Chemo number 29 and a new location

What can I say that hasn’t been said already? Brave, humble, inspirational, loving, funny, thought provoking and many many more.
Now go and be a pheasant plucker!
 


As ever foggy mate your posts bring tears to my eyes. Such an inspiration to many on here. Never met you but your are a top bloke. And a super dad. Good luck Marra. Keep fighting big lad.
 
Amongst all the Corona shenanigans going off at this time, you still are the shining light and a ray of hope for us all.

I'm so pleased that you are back home with the family ...I hope amongst all the shit that's going off you manage to get plenty of painfree quality time.

Best wishes
 
I look forward to reading your posts on here foggy. It’s a nice respite from the world.

Your posts lift people. I think that’s what the world needs more of right now.

All the best to you.
 
Inspiring. It really is the best place to puke chemo chemicals into a bucket - had me laughing out loud.

Sorry about the graduation, but I'm sure a few drinks in the loft will be better.

Best wishes mate.
 
God bless you Foggy lad, its good you dont fear death but never give up to it, you’re a mackem mate keep fighting til the end, ive had 2 uncles gone with it and my mam who fought and won thank god, you make your own way in this world mate and you can fight your way out of anything no matter what the doctors say its all in your hands keep the faith, stay strong lad
 
I’ve been moved to Shotley Bridge to keep away from the acute zone that is Durham hospital. I really do feel looked after.

I got a lot of texts and a nice letter telling me I’m vulnerable and to stay in for 12 weeks. Which I will apart from this. If I don’t get this treatment then my cancer will kill me in short time. It’s in my liver now and I can feel it under my ribs.

But it is what it is. Now it’s time for the magic potion to do the business. The last chemo was a wake up call. The first 3 days are infusion days. Three courses. The last over 45 hours from a pressure bottle straight into a big vein direct to my heart. With a cord just shorter than me standing so if I drop it I get a tug. And not the good kind of halcyon days.

Days four and five were nausea days. Day six had puking. A new one. I ate nowt and lost a shitload of weight but the steroids are munchy pills so I’ve been enjoying food for over a week now and I can feel the layers coming back.

Our lass is taking very good care of me. She was off work anyway after breaking an ankle a few weeks ago but she is down every day in a mask and gloves with home cooked food. My parents and sister live close so I want for nothing. I don’t need to take advantage of the government scheme to help me even though I could register for it.

I’m kind of used to isolation anyway so things are not too different. It’s weird to think y’all are joining me in the mundane. Apart from our key people of course. I clapped along for them and shouted a thanks to nurse Sharon three doors up while I was at it. She looked after me last September when I had an abscess cellulitis and a bag fitted for a while. Bless her.

I genuinely feel content. I know the world is falling apart and some are going through terrible times so I appreciate what I do have.

Of course those I have already mentioned but otherwise financially I’m fine. I get a pension and save a lot of it for the bairn. In a tanking Lifetime ISA at the moment. When she gets my house she will have to keep the ISA until she’s sixty to keep the bonus. I like that idea. Apart from the other savings I have for her she will be fine.
I really don’t need anything else. My home is done. My nephew did my loft over the last year. It started as a leaky roof meaning a new one. Proper slate. From Wales. I had dormers put in. Put a big telly on the wall, a beer and wine fridge, a sound system with a big old subwoofer from a proper receiver, two recliner chairs and a big cast iron radiator. All networked hard wired. There’s a NAS downstairs running Plex. Sky Q. Xbox. UHD dvd. Get me. It’s the f***ing nuts. It really is the best place to puke chemo chemicals into a bucket.

He even built a little kennel into the wall for pooch. Oh my pooch. She is with the parents at HQ. I miss her terribly. She is the best thing.

However. I don’t drink alcohol, play video games and the dog won’t go in the kennel but otherwise it’s perfect. I was lucky to be able to afford this. I don’t mean to gloat. I paid into AVCs years ago and they paid up when I sent a letter from the doc predicting my imminent death. Work also paid four months pay in lieu of notice when I retired. And a pension lump sum which took care of the mortgage and allowed a few dooey ups. I didn’t mind spending it on my home as that was and is for the bairn to inherit.

