Cancer and Leg Ulcers to End of 2024

8 September 2024. The leg is a bit horrible, the antibiotics have started it healing but the skin is very tight and painful around it and the actual wound is very sore especially if my trouser leg catches it. Ah the joys of getting older...

12 September 2024. A bit of a day yesterday... My antibiotics ran out and the leg wasn't getting any better so back again to the docs. He said "Did the District Nurses come?" which was the first I had heard that they were meant to... Anyway he gave me more antibiotics and said he would chase the District Nurses up. I collected my pills from the pharmacy and went home.

At lunchtime I got a call from the doctor again to say he had done more research and wanted to change the pills - more were waiting for me at the pharmacy.

More or less immediately the phone rang again. It was the District Nursing team saying they couldn't get me an appointment until the 20th, could I go to the walk in centre at Blackpool. The walk-in centre there has hardly any parking and is surrounded by streets with resident permit parking only. So I opted to go to Fleetwood.

At Fleetwood I had to do a computerised self-assessment full of questions like "Are you bleeding?" "Have you self-harmed?" "Is there anything sticking in you?" Nothing about sepsis or infection so I sat prepared for a long wait as my answers (nearly all "No") made it sound a bit wimpish.

Anyway I was seen after about 45-60 minutes by a nurse who said "Oh it really needs a District Nurse, they know far more about wounds like this. I know you've been sent here because they can't fit you in..." My leg has a dent in the back of it the size of a penny and the colour of dried blood. Probably because it may well be dried blood... very painful.

Kind and sympathetic, if a little unsure what to do, nurse put a cushioned pad over it and put a square plaster over that which by the time I got home had fallen off. I picked up my new pills and threw away the old pills as I had already taken one that morning and in any case the pharmacy would not take back anything which had been dispensed and already taken out of the pharmacy.

I am now limping about the house and anticipating my mother telling me about the five-year history of her legs which still have yet to sort themselves out... All this excitement in my life...

10 October 2024. I have another MRI at Christies hospital on 29 October followed by a telephone appt. on 14 November. Other than that, no news is good news.

As regards my leg, I am now being seen by the District Nurses although I have to visit them as opposed to home visits as I live outside the area covered by my surgery practice. Yesterday was my third visit and included a Doppler test. Most people will be familiar with the cuff used for a blood pressure test. In my case it was placed over my calf on the good leg and tightened until agony. Then some gel and a microphone was touched to my skin to check the difference between the speed of blood flow under pressure and after deflation of the cuff.

I managed to gasp "I'm glad you didn't do that on the bad leg!" but unfortunately that was exactly what had to happen next, the cuff going over the dressing on the open wound and - well that was agony that took me all my will power not to scream!

My pulse is apparently too fast, though I've been told that before and given the Bertie Bassett's box of pills I take every day, something surely has to be out of range? Whatever. The next step is apparently a Doppler test on my toes???

Meanwhile the dressing that I now sport has turned my bad leg to the size of a tree trunk and I am told to elevate the leg as much as possible, which given a wound right on the back of the calf and resting my leg on either side pulls or pushes at it is not without some sense of excitement! But then who needs more than 2.5-3 hours sleep a night anyway? I'm sort of hoping that Oxford Bags come back into trouser fashion sometime soon...

29 October 2024. Another MRI scan at Christies. With an ulcer on the leg let's just say it was a touch more interesting than normal. "Do you need something under it to support it?" asked nursey.
"No!!!!" I said urgently as she moved in with a bean bag. "Not under it, that would be agony, can you put it under my heel?" Which was ok for 20 minutes but then the beans moved under my foot leaving the other 25 minutes to be a face-scrunching breath-holding adventure. The trip back to the waiting room was only accomplished with nurses on either side, holding me up...

The leg since last Thursday has now been under compression as the algorithm from the doppler test showed I was suitable for compressing. So that also hurts like hell no matter what I do (including doing nothing). Today I have had a shingles vaccine jab now being ancient enough for that. Tablet and inhaler puff count now at 25 daily.

If anyone asks, I'm fine. If I grit my teeth when saying it, it's because I'm trying to get that bit of caviar from between two of them, ok? Thank Heavens for the gorgeous summer weather eh? Imagine if it was getting colder and towards winter... oh wait...

