Chemo 23.5 An episode

roadrunner

Goalkeeper
Foggy dont know you but have read most of your posts. Inspirational and hopefully others will feel blessed with what they have rather sounding off on here. Keep up the fight. Dogs and daughters need all your loving for a lot longer. No showers with the dog tho:lol:
 

r@mside

Striker
I've got to admit I've been finding the latest threads tough to read and at a loss for how to respond.

But, I would like to say (and I'm sure this applies to a lot of the crew on here) that your journey, as tortuous as it has been, is a great inspiration for us all to appreciate things we often take for granted in life - the love of family and friends and the kindness of strangers.

Thanks for sharing and the utmost respect for the bravery you're showing.
 
I had extra chemo at the end of the normal three days. A private nurse came round to administer. I got a free toiletry bag and a hot and cold pack. Well worth it then. This is third line treatment which may help control my tumour. It’s not available on the NHS as they tend to pay for cure stuff not last longer stuff. It got taken off the list in 2010 by NICE. The year the coalition came in to government in no coincidence whatsoever.

The nausea. I hate the nausea the most. I thought I had it controlled after the last chemo but no.

It lasted until Saturday night when my very good friend who drops everything at a moment’s notice came round and made a cup of tea. That cup of tea was the most refreshing I can remember and marked the end of the nausea.

My daughter also turned 20. I woke up. Cried. Then got up and got on. Saw her. Gave her a big hug and a card. I love that bairn. Unconditionally.

Sunday was eat day. Sunday afternoon was diarrhoea afternoon. I have pills to move things and pills to stop them. I eventually had to take the latter.

Monday. Weak. Up and out with the dog. Fantastic. Shopping. Put a fillet steak in the trolley. Cooked it. Quite rare of course. It’s a fillet.

1pm-6pm. Worst pain since the bowel rupture itself. 5 vomiting sessions. I won’t lie I was screaming in pain. The last vomits having to dig deep to get it out. My innards are bad enough without this violence going on.

One session went in the sink. Our lass cleaned the dried on chewed steak vomit later. Bless her.

Then it was time for 999. 3 paramedics, one qualified, one being mentored, one newly joined. They got the morphine in. I love morphine. Then a ride to Dryburn. On the way I got to know them. Had a recommendation for a lodge in south west Scotland. Pet friendly.

I was fast tracked past the new GP surgery that is the A&E waiting room and given room B. An X-ray showed nothing. I thought it was time for a colostomy and part of me welcomes that. Everything I eat is a challenge.

I am now a vegetarian who doesn’t travel. A conscripted eco warrior.

The doctor said my problem could be pseudo something or other. Dr Google later said if so there was a likely 100 percent mortality rate if my bowel carries on like this.

I know I have necrosis of the lining. The tumour is a bunch of cells gone mad after all.

It’s a shame really as I have none of the traditional spread that is normally the killer. To the lymphs, the liver, the lungs and whatnot.

My eventual diarrhoea was nuclear. Like a high pressure jet wash. But I wasn’t blocked. Great news. Then home around 2 am with profuse apologies for being a bother.

It is now Wednesday and I am feeling human. The pooch is farmed off. Again.

I read a lot now I’m pretty much housebound. I read everything on here. Mostly the politics I have to admit.

I’m not offering up any opinions. I’ve never seen anyone say that’s a good point sir/madam, I’ve changed my view.

Anyway. I read stuff. I know the difference between Britain, the UK and the British Isles. I read about our history and our problems. I watched an Irish documentary on the bombing of Mountbatten the other day. It was one of the first bits of news I remember as a child. The bit that sticks in my mind is the Irish boat boy. Hired at 15 from Enniskillen I think. His father was given false hope but the surviving boy was a grandchild of Dickie. But no, he soon saw his son in a fishing boat. Dead. His head “in a bucket of mackerel”

The same day the IRA used their new technology of remote detonators to murder a lot of paras. Then learning from previous routines waited for the big wigs, medics and more soldiers to arrive and set another bomb off. The detail of the carnage was horrific. The only bits of the driver left was his pelvis welded to the seat.

I worked in an area where I have seen the worst of human beings. In detail. I wrote up many a Home Office Summary Of The Case for the parole board reviewing life sentence prisoners. The police were good at sending in the most gruesome photographs of the victims.

Yet despite all the devastation we can visit on each other I still tend see the good in everything. When I am about to say goodbye to everything, everything seems that bit rosier.

The care I received was again first class. I live in a country where if I am in agony, a bunch of strangers turn up following a phone call, take the pain away, do loads of tests, a doctor explains things and then I am offered a cup of tea at the end of it. I really did have that offer but I was fixed by then and wanted to go home.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.

Maybe just cheer up. Stop moaning.

Unless it’s about the weather.
I love the sheer honesty of your posts, I really do.

Fuck me, it's only June, and for me you've already got the Poster of the Year award won, motherfucker.

Stay well. Please.
 

SPUFF

Striker
I’m happy just rambling on here. I wrote something about my career a while back and tried to anonymise stuff.
Ok mate respect for that. My godfather was actually a prison guard.
My mam fecking shat hersell when babysitter brought this tatooed brute with he but absolute gentleman.
Ended his career at deerbolt iirc and reformed lots of lads.
Very challenging but rewarding job I guess.
 

Tex

Striker
All I can say Foggy is that you must be really good at this chemo lark if they keep asking you back to do more!

