Still here...8: 🤔🫣😬🤯🤒😳🥺

My intention from the outset of doing these blogs was to only mention and update on my cancer progress, but it seems to have forced its way in and, not dominated, but been more of a focus that I'd have liked. 

This blog is going to be purely about the bastard. I'll give it the spotlight this once. 

CT Scan results:

Shit. The results are proper shit. That about covers it, really. 😉

The chemotherapy treatment hasn't and isn't working. In fact, all areas of tumours, and new sites, are positively thriving. If you threw a bucket of darts at my body core, you'll likely hit a bit of my creepy companion. So, the chemo has been stopped. It sounds obvious, doesn't it? I still felt the need to ask and make sure. 

Yep, no more chemo! Yay! It's a tricky one this and difficult to get happy about either way. Having chemo gives you some hope - not having it, or rather knowing that it is now pointless, is more than a little disheartening. As much as I hated chemo, and I really fucking detested it, it carried a slim glimmer of potential good with it. Mind, I won't miss it. 

What does that mean?

Well, are you sitting comfortably? I'm sure most of you know or can guess what comes next. In terms of treatment, that's it - no more chemo for me. In terms of me...definitely dying now. 

As I write this (11/02/23) I'm sat in a bed in St Benedict's Hospice. Not because I'm at the end, but to have some monitoring done and get the pain medication right. They've started off on a blinder - I slept last night like a baby. Like a baby on lovely drugs, but still, soundly and peacefully. 

What was initially suggested by my Macmillan nurse as "a couple of days" is looking more like 4 or 5. I should've known, these things almost always end up being longer. 

This place is genuinely an amazing place and, as I've said previously, not what you'd expect when you hear "hospice". 

Facing the music:

What the feckity-feck does that mean? "Facing the music"? Gimme 2 minutes while I Google the shit out of it...

...

"In 1851, the writer James Fenimore Cooper reportedly explained “face the music” as a theatrical term.

In a theater, the orchestra often sits in front of the stage. So, actors come on stage facing the musicians." (Source: Website on't tinternet)

Basically translates into facing something rough, tough or difficult and "facing the music" would mean then, to just get out there "face the music", in this case, the orchestra and get on with it. Literally facing the music. 

Myself and everyone who we have begun to tell about my new path are beginning to, well, "face the music" I suppose. If you're reading this, then you're now a part of it - I apologise for dragging you along with me, I had expected for these blogs to be far lighter as time went on, and for them to be greater in number. 

My path is now one of palliative end of life. This new journey is much shorter - doctors talk in weeks and months. I asked. 🫣

"The best laid plans of mice and men often go awry." (Clever chap who wrote a mint book)

The conversations have been so hard. Incredibly difficult to see the expressions change in their faces. Expressions you never want to see on the faces of your children. Rebecca has led this all and held my hand knowing I was unable to do it. She is truly amazing - I'm in here and she's at home with the kids talking to them and answering their questions with honesty and careful kindness. Again, she's amazing.

We're all a little broken for now. There's the tiniest feeling of relief I've felt that the kids know it all. They know death is coming. It's the strangest thing and unexpected to feel that relief, but it was there briefly. I think it helps that it's now done. They know, no matter how hard that is, the build up to them having to hear it was terrifying and unbearable. 

Returning to a question I talked about on an earlier blog, that being, "How are the kids coping?", well, they are. They're coping. 

We've even shared some giggles and belly laughs today. And tomorrow, we'll try to do that again. 

My Mam and Dad got the news direct from me. It wasn't easier telling an adult, let alone ones Mam and Dad. 

Both of them are struggling with it all and with me dying before them. I understand this completely. I dont know how to appease any of it. I dont think you can soften some things. 

My brothers and sisters know now and I've relived the dreaded emotions with every call - so has Rebecca. Again, just truly amazing. She has done almost all of the calls and had to inform those who we deemed to need to know early. Well, at least before I published this...😁

My two mates Steve and Dave (or Dave and Steve - either way has a good ring to it when said) 

really had me broken at the thought of having to tell them, so I manned-up, did the right thing, reached deep inside for the courage and maturity one needs for such serious moments and...got Rebecca to do it.😉😊🫠 

Next steps:

Dunno. 🤔

Well, aside from the obvious next step, you know...dying 'n' that, I'm not sure. Someone will tell me something, probably. 

My plan is to keep on keeping on. Try to keep on kicking it down the road for as long as possible. 

Normality:

Since my first diagnosis some 5 years and 8 or 9 months, I've always been striving to keep the norms of our life the same. Well, as normal as possible. I'd talked to Rebecca about it many times over the years and often it would be a reminder that we were already doing it. We were doing normal. Doing life. Even when going through the worst of treatments and the most dire of chats with the brilliant oncologist we've had throughout the whole process, we kept on with normality - we kept on living. 

The other option just was never an option for me. That being trapped in the fear of dying from the outset and staying there. Living life keeps you alive. I know that sounds like complete bollocks (read 'twatty') and a massive cliché, but that mindset has helped me and kept the normality of life, our life, on its path for a whole 5 and a half years. 

Giving up, or giving in to the slippery thought chasms is something I can see as being fairly easy to dip into. Dark and horrible in there I imagine. I'll avoid the place; better places to be. 😏

Summary:

Still here. 😊

Still dying, but getting closer fast. 🫣

Still going for normality as a family for as long as I can muster. 

Still not dipping my toes into the darkness. 

Remember:

Life is awesome - every day is beautiful and full of colour, wonder and awe.

Slow down and breathe it all in.

Be silly. Be daft. Dance like a berk. Sing like you can. 

Stay golden, people. 🙂🙃😘