15 November 2024. A feedback phone call from Christies about the recent MRI suggests that the cancer is still stable and they are going to let me have future scans done at Blackpool on a 3-monthly basis. All good for that.

I went to the District Nurses again for the leg ulcer this morning - the first one since the compressions went on a week ago yesterday. A lot of goo and the nurse thought it bigger though she hadn't seen it for a few weeks. Fran sneaked a look and thought it was smaller than last week - I'll hope she's right...! Compression back on now and horrible again after all the mauling about (even though the nurse was as gentle as she could be). Happy days!

6 December 2024. A fabulous Christmas Party this afternoon as guests of the local branch of British Gas Pensioners courtesy of David and Jeannie. It was a lovely meal at the Sheraton Hotel in Blackpool- I just hope it wasn't too unacceptable to start dozing through the entertainment after the meal! I'm struggling with sleep patterns at the moment, tending to be awake all night and very sleepy during the day.

13 December 2024. I keep being told to carry on doing these medical updates and certainly viewing numbers on the blog have shot up quite a bit since I started but if you're getting fed up just scroll past!

I've put the liver cancer to the back of my mind for now. My next MRI will be in Feb/March next year. I'm not having any pains from it now. The pain department has definitely been taken over by the leg ulcer which has been far more painful than anything I have ever suffered before. Currently though it seems to be starting to shrink slightly - the "crater" is not as deep and the overall size of the wound is shrinking, but at the cost of some fairly rough handling to try to remove all the dead skin / flesh / whatever - they call it "slough".

This week was horrendous at the District Nurses and I was in agony afterwards. Next week I am to look forward to having abrasive wipes applied... "take some paracetamol before you come in"...

Swelling from the lymphedema in the legs is also bad, it doesn't need much pressure to cause a dent to appear which takes a while to disappear. Also the other week I was sent one of those poo test things. It came back positive and they wanted to do another colonoscopy. With the state of my leg I could never get to the loo in time to deal with the somewhat explosive laxative preparation so I've put that on hold for now. I have had two telephone appointments to explain and they are leaving it for now. I seem to be getting NHS post through several times a week just at the moment!

25 December 2024. We gather at our daughter's for Christmas. Which is fast looming up on us again. I'm now 3 and a quarter years on from the first TACE procedure. A look at survival rates is sobering but I'm still here. And intend to be here for as long as possible. For now though, I'll take a Merry Yuletide break away from the blog until 2026. Somewhere at the beginning of January the next blog post will be to bore you with the annual look at my artwork done during the previous year (2025).

There were quite a few new sketches, colours, new media - something like 24 images for you to look at. That's what being unable to get out much does for you! See you in 2026.

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: Post Radiotherapy and Side Effects

30 April 2024. Two weeks ago today was my last radiotherapy treatment. Today I got a letter from Christies inviting me to go for a talk with my consultant on 30 May. First I have to go to the phlebotomy department. I think this is to give blood samples for testing rather than to have my bumps felt - though you never know your luck... (No, you pillock! That's phrenology!)

14 May 2024. I have spent most of the past 2 weeks coughing so much my ribs ache and each time it takes a minute or two for my stomach muscles to unclench. If I don't come out of this with a restored six pack I'm going to be very disappointed... Also the 20 or so pills I take daily do not mix with the cough so well and I've developed a new skill in upchucking them out again. Am now managing to stay awake through almost 9 to 10 hours a day which leaves up to 14 hours where needing the bathroom is inconvenient. Managed to watch all the way up to the end of the UK Eurovision entry last weekend in what should surely be renamed next year to the Eurovision S\&M Homo-eroticism Contest... Dire... just dire.

30 May 2024. Today was another trip to Christies to give blood samples and see my oncologist. Reassuring to know that with all the grotty side effects, including the passing of poo in Smartie-sized pips until the final bit has to be ejected with such strained force that it can leave you bleeding (sorry folks but this series of articles is meant to help fellow sufferers at the start of their journey understand what they might have to deal with), she seemed to think they were all in keeping with what I've had done.

I had been warned that the cancer would take moisture out of the gut but that phrase doesn't seem to go as far as the possible symptoms somehow... An MRI won't be taken until sometime in July - it apparently has to be 3 months after the radiotherapy has finished.