Sorry to hear you’ve been having a bit of a mare lately but I’m pretty sure the entire SMB salutes you. Your stomach may be sub standard but your balls are pure brass.

Big love from me, the bewer and bairn!
 

Mike J

Midfield
I had extra chemo at the end of the normal three days. A private nurse came round to administer. I got a free toiletry bag and a hot and cold pack. Well worth it then. This is third line treatment which may help control my tumour. It’s not available on the NHS as they tend to pay for cure stuff not last longer stuff. It got taken off the list in 2010 by NICE. The year the coalition came in to government in no coincidence whatsoever.

The nausea. I hate the nausea the most. I thought I had it controlled after the last chemo but no.

It lasted until Saturday night when my very good friend who drops everything at a moment’s notice came round and made a cup of tea. That cup of tea was the most refreshing I can remember and marked the end of the nausea.

My daughter also turned 20. I woke up. Cried. Then got up and got on. Saw her. Gave her a big hug and a card. I love that bairn. Unconditionally.

Sunday was eat day. Sunday afternoon was diarrhoea afternoon. I have pills to move things and pills to stop them. I eventually had to take the latter.

Monday. Weak. Up and out with the dog. Fantastic. Shopping. Put a fillet steak in the trolley. Cooked it. Quite rare of course. It’s a fillet.

1pm-6pm. Worst pain since the bowel rupture itself. 5 vomiting sessions. I won’t lie I was screaming in pain. The last vomits having to dig deep to get it out. My innards are bad enough without this violence going on.

One session went in the sink. Our lass cleaned the dried on chewed steak vomit later. Bless her.

Then it was time for 999. 3 paramedics, one qualified, one being mentored, one newly joined. They got the morphine in. I love morphine. Then a ride to Dryburn. On the way I got to know them. Had a recommendation for a lodge in south west Scotland. Pet friendly.

I was fast tracked past the new GP surgery that is the A&E waiting room and given room B. An X-ray showed nothing. I thought it was time for a colostomy and part of me welcomes that. Everything I eat is a challenge.

I am now a vegetarian who doesn’t travel. A conscripted eco warrior.

The doctor said my problem could be pseudo something or other. Dr Google later said if so there was a likely 100 percent mortality rate if my bowel carries on like this.

I know I have necrosis of the lining. The tumour is a bunch of cells gone mad after all.

It’s a shame really as I have none of the traditional spread that is normally the killer. To the lymphs, the liver, the lungs and whatnot.

My eventual diarrhoea was nuclear. Like a high pressure jet wash. But I wasn’t blocked. Great news. Then home around 2 am with profuse apologies for being a bother.

It is now Wednesday and I am feeling human. The pooch is farmed off. Again.

I read a lot now I’m pretty much housebound. I read everything on here. Mostly the politics I have to admit.

I’m not offering up any opinions. I’ve never seen anyone say that’s a good point sir/madam, I’ve changed my view.

Anyway. I read stuff. I know the difference between Britain, the UK and the British Isles. I read about our history and our problems. I watched an Irish documentary on the bombing of Mountbatten the other day. It was one of the first bits of news I remember as a child. The bit that sticks in my mind is the Irish boat boy. Hired at 15 from Enniskillen I think. His father was given false hope but the surviving boy was a grandchild of Dickie. But no, he soon saw his son in a fishing boat. Dead. His head “in a bucket of mackerel”

The same day the IRA used their new technology of remote detonators to murder a lot of paras. Then learning from previous routines waited for the big wigs, medics and more soldiers to arrive and set another bomb off. The detail of the carnage was horrific. The only bits of the driver left was his pelvis welded to the seat.

I worked in an area where I have seen the worst of human beings. In detail. I wrote up many a Home Office Summary Of The Case for the parole board reviewing life sentence prisoners. The police were good at sending in the most gruesome photographs of the victims.

Yet despite all the devastation we can visit on each other I still tend see the good in everything. When I am about to say goodbye to everything, everything seems that bit rosier.

The care I received was again first class. I live in a country where if I am in agony, a bunch of strangers turn up following a phone call, take the pain away, do loads of tests, a doctor explains things and then I am offered a cup of tea at the end of it. I really did have that offer but I was fixed by then and wanted to go home.

I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.

Maybe just cheer up. Stop moaning.

Unless it’s about the weather.
Keep going @foggy just keep going.
 

raindog

Winger
Pitty we recently missed the recent round of awards from her majesty Surely an OBE for your sobbering services to us SMBers.

Stay strong and as nourished as possible in the circumstances mate and give my best wishes to your daughter im sure shes so proud of you dad.
 

Skandhaless

Striker
I had extra chemo at the end of the normal three days. A private nurse came round to administer. I got a free toiletry bag and a hot and cold pack.
Monday. Weak. Up and out with the dog. Fantastic. Shopping. Put a fillet steak in the trolley. Cooked it. Quite rare of course. It’s a fillet.
Ermm... Did you have any sauce with that steak there marra ? ;)
 
No sauce. I did look for some and can make my own but this time just fried in butter and seasoned. High heat. Turn once. Bit more. Rest. Eat.
 

b1gals

Winger
Had my eyes tested yesterday, Foggy. New gegs needed, what a kerfuffle. I'm starting to understand how you feel ;)

Stay strong Pal xx
 

Top