Ben Non Bar None

So I’ve been intermittently texting dribs and drabs to people, but finally some proper updates, now I’ve got myself down to the right networked PC at the right time on the right day… and sorry for the suspense. Spoiler: in general it’s good

(Written Sunday 23rd September 2007)

Friday afternoon, after coming round from my various ‘oscopies, I had some positive news. The docs found that the tumour originated in my stomach, so they’ve a much better idea what they’re up against. There is a protocol, and a tried ‘n’ trusted chemo mixture they can start with. (Somehow linking back to this blog’s original theme, the protocol is a Franco-British collaboration; originally created in the UK, but tweaked and improved by the head of the Oncology ward I’m in now…)

This is not to say I’m anywhere near out of the woods, but it sounds to me like a good-sized breadcrumb.

So they started the chemo Friday night. My particular treatment seems to consist of an elephant-sized needle of terrifyingly bright purple liquid that gets injected very, very, slowly (”so we don’t break the vein”), plus a couple of little intravenous baggies that drip in over a couple of hours. After that it’s all pills, which I’ll continue to take when I go home - which may even be in a couple of days. The idea is to stay in hospital for the first few days, carry on the treatment at home for a couple more weeks, then take a week off. Then the cycle begins again. As it’s my first session, they may keep me in for observation for a bit longer, which is fine by me - I’m really doing little else other than sleeping and, when energy’s up, writing this.

I have to say, though: so far, so good. Words fail me with gratitude for the support, concern, love and well-wishes people have been sending. I’m riding on a huge wave of love, and it’s thanks to everyone who’s been letting me know they’re thinking of me, calling me, sending me messages, that’s getting me through this. I’m a big emotional rattling teacup at the moment, but I genuinely (and yes, probably perversely) feel very, very lucky indeed.

I’m writing this Sunday, but the médiathèque isn’t open til tomorrow, so I won’t be able to post til then. But to all my friends: thank you. You are beyond wonderful.

(Written Sunday 23rd September 2007)

Chemo

While all this is still novel enough to joke about, I’m going to make some light-hearted comments about my personal chemo side-effects. Don’t expect too many more of these in the coming months. Disclaimer: do not try this at home unless under supervision of trained medical staff. YMMV.

Crazy Chemo Side-Effect #1: Very Tingly Left Arm

Probably down to afore-mentioned crazy purple liquid getting injected there. My left arm runs at about 70-80% of normal speed, and feels like it’s always slightly asleep from laying on it for too long. (Mental note: make sure I don’t lay on my left arm when I sleep.) It’s also tingly to the touch, which is fun for about… well, ok, it’s still fun.

Crazy Chemo Side-Effect #2: Sensitivity To Cold

They warned me about this one. Something about sticking platinum in my blood, I think. Abrupt temperature changes are to be avoided, especially sudden contact with very cold things. I’ve discovered this can include:

• Cold water from the tap
• The tap itself
• Metal door handles
• The floor (flip-flops ahoy!)
• The metal bits at the end of my hospital bed

Apparently I am going to need freezer gloves. I don’t know if these are made or provided specially.

Crazy Chemo Side-Effect #3: Don’t Get Bruised

As the chemo tries to kill off the nasty cancerous cells, it apparently also knocks off quite a few of the good ones - hence getting bruised and injured is a bad idea. (Or rather: a worse idea than normal.) So I’m going to have to lay off all the rugby, kick-boxing and croc wrestling for a while. Those of you familiar with my competitive, living-on-the-edge no-fear lifestyle will realise just how much of a blow to me this is.

(Written Monday 24rd September 2007)

There have been ups and downs these last few weeks, and I’m realising how remarkably fortunately I’ve been avoiding the downs. I know they’ll be there, and that there’ll be setbacks, but I’m under good advice - I shouldn’t beat myself up when I do have the shitty days.

I’m by no means a religious person, but I feel strangely blessed. I’ve had so much warm and good feeling, so much love and care and human contact from my friends and family in the last few weeks, that I feel elevated and more… human than I have done for a very long time.

I fear I’m digging this groove a little deep, here, but I’m shocked by the intensity of these emotions. Course it could just be the morphine, but I really don’t think so. The depth and beauty that people I know have revealed to me over the last few days and weeks is truly staggering.

Signing off again before I start reading signs in my Earl Grey. (Tip for French hospital life: the food is definitely a cut above average, but BRING YOUR OWN TEABAGS OR SUFFER.)