3 June 2024. Diabetic review today after having donated yet more red corpuscles the other week. Sugar has leapt upwards but thankfully it is due to both the recent radiotherapy and associated stress so should come down again. However for the moment it has increased my daily pill intake again...

13 July 2024. After two years of Covid lockdowns and a year of feeling a whole range of grot from just feeling off, to feeling exhausted and unwell and then having cameras shoved in everywhere, then CT and MRI scans, it was two years ago today that I learned I had cancer on the liver. Since then I've been passed from Blackpool Victoria Hospital to Leeds St James then Christies hospitals, two procedures, one that worked and one that didn't, an intense course of radiotherapy that I'm still recovering from the after effects of.

I'm hoping that the next MRI a week on Tuesday will tell me that the radiotherapy worked. Throughout, the support of people that I have known from all sorts of periods and places has been amazing and I thank you all. Special mention has to go to school chum Janet Astley and hubby Graham for giving up time and more, ferrying me to and from Leeds and Manchester, my bestie David Lancaster and Miss Jeannie for their incessant support and love through times during which he and I have both been going through "stuff".

Lastly of course my own family, especially the wonderful Miss Franny who has watched over, encouraged and cared for me throughout and Gillian Statham our daughter and son-in-law Edward for all their support and help with running about and doing stuff when I've not been able to. And I mustn't forget our wonderful granddaughter Grace, who cheers me up and fills me with love and who comes to rub my arm or back if ever I show any sign of a cough or discomfort. Two years is enough - Christies: I want that next MRI to show nothing but what should be there!

22 July 2024. Just got back from another fabulous weekend with Talking Pictures TV at their Monmouth Festival of Film. Many thanks to Noel and Sarah Cronin for putting on such wonderful weekends, to Caroline Munro, Jayne Crimin and Madeline Smith for being as lovely as they always are and to comedian, Mel Byron, for naming me from the stage leaving everybody wondering who the heck I was.

Some other great guests including Tony Christie, Maureen Lipman, the indefatigable Jimmy Cricket who had the audience in stitches throughout his spot and no TPTV weekend would be complete without the glamourous Lola Lamour. There were many more of course including The Footage Detectives with Noel and Mike Read and some great film snippets and features.

23 July 2024. Just back at 8.54pm from Christies hospital where I had bloods taken and then MRI scan. Bloods were taken at around 2.30pm so a long afternoon. In the waiting room for the MRI I was sitting next to a guy who had been diagnosed with cancer across his shoulders. He was asking me about my experiences as he was only recently diagnosed. Although I was honest, I was making light of my own experiences, yet he was staring at me like I was some sort of hero and saying "Oh my God!" at almost everything I said. I'm no blooming hero, but what can you say when you are asked "Were you put under when you had your operation?"

I had to say, "No, because I had to hold my breath at certain points, so it was just a local anaesthetic..."
"Oh my God! So you were awake all through it? How long did it take?"
"About three quarters of an hour..."
"Oh my God!!!"

8 August 2024. Got the results of my first scan after the radiotherapy today. The cancer hasn't grown and hasn't shrunk or disappeared. "It's what we would hope to see, we wouldn't have expected it to have shrunk yet, it takes longer than that after radiotherapy." Well, if they had told me that in April it would have saved me from what feels like a disappointment today then wouldn't it...? Ah well - another MRI in 3 months. Same old.

What follows next is our cruise with Tomas and Maris on the Norwegian Pearl in the Adriatic Sea. This has already featured on the blog but I'll just repeat this little snippet from the entry on 1 September 2024 in which I am describing a day in Rijeka on 21 August 2024.

A couple of weeks ago I took a step short coming downstairs at home and scraped the back of my leg on the step, leaving a carpet burn that blistered. I'd been putting antiseptic cream on but Miss Franny had only packed the small tube we were halfway through so needed to buy some more. I know it sounds trivial but at age 70 and with diabetes, these things do not heal quickly and can be very painful."

In fact the damage to the liver had given me a developing leg ulcer. Any pain I might have had from the cancer would shrink in my mind due to what I would suffer from this and more similar spread of wounds on both legs. I went through the cancer on just paracetamol. With the ulcers I progressed to nerve pain killers and codeine then morphine and still had such pain that I could have wept. (At times I did!)

