Cancer Life
This section of my blog was written in the days and weeks following my initial diagnosis of advanced prostate cancer (Mid to late 2022). I became quite ill during the later parts of this period, although I didn’t realise how ill at the time. Unfortunately, I drifted away from writing; survival had become more important!
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(Previous introduction) SO, WHAT’S THIS BLOG ABOUT?
Stanley
As you are probably aware, I was recently diagnosed with prostate cancer. Telling family and friends has been very difficult: I don’t know how to tell people; they don’t know what to say. Some then want to be kept informed of every step, whilst some are probably not that interested. Others may wish to put their fingers in their ears and pretend it’s not happening… I was that person in the past!
So I’ve decided to start a blog. I’ll try and keep it updated as best I can although, as you know, sitting in front of a computer is not me; let alone writing about myself. This blog will probably be a bit shonky at first; it might well stay that way too as I have no idea what I’m doing. Something to learn I guess.
Hopefully things will work out well for me. If so, then I hope that others who experiencing a similar predicament may benefit from my unfolding story. If things don’t work out so well… then do the opposite
Anyway, to prove that I’m still going strong, and know one end of a spatula from the other, here’s a picture…
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(POST 1) I WASN’T EXPECTING THAT…
Stanley
As some of you may know, I had been feeling a bit under the weather for some months. Probably since last October, but certainly since December/January. I just put it down to me hating the Winter. By the end of March things were getting worse: I would crawl in from work and slump on the settee. Despite my best efforts, and the improving weather, I could not get out of this slump. I visited my doctor. He diagnosed me with work-related stress and reported, “You are beyond burnt out… you need to take some time off work”. I agreed… I would have agreed with anything as he handed me a 2-month sicknote!
Despite enjoying the time off work, things did not improve. I’d also noticed the most minor of the symptoms usually associated with an enlarged prostate (More on this in the future). I went back to see my doctor. He took some more bloods and completed a DRE (finger-up-the-bum-job). The doctor went very quiet; the mood in the room changed completely. He told me that he was extremely concerned; he described feeling a lumpy and, possibly, cancerous prostate. He made an urgent referral to the urology/oncology department. Two days later the doctor telephoned me with the results of my PSA test (more on this one day). He explained that the PSA score should be 3 or under and that a score of 10 was bad news. Mine was 374. Oh dear :-/
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(POST 2) TESTS, TESTS AND MORE TESTS…
Stanley
A week later I saw the consultant Urologist. He repeated the tests and advised me, “You have advanced prostate cancer… stage 3 or stage 4… maybe 6-8 years to live… maybe longer as treatments are improving”. I immediately thought that he was talking bullshit. How could he know this until more in-depth tests were completed? The consultant advised me that my high levels of fatigue and recently developing back pain were owing to the cancer. I accepted that bit.
I was started on a course of hormone suppressants (tablets and implants). These would block the testosterone production that was fuelling the growth of the cancer. Over the next week or so, I had a CT scan (abdomen and chest) and a nuclear bone scan (whole skeleton). These would show if the cancer had metastasised and spread to other parts. A transperineal biopsy was also arranged. This will allow the laboratory to learn if I have a “pussy cat or a tiger of a tumour”. Chemo and/or radiation therapy would follow in due course.
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(POST 3) A GLIMMER OF HOPE
Stanley
Although my appointment with the oncology consultant is not until later this month, I have been hassling my friendly and helpful urology nurse to let me know of any test results asap. She telephoned me yesterday with the preliminary results of the CT scan… It “looks like” the cancer has not spread to any soft tissues. This is great news, although she cautioned me that there was a tumour growing out from the “grossly enlarged” prostate, and that there still remained a risk that it had spread to my bones. Hopefully we’ll get the bone scan results within the next few days.
Elsewhere I seem to be getting on ok with the hormone suppression treatment. It’s early days yet but I do feel like my energy levels have improved and I’m not yet experiencing the nasty side-effects that 80% of patients do.
This is definitely not all doom and gloom. I’ve been spending the last couple of weeks getting out on the mountain bike as often as possible; trying to get in the best shape possible so that they can up my treatment to an 11. I can handle it!
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(POST 4) ORDINARY DAYS…
Stanley
Thank you so much for all of the comments on here, on Facebook and by private message. I’m blown away by your responses and the support that you have all given me. Amazing stuff.
