The Flipside of Living with Death.
12 April 2019
It's been sixteen weeks since prognosis. Sixteen weeks, or four months, since that initial consultation where the medical professionals guesstimated I had possibly weeks or months to 'live', depending on which cancer condition elevated to critical. The outlook was bleak to say the least, and the reality was, literally, a bitter pill to swallow. Speaking of pills, I now take 24 pills of 17 different prescriptions a day, in my pursuit of fighting for more time. Surprisingly impressive for someone who was inherently anti-medication. But you do what you must when you're fighting for your life.
The cancer cells continue to replicate, albeit radiotherapy and the medication regimen have slowed the beast. Post-radiation scans verified the previously 6.5 cm tumour is currently 3 cm. That's one major hurdle momentarily abated. The significant blood clot has been thinned courtesy of the daily injections. That's another major hurdle briefly abated. The aortic valve is still constricted but nowhere near the previous 90%. Nonetheless blood thinner injections must remain constant. So for all intent and purpose this is where I can acknowledge that everything I have done to this point is essentially the four months of blood sweat and tears I paid for the 12+months timeline. Abatement deposit paid. Cancer 101 stalled, Vincee 12+months.
However, the past four months passed in the blink of an eye, and now I have to swallow my bitter pills and somehow accept that the hard fought 12+months timeline has begun. Four months passed so rapidly... I am truly honestly scared how fast this next 12+months will pass, and in my quietest dark moments I let the torrent of tears flow silently, as they are falling while I write this. That's part of this holistic process. My intellectual aspect is mindful of getting my body to this point. I am grateful. My emotional and spiritual aspects now have permission to cry, yell, scream, bawl, grieve unabashed... and in my quietest dark moments I do. I ask 'why me'. I ponder how there can be a treatment available but the government will not subsidise it. Patients are forced to beg and borrow if they want a chance to get on to Keytruda. How many NZers have traversed this nightmare roller-coaster ride, with their entire friends and family in tow, lives forever devastated by every aspect of cancer, only to lose their battles. To my mind, we, Kiwi's, should never have had to lose a single life but for want of economic advantage. Tragically, that is not the case. So I cry, knowing each day now is expending part of my 12+months rebate and I have to somehow embrace the next fraught processes.
That said, the next question raised is what precisely are we doing now. Well, without being unnecessarily cruel, we, I, am monitoring, observing a corporeal entity, that being my body, now deteriorating. The cancer cells continue to replicate, which raises the question of whether I'm able to confirm ongoing deterioration. Is my body really and literally being eaten from the inside out. If so, how does this all 'feel'. Sadly, and this for me is the heartbreaking part of this process... yes the cancer is replicating 24/7 albeit we've slowed it's progression, momentarily.
So, what does this all feel like. Hey I was so proud that several weeks ago I had lowered my fast-acting morphine intake to nil. Nil. But for the past ten days I have had to acknowledge I am taking maybe five a day. More, if I have to leave the house for anything. This is where Christo is a true godsend. He reminds me that it's better to stave off the pain and use the morphine, so I abide. I have broken sleeps nowadays, and I'm used to waking in pain again, checking the time to see how far away the morning meds are, then popping a fast-acting morphine to alleviate the pain. Also, the pain is in new locations. It's like when you get horrible cramps, 'the stitch', after running without warming up. Then there's the shallow breathing. My breath becomes shallow and I'm forced to focus on breathing... but hey, I'll be fine just as long as I don't stop breathing lol!
My olfactory system is being problematic. The acute nausea has returned with a vengeance and the previous drugs are no longer working so I'm using new anti-nausea pills. Fingers crossed these work. But my taste buds aren't working all the time and so my food intake has slowed somewhat. This is probably the most current problem for me because I needed time to put on weight but these current processes are defeating that aim.
So this is where I'm at today, determinedly still fighting, definitely still hoping for more time. Trying desperately to put on some weight before Laird starts me on chemo, and still building up my immune system, again before the chemo knocks me... I have two weeks... maybe... if Laird chooses, and should more new symptoms suggest the cancer cells are accelerating again, then he could likely activate the chemo sooner. We shall see.
For today. The tears have subsided. It's now 7 am and my tummy is growling quietly so time to put on some porridge and increase my weight pre-chemo as well as boosting my immune system which the chemo will knock... take lots of deep breaths and observe the body again whilst making notes... I can't complain. I am blessed.
Today I also have an academic colleague calling in this afternoon to take some photos for a Digital Storytelling Project. Thereafter, a new consultant is arriving to discuss Hospice matters, and AJ arrives back in NZ tonight YAY! Then later this weekend I plan to do a ton of home baking as a grounding tool and to share with family and friends.
I am blessed.