What a Bastard

I had a really shit day yesterday.

I went out on Saturday with a friend to an event. If I hadn't organised it on Friday I wouldn't have bothered, because I was tired and disinterested in doing anything.

By the time I got home I was really tired, and the nappy was properly wet, a disgusting feeling. I showered, changed and had dinner and was feeling ok by bedtime, but bladder control had disappeared.

Yesterday I woke up dizzy, with a headache and constant hot flushes. Nothing I could do would shift the headache, and I kept walking into doorframes. Once or twice I thought I was going to fall, and I had the shakes once or twice. I was taking various different painkillers, but in the end I got the headache dulled enough to get to sleep.

I was really bloody miserable and I don't want another day like that.

Hopefully Some Good News

God knows I could do with some.

Had a walk today. 3km without knocking myself out, which is good.

I've just returned from the GP. She had the test results and says that it's not a huge worry. I have two nodes near where my prostate was that are showing as having cancerous cells, but nothing elsewhere. She says that after treatment I should be worry free.

I want to be convinced....

The only other thing she prescribed us a dog. Not on prescription though.

Results

The scintigraph results arrived on Saturday. Susan looked at them, I didn't. I didn't ask about them.

Not a good day

The sun is out, the temperature is nice yet I'm hiding indoors.

I think this is what's called a shit day

A Second Scintigraph

After finding out that removing my prostate didn't get all the cancer the hospital are now doing tests to find where it's hiding.

Yesterday I had a scintigraph at Vinci hospital. Scintigraphy (from Latin scintilla, "spark"), also known as a gamma scan, is a diagnostic test in nuclear medicine, where radioisotopes attached to drugs that travel to a specific organ or tissue (radiopharmaceuticals) are taken internally and the emitted gamma radiation is captured by gamma cameras, which are external detectors that form two-dimensional images in a process similar to the capture of x-ray images. (Wikipedia).

The appointment was scheduled for 13:05. The instructions were to eat nothing within 4 hours, so after a bowl of cereal at 08:30 I stopped eating and drinking. You have to stay still during the test and not drinking anything removed the possibility of needing a wee half way through.

We arrived 10 minutes early and then ha to sit around for about an hour because they had run out of "product" and were awaiting more from the lab. Whether the "product" they were talking about was saline drip or the atomic isotope I don't know.

Anyway... After a long wait I was called into the room, a vein in my arm was found, and the catheter inserted. I was attached to two bags of liquid and left for about 10 minutes. Then the technician reappeared with a metal canister that looked like a high tech - but small - teapot. She hid behind a screen, attached the capsule to my catheter and turned in on using a long stick thing. Remember - she was hiding from it, yet it was going into my arm.

I then had a wait until the product had reached the extremities, and then I was called into the room to be scanned. That involved removing all metal - belt, hairband, and that - but I went further and put on a pair of drawstring shorts. Unnecessary, maybe, but it's uncomfortable enough without clothing adding to the discomfort.

The scan itself takes about 15 minutes, and involved being flat on my back, one hand gripping the other wrist, with my hands above my head. My shoulder was screaming with pain after about a minute, but you can't move. 

I'm not sure quite how I managed, but they seemed happy enough. We left the hospital and went straight to a boulangerie that has a seating area. It may have been 16:46, but I needed lunch.

The results of the scan will be sent to me, but I'm not sure I will look at them. What's the chances I'd understand them?

I do know I'm still not Godzilla 

A Bit of a Prick

This is not about injections, this is about me.

I was a prick yesterday. I was being triggered by every noise, which shot straight through to the middle of my brain. It was accompanied by tinnitus, which means I wasn't nice to be around.

Side Effects

I had a bit of a wobble yesterday - nothing serious, really, just end to end hot flushes. I reckon I could bring a bath full of cold water to the boil in about 10 seconds just by sitting in it.

I'm not sure how I should feel. I don't feel unwell, I've just got no motivation or energy.

A New Appointment

Today Susan had a phone call from the Radiotherapy department of Tours hospital. They've made an appointment for very early October to discuss my continuing treatment.

I thought my radiotherapy was going to be in Poitiers, but Tours is the same distance. Plus we know Tours better, and we know people in Tours. It may be that we can stay with friends the occasional night.

I'm interested by the lack of urgency.

At Last

I think I'm starting to get my bladder under control. 

I'm not having to clench and fast waddle to the toilet every time I stand up, and after 14 hours my nappy has only had to deal with the occasional very small dribble.

I'm having to use a lot of skin repair cream, because even dry nappies chafe.

I haven't had any serious hot flushes today, which is a relief

The end of summer

Our town has an excellent swimming pool that's only open during the summer holidays. I haven't been swimming this year, my operation was before the the pool opened, and lack of bladder control meant I wouldn't have been welcome in the water.

The pool closed at lunchtime today, and I went down to pick Susan up. It was good to see the Maître Nageur, who is a thoroughly nice chap, and others I would normally have been swimming with, but it felt odd. 

