It was back to the Christie this morning to register on the trial. This was a drug that is being trialed at the moment that somehow cuts off the blood supply to the cancer cells. I've no idea how that works, and it doesn't matter now as I'm not eligible. My cancer was initially diagnosed as ulcerous and this trial drug has the potential to make ulcers bleed which is not good. So I'm not on the trial drug.
Which means I'm to press on with normal chemo treatment.
So pop a reminder in your diary for next Thursday 6th December, where I'll be off to the Christie for an 8 hour infusion of my first chemo treatment, followed by a 3 week supply of chemo tablets to take home with me.
I'll not blog anything until then, maybe not till Friday 7th, but you're all out there praying and thinking of me, which is very appreciated. A massive thanks to everyone on Facebook and Twitter that has sent me messages of support, and all you phoning and texting me support too. It really is keeping my spirits up, so don't stop or think I'm not appreciative.
I'm off to get some miles in on the bike before I feel like shit :)
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
The Christie
It's seems like ages ago that I was diagnosed with Stomach cancer, but in fact its only been 41 days. In that time we've had some major downs and a few little ups. My prognosis has gone from: cancer! I'm going to die! to: No, hang on, it's operable and relatively easy to beat.
Today I found out that in fact it's going to be a very hard battle. The doctor at the Christie, Dr Mansoor, spelt it out very straight and forthright. He said that surgeons have a way of looking on the bright side of things, and it's his job to set the record straight and lay the cards on the table. I've been dealt a shit hand.
My cancer is a type 3/4. 4 is the worst. It's also in my lymph nodes which makes it even worse. On a scale of survival, I'm at the bottom, something like this:
T1 95% survival
T2 65%
T3 20%
T4 4%
Lymph node spread reduces each of the above by about 20%.
I'm between T3 and T4. As you can imagine, this is a bloody shock. After dropping that little bombshell, Dr Mansoor then told me I'm eligible for a trial of a new cancer drug. He outlined the pros and cons of the trial and that there was no pressure to take part in the trial.
I'm going to take part in it.
So my next year is going something like this.
I'm back at the Christie tomorrow for confirmation of the trial involvement, I've then to have a heart and lung test and also further blood tests to ensure I'm eligible for the trial drug.
The trial drug is to be given alongside my normal regime of chemo and surgery, so that doesn't affect my chemo or surgery, it just adds to it.
I should start on chemo in around 10 days, with the first injection of chemo and the trial drug taking place over an 8 hour period on the first day. I will then take tablets of chemo over the next 3 weeks. As soon as one course of chemo is finished, I'll go back to the Christie and start all over again for 3 weeks, with no break, then once more, totalling 9 weeks of non-stop chemo and trial drugs.
I'll then get a chemo break for around 5 weeks to recover prior to the surgery. Hopefully by this time the cancer will be reduced significantly in size prior to its removal. I'll then have a further 6 - 10 week break while I heal and adapt to having no stomach etc, then start the chemo cycle all over again.
Boy am I looking forward to that fucking journey :(
I drove to the Christie this morning with a little spring in my step and a real sense of being able to beat this shitter. I knew there was going to be hair loss and feeling tired and sick and all that usual cancer bullshit you see and hear about, and I was more than ready to take all that on.
Now though, I feel I've been hit with a bloody great big hammer right across my head. It really has knocked me for six. I know I've got an amazing family behind me, and some cracking mates to help me through this, but at the time of writing, I'm scared shitless.
Today I found out that in fact it's going to be a very hard battle. The doctor at the Christie, Dr Mansoor, spelt it out very straight and forthright. He said that surgeons have a way of looking on the bright side of things, and it's his job to set the record straight and lay the cards on the table. I've been dealt a shit hand.
My cancer is a type 3/4. 4 is the worst. It's also in my lymph nodes which makes it even worse. On a scale of survival, I'm at the bottom, something like this:
T1 95% survival
T2 65%
T3 20%
T4 4%
Lymph node spread reduces each of the above by about 20%.
