Once again, I ought to say that my brain tumour was not, in itself, cancerous (it was a WHO Grade 1 meningioma - one of the Good Guys).
However - and this may surely apply to others who have, or who are recovering from cancer - the surgery, treatment, medication etc. can have unlooked-for effects, perhaps later (as in my case) rather than sooner.
After exhaustive needles/MRI scans/blood tests etc., TPTB now tell me that it's my head that's wonky, not my legs. IOW, the Episcopal Brain is damaged, and the Episcopal Legs will just have to get on with it.
I may well have to change my IRL name to Mr. Wonkyhead, if only to garner a little of the sympathy vote.
[Hands Bishop's Finger a large box of Virtual Chocolates in the flavors he prefers]
Well, I had a ScanFest today. The news is not good.
I'm not even talking about the fact that the cancer has progressed considerably in my bones. (One of the cool things about a full-body bone scan is that once the scanner gets past one's head, one can watch it all appearing on a nearby screen.) The scanner shows healthy bone as gray; the cancerous bits are white. As usual, there was a lot more white visible to the untrained eye this time than there were a few months ago.
The really bad news came from the CT scan: The cancer has progressed into my liver. About one-quarter of said organ is occupied by a 6 x 6 cm tumor, which has come up pretty quickly.
My informant was my wonderful internist, who looked up the results for me so that I wouldn't have to worry all weekend. He doesn't know much about the treatments available, or what my (possibly even more wonderful) oncologist is thinking of doing.
For possibly the first time in over eight years of dealing with this crap, though, I'm really afraid. A friend of mine whose breast cancer metastasized into her liver died not long ago; she was jaundiced, bloated, and miserable.
I will post again on this subject when I've spoken to my oncologist on Monday and have a better idea of what I'm talking about. In the meantime, your prayers and Good Thoughts would be greatly appreciated.
It's almost ten years since liver cancer took my brother-in-law, who was probably the nicest man on the planet, and reading the words in relation to someone I care about is making my eyes leak.
Prayers for Rossweise, which also carry with them a cyber hug for you. For you Bishop's Finger the cyber chocolates also come with prayers and cyber hug. The title of this thread is right on days like this.
Thank you all, from the bottom of my being. (I know I said I wouldn't post again until I knew something more, but I appreciate the immense comfort of your virtual hugs.) I'm keeping busy as I wait - watching my daughters take down the Christmas decorations, coaching a friend through my mulled wine recipe (because I can't stand at the stove to make it anymore) - and recognizing that it's in God's hands.
I'm still ready for Monday morning (and, thus, regular business hours at the hospital) to arrive.
Heck. When it gets to the liver it's curtains. It took my wife very quickly at the end. The only consolation I can offer is the observation that although it took her body, it could not take her soul.
Heck. When it gets to the liver it's curtains. It took my wife very quickly at the end.....
Same thing with the liver cancer for my father, GG. Then again, another friend who was diagnosed before my dad, took the treatments and got many more months than my dad did. Whatever the case, although it is all awfully hard on the mind, the medical community is able to provide some pretty amazing palliative care that avoids the horrid stuff of years ago.
When asked about my bucket list (as I am surprisingly often so it must be A Thing) ... I tell people the only thing I can think of that I feel that I have missed out on doing is canoe or kayak trip-ping (and I have so missed out on it I don't even know the difference). This usually makes people laugh for some reason.
So, while it will almost certainly end badly for me: in the proverbial "screaming heap" of New Zealand slang ... I find it hard to get worked up over. I feel like everyone (and their dog or cat) is On My Side; which is wonderful after a lifetime of thoughts, opinions and actions which generally had the opposite result.
Yes, my wife went peacefully in the end. It was still traumatic but the medical profession can do wonders. She's still dead though. But it could have been a lot, lot worse.
My oncologist was stuck in a clinic all day, but he finally called me. He is a good, kind man, and I am fortunate to be working with him.
It is worse than my internist thought. The oncologist thinks there are other, smaller tumors in the liver as well as the big one, all of them new since October; there's a swollen lymph node that he wants to biopsy; and there's a suspicious place in my right lung. (And, of course, the cancer just keeps on munching its way through my bones.)
He's putting me on a weekly chemo infusion, starting tomorrow (Tuesday); luckily, I saved the wigs from last time (and even know where they are). If my body responds well to it, we'll keep doing it for the rest of my life, which he expects to last between several months and a couple of years. If my body doesn't respond well to it, things should go quickly.
He asked me if I wanted to be kept alive with a feeding tube or similar. I told him absolutely not.
I have to go through a lot of Boxes o' Stuff and papers in the near future. It seems a little overwhelming right now.
Thank you for all the kind wishes and prayers. They are greatly appreciated.