I had a couple of hot flushes during the evening. Most unpleasant.

Half Human

A quiet day today - but they have all been quiet. I cooked a huge batch of bean stew in the afternoon. Standing up and peeling onions and tomatoes was bloody tiring. I had a kip on the afternoon.

This evening we joined friends for dinner at a local pop up restaurant. It's only the third time since the operation that we've had an evening meal out. I got home with an almost dry nappy. I managed to be rude and a bit honest about the treatment, but the injection site is still swollen, painful, and bruised.

It was nice to see friends, though.

Bruised

My stomach is swollen, sore and bruised where I had the injection. Really painful, on a day where we were busy. I have to be careful to wear my belt not too tight, and lower than I normally would. There's insecurity for you.

First, we had an interview with the government health insurance mob in Loches (CEPAM). I'm unable to work while I'm incontinent, because my typical working day is about 12 hours, and I would be wet (and potentially a bit smelly) by the end of the day - not nice for our clients. Plus, of course, I have 7 weeks worth of half a day attending to radiotherapy to factor in.

As with all French bureaucracy, once you get into the office and talk to them they're extremely  helpful. We achieved in a 20 minute chat what would have taken 2 days and a lot of swearing whilst using the online portal. We may even get some money.

Then we stopped for coffee at a boulangerie, because why wouldn't you.

We had lunch with friends at the guinguette (think pop up restaurant). I am going out a bit more, but I am making sure when we arrange things that I don't want me and cancer to be the topic of conversation. Anything but that unless I mention it.

The problem is that the following things make me tear up: cancelling a holiday, not getting to Australia to see family, the pain and inconvenience of the operation and treatment, the prospect of more treatment. I don't want to be a morose bastard, or look like I'm needing sympathy.

And I don't want to spend my whole life being "that cancer guy".

In the evening I had my first hot flush. It's a side effect of the injection, and it feels like my brain is melting from the outside in. I hope the next six months isn't going to be like this 

Disappointed

Today I cancelled our accommodation in Andorra. The timing is just too tight, and I don't know if we'll get any sick pay - money might be too tight.

I feel like a bit of a failure - I originally booked this to celebrate my recovery - and when that didn't happen I was going to use it to take my mind off the various therapies.

Ah well. 

Ouch!

It's the return of the domiciliary nurse for the first of my hormone therapy injections. They're scheduled for one a month for 6 months.

The listed more common side effects can be:

• back pain
• blurred vision
• dizziness
• fever
• flushing or redness of the skin
• hard lump
• headache
• nervousness
• pain
• pounding in the ears
• slow or fast heartbeat
• small lumps under the skin
• swelling
• unusually warm skin

and you don't want to know about the less common side effects. I know they have to warn us about these things, but it does feel like they're saying "are you sure??"

Shit that hurt. They're huge, and it's a slow release jell which sits in a lump in the fat around the stomach. As it's the first one, it's two, either side of the navel. It hurts going in, and it hurts sitting there in a lump.

Not happy.

A New Appointment

We had a phone call today giving us the time of my next trip through the atomic donut. It's the day before we plan going on our short holiday, so I hope it doesn't interfere.

Because they're putting radioactive stuff into me we don't have to pick anything up at the pharmacy first.

Bugger

Bugger. Bugger bugger bugger.

I had my follow up appointment with the surgeon today. He apologized, but said it was bad news. As I suspected, my PSA was too high which means they didn't get all the cancer with the operation.

So now I have to have another trip through the atomic donut, then 7 weeks of radiotherapy treatment 5 days a week. All whilst having testosterone injections (they're actually anti testosterone). He first phrased it as "chemical castration", one of the bleakest things I've ever been told. That's an injection every month for 6 months.

He says 5 minutes a day for the radiotherapy. Not looking forward to it - it means driving to Poitiers and back every day. That's 3 hours on the road every weekday for 7 weeks.

Not my happiest day.

We did finally get the document off him that says I'm unable to work. This may mean we can claim some money on social security.

Holiday!!

Just as I booked us a holiday before I went in to hospital, I've book a short holiday as a reward for getting through this, and an incentive to get my bladder under control.

Andorra is cheap out of season, so that's where we're going.

My Brother is OK

I had a message from my brother today, his PSA levels are good.

A Message from My Brother

He had his PSA test today.

A Message to my Brother

My brother is due a PSA test, but is being tardy about it. 

So I sent him a message:

The things they don't tell you:

Having a tube shoved up the old fella is uncomfortable and it leaks, so you have permanently wet clothing

After a while the willy becomes almost an innie rather than an outtie. That means even when you do start peeing on the loo for yourself it just dribbles out and trickles down your cods.

Even the most comfortable nappies are uncomfortable. They chafe between the legs.

I'm feeling better, but I can feel the stomach muscles starting to bind again.

Let's see if that does the trick