I'm between T3 and T4. As you can imagine, this is a bloody shock. After dropping that little bombshell, Dr Mansoor then told me I'm eligible for a trial of a new cancer drug. He outlined the pros and cons of the trial and that there was no pressure to take part in the trial.
I'm going to take part in it.
So my next year is going something like this.
I'm back at the Christie tomorrow for confirmation of the trial involvement, I've then to have a heart and lung test and also further blood tests to ensure I'm eligible for the trial drug.
The trial drug is to be given alongside my normal regime of chemo and surgery, so that doesn't affect my chemo or surgery, it just adds to it.
I should start on chemo in around 10 days, with the first injection of chemo and the trial drug taking place over an 8 hour period on the first day. I will then take tablets of chemo over the next 3 weeks. As soon as one course of chemo is finished, I'll go back to the Christie and start all over again for 3 weeks, with no break, then once more, totalling 9 weeks of non-stop chemo and trial drugs.
I'll then get a chemo break for around 5 weeks to recover prior to the surgery. Hopefully by this time the cancer will be reduced significantly in size prior to its removal. I'll then have a further 6 - 10 week break while I heal and adapt to having no stomach etc, then start the chemo cycle all over again.
Boy am I looking forward to that fucking journey :(
I drove to the Christie this morning with a little spring in my step and a real sense of being able to beat this shitter. I knew there was going to be hair loss and feeling tired and sick and all that usual cancer bullshit you see and hear about, and I was more than ready to take all that on.
Now though, I feel I've been hit with a bloody great big hammer right across my head. It really has knocked me for six. I know I've got an amazing family behind me, and some cracking mates to help me through this, but at the time of writing, I'm scared shitless.
Wednesday, 21 November 2012
Happy Birthday!
45 today, hurrah :)
Thought I'd never make it since being diagnosed with cancer in some peoples eyes is an instant death sentence Obviously that's not the case these days at all. I fully intend to beat this thing and recover fully on the other side. It's going to be a long journey though, which I've already started with various tests and meetings over the last month. There's a lot going on around cancer and the care of people with it. I've been to the excellent Beechwood centre three times now, most recently this week to be introduced to their eight week program for cancer patients. They run an excellent service where you go in from early morning and basically learn various relaxation techniques also relaxation therapies. I'm looking forward to a bit of acupuncture.
I've also been referred by my GP to the PARiS scheme run by stockport councils sports department. This enables you to get (keep) fit at your local gym with the help of a qualified instructor during the term of your treatment. Basically a personal trainer will assess your fitness, listen to your goals and tailor a workout to your personal needs. I'm back in tomorrow, Thursday, for my assessment.
Finally, today I went to the dentist. Yep, happy birthday, you've got a dental appointment :( However, after my check up today, all is well. Apparently your gums can take a bit of a beating during chemo, so the check up is to make sure they're in good condition before I start.
I'm pretty much all ready to go. I've just got to finish my course of antibiotics for a chesty cough I've picked up off the rest of the family, and we're good.
On a sad note, I went to Darren Mountains funeral today. The service was very nice, simple and effective. There was a great turnout from Royal Mail, friends past and present, and obviously from his Barnsley based friends and relatives. It was a very moving occasion.
Rest in peace Darren, you'll be sorely missed by everyone who knew you.
Thought I'd never make it since being diagnosed with cancer in some peoples eyes is an instant death sentence Obviously that's not the case these days at all. I fully intend to beat this thing and recover fully on the other side. It's going to be a long journey though, which I've already started with various tests and meetings over the last month. There's a lot going on around cancer and the care of people with it. I've been to the excellent Beechwood centre three times now, most recently this week to be introduced to their eight week program for cancer patients. They run an excellent service where you go in from early morning and basically learn various relaxation techniques also relaxation therapies. I'm looking forward to a bit of acupuncture.