Currently on 8 December 2025 my legs are still bandaged though the wounds are disappearing. 15 months of suffering, 2 months spent in hospital May to the beginning of July this year, unable to stand and having to watch a pool of blood forming on the floor around my feet when I tried... It has been a long struggle that still continues.

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: The Rest of the Radiotherapy

29 March 2024. The second dose of radiotherapy today. Graham got us there in record time - no school traffic with it being Easter, little work traffic but we weren't sure how many would be heading to Manchester Airport. Hold-ups coming back on end of M61 and M6 up to M55 though - I guess Windermere would be a touch crowded today.

The session begins - as all the sessions will begin - with an MRI scan. This tells the medical team whether the tumour is still in the same place and roughly its size. The burning sensation I had on day one turned out to be something I can expect more of as the treatment goes on.

I've been working on an oil pastel of a street scene in Bristol from an old postcard view. There will be no progress on the painting today - once I get home I'm yawning so much I'm in danger of swallowing my computer screen...

2 April 2024. Today was radiotherapy day 3 of 8. Thanks Graham Astley once again for doing the driving to and from Christies. Managed to stay awake for the trip home but zonked for the afternoon. A day off tomorrow before going back for the 4th dose on Thursday. The waiting room for the radiotherapy is huge and always full. I'm not sure just how many machines there are (each in their own large room) but it's a lot. I am usually in Radiotherapy Room 4. There are at least 12 machines.

Once you have had your MRI you wait around another 20 minutes before going into the Radiotherapy room. Meanwhile some people will be going home (or back to their ward if they are staying in hospital) and new patients will be arriving. Some sit in the waiting room on their own and some seem to bring their entire families. Some sit there making conversation with whoever they have brought with them. Some sit quite still, looking worried. Some sit or walk about terrified, some in tears, some saying how they can't go on with this or that they don't want to go on with their treatment.

I always felt a huge sorrow for these people. My own experiences told me that it really wasn't that bad. Sometimes I had pain but it was usually just pain that could come at any time not because of the machines. Yes, there is some discomfort during your 20 minutes inside an MRI tube, mainly from your inability to move, to rub an itch, to wipe your nose or eyes, or discomfort from the pauses in breathing, or the placement of aparatus across your abdomen. Even the sheer noise.

Once in the Radiotherapy Room my greatest problem was the cold temperature of the room and sometimes the sudden movement of quite large parts of the machine rotating around you can make you jump. Also once your treatment starts you will be lying in this large room totally alone. The operators will be in touch via speakers if they need to speak to you and will every now and then make sure you are ok. They can see you too even if you cannot see them.

I haven't played guitar since shortly after the cancer diagnosis. It rests just over the liver and could be painful. But try this to the song "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" by The Police :-

Every little twinge we have is magic
Every little stab just make me moan
When my side starts burning it is tragic
When there is no loo I want to go-o-o-o-o-oh

The latter is a real problem. I'm ok in the house but anywhere else once you feel the urge to pee it takes only seconds before you are desperate to the point of being in pain and scared of being unable to control yourself. During COVID it was a real problem as many public toilets were closed and even a shouted "I HAVE TO GO! would have no influence over a jobsworth. We did once have to screech to a halt outside an early morning coffee shop so I could dash in as best as I could, doubled over, to head with just a mute pointing to the toilet which was thankfully empty. Plan outings carefully.

4 April 2024. Halfway through! A couple of "incidents" on the motorway - one looked like a "Hullo Sonny, you're nicked!" one with a van surrounded by police cars and vans. Got to Christies again thanks to Graham and got booked in early. Got called in early too which was a surprise.

I usually snooze the afternoon on the sofa but today went up to lie on the bed as my side was quite sore - I'm wondering what next week will be like with 3 treatments over 5 days. But it will leave me with just one final visit. I'm told the dose keeps working for two weeks and then another MRI probably at the 6 weeks point to see what effect it has all had.

8 April 2024. Five down, three to go. Thanks to Janet Astley who took over from Graham today as he had to go to a meeting. Jan and I met at school aged 11. Just a short while ago...

10 April 2024. Yesterday's trip was 6 of 8, the end is in sight. Thanks once again to Graham for doing the driving. Just one more visit this week and then a final visit on Tuesday next week.

