My Bloghead 15- The Waiting Game

Its a grey November and I am playing the waiting game. The first signs of winter start to appear and here I am sitting in this stone cold cafe, stirring my 'skinny decaf latte' while staring out through a rain drizzled, misty window watching the world go by. Funny, when you sit like this you see and hear things but you don't really see and hear things as your mind keeps whirling away like a Dutch windmill grinding away at your thoughts, contemplating your future with cancer.

I am not depressed but just having one of those serious moments to myself. You know, wave upon wave of thoughts reflecting on the impact cancer has had on my family and friends. "Its not just about you." I repeat to myself. "Its the ripple effect."

Then I look up at the waiter behind the cafe counter and ask for another piece of that delicious strawberry cheesecake. No response. Just a blank gaze. There he is, a young, cool dude with the Paul Weller mod hair do, looking every inch like the bored uni student making a few bob just to get by. When I pick up the cake, I stare straight at him and I say inside my head "come on, I dare you big guy, put a smile on that munster like face.?" Nope. No chance. So I drift right back into my shabby chic chair (I think they acquired it from the local council dump) cut into my cheesecake and straight back into contemplation mode again. Oh well, it could be worse, the roof could have caved in (that might make him laugh). Oops, spoke too soon, there's a drip on the ceiling!

Anyway. Back to my contemplation.

Here I am still sitting in this stone cold cafe, reflecting on my recent and future cancer treatment. I have already attended the Beatson too weeks ago to receive my 'Gland of Gold' (see earlier blog) and since the insertion of those tiny gold pellets, I experienced a few days of feeling queasy. A combination, I think, of shock (of the minor op in my outback area) and a strange feeling in my outback, not pain as such but a feeling of 'there's something different up there.' It did make make me feel a bit uncomfortable but after a few days, the feeling subsided.

One night, I thought I had a fever. Really hot flushes, nervousness and vivid dreams. Funny enough, no sweating? I recalled watching an old war movie set in a jungle where a soldier was experiencing malaria. Now, my experience was never quite as severe as that but it felt oh, so similar. Now they do say that if you experience something like that it could be the onset of an infection and to contact them as soon as, but, being a typical 'westy', I decided to take a day to recover hoping it would eventually go away. With the help of a few paracetamol and my caring wife, I luckily shook off that horrible feeling. Canny whack being a caveman!

Last week I returned to the Beatson for my CT scan. This is a fairly routine process and is a prelude to the radiotherapy treatment coming soon. The idea of the scan, which, by the way, is nothing like the dreaded MRI scan, is to create a visual of the gold seeds so the radiotherapist can aim the beams at the precise spot where my cancer is. Quite ingenious and it apparently reduces the side effects of the therapy while targeting that nasty disease in my outback. Bomb the cancer away, I say.

While there, I was requested by my radiotherapist to drink three large cups of water within five minutes. Now if it was a pint of beer, no problem, but that third cup of icy cold water took ages to swallow. Try it!

The Beatson is such a busy place and it is comforting to know you that you are not alone surrounded by people who are either fighting some form of cancer or close relatives or friends adding much needed support. Sitting in the small waiting room, deep in this maze of a building getting ready for 'the call', we began chatting to an elderly man from Glasgow sitting all alone opposite us. "Some place this." he said. " What are you in for?" I asked. At this point he got up and came across for a chat and started to explain how he ended up here.

"There I was, enjoying my pint in my local Masonic and I slipped and landed on my backside. I was taken to hospital and x rayed and they discovered I had cancer in both lungs." Now, most of us may have taken that news as a travesty and reached for the will but this old boy in typical Glasgow style only saw the funny side of it. "You know son, I think the docs are in there loading up a gun to put me out my misery!" We both had a good old chuckle but deep inside we could both sense that if we didn't laugh we would probably go for that gun ourselves.

Half an hour later and still waiting for 'the call' and as our new found friend was about to tell us his son nearly signed for Rangers, the nurse called me into the CT room. They asked me into a wee personal room to take my trousers off and gave me the option to either wear the horrible 'back to front' gown (come on NHS, come up with something a bit more dignified, have a word with Vivienne Westwood, please) or go in commando style. Well, you can guess what I opted for.

They lay me on the moveable slab and manoeuvred me under the polo mint shaped scanner and after a few minutes and whirl or two it was over. The wee nurse told me to lay still while she inserted a needle that left a small tattoo below my naval and each hip side. Slight nip but no problem. I now have three targets on my body but at least its for a good reason, its so the radiotherapist can fire their nuclear weapon in the right direction and not start a third world war.

We all have to play the waiting game in some shape or form and I will be in this game right up until the end of treatment and then, hopefully, a future oncologist will have the good news that my cancer has been 'exterminated' as the Dalek says.