I've also been referred by my GP to the PARiS scheme run by stockport councils sports department. This enables you to get (keep) fit at your local gym with the help of a qualified instructor during the term of your treatment. Basically a personal trainer will assess your fitness, listen to your goals and tailor a workout to your personal needs. I'm back in tomorrow, Thursday, for my assessment.
Finally, today I went to the dentist. Yep, happy birthday, you've got a dental appointment :( However, after my check up today, all is well. Apparently your gums can take a bit of a beating during chemo, so the check up is to make sure they're in good condition before I start.
I'm pretty much all ready to go. I've just got to finish my course of antibiotics for a chesty cough I've picked up off the rest of the family, and we're good.
On a sad note, I went to Darren Mountains funeral today. The service was very nice, simple and effective. There was a great turnout from Royal Mail, friends past and present, and obviously from his Barnsley based friends and relatives. It was a very moving occasion.
Rest in peace Darren, you'll be sorely missed by everyone who knew you.
Thursday, 15 November 2012
The 28th November
The 28th November is the date I go to the Christie. After the speed of the diagnoses and further tests, I've got the feeling of being slowed to a grinding halt. It seems so long away. I know I've been lucky with the way I've been treated by all the excellent staff at both Stepping Hill and the MRI, but the Christie works to it's own timetable I guess.
So, while I wait for the blood tests and the right chemo cocktail for my particular cancer, I'm working on putting on weight and getting fit at the same time. However, that is not as easy as it sounds. Eating is getting harder, with food and now even liquids getting stuck in my gullet. Meal times are particularly frustrating, both for me as I take ages to eat the simplest meals, and for Joh as she tries to prepare something that will go down easy. In fact, the only thing that will go down easy is cake, which is nice, oh, and custard. I'm getting sick of them already though. As for the fitness, I've done a few sessions in the gym, most notably a hard circuit training session on Monday this week, and am slowly increasing my stamina on the bike again, weather permitting. But on a number of occasions, after those exercises, I've had a quite acute pain in my chest, right at the site of the tumor which is not good. I don't want it to stop me doing anything, but I'm aware that I have to be careful what I do. I don't want to be collapsing on the road while out cycling, or passing out in the gym during a core session!
So, everything in moderation (except cake) and taking it easy and listening to my body. In the meantime, everyone else in this house has a bad cough and a cold. Everyone sounds much sicker than me. The irony is not lost on any of us :)
So, while I wait for the blood tests and the right chemo cocktail for my particular cancer, I'm working on putting on weight and getting fit at the same time. However, that is not as easy as it sounds. Eating is getting harder, with food and now even liquids getting stuck in my gullet. Meal times are particularly frustrating, both for me as I take ages to eat the simplest meals, and for Joh as she tries to prepare something that will go down easy. In fact, the only thing that will go down easy is cake, which is nice, oh, and custard. I'm getting sick of them already though. As for the fitness, I've done a few sessions in the gym, most notably a hard circuit training session on Monday this week, and am slowly increasing my stamina on the bike again, weather permitting. But on a number of occasions, after those exercises, I've had a quite acute pain in my chest, right at the site of the tumor which is not good. I don't want it to stop me doing anything, but I'm aware that I have to be careful what I do. I don't want to be collapsing on the road while out cycling, or passing out in the gym during a core session!
So, everything in moderation (except cake) and taking it easy and listening to my body. In the meantime, everyone else in this house has a bad cough and a cold. Everyone sounds much sicker than me. The irony is not lost on any of us :)
Saturday, 10 November 2012
Darren Mountain
I received the very sad news yesterday that Darren had lost his fight against cancer.
I'd known Darren since working at Green Lane Mail Center. We shared a love of cycling, although he was a gravity junkie who would scare me with stories of his Sheffield woods downhill exploits, while I'd tell of my adventures across country.