Since then I really want for nothing materially. I flick through deals on HUKD but not much interests me. I’m just content with what I have.

I am genuinely happy. In the middle of chemos I had a day of so little pain and no nausea I was buzzing. I was dancing when our lass arrived. Pain is a bugger. Reflect on yourself right now. I presume you’re not in pain. Relish that feeling.

I talk to the bairn about death now. Not much but I can talk about it. I tell her honestly I have no fear. I have had a great life. She is doing well. She will be fine. I can feel it. The graduation ceremony is probably not going ahead but hey ho it’s not the end of the world. Hopefully the other thing won’t be either mind. I hope we don’t descend into civil disorder if and when it gets really hard.

I might even get the virus which will mean no ventilator if I have the bad version. Fair enough. I’m knacked inside. I get it. Like everything else I’m not going to worry. It never helps.

When I first got the incurable news I reacted like most would. Fearful denial. I just couldn’t comprehend it all. But the longer you look at death the less scary it gets. It’s like stepping into a ring facing a gruesome monster you know is going to kill you. After a while it’s just dirty looks.
I do raise an eyebrow and a nose curl at the journey there mind. That doesn’t fill me with joy. My Macmillan nurse is back. There are different types. She is Linda Palliative. I name people in my phone after what they do. I did wonder at palliative. It reads like death sentence. She told me to think of it as Chronic Illness. She might be changed to a double barrel name in the phone yet. Now that even she has sunk in I think of her as helping make the best of my time on the last journey. I just have to be positive.
I re read Coxhoe Dave’s posts a while ago. He was diagnosed teminal immediately didn’t have chemo and died at the turn of the year. He just accepted and cracked on with great dignity and bravery. I get it more now. Last summer while on chemo with no surgery in sight I had crippling anxiety. It was a physical pain that took over every waking hour. Those who suffer have my utmost sympathy. Then came the news of my second cytoreductive surgery. Hope. The oncologist said it wasn’t cure only time. Well time to me is a six ball lottery drop. Sure enough I had recurrence.

It didn’t floor me this time. I had done everything I could in the battle but now I knew my surgery days were over. I’m just too butchered and scarred. They wouldn’t anyway. Not now with spread.
But that’s fine. I have Coxhoe Dave acceptance now. I have no anxiety either. Thanks Dave. May your soul be at peace.
In big news I asked the gaffer if I could write a blog. They don’t have them on here now but he made one for me. I’m a bit reticent because believe it or not I’m a bit shy of stuff but I like writing. Once I work out how to use it I can muse in peace. I do like the feedback I get but it’s not why I write. It’s very therapeutic. And will probably be very boring but I’m so grateful to Roger.
All the best

We're with you foggy. X
 
I’ve been moved to Shotley Bridge to keep away from the acute zone that is Durham hospital. I really do feel looked after.

I got a lot of texts and a nice letter telling me I’m vulnerable and to stay in for 12 weeks. Which I will apart from this. If I don’t get this treatment then my cancer will kill me in short time. It’s in my liver now and I can feel it under my ribs.

But it is what it is. Now it’s time for the magic potion to do the business. The last chemo was a wake up call. The first 3 days are infusion days. Three courses. The last over 45 hours from a pressure bottle straight into a big vein direct to my heart. With a cord just shorter than me standing so if I drop it I get a tug. And not the good kind of halcyon days.

Days four and five were nausea days. Day six had puking. A new one. I ate nowt and lost a shitload of weight but the steroids are munchy pills so I’ve been enjoying food for over a week now and I can feel the layers coming back.

Our lass is taking very good care of me. She was off work anyway after breaking an ankle a few weeks ago but she is down every day in a mask and gloves with home cooked food. My parents and sister live close so I want for nothing. I don’t need to take advantage of the government scheme to help me even though I could register for it.

I’m kind of used to isolation anyway so things are not too different. It’s weird to think y’all are joining me in the mundane. Apart from our key people of course. I clapped along for them and shouted a thanks to nurse Sharon three doors up while I was at it. She looked after me last September when I had an abscess cellulitis and a bag fitted for a while. Bless her.

I genuinely feel content. I know the world is falling apart and some are going through terrible times so I appreciate what I do have.

