than explicit, deduced by reference to the dwindling list of treatment options, the reported growth in nodules, the limited time-efficacy of drugs.
I know too, because I write a blog that people read, (or at the very least, visit) and then there are the concerned enquiries from friends and relatives - and so, my difficult-to-extinguish hope that this is all a mistake, or a dream, is unsustainable, in error.
The most recent reminder of my plight arrived yesterday.- but first, I need to take you back to my previous blog.
If you recall (I know there are other issues in your life, so forgive the reprise) my last CT scan revealed growth in the nodules/lymph node/tumour - these terms appear interchangeable at times - and as a result my oncologist recommended a shift from one to another, equally unpronounceable, drug. I was due to sign the consents the following week and we duly returned fully expecting to do so.
However, Diana raised at this follow-on appointment, the question of a different treatment for kidney cancer, one pioneered by the Christie Hospital in Manchester; immunotherapy. She had first mentioned this approach two years ago but our consultant had deftly dismissed it in favour of oral drug therapy.
Two years later, he responded differently, saying that should we wish him to make a referral he would be happy to email the consultant in Manchester. We asked for a few hours to research and discuss before getting back to him later the same day.
To agree to a referral seemed a 'no-brainer' - there was nothing to be lost from gaining further information and a second opinion. So, the referral was requested by us and following a few days in Norfolk with the family, we returned to find an appointment had been made.
The date was yesterday's.
In the early morning, we joined the other teeming 'car-cells' and moved up the M6 hoping to avoid a haematoma in this artery well-known for its sclerotic condition. We reached the hospital in good time, thanks to the navigational skills of GPS, and after giving bloods and having my first-ever ECG, we met the consultant.
I won't bore you with the details but the upshot was that 'the Prof' as he is soubriqueted, considered that I was in the category most likely to gain from the treatment programme. The tantalising, if statistically remote, prospect of a 'cure' - never on offer with targeted drug therapy - was held aloft and eagerly examined but for such a glittering prize there is of course a high price to be paid.
Like Indiana Jones, in the Temple of Doom, I have to dodge the many potential and strikingly unpleasant side effects. The therapy works through the repeated intravenous infusion of a natural protein that supplements the body's own immune system, stimulating it to make killer T-cells that attack the tumour.
Patients are hospitalised for five days in two phases separated by two weeks recovery followed by eight weeks recovery. A CT scan follows before the next full cycle. If a patient is benefitting from the programme, there may be as many as four full cycles, spanning something like a year in duration.
So, there's a decision to be made - and speedily. I have already been off all cancer medication for six weeks. I know what those close to me are thinking but they all say that ultimately, the choice is mine. You are probably thinking along similar lines.
Meanwhile, I have been shocked to discover - or is that rediscover? - that I have a life-threatening condition.
Writing to you helps me to process the fact. Thank you.
