Tuesday, oncology day, no more no mans land, something has to change. I get up as my partner brings me a coffee. I feel anxious and not at my best, but then who does when they are anxious? I drink the coffee and head for the shower. Time to feel fresh and splash on the scent. Before dressing I go and have breakfast and then think about what to wear for the day at the hospital. I select black shirt with skull cuff links and burgundy trousers. I like the way my clean bright white hair stands out against the black shirt. I am dressing in the bedroom when I tap my foot on the under bed storage tray and there is a metallic clink. I look down and I am flabbergasted to see the seal ring that I thought I had lost back in July/August of last year. I was so convinced it was gone for ever I had a replacement made. So it is a bizarre start to the day.
So having reunited the ring with my hand I drive with my partner to the hospital. We arrive on time and have the unusual experience of being kept waiting. Half an hour after my appointment time we get called in. The specialist nurse is in the room, not usual, so I figure this is not going to be straight forward. We allow ourselves a moment of levity and note how quickly we burnt through the radiotherapy option. So he who made a pact with the devil drops in the new medicine. Its name is Enzalutamide (Xtandi). It is clearly a toxic little potion as I have to have regular blood tests and I’ve got to start taking and reporting my blood pressure. I can only get by going to the Leicester Royal Infirmary on a weekly basis to get the beast. The oncologist jokes that if it goes okay they might trust me with a couple of months worth. I interpret this as if the beast potion does not kill you we will let you have your own supply. This is clearly chemical roulette, good old medical profession loves to roll the dice. The nurse takes me outside to weigh me. 100 kilos, I’m not having that I know I am 98K. I banter the nurse and we agree that she will tell him 98K. I also discover that I am still 5 ft 11 inches tall. Back in the room my partner had clearly been asking questions about my cancer. Its not got bigger apparently just more invasive. There is paper work to do. I have to sign a consent form that says clearly that this is not a cure only containment and palliative care. The usual extensive arse covering, but that is the game, what else am I going to do? Below is the top page of the drug info sheet and the list of side effects.
He who made a pact with the devil explains that there maybe tiredness and cognitive impairment, e.g if I do crosswords in 20 minutes now they could take me 40 in the future. That’s going to make reading Chalmers theory of consciousness a bit of a challenge. He presses two blood test forms into my hands and gives me directions to the hospital vampire department. That’s about it really apart from how much he stressed that exercise was the best (only) way to counteract the side effects. In my head that means thinking about exercise/training as medicine. It is now an essential not an optional nice to have. Exercise or die of heart shit or any of the other little side effects this beast of a potion has up its sleeve. We bid farewell and wait for a moment while the specialist nurse gives us a copy of my consent form.
The walk to the blood test department was quiet and quite long. I took my number, A38 and sit in the waiting room. Numbers 36 and 37 go in and so I am in quickly. Not only am I having the usual blood, testosterone and PSA but also a virology scan. Now I understand the oncologists reference to HIV. It appears this new beast potion comes with more scrutiny across the board. I leave the vampires with the usual fluffy cloud taped to my arm. The car is retrieved and I drive us to the garden centre nearest to home and eat lunch.
On arriving home I file my papers in the cancer file and make an Excel spread sheet for my blood pressure. I take pictures for the blog and up load them. Its time to take my new medicine: exercise. I really do not feel like it but its already five days since I trained so I cannot afford to snowflake about. I get into my gear and go to the garages and set the rower up for an hour session. My body is not happy with this development and resists to start with. The result is that by the 30 minute mark it looks likely that I wont make my basic standard of 12 kilometres in the hour. I pick it up a bit and in the end I make my standard and burn 600+ calories. The lesson is so clear, I cannot afford to lapse and my training medicine must be daily. Essential, not a nice to have.
I retreat to the sofa to record the session and then get changed out of my sweaty kit. I am back on the sofa drafting the blog when a friend calls. She is in the middle of lots of organisational stuff so we chat it through and talk about how tough it can be at times working ones way through all these processes while trying to maintain normal family life. After the call I eat tea and then return to drafting the blog, which I had finally decided what I would call this phase during which I drop one potion and prepare to trade up to something a little more toxic. I will soon put all the phases of the blog up so that people can see the journey to date. Now its time to watch the last episode of Steel Town Murders and get my self to bed minus one pill. Its been a tough day but there is worse to come, so I will endeavour to look on the bright side.
