'Nurse, I've got foot rot', and other stories.....

I've just spent 5 1/2 days in Cheltenham hospital having the procedures I described in the my post. Both bits were supposed to happen at the same time but due to internal waterworks distortion they had to be performed separately. Both bits were successful, thankfully, but I would have to recommend that anyone having stents put in has it done under general anaesthetic rather than local - hurts like hell, even after 8 injections and 10mg of morphine, but at least the surgeon let me watch him poking a needle into my kidneys (via the ultrasound machine) - quite an experience. Anyway, I now have bags connected to each kidney to drain them effectively, and two wounds on my back which means a massive lack of comfort when doing anything. I even have to have a complicated arrangement of pillows to sit down properly

I've also had two of my pre chemo tests done (hearing and lung function), both of which were fine. During the lung function test, the lady in charge recommended a game called Korg DS10 for the Nintendo DS - it emulates the classic Korg MS10 analog synth but adds a sequencer as well - I'm so gonna get that to help with more hospital stays! The lady performing the hearing test was surprised when I exclaimed 'Oooh, a modulated sine wave!' I just can't help myself.

I spent a total of 2 1/2 days as 'Nil by mouth' whilst I was in, and two whole days just sitting around with little but my own brain for company (couldn't have any visitors due to complicated family circumstances). Being a cancer patient is sometimes a very lonely place, and I don't mean that I'm not getting enough support because I'm getting so much it's overwhelming and something for which I will be eternally grateful. It's more in the sense that over the last week virtually all the patients I've met have some kind of cancer, some terminal, some not, but everyone is slightly different, and whilst we could identify with each other on a certain level it remains impossible to completely understand exactly what each person is going through. That said, I struck up some good bonds over the last week, in particular with the chap in the bed next to me, a 62 year old man with terminal cancer. We talked long into the night on several occasions about the whys, whats and whens of cancer and he seemed very curious about my approach to the disease. He was happy to be able to talk everything over with someone outside his family, not involved in the whole process of death and timescale, and I think by the time we parted company on Saturday morning his perspective had shifted somewhat and his whole outlook was different - just from talking stuff through, but then that's one of the points of this blog.

On the day before I left we had a new arrival on the ward called Charles. Poor old Charles is about 300 years old with little or no comprehension of where he is or why he is there. I have no idea why he was admitted, but his condition did give rise to the odd moment of mirth. When anyone (literally, anyone) walked past his bed he would cry 'Nurse' to raise their attention, and when he got lucky and it was a nurse he would ask any one of a variety of random questions or engage them in futile conversations. The best one of these was on Saturday morning when the interaction went as follows:

'Nurse........nurse.........nurse...........nurse'
(sigh) 'What is it Charles'
'I've got foot rot'

I think it will remain the only time I have seen a ward full of people erupt with laughter in unison. I realise I shouldn't laugh at another person's misfortune but in hospital there is little other source of amusement.

My chemo starts next Thursday, so for the time being I'm going to enjoy being at home with my family for the next few days before it all starts getting weird again.

Cancer treatment: Phase 4 - Chemotherapy

I went to see a consultant oncologist at Cheltenham general hospital late yesterday afternoon, and I have now reached the point where the proper treatment can begin.

Firstly I need to have an operation under general anaesthetic which will enable a number of things to take place. My catheter will be removed (woo hoo!) and uretary stents inserted to allow proper drainage of the kidneys into the bladder. It's effectively what the catheter is doing, but having a catheter presents a greater risk of infection during subsequent treatment. The surgeons will also remove my infected right testicle whilst they are poking around in there. This will hopefully happen within the next week and will only mean a maximum of one night in hospital.

After all that has been done I can go for my pre chemo tests. There is a lung function test, a hearing test and a kidney test, all done to create a base level of health against which they can measure any deterioration during treatment. This is all outpatient stuff.

Then I am in for 9-12 weeks of chemotherapy, apparently the best way to tackle my particular type of cancer. There are many different types of chemotherapy, and mine is called BEP, named after the initials of the drugs used (Bleomycin, Etoposide & Cisplatin, which contains Platinum). The treatment itself runs over a three week cycle. In the first week I will have three days of chemo as an inpatient - Day 1, Etoposide & Cisplatin; Day 2, all three; Day 3, Etoposide. Six days later (day 9) I will have Bleomycin as an outpatient, then a week off, and on day 16 Bleomycin again as an outpatient. Then a few more days off before the cycle starts again. After two cycles my progress will be examined and a third cycle undertaken. The fourth cycle isn't always necessary, it depends on the effectiveness of the rest of it.

The good thing is that my cancer is sure to disappear after the treatment. The bad thing is that all the treatment has to be done in Cheltenham which means a lot of travelling, but the NHS provides a transport service for cancer patients which I'm sure will prove invaluable. There are of course many potential bad things about chemo, given the list of possible side effects, but that's not something I intend to dwell upon as I may yet experience none of them, or some, or all - who's to know. I shall cross that bridge when I come to it.