Well, shit, Ross. "Worse" is not a word any of us wanted in all of this, but it sounds like there is a plan of attack. You are a tough cookie. Love and prayers.
Comments
Once again, I ought to say that my brain tumour was not, in itself, cancerous (it was a WHO Grade 1 meningioma - one of the Good Guys).
However - and this may surely apply to others who have, or who are recovering from cancer - the surgery, treatment, medication etc. can have unlooked-for effects, perhaps later (as in my case) rather than sooner.
After exhaustive needles/MRI scans/blood tests etc., TPTB now tell me that it's my head that's wonky, not my legs. IOW, the Episcopal Brain is damaged, and the Episcopal Legs will just have to get on with it.
I may well have to change my IRL name to Mr. Wonkyhead, if only to garner a little of the sympathy vote.
I'll have a word with my friendly local Pharmacist....with whom I have frequent philosophical discussions about My Condition....
Although the usual 'support bandages' don't seem to be any help.
I suppose, after all, as it's my Head that's wonky, that I need summat else...
Any virtual GIN or CHOCOLATE available, anyone?
Well, I had a ScanFest today. The news is not good.
I'm not even talking about the fact that the cancer has progressed considerably in my bones. (One of the cool things about a full-body bone scan is that once the scanner gets past one's head, one can watch it all appearing on a nearby screen.) The scanner shows healthy bone as gray; the cancerous bits are white. As usual, there was a lot more white visible to the untrained eye this time than there were a few months ago.
The really bad news came from the CT scan: The cancer has progressed into my liver. About one-quarter of said organ is occupied by a 6 x 6 cm tumor, which has come up pretty quickly.
My informant was my wonderful internist, who looked up the results for me so that I wouldn't have to worry all weekend. He doesn't know much about the treatments available, or what my (possibly even more wonderful) oncologist is thinking of doing.
For possibly the first time in over eight years of dealing with this crap, though, I'm really afraid. A friend of mine whose breast cancer metastasized into her liver died not long ago; she was jaundiced, bloated, and miserable.
I will post again on this subject when I've spoken to my oncologist on Monday and have a better idea of what I'm talking about. In the meantime, your prayers and Good Thoughts would be greatly appreciated.
Thank you.
Me too. (And also praying.)
I'm crying too, Dear Heart.
It's almost ten years since liver cancer took my brother-in-law, who was probably the nicest man on the planet, and reading the words in relation to someone I care about is making my eyes leak.
Turbo prayers ascending.
What a lovely way to think of intercessory prayer
And on the weekend too!
Prayers ascending from my own end-of-cycle depths
I'm still ready for Monday morning (and, thus, regular business hours at the hospital) to arrive.
O how I wish there was more we could say or do....
I don't know what to say, Rosseweisse.
Same thing with the liver cancer for my father, GG. Then again, another friend who was diagnosed before my dad, took the treatments and got many more months than my dad did. Whatever the case, although it is all awfully hard on the mind, the medical community is able to provide some pretty amazing palliative care that avoids the horrid stuff of years ago.
And, at the end of the day, what counts (surely?) is the quality, rather than the quantity, of life.
That said, <votives galore of turbo-charged nature> for all those whose quantity is limited, IYSWIM.
When asked about my bucket list (as I am surprisingly often so it must be A Thing) ... I tell people the only thing I can think of that I feel that I have missed out on doing is canoe or kayak trip-ping (and I have so missed out on it I don't even know the difference). This usually makes people laugh for some reason.
So, while it will almost certainly end badly for me: in the proverbial "screaming heap" of New Zealand slang ... I find it hard to get worked up over. I feel like everyone (and their dog or cat) is On My Side; which is wonderful after a lifetime of thoughts, opinions and actions which generally had the opposite result.
Hope today went as well as it could for you, dear Rossweisse.
It is worse than my internist thought. The oncologist thinks there are other, smaller tumors in the liver as well as the big one, all of them new since October; there's a swollen lymph node that he wants to biopsy; and there's a suspicious place in my right lung. (And, of course, the cancer just keeps on munching its way through my bones.)
He's putting me on a weekly chemo infusion, starting tomorrow (Tuesday); luckily, I saved the wigs from last time (and even know where they are). If my body responds well to it, we'll keep doing it for the rest of my life, which he expects to last between several months and a couple of years. If my body doesn't respond well to it, things should go quickly.
He asked me if I wanted to be kept alive with a feeding tube or similar. I told him absolutely not.
I have to go through a lot of Boxes o' Stuff and papers in the near future. It seems a little overwhelming right now.
Thank you for all the kind wishes and prayers. They are greatly appreciated.
#teamRossweisse
So... RooK is correct.
Many hugs, Ross, and whatever strength and defiance I can send you through the ether.