A fairly quiet few days. I did a Freddie Mercury and took a long ride on my motorbike, I’ve been getting some exercise, reading up on the foe and also spending time dreading next Tuesday. Did I mention the plan for next Tuesday? Transperineal prostate biopsy. A needle in through the bit that the sun doesn’t get to see very often; the bit that you sit upon when riding a bike. The nurse has assured me that the team will, “Tape my scrotum out of the way first”. Sounds ideal. I’m sure some folk would happily pay for that.
Meanwhile, two lovely surprises yesterday… A gift from work and a great card from the Texan arm of the family. I will be kicking its ass… you’ll see
Wishing you all a great weekend,
Andy xx
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(POST 5) THE TRANSPERINEAL BIOPSY AND THE DISCUSSION :-/
Stanley
The biopsy
I had been dreading this procedure but had managed to put it to the back of my mind until the night before. Yesterday morning soon arrived and it was time for breakfast, some last minute worries and a shower; I wanted to be sparklingly clean as this was going to be an up-close and personal experience. I drove our car to the local hospital and, to Sam’s concern, set myself the goal of driving back home.
Jo (an Advanced Nursing Practitioner) explained that she was going to carry out the procedure. She was supported by two nurses and a consultant urologist. I donned the hospital gown… there was little point in trying to preserve any dignity as they were about to “Tape my scrotum out of the way” and insert a frighteningly large CT probe up my bum. At least we exchanged a few words of small talk first.
I’m going to skip quickly through the procedure: Two injections of anaesthetic into the outer perineum (agony); two deeper injections into the prostate (worse agony); then some more clicking/snipping things inserted to take the samples (yep, more agony). The consultant popped in to have a feel about before the nurse released my balls back in to their vaguely correct position.
Did I mention the pain? This procedure was described as being “Uncomfortable but painless”. That was not my experience… if needed again then I will be asking for a general anaesthetic. As always, all of the NHS nurses and assistants whom I encountered were brilliant. A young nurse (Kelly) was particularly wonderful; she talked to me throughout and even offered to hold my hand. I asked the three nurses if this was what they’d dreamed of doing when they were little girls. They confirmed it was.
The discussion
Immediately after the procedure was completed the second urology consultant approached me and explained that the results of the biopsy would not be known for 2-4 weeks, but that he had now reviewed my previous CT scan and bone scan. He explained that the bone scan looked clear and he did not think the cancer had spread to my bones, but he was concerned about the CT scan (I’d previously been told that this “looked ok”). He reported that the prostate was much larger than it should be, “Like an orange rather than a walnut” and that the cancer had already spread to an inguenal lymph node. He went on to explain that I would be offered treatment to slow down the spread of the cancer.
I asked: “Is surgery to remove the prostate an option?”
Uro: “No. It won’t increase your life expectancy”
Me: “Well, how long is that?”
Uro: “We aren’t talking in months; we are looking at years”
Me: “How many years?”
Uro: “Maybe 5”
Fuck. It’s getting shorter! I went on to ask about likely progression but the rest of the conversation was a blur. Ah well, when you start to climb a mountain it’s always best to start at the bottom. I have an appointment with the consultant oncologist tomorrow so will try and get things clarified as much as possible then. Sam’s coming to help me remember things!
The aftermath
Walking down the hospital corridors was quite uncomfortable after this procedure. My head was spinning from the unpleasant experience and the consultant’s words. Nonetheless, some fresh air helped clear my mind a little and I achieved my goal of driving home
The rest of the day was spent mainly on the settee although I did get out for a potter in the garage. A fairly restless night followed although this morning the pain has almost gone. Time to get out for a walk then and prepare for what might come through the door next.
Here’s a link if anyone is interested in seeing the procedure (not actually mine of course). Ignore the pain scales, they are clearly lying. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUIpUXSSOs0
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(POST 6) MEETING MY ONCOLOGIST
Stanley
After waiting for what felt like an eternity, yesterday was the day that I met with my oncologist for the first time. I had already done my research and was very happy to have learnt that Dr. John is an expert in urological oncology and one of the main-men at the Christie. I knew that I was with the right person.
The latest diagnosis
Dr. John spent some time listening to my recent history and brief list of symptoms: these are still fatigue and back pain and not the urinary symptoms that would more usually be associated with advanced prostate cancer. Dr. John asked further questions before moving on to giving his expert opinion. In summary:
“We don’t yet have the results from your biopsy, although we can expect that these will reveal a Gleason score of 8 or above1 and is unlikely to greatly affect my proposed treatment plan. I have reviewed your bone scan and it looks to be clear. However, this is not so with the CT scan2. This scan reveals that the cancer has already spread. The cancer is in the lymph nodes/glands within your hips, pelvis and chest3. You have advanced metastatic cancer that is is not curable, although there are treatments available that can prolong your life.”
