The Journey continues…

I’ve just come back from the latest monthly check-up, and apparently all is still well (hurrah!). However, they have scheduled a PET scan for me within the next fortnight – the first scan I will have had since the treatment plan was completed at the end of October last year.

A PET (Positron Emission Tomography) scan is an imaging technique that produces a three-dimensional image of functional processes in the body. To conduct the scan, a short-lived radioactive tracer isotope is injected into my blood stream:  the tracer is then chemically incorporated into a biologically active molecule. This is particularly useful in identifying cancer cells. There is a waiting period of around an hour while this active molecule becomes concentrated in tissues of interest, and at this point they place me in the big imaging scanner for around 40 minutes. It’s a bit like the ‘Joe 90’ experience (a reference only meaningful to people of a certain age). I then remain radioactive for a few hours: I was disappointed to find out that this didn’t involve me glowing green in the dark…

I last had this done in August, before my Panendoscopy.  The latest one will provide a more accurate impression of what is going on inside of me than the few camera inspections I’ve had of the treated area. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly concerned, but at least it will remove any doubts in my mind – one way or the other. You really want to it to say “Alles Klar!” (it’s a German machine) there and then, but alas, no: results will be discussed in six weeks time. I shall be crossing my digits – not for six weeks obviously, that would be silly.

Apart from this, I spent a week sailing in the Canaries with Liz and a few good friends. Lots of sunshine, some good winds, so challenging sailing (certainly no cruising): the first time I’ve really pushed myself since all this began. It confirmed four things: I’m not as fit as I was, even though I’m back in the gym; I still need to cat nap on a regular basis; excessive alcohol intake is a thing of the past; I feel like a greased monkey with all the sunblock required.

I continue to find some foods difficult to digest, though I’m getting more adventurous with spicy foods (I’ve finally moved on from Kormas). Still find saliva hard to produce and the throat remains sore, especially at night – but I’m feeling better every day!

Thanks to all of you who have looked at this blog – it had over 1,100 views in the first month – and I hope that it gives you a good flavour of what the treatment and healing process is like. If there is anything specific you’d like to ask me, please do – I’d be happy to respond.

PS. Here’s the crew:

A wonderful sunrise after a bit of night sailing:

Radioactive Man at the helm…

 

The key to recovery

I mentioned previously that one of the key aspects to recovering post-treatment is the need for human contact – even if you’re not always up to it. That timeframe from treatment end to waiting for the results can be a very lonely period: you’re without the daily contact from/comfort blanket of the nursing staff, and you don’t yet know the final outcome. I was asked to do a piece with the assistance of Macmillan for the press regarding this period, and the link below is the first result (the newspaper version has my mugshot attached for additional scary impact).

The next update will be “the Partner’s Perspective”: I got Liz to put some thoughts into words about how she felt during the entire process. There are parts of her story that I wasn’t aware of at the time…

http://www.lincolnshireecho.co.uk/key-recovery-cancer-seeing-people-day/story-20714728-detail/story.html

Radioactive Man Update No.7

I had my latest monthly check up yesterday. The good news is that progress is fine; I’m learning to tolerate nasal exploration; my sore throat will eventually feel better, and I now have some artificial saliva products to aid digestion/mastication A.S. Saliva Orthana being one). The ‘not great’ news is that I learned a new word, and it is Lymphoedema:

“A swelling that develops because of a build-up of fluid in the body’s tissues. This happens when the lymphatic system, which normally drains fluid away, isn’t working properly.”

A side effect of the radiotherapy, Lymphoedema is a chronic swelling. That means it is a condition that never goes away because the causes can’t be reversed. In my case it manifests itself as a swelling under the chin/around the neck – let’s call it the ‘bullfrog’ effect. I originally thought it was the loose skin from my many previous chins, but as the swelling started to get harder, I thought it was probably something else – and indeed it is. However, there are a number of daily treatments which reduces the look of someone storing vast quantities of food in the neck, one of which is to slap it vigorously (in a chopping motion) for a few minutes a day. Now I’m sure I’ll get many volunteers to give me a daily slapping but don’t worry, I’ve got this one…

Apart from this, I’ve been doing some press work with Macmillan, and have also joined Macmillan Voices: these volunteers aim to use their experience to improve cancer services and raise awareness of the realities of living with cancer.  I’m not in any way unique: there are 300,000+ individuals a year who will be diagnosed with Cancer. Key to my recovery process was finding a method of communicating with others in the same situation. That’s where talking with friends, family and Macmillan’s comes into play. I cannot stress enough the need to keep in contact with the outside world; never hide away, and never be ashamed.

I’m consciously moving away from that mindset of ‘dealing with the cancer’ to one of ‘getting on with my life’ – with a spring in my step. Concentrating on the cancer is like believing that there’s only a past – attempting to let go and moving on is knowing that there’s a future full of potential ahead.

PS. 101 Uses for a Radiotherapy Mask, No.2 – sunglasses, headphones and shirt rack (or ‘pretend it’s a beach bum’):