Just after Christmas I wrote an update about my Accrington man who had been given a diagnosis that no one wants to hear and that was he has cancer, his being in his lungs. I wrote that he would be starting on the chemo journey very soon. Anything to extend what time he had left, although his Oncologist was a bit hesitant for him to go down this path because of his age. My old man has kept himself reasonably fit so he was given the opportunity of travelling the chemo journey.
So here's the latest update. The first dose of chemo was fine – ‘it’s a breeze’ said he. A couple of days of weakness then everything back to how it was. I won’t say ‘back to normal’ as there is nothing normal about cancer.
Then a few days later he had his second dose. There was nothing breezy about that. Fatigue and weakness took over – but we had been told to expect this so thought it would pass over in due course. Unfortunately instead of passing over it became worse to the extent that for a week he was unable to do anything other than lie in bed. Still he said not to worry, it will be worth it in the end. He wasn’t due for another dose for a couple of weeks and was sure he’d be well enough by then. He was cheerful and assured me he didn’t want to go to hospital. ‘I’ll be right’ he said.
His hair had already started to drop out – and heaven knows he didn’t have a lot to start with. He worried about this – might be 83 but ‘vain’ is his middle name. Isn’t it strange that so many people with cancer worry more about losing their hair than about other things.
On the morning of the 8th day I thought he was a goner.
Unresponsive, eyes sunken in, he looked terrible. Overnight he had deteriorated. The poor man had lost the ability to control his bladder with dire results. I sent for an ambulance, it was there in 5 minutes.
His temperature by now was 40 degrees and his pulse was beating at 114 per minute. Immediately he was taken to the local hospital and as it was early in the morning they weren’t busy in the E.D. so he had 4 doctors and 3 nurses attend him.
I had phoned my son who lives nearest to the hospital and he in turn had phoned the others so that those who could get there did so and were a great support.
Admitted to hospital he was there for 8 days, a very sick man – it turned out that the chemo had whacked his immune system so badly, almost wiped it out, that a bug had invaded his blood stream and had nearly finished him off. Thankfully the medics were able to kill off the bug through massive amounts of very strong antibiotics but chemo is no longer an option as it would most probably put him into the same situation and this time could be fatal.
So the chemo journey was a very short one. No more treatment.
Now my man is home with me. No crystal ball so no prediction as to the future. We are not interested in knowing how long he has got, don’t want to know. Instead we look forward to the next event that will be coming along. Had a good Christmas, then celebrated our 61st anniversary, now looking to Easter, then my birthday, then his, and so on. Taking small steps. As he gets exhausted very quickly we spend the days at home. He is doing his best, eating as well as he can, doing very light exercises. Certainly not giving up. Strange thing is his vital signs are almost perfect – he says it’s a pity he has cancer because he’s sure he’d be a really fit man without it!!!!
He worries about me having to do everything for him but I tell him that if the situation were reversed he’d do the same and to shut up about it.
Each day is a blessing, each cuddle is precious.
So many of us have a natural tendency to take things for granted and not to worry too much about the future, assuming that things will stay very much as they are and the people around us will always be there with us, whatever their age, as we will be with them. It’s when reality strikes, when fate deals a nasty blow and you find out that whatever future you have left is going to be very different to what you had pictured it, then you realise how precious the present is as are the people in it. Grab it and them with both hands while you can. That’s what we’re doing
So here's the latest update. The first dose of chemo was fine – ‘it’s a breeze’ said he. A couple of days of weakness then everything back to how it was. I won’t say ‘back to normal’ as there is nothing normal about cancer.
Then a few days later he had his second dose. There was nothing breezy about that. Fatigue and weakness took over – but we had been told to expect this so thought it would pass over in due course. Unfortunately instead of passing over it became worse to the extent that for a week he was unable to do anything other than lie in bed. Still he said not to worry, it will be worth it in the end. He wasn’t due for another dose for a couple of weeks and was sure he’d be well enough by then. He was cheerful and assured me he didn’t want to go to hospital. ‘I’ll be right’ he said.
His hair had already started to drop out – and heaven knows he didn’t have a lot to start with. He worried about this – might be 83 but ‘vain’ is his middle name. Isn’t it strange that so many people with cancer worry more about losing their hair than about other things.
On the morning of the 8th day I thought he was a goner.
Unresponsive, eyes sunken in, he looked terrible. Overnight he had deteriorated. The poor man had lost the ability to control his bladder with dire results. I sent for an ambulance, it was there in 5 minutes.
His temperature by now was 40 degrees and his pulse was beating at 114 per minute. Immediately he was taken to the local hospital and as it was early in the morning they weren’t busy in the E.D. so he had 4 doctors and 3 nurses attend him.
I had phoned my son who lives nearest to the hospital and he in turn had phoned the others so that those who could get there did so and were a great support.
Admitted to hospital he was there for 8 days, a very sick man – it turned out that the chemo had whacked his immune system so badly, almost wiped it out, that a bug had invaded his blood stream and had nearly finished him off. Thankfully the medics were able to kill off the bug through massive amounts of very strong antibiotics but chemo is no longer an option as it would most probably put him into the same situation and this time could be fatal.
So the chemo journey was a very short one. No more treatment.
Now my man is home with me. No crystal ball so no prediction as to the future. We are not interested in knowing how long he has got, don’t want to know. Instead we look forward to the next event that will be coming along. Had a good Christmas, then celebrated our 61st anniversary, now looking to Easter, then my birthday, then his, and so on. Taking small steps. As he gets exhausted very quickly we spend the days at home. He is doing his best, eating as well as he can, doing very light exercises. Certainly not giving up. Strange thing is his vital signs are almost perfect – he says it’s a pity he has cancer because he’s sure he’d be a really fit man without it!!!!
He worries about me having to do everything for him but I tell him that if the situation were reversed he’d do the same and to shut up about it.
Each day is a blessing, each cuddle is precious.
So many of us have a natural tendency to take things for granted and not to worry too much about the future, assuming that things will stay very much as they are and the people around us will always be there with us, whatever their age, as we will be with them. It’s when reality strikes, when fate deals a nasty blow and you find out that whatever future you have left is going to be very different to what you had pictured it, then you realise how precious the present is as are the people in it. Grab it and them with both hands while you can. That’s what we’re doing