The plan
Dr. John went on to describe options and his preferred treatment plan. He explained that the Androgen Deprivation Therapy (ADT… it suppresses testosterone) that I am currently on would be likely to stop the further spread of the cancer, but that at some point it would stop working and the cancer would continue to progress. He explained that recent research has demonstrated that early use of chemotherapy can be more effective than waiting until the ADT is no longer effective.
So we have a plan: Continue with the ADT until late September and then begin chemotherapy. The chemotherapy will involve 6 cycles of 3 weeks. That’s me visiting the Christie every 3 weeks to get the infusion (18 weeks total). This might be followed up by some radiotherapy. The hope is that this will suppress the cancer for a time, although it will not cure it. Dr. John then went on to explain the side-effects that I will experience… I let most of that go over my head is it sounded crap and we’ve all seen the movie. It is what it is. I also asked to be considered for appropriate trials, although I do feel happy with the current plan.
Now then,
I now have approximately 8 weeks to get as fit as possible before the chemotherapy begins. Dr. John assures me that I cannot do too much exercise, so that’s me out on the bike every day. I’ve also taken up running… I couldn’t sit on the bike the day after the biopsy, and Sam ordered had me not to do a 10k walk. So I avoided all potential conflict by doing a 10k run instead. Actually, it was more of a walk, a jog and a hobble. I’ve not run anywhere for many, many years… I quite enjoyed it
1 The Gleason score is a rating system used to describe the grade of the prostate cancer. A score of 8 or above is considered to be a high grade cancer.
2 I had been previously told that the CT scan “Looked to be clear” and also that “It shows a spread to a lymph gland”.
3 Right from the start of all this malarkey, I always felt/knew/believed that the cancer had spread… so no surprises there!
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(POST 7) THE ROLLERCOASTER
Stanley
That’s what the last week has been… a rollercoaster
The reality of my situation is beginning to sink in. Until 10 days ago, there was still a small chance that my cancer may have been locally advanced rather than metastatic (i.e. still within the prostate area and curable, rather than having spread and being incurable). Even in the immediate days after the oncologist delivered this news I felt ok about it. I saw it as a challenge, and if I’m going to face a challenge then I always relish a proper challenge; don’t ever give me a head start.
This was my simple brain tricking me, yet also helping me. It’s sometimes great being not-so-bright and permanently distracted: It is easy to pick simple things to focus on whilst shutting out less attractive factors. It’s why I can always find the time to fix a motorcycle, yet Sam has to wait 6 months for me to change a lightbulb. But reality’s sometimes glacial, yet relentless creep has managed to catch up with me this week. I’ve got cancer and I’ve got it properly. It’s like having a monkey on my back.
Yet there has been lots of joy in this week too. It was fantastic to have JM&H visit last weekend and for me to be able to share our little corner of this beautiful part of the country with them as we walked, ran and cycled. Superb weather, food and drink too! It was great to see our friend Puk and hear about her recent adventures, and I’m very much looking forward to meeting Puk’s friend whom has demonstrated an indomitable spirit as she fights a similar battle.
But then the monkey tightens his grip and demands my attention; I become tired and a flood of doubt sweeps over me: Is my treatment right? Is my diet right? How long have I got? How bad are things going to get? Is my consultant the right person for the job? Why does my back hurt so much? Why am I so tired? I’m beginning to hate monkeys.
And then I shake free from those gloomy thoughts: I live in a beautiful part of the country, it’s midsummer and I don’t have to go to work. I’m enjoying getting out on the bikes (the ones without engines); it was nice to walk down to the garden centre with my mum, to catch up with the family through our monthly Zoom call, and and great to see our friend Emmy. Texts, emails and passing-visits have been much appreciated too.
But a flash of pain or fatigue and the monkey wakes up. He reminds me that I’m deep into a game of roulette… where will the cancer stop next? Maybe I need to go through with these gloomy thoughts; what if living in a permanent state of distraction means I miss an important detail? A new treatment option? Or miss out on doing something that I may not be able to do later?
I will focus on the plan. My life is good. I’m enjoying getting fitter and embracing these new challenges. This is an opportunity to achieve new goals, even if I do not yet know what these goals are. I think I would like to undertake some longer cycle challenges; I’d often thought about setting up a local men’s health group; maybe return to some form of education or educating. And motorcycles; I’ve always dreamt of having a Triumph Rocket in the garage, or maybe a Ducati Diavel, or a BSA Goldstar.
