The Silence of the Dying

I keep the lift out magazines from the weekend papers to read later in the week, and I hadn't got to last Sunday's yet, when I encountered reference to an article in it on one of the blogs I read. So I had to find the article and read it. It is in the Perth Sunday Times magazine of June 6.

The article is an interview with the Australian writer Sara Douglass who has ovarian cancer and contains excerpts from a blog entry she wrote on May 22, called The Silence of the Dying. I read her blog regularly, and had read the article which I found very moving, and had made a comment. Now there are nearly double the comments, many now from people who read the article over the weekend.

Reading it again, I think it should be required reading for anyone who has dealings with a person who is terminally ill. I wish I had read it before my father died 10 years ago and before the death of the partners of friends. I would like all my friends and relatives to read it. Read it for yourself.

Upsetting TV ads

If there is a prize for insensitivity it would have to be awarded to Channel 7 Perth.

Last night at about 7.05 pm, the channel aired a moving ad from HBF (health insurance) which featured a woman dying of cancer. It was immediately followed by an ad for Mareena Purslowe and Associates, Funeral Directors. This confronting combination made me burst into tears. I am still upset thinking about it.

I have made a formal complaint to the TV regulatory authority.

It was hardly tactful, either, given that this week is Bowel Cancer Awareness Week here in Australia.

I felt much better yesterday, but today is another not so good day. I am still nauseous (I took a Pramin first thing, but it is having little effect) though I managed a half slice of toast with stewed tomatoes for breakfast. And I am visiting the loo with depressing frequency.

Four Months

It is exactly four months today since I was diagnosed with metastatic liver cancer and began the journey of treatment to attempt to contain it.

I cannot believe how the time has passed. Of course, the regularity of medical appointments of various kinds has assisted. When every fortnight has four regular demands: blood test one day, oncologist meeting and four hours of chemo the next, pump removal two days later, PICC flush and dressing seven days after that, it does tend to make the time pass quite quickly. Then it all starts again.

I have been rather mimsy the last two days. Mimsy is a word our family borrowed many years ago from Lewis Carroll's poem, Jabberwocky ("all mimsy were the borograves and the mome raths outgrabe") to describe a state of mild sadness and depression. The condition requires family members to tread lightly and definitely NOT to offer gratuitous cheer. It generally passes quite quickly with minimal effects on both the sufferer and the family. I am hoping that the start of cycle 6 on Wednesday will bring an end to it for me.

Cycle 3 Day 3

I went to see another specialist this morning - unrelated to the cancers. I have osteoarthritis and last October I had surgery to remove a mucous cyst in the top joint of one of my fingers. This visit was to check that all was well and whether I needed another cortisone injection in my thumb. He gave me the all clear and a letter to use if pain increases in my thumb. One less thing to worry about.

I drove myself to hospital to have the pump unhooked after dropping Kevin off in Perth to have lunch with an old friend of his who is presently teaching in Vietnam and is home on holiday. After a long wait for the unhooking and flush and a pleasant visit with Dale and Ian at The Thread Studio I picked him up and drove home through freeway peak traffic. I was quite shaky and very tired when I got home.

I am finding it difficult to drink enough at the moment, and it is very necessary - not only because of the chemo, but also because of the heat wave we are having. Everything tastes metallic, even with flavouring added. I am also still having problems with handling cold things, including cold drinks. I have to wait till they are tepid, which makes them even less palatable. The effect wears off eventually, but I must take note of exactly when it happens this cycle.

I am also finding that I am not handling frustration very well. I nearly lost it today as I drove three times through the multistory car park at the hospital to try and find a spot. The other evening I blew my top at Kevin, quite unjustifiably, and broke down quite badly. A major crying jag with no real reason.