Three weeks ago I finished the last of the 5 daily palliative radiotherapy treatments on my paraaortic lymph nodes. I feel better now than I did then but I’m still far from recovered and it looks like I might be even more decrepit than I previously thought.
Having been mostly cooped up for the last 6 weeks we thought a few days by the sea would do us both good, so we packed up the car and drove the short distance south to Brighton. Well, dear readers, one day after arriving, I can tell you I’m totally shagged out and am wondering if the journey back might finish me off. It won’t, of course, but I’ll wish it had and it’ll probably result in another lost day in bed recovering from something that, not so long ago, would hardly have produced a yawn.
Not counting nocturnal pees, I slept for over 10 hours plus a further hour’s doze last night after the “long trek” south, which meant I missed my first pill-fest for today. I have to take loads of pills, many of them painkillers ranging from paracetamol to morphine, and I had almost convinced myself that I could cut down on them all and maybe even stop, until I tried to get out of bed after missing this morning’s dose. It made me realise I was kidding myself because I could hardly move and the pain that I thought had gone was well and truly back after just a short delay in taking the pills.
It appears I’m now a frail, doddery old thing and I don’t like it! I don’t feel old in my head, in there there’s still an 18 year old wondering what the fuck is going on, but outside I’ve turned into my granddad. I feel old and, if proof is required, absolutely every minor exertion knocks me out. This is still very difficult for me to accept considering it wasn’t that long ago that I was able to go for slow walks providing, of course, they were on the flat and there was somewhere for me to sit every 5 or 10 minutes. I cannot even attempt them the way I am right now.
A “blog-friend” of mine, who’s much younger but who had the misfortune to get this bloody disease in spite of his young age, recently published another of his well written posts.
He has me in stitches sometimes and his latest post was no exception when he described his frequent wanking “in the name of penile rehabilitation”. Stef, if you’re reading this, carry on wanking for as long as you can and please have one for me, because it ain’t just walking I can’t do anymore.
Oh, by the way, I almost forgot, my latest PSA came back showing a slight increase from 0.732 to 0.8. If my PSA was anything to go by, which it’s not anymore, I would be cracking open a bottle of champagne. As it is, I’m just forcing down another meal replacement milk shake drink as I type.
More news after I’ve seen my oncologist next week.
p.s. Guys – you too can be like me but, if you’d rather not, then please click on this link. It tells you all about the symptoms of prostate cancer. If you get treated early you stand far less chance of ever ending up like me.