I’ll outrun this monkey somehow
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(POST 8) THE BAD, THE PLAN, THE GOOD
Stanley
Spoiler alert… The Bad is bad and The Plan will probably change. The Good is bigger and tougher than The Bad and harbours far fewer monkeys.
The Bad
Let’s get this out of the way first. Everyday symptoms of prostate cancer and its treatment are a drag: Fatigue, discomfort, the urge to go to the loo, rogue drips, hot flushes (20+ times every day), lack of sleep, etc. And that’s before the chemo starts.
It’s hard to accept that I don’t have a long and healthy life in front of me. I’m not going to get to become the grumpy and wizened old man that I’ve long aspired to becoming. I’m not going to enjoy a long retirement, to own a dog, nor to walk along deserted beaches with Sam during our sunset years. I’m not going to see my nephew grow up, nor my friends grow old. This hurts.
The Plan
I’ve lived for most of my life with what I describe as a gritty realism (a sarcastic pessimism may be more accurate). I don’t intend to change, although I now have no time for any negativity. Every day must count.
The over-arching medical plan remains the same. I continue to take the hormone suppressants (that I loathe more with every passing day), we begin chemotherapy on 21st September and radiotherapy early next year. To give myself the best chance I have removed almost all sugar from my diet* and I have been engaging in loads of exercise. Luckily, I enjoy exercising so this is no big chore at the moment.
I don’t really know what happens after the rounds of chemotherapy and radiotherapy have finished. I’m imagining that I’ll be fairly ground-down by it all, so will throw myself into getting fit and strong again. There’s a lot I want to do yet.
*The evidence isn’t rock-solid on this, but does seem to be gathering some momentum.
The Good
It’s all good man!
The last few weeks have flown by. It’s been a mixture of medical stuff, getting the exercise room ready, jobs around the house, seeing family and friends, and riding the bikes. Lots.
Just before my GP revealed the bad news just 10 week’s ago, I discovered that he was a keen triathlete (iron man distance). I guess you have to be keen to even consider one of those; or really not keen about yourself. Anyway, that was good news: it meant that he would understand that when I talk about exercise or riding my bike, that I’m not talking about a potter around the park. I’m talking about riding until “the snow turns black”. He was more than happy to morph from his GP role into personal trainer role. He advised me to ride the bike, and then to ride some more. To train hard but to “taper before the chemo… treat the chemo like your biggest event ever”. This advice was echoed by Dr. John… “Keep on that bike!” That’ll do me.
I’ve been doing quite a bit of DIY. I’m freeing up space in the spare downstairs room to become a dedicted exercise area. It will have an indoor cycle trainer with 40″ TV screen and cooling fans, a sound system and some inspirational stuff. My plan is that this will be my cave during the darker days; a place to keep my cardio fitness up, to maintain some strength and a place to complete a yoga session or to chill out. To free up the 40″ TV and sound system meant investing in a new TV and soundbar for the lounge. Win, win.
I’ve also started to do some work with Christine: our local physiotherapist, Pilates instructor and pain guru. We have discovered just how inflexible my back is and have begun to take steps to correct this. I’m hoping that working with Christine will become a focal point during the darker days.
I’ve enjoyed visits from old friends: I’ve been lending technical assistance to a well-published author (Oh yes), whilst Benj and I have been scheming to get matching tattoos. However, it doesn’t seem right that his mother is encouraging this… sucks all the rebellion out of it!
Apart from that, I’ve mostly been riding my pushbikes. Many years ago I’d aspired to taking part in some properly long distance cycle events. I abandoned those aspirations as my knees began to fail me. Well, my knees don’t have to last so long now… so they’re having it. I hope to take part in some longer races next year (plenty of time to train see), so I’ve been getting a bit of practise in now. This has included a few 2-dayer bikepacking trips and a 100-mile ride to visit Sam’s family. I’d not ridden 100 miles for many years; it felt quite an achievement even if my knees, arse, back, neck and wrists hurt for several days after. Type 2 fun innit. I have a 100km event on Sunday (The Hell of the North Cotswolds) and then Pete and I are riding the Pennine Bridleway later next week.
And I continue to love where I live. Most of my pictures are taken during local cycle rides. The Dark Peak is a stunning part of the world.
