2012 and All That

The final post-RT appointment with Dr Ball at the end of November was a low key affair. Apart from the fact that the clinic was running 2 hours late so we were wretched by the time we got to see him (and I don’t suppose he was feeling particularly jaunty), there wasn’t really much to say. Apparently I should have had a chest x-ray, but it doesn’t matter that I hadn’t. It probably wouldn’t have shown anything, anyway.

I had a physical exam, and a chat concerning my interminable anxieties about the length of time I’m taking to recover. Dr Ball said the normal time to recover from the RT I’ve had would be between 4 and six weeks. Later he revised this to between 6 and 8 weeks.

As I write this, it’s been eight weeks, and although I’m starting to recover, I’m still not there yet. My 5-minute walk has been expanded to 15 minutes and then to 20, and I’m getting my breath back more easily afterwards: but if I try and do anything else in my day – like put the shopping away, or empty the washing machine and hang up the clothes – it’s too much. Still, I will improve, and it seems as though clinically, this adventure is finally over, bar routine check-ups. No dramatic announcements this time, like there was at the start.

Travel Hell - Cancer is expensive.

It’s hard to remember back to when I was last fit and well (but unknowingly harbouring an uninvited guest). One sunny Wednesday in April I was worrying over whether we need a new garden shed, hoping the runner beans would germinate and trying to fit in a quick visit to the GP because of an annoying cough. That evening I was admitted to hospital with a massive growth of indeterminate origin in my chest, and on the following Monday was told I (possibly) had a sarcomatiod cancer, median life expectancy 9 months.

The shock and horror was epic. It was too much to take in. I flip-flopped between denial: there had been some kind of ghastly mistake – they’d got my notes confused with some other Carol (despite the fact that I’d seen the X-ray, CT scan and ultrasound) : and being certain I was going get horribly ill and die within months. That this would be my last summer. That I was going to have to leave Godfrey all alone. It was much too much to deal with, and yet I couldn’t just let go of life and deal with my (our) emotions, there were practical things which needed sorting.

The first and most important was, who to tell? And when? Clearly while the diagnosis was still provisional there was no need to alarm anyone. Equally clearly, some people had to know: I wasn’t remotely fit for work, my brain was all over the place and I was prone to well up with tears at random moments. So I told my colleagues. Also, I had private AT clients booked, they had to be unbooked and where necessary, given an alternative practitioner’s name and number. But I wanted to keep the need-to-know group as small as possible, until I had some definite news to report.

This put me in the invidious position of lying to my other friends and family. Mum would ring from time to time, and say “How are you?” and I’d answer, “Fine, how are you?” We’d chat about normal, inconsequential things and all the time I just wanted the conversation to end, because I was fretting that I was missing a call from the hospital.

I was expecting imminent surgery followed by chemo and radiotherapy. I thought that, in the event that something were to go wrong during surgery, it wouldn’t be fair for Godfrey to have to deal with the fall out all alone. So after a few days, I told one of my brothers what was going on. Bill was a tower of strength, support and level-headedness throughout. Finally, after getting wills and powers of attorney done, and after seeing an oncologist who confirmed it was cancer, I found the strength to tell my remaining friends and family. And I started this blog, both to keep them informed and to give me a sense of control.

Did I get it right? Did I say the right thing in the right order to the right people? No doubt I could have done things better, but I was stressed. On the plus side, I’ve learned some things: life is short, good health is not guaranteed, help is there when I need it, ready meals have come on a long way in the last few years, and I am sufficiently narcissistic to write a blog.

The odd thing is, when I was in the midst of all the panic a sort of cleft opened up in my mind between the known world and the unknown: metaphysical ideas and thoughts ran around crazily in my brain. What is the purpose of life? Why are we here? Is there a God, what is the purpose of prayer, how do you distinguish between good and evil, is there a justification for animal experimentation in medicine, should I welcome Fate with a warm smile and a hug or put on full armour and fight it with all my might, what is happiness…..you get the idea. But I couldn’t deal with any of these concepts, my brain was panicky and overfull.

I realised I hadn’t seriously contemplated any of these things for decades. Been too busy. What I needed was a time when I was running around less, when I could actually give my attention to questions like these. Now, at last, I have such a time. My brain has recovered from its post-operative and post-RT fuzziness, but my body is lethargic and weary so I’m not back at work yet. I have oodles of free time. No imminent threats. I have all the leisure I could wish for.

Ironically though, the cleft seems to have healed over: without the stress hormones flooding my brain, my ability to even contemplate these big questions seems to have vanished under a layer of much more prosaic thoughts like: what is the point of democracy when all parties sign up to the same agenda once elected, and: what shall we have for tea? Without the Grim Reaper lurking nearby at the margins of my vision, it seems my ability (or desire) to focus on the big questions has faded away. Is this because I’m shallow, or because I’m human?

But of course, death hasn’t really gone away. He’s just stepped back a pace or two out of sight. He is waiting. My number will be up, today or tomorrow or thirty years from now. If there’s things I need to think, or do, or contemplate, I’d better get started.

I plan to keep the blog going, with updates as and when I have check-ups and scans and so forth, but I really hope there will be nothing else of note to report. However there are other projects I have in mind which I might publish here from time to time, once I am back to full health.

In the meantime, Merry Christmas to you all, and I wish you a happy and healthy 2013!