Follow By Email

Hi all, Chris' super tech savvy daughter here... I've just added a Follow By Email tab to the blog so whenever Dad writes a new post you'll get an email letting you know :)

Just enter your email address, push the buttons it tells you to, then check your email and click on the verify that you want to receive emails part and you should be all set to go :)

Mum I've already signed up your email, you just need to check it and verify x

x Serena x

Are you talking to me?

I guess the experts will have all sorts of comments to make on the range and extent of emotions that people go through when faced with life and all its hurdles. When this all started and the doctor first told me I had cancer, I felt pretty detached. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that the doctor was fixated on telling me things in doctorspeak, but then, even afterwards I still felt as though this was just another thing I would have to deal with. Even now - still not knowing the extent of the problem - I feel that this is something we'll get past and in a few months be able to move on with our lives.

To be quite frank about it, even if these scans show some inoperable problem and I'm told to get my shit together so I can die without inconveniencing anyone, I'll still feel pretty much the same way. After all, I've lived for 60 years in relatively good circumstances, haven't wanted for anything, and have generally enjoyed my life.When I think of the little girl somewhere in Africa who has dysentery and has never had a square meal, or I think of the young mother who has to take her child to the hospital every month for treatment, I realise how truly fortunate I have been.

Maybe I should feel guilty? Nah... I'm not that altruistic. Anyway, there have been a few times when the tears have overflowed - like in the doctor's office when I was trying to understand what was being said so I could let the kids know. But mainly it's been when other people put on their sad face and talk to me as if I'm on my deathbed.

So here's the new rule. All tears are to remain unshed until my funeral - which, as far as I know is going to be in about another 25 years. Anyone who breaks this rule has to live with the knowledge that they made a grown man cry. Ok, I know that down the track there will be a few exceptions to this rule, but I'm really, really hoping they are going to be few and far between.

I was going to say sorry for this diatribe, but I'm not 'cause writing this crap down helps me in some way that I don't really understand (No! I'm not looking for someone to explain it to me.) So, you guys, as my family and friends will just have to put up with it - or hit delete.

So, that's me for now. I'll let you know how fast the MRI goes.

The CT Scan - a doddle.

CT Scan day today. So Denise and I took ourselves off to the hospital to see what it's all about. I was a bit disappointed when we arrived - I thought I would be the star of the show - turns out the waiting room was full and it was sit down and behave yourself time. I thought we'd be there for quite awhile but after a few minutes a nurse (I wonder if that's politically correct? She was probably some sort of expert technician in the field of CT Scans) came out with the obligatory form to be filled out. So that was all good and then they marched us down a corridor to a change room where I got to model the latest in Hawkes Bay Hospital formalwear

  

  You can tell we're taking this whole thing very seriously can't you?

So anyway, after they found the misplaced form and decided it was really me in the chair, they then proceeded to stick a baynot in my arm on the pretext of adding some dye into my blood. I thought that I might be able to make a land claim after this but it turns out the dye is the same colour as vodka - well yes; you do get a head rush but it only lasts for a few minutes.

Then it was into a room where I got to lie down on a two inch wide, rough sawn plank with a brick under my head. They asked my my date of birth - to make sure I was still the same guy that walked through from the other room - and  then everybody rushed out the door and hid while this robot voice told me to hold my breath...  and now breathe... hold my breath... and now breathe... hold my breath and now breathe. (Stupid robot couldn't make up it's mind.) This went on for a bit and then everyone came back inside, told me I was a good little patient and led me back to the change room. Bit of a non-event really. No word yet on the MRI. Not sure what it is. I'm hoping for some kind of race car, but I guess we'll find out soon enough.

An aside

About four years - I think that's how long I've worked for this company… it’s now Thursday 23rd May 2013 and I’m at work. I’d been mulling this over and decided I should do the right thing and let everyone at work know that I've got cancer, what’s happening now, and and that I’m going to need some time off going forward. So I stand in the middle of the office and tell everyone - including the boss - what’s going on, and then the questions start. Turns out I’m not good with questions about this stuff so I bolt outside and get back to work.

The boss comes out and assures me that there won’t be any issues, that he will arrange cover for me while I’m away and that I should make up an appointment schedule for him so he's kept in the loop. So off I go, happy with the knowledge that I’ve done the right thing and that all will be good in the end.

The following Monday as I’m getting ready to leave on my run, the boss comes out and asks to have a catch up before I leave. OK says I. Later on I wander into his office where his first words are, “close the door”. He then proceeds to tell me that they are going to “can” my run and contract it out and that I now have two options. Either I can resign so I’m not bothered by the pressures of work, or they can make me redundant so I’m not bothered by the pressures of work. He recommends that I go for the redundancy ‘cause I’ll get an extra two weeks pay. So,now I don't have a job. But, I do get an extra two weeks redundancy pay. Thanks for the four years of effort, Chris.

More on this to come later.

The trip so far

So, Wednesday 15th May 2013. I'm in a skin specialist's rooms having some Basal Cell Carcinomas cut out. (I didn't even have to look that up!) and we have a "discussion" about a lump on my nose. My side of the discussion was, "there's a lump on my nose"; and he then commenced to poke and stare from a distance where a breath mint would have been good, and discussed likely scenarios with the nurse. I think he assumed that I would know what he was talking about, but anyway..

The end result was that he biopsied (is that a real word?) the lump, and sent it off to be tested.

A week later and Denise and I are back in the same rooms listening while he explains to us in doctorspeak what's wrong. The end result of that "discussion" is that we come away knowing I have cancer and he refers me to a different specialist (sigh of relief), and starts the ball rolling for me to have a CT scan and an MRI.

Yesterday (Wednesday 29th May 2013) and Denise and I meet the other specialist. Talk about chalk and cheese. This guy is great. Speaks to you like you're a fellow human being and in words that, for the most part, are part of the English language. He has a poke around and a stare (no breath mint required) and then proceeds to stick a fishing rod up my nose - it felt like he forgot to take the hook off - so he can see what's going on inside.

So, end result is, I'm off to have a CT scan and hopefully an MRI tomorrow, back to see him in two weeks time and then off to Auckland to be poked and stared at by a whole team of specialists. Sometime after that - possibly the following week -it will be into the operating room where I get a nose job.

So now we're up to date.