The Return of the King
I’m back.
That is to say I have returned to a world that has such minor fripperies as computers and Interwebs. It’s a bit of a culture shock.
The last seven or so days have been somewhat of a dynamite shock to the system and having had time to think, I realise that my life has taken a massive change of direction which has forced me to reevaluate just about everything. My future isn’t the happy relaxed autumn years of retirement I had hoped for and instead has become a series of questions, none of which seem to have pleasant answers, There are some very heavy storm clouds ahead.
Before I go any further I have to thank everyone for their well-wishes. I really do appreciate them, but the mind being in somewhat of a turmoil I can’t thank you individually.
I came to a decision.
Herself told me not to write about my experiences. But then she said I could if I wanted to. Very decisive, is my Missus. I decided to write.
So what is the story?
In a nutshell, I have been diagnosed with an aggressive cancerous tumour in my nostril. This is apparently quite rare so I don’t know whether I should consider myself lucky or not. One disturbing feature of this cancer is that it is very fucking obvious once it gets into its stride. No one can miss that bloated red scabby conk in the middle of my face with disgusting looking growths coming out the nostril. It’s as plain as the nose on my face, as it were.
The next step is to have a PET scan where they turn me radioactive to see if the cancer has spread. So far it has hit the lymph nodes in my neck which are now the size of oranges. Fortunately the beard covers them so the world is spared that sight. They have to be removed. And so does the beard. I shall be clean shaven for the first time in over fifty years.
There are two probable outcomes from the PET scan. Either the cancer has spread or it hasn’t. If it has spread then I am, to use the medical term, fucked. Radiation and other nasties await me and I would rather not think about that. If it hasn’t spread then the Professor [or Prof as everyone calls him] wants to do a little procedure called a total rhinectomy. I could provide a link to the description of this little operation but I have greater respect for my reader’s sensitivities. Do your own search if you must but don’t say you haven’t been warned.
So why write about all this misery, pain and ugliness? It’s not for sympathy anyway. It is what it is and short of some kind of miracle, I’m stuck with it. Maybe my scribbles may be of some slight help to some? More likely I can show the rest of you that maybe your lot isn’t so bad after all?
Some in the past have tried writing fictitious crap, claiming they have a cancer and appealing for money. I hope Karma lands them with their just deserts. My cancer unfortunately isn’t fictitious and I’m not appealing for funds. I think I have the high moral ground there?
I got home yesterday afternoon and for the first time in a week [it seems like months] I wasn’t distracted by hospital noises, rowdy patients or constant attention. It was very quiet here which was the greatest blessing. Unfortunately reality sunk in and I will be honest – I entered the depths of despair. Not a nice place. Maybe scribbling about my tribulations will help me a little? Maybe I can find something somewhere to smile about? Maybe the simple act of putting pen to paper will help clarify my mind?
Time will tell.
Glad to have you back. Hospitals can be seriously bad for the health. Be prepared for people saying how brave you are (which would bloody annoy me). Please keep writing, sticking it to those of us who are burdened only with trivial woes.
Cancer is a bastard . I wish you and your wife well.
Best wishes to you her indoors.
Keep your chin up, and your hopes. I’ll be thinking of you and wishing you well. Maybe somebody who believes will pray for you. You never know, it might even do some good. 😉
God bless you. Keep fighting and who nose what might happen? Removal might be the key. The face is never a good site for even a few spots let alone a tumour. I hope that your prof of surgery helps sort out the core of the problem. Ask about immunotherapy procedures in the area. It has, in my opinion, been key to some amazing cures. Good luck to you and her in doors.
Very glad to see you writing today. I have missed you.
Good luck and fortitude for whatever is to come, and much love.
I’m glad you’re back home, you have been missed. At least now you can get some sleep and enjoy the peace and quiet away from the bright lights and never ending noise. No doubt the diagnosis sucks and the future filled with uncertainty. Take things one step at a time and focus on what you can control. Lean on your family and friends. We’re all rooting for you.
I wish you all the best Grandad. Your scribblings have kept this half-irish Mayo mongrel amused endlessly. It must be even worse without Penny and Herself back at home with you. Just remember – you can rest all you want when you are no longer with us. Until then … I will raise a glass of Jamieson’s finest to you.
Blessings
As before, one step at a time, then handle whatever it presents.
It’s a bugger, that’s for sure, none of us know how we’d handle it until we need to, you’ll plot your own course however works for you.
As well as your supportive family, there’s lots of folk you’ve never met, and probably never will, who are wishing you well. That matters.
Hear, hear.
“Maybe my scribbles may be of some slight help to some? More likely I can show the rest of you that maybe your lot isn’t so bad after all?” That!
Sounds bad but the best of luck to you and yes, your scribbles will certainly help put things into perspective.
How is herself?
Herself is increasingly frustrated at their insistence on refusing to release her. She is not a happy camper.
Best of luck to you Grandad. I did a search on the ailment and found photos of the prosthetics available. They look pretty damned good actually.
Apparently there is a two year waiting list. What do I do in the meantime? Wear an IRA balaclava?
I never would have expected a two-year waiting list for such an item!
Sorry for the trouble. Yes. your writing does help us.
Cancer is a bugger. But every day is a gift. Live life, as you always have, in YOUR way. Find joy in everything you can, and what will be, will be. But there’s a lot of us who are here for moral support, and you should know that this community really values and cares about you. Daft as that sounds.
It’s never the end until it is.
Keep on being you.
It’s more important that you do post as much as you want here, I’d be more worried for you both if you kept it all bottled up!
Thinking seriously of you both.
I hope this at least gives hope Grandad. My lovely and long enduring wife was diagnosed with a rare cancer some 6 years ago now. Apparently only 200 people get it in the UK each year, so the long and arduous diagnosis process too some time, and she was in a bad way by the time they eventually knew exactly what was wrong with her (stage 4).
They put her on an experimental chemo treatment, and that too took time because the NHS do not generally use it and therefore fund it. One of the cancer charities stepped in and she became a Guiney Pig for the treatment. It is based on the mustard gas that was used in the WW1 trenched BTW. While the treatment was rough, and was done as an inpatient each time, it worked and she has been cancer free ever since. They say that there is a chance of it returning but that other treatments are available (stem cells etc).
Keep your (now bare) chin up old man, and always remember that there is hope, and that you have the thoughts and best wishes of your army of readers on the side of both you and Herself. Your docs have some great ways of fighting back against the big C these days