(Written Wednesday 26 September 2007)

I slept all through the bibliotheque opening hours yesterdays, so didn’t get to post any of the above - or check my mail. And the place is shut today, so all this posting will have to wait til tomorrow. Damn these 12-month minimum-contract 3G data cards…

Quickest of quick status reports. Things quietly and happily continue to improve, and I’m holding my breath not to jinx anything. My renal functions are apparently normal, meaning my kidneys have recovered, and I no longer have too much calcium in my blood. I may have another small urinary infection, but if so it should be knocked out before it spreads kidney-wards like last time. (Another advantage to being in hospital - regular wee tests!) On the (only slightly) down side, I’m coughing all night, not sleeping, and dozing through the daytime (and missing vital internet connection windows ;), but they’re supposed to be changing the cough medication tonight to try and improve that one. So all either good news, or very minor gripes. I’m still on a constant but low-level oxygen supply, which means I can take a gas cylinder home with me when I do get out. They want to keep me in hospital for a while longer until they’re satisfied that my cough’s improved, that I’m sleeping better, and that I can walk about unaided (at the moment, I’m too tired to give it a serious go), before they send me packing - but while this is of course a little frustrating (mainly, shamefully, as I want an always-on net connection ;), it’s definitely for the best. And taken in context, still an excellent, excellent position to be in.

So still happy, still positive, still revelling in the almighty and astonishing warmth of human friendship, and still failing to conjure up a single cynical thought. I’m spotting the broken record signs - time to turn off. Love to everyone. Words can’t say it.

(Written Thursday 27 September 2007)

Emilie printed the comments page for the last blog entry and brought it in for me yesterday. Being completely emotionally overwhelmed is starting to become my natural state. I’m going to have to start taking some kind of endorphine supplements for that too.

There’s been way too much lag between postings - so much has happened, and improved, since that “Innards” post that I hope you don’t feel your sympathy glands have been overmilked. But bloody hell, hello everyone from everywhere and everywhen!

So today, what’s new… still very tired, and a touch melancholy - drugs not really hitting the stomach pain this morning, and breathing not great. Still - big difference between worrying about achy guts, coughing and feeling tired, and worrying about identification of primary tumors… Occasional adjustment of perspective required. Had a stupid pouting spat yesterday while my family where talking about the delicious cottage pie my dad had cooked earlier, while I was trying to shovel down some salt-free boiled leek mixture - which made me feel about five again. But occasional childish tantrums aside, all still remarkably and breath-holdingly good.

Just wrapping up warm in bed in hospital, and putting off starting my constitutional walks til a little later. Will get downstairs to the net PC this afternoon to post all this if I have to slide there on my skinny little ginger arse. You wait a week for a blog posting, then five come along at once…

Love to you all.

WARNING: very very long, and very personal post.  If you’re just here for the usual frog humour, you might want to skip this one…
(more…)

Thanks for all the supportive messages, all.

Bad news is, I went back into hospital (the good ol’ public one this time) on the 6th, and am still here - likely to be so for a good few weeks longer.  Various infections and problems that are all probably linked, somehow, somewhere - still a bit of a medical mystery.  Should have a diagnosis in a couple of days, though, which will help…

Only got a few minutes on the single hospital internet PC, so got to go.  But joe dot holmberg at gmail dot com should be working… will be checking mail as frequently as I can get down here.  Which isn’t super often, but crossed fingers…

Later, all.  Keep in touch.

No-one can really say they’ve really lived in France until they’ve experienced the French health care system, so to this end, I’ve spent the last two months carefully nurturing a kidney stone. Its origins are unclear, but could possibly be due to an excess of dairy in the diet; as Ben says, “when a French doctor says you’ve been eating too much cheese, you’ve probably been eating too much cheese…“.

The first diagnosis was stress-related colopathie spasmodique, which my bulging-eyed Dr. Marceau explained by viciously wringing out an invisible sausage. This represented my colon in a moment of panic, such as when attempting to conjugate an irregular verb in the subjunctive. When a couple of weeks of healthy salads, deep breathing and talking completely in the present tense failed to straighten me out, a big expensive machine called a scanner (DWISOTT) finally found an insy-winsy kidney stone jammed down some tiny internal uro-tunnel. At this point I was referred to a urologue, which disappointingly turned out to be a urologist and not a steampunk urine-powered Victorian timepiece.

It was only then I realised my terrible error - I had become malade during les vacances ! Every self-respecting Parisian medical practitioner was sipping pastis on the Mediterranean coast, leaving the hospitals and clinics staffed by foreigners and other social unfortunates who hadn’t yet realised that no-one does any kind of work between August 1st and September 3rd. I duly took the first available post-rentrée appointment (the end of September), and I’d probably still be sleeping bolt upright and twitching if it wasn’t for one of my work colleagues reminding me that we had a “super bonne mutuelle” (a kind of work-provided private health plan), and I could book myself in with a private doctor and get all the money reimbursed.

So to cut a long story short, I forced my way ahead of all those suckers without cushy office jobs (demonstrating that famous queue-respecting English sense of fair play) and got myself an operation.

It all went very smoothly, I’m glad to report. In and out of hospital so quick I didn’t even get to properly explore the bed controls. (”Head… up! Feet… down! It’s like a chair… but it’s a bed!”) I’m now loafing at home, spaced on insurance-reimbursed painkillers, with a little tube rattling round somewhere in me that will eventually permit me to pass (or, more explicitly, piss) the little calcium munter out. Then they pull out the tube, and I can carry on where I left off packing my face with the stinkiest, crustiest, proudly pustular cheeses that France can lay at my hospital-slippered feet.

NEXT!