Ride on
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(POST 9) THE END OF THE INNOCENCE
Stanley
I’d really wanted to draw things together before I moved on to the next chapter of this adventure however, as is often such in life, things got in the way, I became allergic to keyboards, I ran out of time, etc, etc. I now find myself writing this under the fog of chemo… but the chemo story belongs in the next chapter!
So, what’s been going on? Why have I been too busy to write?
As throughout July and August, I was determined to enjoy as many mini-adventures, trips and good-times as possible. I also wanted to continue getting as fit as possible before C-Day arrived. I also had a lot of work that I needed to complete on the house whilst I was still able to.
Throughout September I enjoyed several bike rides including a 2-Day solo ride around the Dark Peak, and another 2-Day ride to the bottom of the White Peak with my good friend Pete. The picture was taken outside of Trader’s as Pete and I enjoyed a couple of well earned pints at the end of our wet and muddy 2-dayer. All good bike rides should end here
The following weekend, I took part in the Hell of the North Cotswolds (HONC- cycling event), although I ended up doing the medium length ride (75km) rather than the full-fat version (100km). The shame.
I’ve also enjoyed a couple of motorcycle trips on my beloved BMW R9T. The first of these was to visit my friend Emmy and her beautiful new pupster “Daphne”. It was great to stay in Emmy’s stunning house that nestles on a remote and hard-to-access North Yorkshire hillside. It was lucky that I was on the bike as I would have been very tempted to pupnap Daphne if I’d been in the car
The second ride was much more local, yet still an adventure, as I had never ridden the R9T with a passenger on board. Although having a powerful 1200cc engine, the bike is quite small. Sam and I usually just jump on the massive 1250 Adventure as it is so comfortable; the R9T made it a much more cosy affair and Sam had to cling on tightly to avoid getting dragged off the back as we cracked the magic ton. It’s a bit of a thing that I have: if I’m going out on a bike, then I have to crack the ton.
We arrived in Eyam and enjoyed a lovely evening in the pub.
Did I mention that I’ve been working on the house? Talk about mission creep; I’d only wanted to reconfigure one of our rooms to become a dedicated exercise room. However, this seemed to involve moving every single item in the house… often twice. Then moving electrical sockets, rewiring stuff, building shelves in almost every other room in the house, etc. Then the house decided to conspire against me as the cold water storage tank began to overflow, an old pipe began to leak and the bathroom fan failed. Cosmic.
Other stuff? I’ve enjoyed several visits from family and old friends and I’ve spent ages feathering the nest. Part of this included upgrading the TV, getting a soundbar, a PS5 and a new chair to enjoy it all from. Pity that I still can’t sit still then.
Unfortunately, throughout September, I found myself becoming more and more tired. This worried me somewhat, as I’d wanted to hit C-Day (21st September) in peak condition. It also made me doubt whether the cancer treatment was working… was it still growing, or was it the hormone suppressant treatment affecting me? Either way, I found the last few weeks very hard going and I even found myself looking forward to C-Day. At least the chemo would give me an excuse to rest for a bit; even if it was only me that needed the excuse. Little did I know…
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(POST 10) THE NEXT STAGE OF THE ADVENTURE
Stanley
And so we move on to Part 2 of my unwanted adventure. I am defining Part 2 as the phase where I go through the more “Heavy duty” treatment: basically, the chemotherapy and the radiotherapy.
The chemotherapy consists of 6 cycles. Each of these will last for approximately 3 weeks. Then there will probably be a 4-6 week break before we begin the 20 sessions of radiotherapy. I think that means the heavy duty treatment will take until April of next year to complete. I hope that’s the case anyway; it ending any sooner means it hasn’t worked. I think.
My first cycle of chemotherapy took place on 22nd September. For ease of reference, I’m going to assign a simple code to each chemo-related day. For example… C1+0 means the first cycle of chemo + 0 days (the day I had the first chemo). C2+7 would mean the second cycle of chemo +7 days (A week after the day I had my second cycle). Simple? It will help me to track it all anyway!
So, The first cycle, how did it go?
It is hard to judge when the chemo hits. The hospital gives you a massive amount of steroids (Dexamethasone) and you take 16mg of this the day before chemo, the day of chemo, and the day after chemo. The steroids meant that I got no sleep for 72 hours and was completely wired. Furthermore, for the 7 days following chemo, I had to inject myself with GCSF (to force my bones to produce more white blood cells). Then there is the Lansoprazole 30mg (protects the stomach), The Codeine, Paracetamol and Ibuprofen (by the shed load), the Senease (to unblock stuff) and the Zopiclone (because if I don’t get some sleep I’ll fucking throttle someone). Yes, I felt like crap, but I’m not sure which of the above caused it!