Darren was a plain speaking Yorkshireman, and always spoke his mind. Never one to allow anything to slow him down or get in his way. He tackled his cancer with the same attitude. He wasn't going to let it change his life. He made all the changes he had to, moving house to be nearer his children, stopping driving and cycling, and returning to work as soon as he could and carrying on as though nothing had changed.
On his return, as his friend and line manager, I asked him what he wanted to do? Sit down on letters or flats? Less hours? Whatever suited him. Typically he opted for the "business as usual" option. Tipping bags like the old days. This eventually proved too much for him, and after a particularly bad week of not eating much and feeling poorly, Darren had a bad turn at work one night and was taken away by ambulance.
Unbelievably he was back in the next night! We sat down again and I told him this time that he was no longer tipping bags. He acknowledged that he'd been trying to do too much and settled for sorting instead.
That's the last time I saw him. The next week he was off, then I was off sick fighting my own cancer. The last I heard Darren had taken another bad turn at work, this time off for good, and never to return.
I was going to phone him today. I'd been putting it off all week for no reason. I regret not speaking to him massively.
I'll miss you Darren.
I'd known Darren since working at Green Lane Mail Center. We shared a love of cycling, although he was a gravity junkie who would scare me with stories of his Sheffield woods downhill exploits, while I'd tell of my adventures across country.
Darren was a plain speaking Yorkshireman, and always spoke his mind. Never one to allow anything to slow him down or get in his way. He tackled his cancer with the same attitude. He wasn't going to let it change his life. He made all the changes he had to, moving house to be nearer his children, stopping driving and cycling, and returning to work as soon as he could and carrying on as though nothing had changed.
On his return, as his friend and line manager, I asked him what he wanted to do? Sit down on letters or flats? Less hours? Whatever suited him. Typically he opted for the "business as usual" option. Tipping bags like the old days. This eventually proved too much for him, and after a particularly bad week of not eating much and feeling poorly, Darren had a bad turn at work one night and was taken away by ambulance.
Unbelievably he was back in the next night! We sat down again and I told him this time that he was no longer tipping bags. He acknowledged that he'd been trying to do too much and settled for sorting instead.
That's the last time I saw him. The next week he was off, then I was off sick fighting my own cancer. The last I heard Darren had taken another bad turn at work, this time off for good, and never to return.
I was going to phone him today. I'd been putting it off all week for no reason. I regret not speaking to him massively.
I'll miss you Darren.
Thursday, 8 November 2012
Beechwood Cancer Care Centre
As a family, we all went to Beechwood today. There were a few tears, not as many as I thought there would be actually, and we got some things sorted out. All in all it was a good thing I think. The kids need clearer signals on my mood changes, which have been quite frequent of late, and I need to know that I can trust them to do the basics, and then look around to see if they can do anything else.
I think the main problem we've got as a family at the moment is that I'm not really ill as such. If I hadn't had my Laparoscopy last week, I'd probably be back at work now, albeit in a reduced capacity. I don't look ill, in fact, with the weight I've put on recently, I look pretty healthy. I'm not limping or lost the use of any of my limbs, I'm not slurring my words or lay on the sofa slobbering, so outwardly, I'm fine.
It's all mental really at the moment, and it's weird the way it creeps up on you. One second you're sat watching TV, reading, texting, whatever, the next you're thinking of your own mortality, wondering what is going to happen when the chemo drugs hit? What will I be able to eat when I've got no stomach? Will I be able to drink beer again? Can I go for a long bike ride without stopping for a pub lunch or snack to keep me going? and so on.
And in the meantime, life goes on as normal as we can make it. Which is another part of the problem when trying to deal with this cancer. Life is not "normal" anymore. You have to acknowledge it. Burying your head in the sand and trying to pretend it doesn't exist is pointless.
Stand up, face the fucker, say hello then beat the shit out of it with the help and support of everyone you can muster around you.
That's my plan. Hope you can all stay with me till I've beaten this shit.