Of course those I have already mentioned but otherwise financially I’m fine. I get a pension and save a lot of it for the bairn. In a tanking Lifetime ISA at the moment. When she gets my house she will have to keep the ISA until she’s sixty to keep the bonus. I like that idea. Apart from the other savings I have for her she will be fine.
I really don’t need anything else. My home is done. My nephew did my loft over the last year. It started as a leaky roof meaning a new one. Proper slate. From Wales. I had dormers put in. Put a big telly on the wall, a beer and wine fridge, a sound system with a big old subwoofer from a proper receiver, two recliner chairs and a big cast iron radiator. All networked hard wired. There’s a NAS downstairs running Plex. Sky Q. Xbox. UHD dvd. Get me. It’s the f***ing nuts. It really is the best place to puke chemo chemicals into a bucket.

He even built a little kennel into the wall for pooch. Oh my pooch. She is with the parents at HQ. I miss her terribly. She is the best thing.

However. I don’t drink alcohol, play video games and the dog won’t go in the kennel but otherwise it’s perfect. I was lucky to be able to afford this. I don’t mean to gloat. I paid into AVCs years ago and they paid up when I sent a letter from the doc predicting my imminent death. Work also paid four months pay in lieu of notice when I retired. And a pension lump sum which took care of the mortgage and allowed a few dooey ups. I didn’t mind spending it on my home as that was and is for the bairn to inherit.

Since then I really want for nothing materially. I flick through deals on HUKD but not much interests me. I’m just content with what I have.

I am genuinely happy. In the middle of chemos I had a day of so little pain and no nausea I was buzzing. I was dancing when our lass arrived. Pain is a bugger. Reflect on yourself right now. I presume you’re not in pain. Relish that feeling.

I talk to the bairn about death now. Not much but I can talk about it. I tell her honestly I have no fear. I have had a great life. She is doing well. She will be fine. I can feel it. The graduation ceremony is probably not going ahead but hey ho it’s not the end of the world. Hopefully the other thing won’t be either mind. I hope we don’t descend into civil disorder if and when it gets really hard.

I might even get the virus which will mean no ventilator if I have the bad version. Fair enough. I’m knacked inside. I get it. Like everything else I’m not going to worry. It never helps.

When I first got the incurable news I reacted like most would. Fearful denial. I just couldn’t comprehend it all. But the longer you look at death the less scary it gets. It’s like stepping into a ring facing a gruesome monster you know is going to kill you. After a while it’s just dirty looks.
I do raise an eyebrow and a nose curl at the journey there mind. That doesn’t fill me with joy. My Macmillan nurse is back. There are different types. She is Linda Palliative. I name people in my phone after what they do. I did wonder at palliative. It reads like death sentence. She told me to think of it as Chronic Illness. She might be changed to a double barrel name in the phone yet. Now that even she has sunk in I think of her as helping make the best of my time on the last journey. I just have to be positive.
I re read Coxhoe Dave’s posts a while ago. He was diagnosed teminal immediately didn’t have chemo and died at the turn of the year. He just accepted and cracked on with great dignity and bravery. I get it more now. Last summer while on chemo with no surgery in sight I had crippling anxiety. It was a physical pain that took over every waking hour. Those who suffer have my utmost sympathy. Then came the news of my second cytoreductive surgery. Hope. The oncologist said it wasn’t cure only time. Well time to me is a six ball lottery drop. Sure enough I had recurrence.

It didn’t floor me this time. I had done everything I could in the battle but now I knew my surgery days were over. I’m just too butchered and scarred. They wouldn’t anyway. Not now with spread.
But that’s fine. I have Coxhoe Dave acceptance now. I have no anxiety either. Thanks Dave. May your soul be at peace.
In big news I asked the gaffer if I could write a blog. They don’t have them on here now but he made one for me. I’m a bit reticent because believe it or not I’m a bit shy of stuff but I like writing. Once I work out how to use it I can muse in peace. I do like the feedback I get but it’s not why I write. It’s very therapeutic. And will probably be very boring but I’m so grateful to Roger.
All the best

Kick cancer in the nuts man, foggy
 

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