12 April 2024. Penultimate treatment at Christies. It was an afternoon appointment and they were busier than we had ever seen them. A little late going in but all went well. Graham was there to drive us and give me a helping hand out of the car and to say gently and patiently, "take your time, stop if you need to," whenever I stumbled or caught a foot on nothing walking down the corridors after the treatment. I have tended to make little of this but the sheer exhaustion cannot be underestimated.

As mentioned above, we have seen a few other people over the weeks on the verge of tears saying "I can't do this anymore..." but today whilst I was lying on the cold bench with what felt like a cricket ball pressed hard into my middle and whirling machines trying to bring out my super powers, Fran saw a chap just burst into heart rending sobs in the waiting room.

It's hard. Probably the hardest thing I've ever had to go through and I wouldn't wish it on anyone. The staff at Christies are awesome, the pressure on them must be enormous and I always try to make them laugh in some way, even if it's only that they shake their heads at each other and say "silly old sod!" when I leave. Most days once we get back after a coffee and perhaps a bite to eat that's me zonked for a couple of hours.

I now have 3 days "off" with my final treatment on Tuesday. Apparently the side effects (in my case the tiredness and burning feeling on my right side where the radiation goes in) will last - or "culminate" is what they actually said which makes me wonder whether it gets worse - for another two weeks after the treatment ends.

Then a gap of four weeks before an MRI to see if it's all been successful. It usually takes another four weeks after an MRI to get results so potentially ten weeks to wait before I get any news. For all and anyone going through similar stuff, you have my respect and my good wishes. You can - and should - do it some more.

Those reserves are deep down inside you and by the end of it you may wonder where they came from, but when you need them, come they will. I still have all my colour in my face, I don't look ill, I don't act ill unless I really, really can't help it, but people saying to my face "No you haven't got cancer - look at you..." you will never know just how angry that makes me even if I don't show it. Don't say it even if you think it.

Roll on Tuesday. Thanks to all those many people who have given me support, hugs both physical and virtual and shown love and help. You are bloody wonderful! I'm especially aware of what a huge worry and burden this has been on family, especially Miss Franny who has herself gone through a different form of cancer in the past.

17 April 2024. Our last visit and treatment for the present went ok yesterday. Thanks go to Mags Cummings for inviting us to her house nearby to rest before driving back, lovely to see you again Mags and thanks for the hospitality. Journey back was fine. Today has been spent asleep or dozing or merely just exhausted. Off to bed again now, life is just too hectic. Night all...

27 April 2024. Typical day in the life at the moment - lots of people complain of sleep breaks, where they can only sleep for short periods. For most of this week I've been having "awake breaks"...

The day goes like this: Wake up, shower, shave, go downstairs to make breakfast. An hour later reminded by Miss Franny to make breakfast. Make breakfast. An hour later realise I've not eaten it yet. Eat it. Half an hour later am woken from doze by Miss Franny to tell me my coffee will be stone cold. Drink stone cold coffee.

Doze until dinner. Have soup and toast or similar for lunch sitting under supervision next to Miss Franny. Woken up to be sent to bed for a couple of hours. Sleep. Woken up in case Grace calls on her way home from school. Sit dazed by rapid progression of videos on her phone of 20-30 year old girls with annoying American accents blowing hundreds of dollars at a time on soft toys.

Once Grace has gone watch "Pointless" to keep brain from going to sleep whilst I have tea. Afterwards ask Miss Franny who won and put on something interesting to watch. Wake up when it is finished and ask Miss Franny what happened... Go to bed. Read until woken up by book hitting my face. Sleep. Repeat...

Family Memories: Personal Index

First Radiotherapy Session, March 2024

14 March 2024. Early morning start to Christies (even earlier for that top man Graham Astley once again acting as chauffeur, carer and all-round good egg) and we got there in good time. I went to register for my MRI, had to undress and wear a gown - either I have shrunk or they have grown - maybe as well because it had to be tied at the front so they could admire my new tattoos.

Usually I spurt blood all over the place quite nonchalantly but this time the canula went in just above my wrist and my left arm must have been empty from the elbow down. The right arm worked though. Inflatable belt again and this time with the added bulk of the MRI plate resting on my abdomen - a ticklish moment when the hard bit of the velcro belt fastening got twisted and the edge started to dig in me under the weight of the plate. I had to stop them, but it got sorted and I was trundled head first into the MRI tunnel - not a huge amount of space between the MRI tunnel ceiling and everything that moved along with me after being belted, inflated and plated...