C1+1 though to C1+4 (days 1 to 4 right?!)… Things were sort of going ok. I was feeling very tired (expected) and had quite bad pain in my bones and joints that pinballed around my body (not completely unexpected). I was finding the mental and physical aspects of having to stick a needle in to my stomach every day to be quite challenging, and I totally blamed the pain on these injections (the pain is a recognised side effect of both the chemo and the injections). I was still struggling to sleep despite hitting the Zopiclone. Nonetheless, I felt ok for some of the time and managed a couple of very short walks and a couple of hours pottering in the garage.
C1+5 And then it all went a bit wrong… I had spent an hour or two (maybe more) fixing a bike up in the garage. I felt ok up until this point; just a bit tired, achy and brain-fogged. Then suddenly… “BLAM!”… Agonising lower-back pain. 10 out of 10 level pain. On my hands and knees and howling like a pissed off dog levels of pain. Just shoot me in the head and get it over with levels of pain.
A phone call to the Christie resulted in an emergency ambulance arriving at the front door within 30 minutes; a canula being inserted (two actually) and morphine pumped in; 5 hours in the ambulance outside A+E; more drugs; mega-nausea; 19 hours in A+E; drugs; MRI of my spine; drugs; then 24 hours on the Medical Assessment Unit with, you guessed it, more drugs. And no sleep.
Why the urgency? Advanced prostate cancer comes with the risk of developing spinal compressions. Untreated, these can result in rapid and permanent paralysis. Luckily (I do have some more luck later too) the MRI revealed that my spine was cancer free and compression free. Just a bony growth much higher up that was putting a little pressure on things and a swelling in the lumber region (I do not believe either of these were/are significant in any way). Anyway, just as I was beginning to enjoy my stay, and the pain was beginning to ease a little, I was discharged back home with a large supply of pain killers. Opiates too
C1+11 through to C1+14… I started to feel a little better. The pain was just a constant nagging and not debilitating and I had enough energy to do a little more. I enjoyed a very gentle cycle ride, although I felt very unfit and extremely weak. Also, on C1+14, I had my second Zoladex implant (the 12-weekly thing to stop my testosterone)
And then on C1+15 (7th October)… I GOT MARRIED!!
Sam and I had planned this at quite short notice and kept it a secret. We wanted family and friends to be involved but my shot-to-pieces immune system meant this was too risky. A simple registry office ceremony, a pint in the local, then fish and chips at home with a surprised mother, sister, nephew and friend was just a perfect day for us. Thanks again to Mark and Maggie for being our witnesses and keeping the secret
Hey, and checkout lucky me… I wore a pair of trousers that hadn’t fitted for several years. Dusted them off, tried them on, low-and-behold… I found £70 in the pocket Think this must have been from a particularly rowdy and messy NHS Christmas do. Some time ago though: the notes were all the old paper type!
C1+17… and my hair started to fall out. Chemo or 48 hour of marriage? Hmmmm. Never one to wait for things to happen, I got the Gillette out and whipped the lot off.
As Barry Sheene once said, “Don’t wait for your ship to come in… swim out and meet the bloody thing!”
Anyhow, I quite like it
Other than a couple of local cycle rides, walks, resistance sessions and plenty of good food and drink, that’s C1 completed. As I write this (12/10/22) I have already had my blood tests and begun the intake of steroids ready for the second cycle of chemo tomorrow.
Not wanting to leave this blog on a negative point, but being realistic as always, I did receive some news today that I have found very disappointing and worrying. Remember my PSA score from the beginning of this adventure in July? It was 374 back then: a ridiculously high, dangerous and rare score (Should be <3). A Christie doctor had predicted that this score would be in single digits, or even <1, by the time we began chemo. I just got my results from the beginning of chemo… It was 19. That was still really high.
The Christie repeated the test yesterday. My understanding was that the chemo would have bombed the PSA back into the last century. It hasn’t. It’s gone up to 25! I don’t understand why this is happening: the higher the score, the more cancer. Why the hell is it going up?! The Christie have tried to reassure me but I’m worried. Ah well, what can I do? I’m going to hit the herbal stuff… what harm can it do!
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Summary, and then I stopped writing…
Stanley
As per the introduction to this section, I really became quite ill and drifted away from writing. But now I’ve started again! If you’ve read this far, and want more, then jump to the main section of the blog (Click on Stanley’s or the main header). Or click on the tabs to follow my adventures and bike related musings.