I think the main problem we've got as a family at the moment is that I'm not really ill as such. If I hadn't had my Laparoscopy last week, I'd probably be back at work now, albeit in a reduced capacity. I don't look ill, in fact, with the weight I've put on recently, I look pretty healthy. I'm not limping or lost the use of any of my limbs, I'm not slurring my words or lay on the sofa slobbering, so outwardly, I'm fine.
It's all mental really at the moment, and it's weird the way it creeps up on you. One second you're sat watching TV, reading, texting, whatever, the next you're thinking of your own mortality, wondering what is going to happen when the chemo drugs hit? What will I be able to eat when I've got no stomach? Will I be able to drink beer again? Can I go for a long bike ride without stopping for a pub lunch or snack to keep me going? and so on.
And in the meantime, life goes on as normal as we can make it. Which is another part of the problem when trying to deal with this cancer. Life is not "normal" anymore. You have to acknowledge it. Burying your head in the sand and trying to pretend it doesn't exist is pointless.
Stand up, face the fucker, say hello then beat the shit out of it with the help and support of everyone you can muster around you.
That's my plan. Hope you can all stay with me till I've beaten this shit.
Wednesday, 7 November 2012
Good news, but hold the bubbly
Had a lovely ride out this morning. Headed along a route that normally takes me around one and a half hours at a good pace, but took me over two hours today. I wasn't rushing, just taking it easy, but my heart rate was higher than the faster time, and my average speed was way slower. It just goes to show how soon you lose any fitness you've gained. I've been working hard to increase my average speeds and improve my climbing, and watching all that slip away at the moment is frustrating. On the flipside of that though is the fact that I'm riding around with the shitty cancer inside me, I've just had keyhole surgery, and I'm putting on weight nicely ahead of my chemo.
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Which brings me nicely to today's hospital visit. Back to Stepping Hill to see Dr Decadt and the results of my PET scan and a final decision on my treatment path. The PET scan, you'll remember if you've been reading this blog, was to find out if the cancer has spread anywhere else. My PET scan says NO, the cancer hasn't spread anywhere else, which is PRETTY AMAZING NEWS! So, treatment:
CHEMO first to reduce the size of the tumour, this should start within the next 2 weeks. This will last around 2 months, and if successful, should reduce the tumour to the point that surgery will be easier.
There is a small risk that the chemo wont do anything to the tumour, or even make it worse, in which case we'd go straight to:
SURGERY, which will remove pretty much all of my oesophagus and some of my stomach, then turn the remainder of my stomach into an oesophagus, which will mean quite a radical change in my diet after that point.
To be fair, I'm pretty scared about that. I thought about the surgery bit last night, and I was quite upset by it. Still, I'm not facing this alone, and I'm in very good hands with Dr Decadt.
In the meantime, there are no more tests, HURRAH!, and I can eat all the shit I've been putting off for the last 2 years, my jeans are already getting tighter.
Which brings me nicely to today's hospital visit. Back to Stepping Hill to see Dr Decadt and the results of my PET scan and a final decision on my treatment path. The PET scan, you'll remember if you've been reading this blog, was to find out if the cancer has spread anywhere else. My PET scan says NO, the cancer hasn't spread anywhere else, which is PRETTY AMAZING NEWS! So, treatment:
CHEMO first to reduce the size of the tumour, this should start within the next 2 weeks. This will last around 2 months, and if successful, should reduce the tumour to the point that surgery will be easier.
There is a small risk that the chemo wont do anything to the tumour, or even make it worse, in which case we'd go straight to:
SURGERY, which will remove pretty much all of my oesophagus and some of my stomach, then turn the remainder of my stomach into an oesophagus, which will mean quite a radical change in my diet after that point.
To be fair, I'm pretty scared about that. I thought about the surgery bit last night, and I was quite upset by it. Still, I'm not facing this alone, and I'm in very good hands with Dr Decadt.
In the meantime, there are no more tests, HURRAH!, and I can eat all the shit I've been putting off for the last 2 years, my jeans are already getting tighter.
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