Ear plugs inserted - not had those before but it was ok - they went in my ears... - and headphones on. Very noisy machine, much more so than Blackpool or Leeds. Had to hold my breath having breathed out which I find very difficult due to the asthma and is illogical anyway, you can't hold what you've already got rid of...

Very stiff and sore coming out of tunnel at the end and when the nurse said "You can sit up now" I had to answer, "Easy for you to say!" So my ankles were grabbed, legs swung to side of bed, hands on shoulders sitting me up - voice from in front says "oh... I'll just shut the door..." as passers-by were treated to bare legs and undies.

They were very apologetic (the nurses not the passers-by). I said "It's ok, I'm old enough not to worry about it as long as no-one actually laughs..." Home now, rested, (means I went to sleep...) and ready to start thinking about this weekend's event as we are off to one of Talking Pictures TV's fabulous Film Festivals. Yay for the good guys.

16 March 2024. A couple of days later we were down in St Albans at the Talking Pictures TV event. I've been lucky enough to know and have fairly long acquaintances with a number of actors in my life and here I am with Bond girls Caroline Munro and Madeline Smith. Other highlights of the weekend were my usual chat with Noel Cronin, who started off our favourite TV channel, getting to sit as "minder" to Caroline over her autograph session, something I've done many times over the years since we first met in 1997. Someone asked if I were her husband... I quickly denied it before she had time to look affronted!

Oh and that naughty but nice chanteuse, Lola Lamour nipped my bum as I was in a queue for coffee. Back on stage after the break, she grinned at me and said, "I pinched your bum!"
"Yes..." I answered loudly, "can I have it back?

21 March 2024. I got a phone call from The Christie hospital. After the MRI they are thinking of reducing the risk to my heart a bit by delivering the radiotherapy over 8 visits rather than 5 (bearing in mind that with a normal doseage it would take 30 visits...

27 March 2024. Graham arrived early to take us once more to Christies. This was for my first radiotherapy session. I was a bit quieter than usual perhaps, wondering what lay ahead as we drove there. I had been warned it might make me feel sick, so Janet had loaded a washing basket with towels - so many I wondered whether she thought I might explode... Anyway it didn't affect me that way.

The session went ok apart from sudden horrendous pain when the belt thing being adjusted moved a floating rib. I had to ask them to let out the belt and physically push the rib back. Luckily I had come across a description of floating ribs beforehand or that could have been a lot more frightening. Do a Google search for "floating ribs".

The procedure means uncovering all parts the beam needs to travel through from one tattoo to another both up/down and side to side. Trousers and undies were pushed down but not removed altogether. This huge lump of machinery moves around you at times (you are on a narrown bed but not in any surrounding tube like with an MRI). You will probably be able to see the point of origin of the laser beams used to pinpoint the track from tattoo to tattoo. Gazing fixedly at them is not recommended. Also the room is very large and cold but you just have to put up with that.

The radiotherapy itself was over in what seemed like a much shorter time than I had expecting. I got off the machine and managed to keep my trousers from falling right down, but then realised I had hold of my trousers but not my undies and had to go fishing... Ah the joys of hospital visits...

I had a burning sensation in the side where the tattoo was for a while but not sure if that was just the weary old body playing tricks with my mind. It felt real though and I asked at my next visit and was told it probably was real.

I was exhausted coming out - I went to sleep in the car coming back. I spent a lot of the afternoon asleep too but we were up early and I suspect that I'll sleep better tonight instead of wondering what I'll be facing next time. Visits are scheduled for either 2 or 3 times a week with a minumum of one free day between treatment days.

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: Preparation for Radiotherapy

12 September 2023. Carrying on from the previous article, it is now the third day after the second TACE procedure on my cancer. The bruise from my groin extends a full 12 inches (30 and a bit cm) round the top of my leg, up the side of my bum and looks set to extend up my back. Though it is starting to go yellow in a few spots. The twinges and stabbies have now started a bit in my side and I know they will get worse and probably last a few months now. Getting tired easily, can nap at any time whilst eating, whilst at the computer, am not driving...!

