Half Life – 40 – dented
September 3rd, 2021
As soon as it was booked it took centre place in the plan for one of the last weeks of the holiday, and, when the day arrived, the whole Friday revolved around the phone call. Glances at the kitchen wall clock, followed by picking up the mobile phone every few minutes to make sure the wall clock hadn’t run out of battery, didn’t encourage time to pass any faster. Every contrived distraction failed to reduce the nerves, although the pasta sauce destined to become dinner benefited from the excessive focus and care lavished on it. Preparations were made, and re-made, as our questions were checked and re-checked, and pens scribbled on virgin paper to ensure they would not let us down mid notetaking. The Boys suffered having to hear repeated instructions that they were not only allowed on the PS4 at that time, but they were expected to be on it to make sure there were no distractions or eavesdropping.
It came a few minutes late. Dr D’s usual bouncy, cheerful, voice was slightly subdued, giving a hint as to where the discussion was heading. We listened to the summary of the blood tests and the PET scan, following up with some questions about his terminology to make sure The Wife and I had understood what he meant. A new word entered our vocabulary - heterogeneity. The medical and scientific term for Nobby being a crafty bastard and finding his way around the treatments fired at him. Nobby had done it again and in style. He’s good, you have to give him that. He’s adapted, mutated, and transformed away from his original form and although the targeted radiation treatment had hit and damaged the older tumours, the newer ones had resisted and grown. New tumours had popped up too. It’s not just one generation of Nobby trying to take over, but a whole family and they are different from the parent. Nobby, in the way cockroaches are meant to, has survived his own miniature nuclear war, and was starting to emerge from his bunker.
Hope that this new treatment would set back the cancer for many months dissolved away in a phone call. There had been some impact although very far from what had been dreamed of or what other patients had experienced. We were stopping after four of the planned six sessions: no point firing radioactive materials into me if it’s not working anymore. He was sorry, Dr D said with sadness in his voice. Very sorry he hadn’t been able to do more for me. It was never going to be a golden bullet, that was not the expectations, but like so many treatments before much more had been expected and Nobby had adapted, changed, and carried on regardless.
We sat at the desk, staring at the blank mobile screen after the call, unsure what to say or do. Tears pushed their way through. All we could do was hug as both of us wondered what next. Practicality kicked in, tissues did their job, and we started to think through what happens next. The Pandora’s box of medicines available is nearly empty and hope, still sitting at the bottom, is struggling to get out. Emails were drafted and sent, ready to be followed up a few days later with calls. Google was put to work hunting down the latest developments and research so see if anything had been missed before. Action calmed the sense of despair, the idea that there is still more that could be done coaxing hope out of its hiding place.
Knowing the call was over, The Boys cautiously asked how it went, already sensing the news hadn’t been good. We told them. They nodded, hugged me, and clung to me for a while as I failed to hold in the tears. Then they were gone. Whacking the swing-ball in the garden to release their anger for a few minutes before the friends they’d invited over turned up to bring yet more essential distractions. Earlier than usual, I opened the wine. A decision that generated some regret the next day as there was an absence of any desire to stop once the first one was empty.
Whether it was the wine, the news, or a bit of both, the pain jumped. It had been increasing every day, tiny step by tiny step, over the past weeks but now moved faster. Morphine doses were nudged up to allow some sleep and, just to add complexity, the use of crutches has pushed out one shoulder, rendering me not just one legged but mostly one armed. Getting rid of the pain will help with the coming weeks. At night, each half-asleep turn or twist kicks out a scream from a hip, a knee, a shoulder, or any one of three places down the spine. Getting it very wrong can set them all off at the same time. An hour is a good stretch, two hours a gift, four requires some heavy-duty morphine consumption. Pivot points come at every stage of life, some are choices, some are pushed on you. The Friday afternoon phone call pushed another change marker into the ground, signalling the end of one phase and the start of another. What it holds in terms of new adventures in the wonderful world of medical treatments is not yet known. Hope is dented, but not broken, and the battle continues.
Never, never, never give up (Winston Churchill)
Sending you heaps of love and strength. xx