The Waiting Game

Thank you to everyone who read, shared, and commented on my last post. It meant a great deal to me and I am hugely appreciative.

One thing I would like to clarify, however. In no way do I want to disparage the actual care I have received from the NHS. The technicians, nurses and doctors have all been, without exception, absolutely fantastic and have made some very unpleasant experiences seem a little bit less unbearable. I would particularly single out the gastroscopy which was a horrible procedure during which I was treated with care and attention during every single, solitary second. I know one of the nurses involved may well read this and I hope he knows how much his kindness meant to me. 

Having said that, the way I feel at the moment is that I have been swept up by an essentially benevolent but unimaginably vast machine, in which everything is processed smoothly and swiftly and without any input from me. I was going to say I am a cog but that would be inaccurate since I don't have even that level of influence. And the worst thing? I know this is entirely necessary and for my own good. I was diagnosed four weeks ago and we're already well on the way to discussing the chemotherapy options. It has to be like this in order to keep me alive. 

But it's not easy because days of nothing are interrupted by flurries of activity which are followed by more nothing. This is only the beginning of course, and I am well aware that cancer, just like other serious conditions without the heady glamour of malignancy, is pretty much all about waiting. For those of us not gifted with a surfeit of patience, that's one of the most difficult things. I had the gastroscopy then a wait of six days before the initial diagnosis from the biopsies. Then four days before the CT scan and a further five days before I got the result. A further wait for the PET scan followed a week later by the result then a week before appointment with the surgeon. I know that this is, in medical terms, extremely quick. But on the days when I can barely think of anything except what might be growing inside of me, as the minutes seem like hours, that's not a great deal of comfort.

Still, it might be wise to reflect, time is one thing I have got at the moment. Lots of it. Time to read all the books I've never read, watch the films I've never seen. Fact is though, I seem to spend a lot of it sleeping. This is probably related to taking Diazepam to calm me down when I get anxious but it still seems like something of a waste. But I suppose it's only a waste in the sense that it's time I could otherwise spend not doing the things I want to do, because a lot of waking time is spent either thinking about having cancer or thinking about, and rejecting, doing something more constructive. 

But it's not all doom and gloom. I have read several books in the past couple of weeks, all by the same author, Sophie Hannah, and all with virtually the same plot. I've also watched a few mediocre-to-bad films, the worst of which was Sidney Sheldon's Bloodline which is strongly recommended for connoisseurs of terrible cinema. 

Best of all has been the comradeship of friends who have done that most wonderful of things; they have made me laugh at times when I thought I might never find anything funny again. You know who you are and you know I love you dearly. One thing though. Don't worry about sharing your own problems just because you perceive mine to be greater. I find hearing about the troubles of others to be a break from my own and, let's face it, the last thing I want to is talk about nothing but cancer. Which is rich coming from someone who has just written several hundred words on the subject. 

Anyway, another song link. This is a particular favourite by Paul Buchanan.