20 September 2023. Whilst trying to protect the area to the side of my bits where a catheter was shoved up not quite a fortnight ago, I've strained the other side haven't I... So whilst sitting, jumping up and uttering "Oh, 'pon my word!" every now and then, I get a package from Talking Pictures TV with tickets for one of their film festivals that I booked, only to find I'd only ordered one ticket and not two. On the phone grovelling and paying for another ticket and have now returned the ticket for the centre of the front row and await whatever are the best tickets for two seats together. Sigh... I remember when my mind worked properly...

22 September 2023. Ok, so I'm back on track now thank goodness and healing well. Bruise is mostly yellow but still have an 8" x 1.5" strip with purple. Most afternoons involve a nap for anything up to a couple of hours, so often that I have given up and just go to bed for a few hours each afternoon. I have managed to get out of the house once or twice.

19 October 2023. MRI No.6 done and dusted. We found the hotel after a false start... There are four Premier Inns in Leeds and we saw the sign for one from the 4th floor of the car park after picking up the case. It was, of course, the wrong one and in the opposite direction than the one we were booked in.

The MRI machine surprised me a couple of times by saying "take shallow breaths...". So after a short interlude of panting I was starting to think I should breathe into a paper bag... Also the nurse said "I've seen you before haven't I?" So I thought here we go, she remembers me spraying blood all over the place, but no! She remembered either the face or the physique - probably the face because she didn't laugh... So now it's the usual wait for the results whilst trying not to bite my nails further down than the first knuckle... Onwards and upwards! Xxxx

21 November 2023. Tomorrow we are heading once more over to Leeds as I have a face to face with the consultant re the cancer. Not sure what to expect as I've already been told the last set of blood tests showed anaemia or low haemoglobin count again. Any more iron tablets and I'll be unable to walk past magnets...

22 November 2023. Back from the trip to Leeds. Mixed news as always. The last op had no effect. The two tumours haven't changed in size and are both still active or viable - meaning capable of being active. So the medical bods at Leeds are now meeting as a team to decide whether they should try the procedure again or, because the first one shrank the main tumour enough that it's just under the upper limit for radiotherapy, whether to try that.

The team meeting will look at where entry (target) points for radiation would need to be and whether that would zap any other parts that shouldn't be zapped. If they go for radiotherapy it could be done at Christies in Manchester which would knock an hour off each journey. Options would only be Leeds or Christies as it has to be done in a major cancer-specialising hospital. Not likely to hear now until near Christmas and nothing likely to happen until next year. Took a full 8-hour day that, from leaving house to getting back.

28 November 2023. I'm getting very dozy. I can fall asleep no matter where I am, at my desk, watching TV, in the doctor's waiting room. Miss Franny is having to nudge me every half hour or so...

1 December 2023. Blooming heck! Mid meal - CRUNCH! - sigh... didn't need that tooth anyway... This is the start of a few losses in the mouth, mainly on the lower right where one missing tooth has created a space for another one to gradually lean over, crushing another couple of teeth. Luckily they haven't caused any pain or discomfort so I've sort of ignored them. Our dentist got taken over by someone who announced I needed four extractions and two fillings before I'd even opened my mouth...

16 January 2024. Follow-up to the meeting at Leeds on 22 Nov. Apparently my details and scans have been forwarded from Leeds to Christies Hospital who are still to make a decision on whether radiotherapy is possible for me. Next step is wait for Christies to get in touch and presumably they will want an up-to-date scan to see whether the tumours have grown or not since my last scan in October. In other words: don't know nuffink... The only thing I do know is that I am still able to fall asleep within two seconds of letting my mind go blank...

8 February 2024. It's my first visit to Christies (or more formally: The Christie) Hospital just outside Manchester today. I am to have Stereotatic Ablative Body Radiotherapy which is high dose, precisely targetted and due to the high dosage will be completed within 5 treatments, one every two days. There are some risks and some side effects. The risk of not having it done is of course a touch more severe... Two visits before the treatment days to have scans done to see how much my liver moves about of its own accord. (It's always been a bit flighty...) Some sort of belt is used to limit my breathing during the hour long treatments - sounds fun to a life-long asthmatic. They estimate that treatment will start in March. Oh... and I have apparently shrunk an inch and a half in height since the last time I was measured.

I updated friends on Facebook and had a few questions directed to me about what on earth "Stereotatic Ablative Body Radiotherapy" meant. I responded:

SABR - stereotatic means two beams - all the better to make me glow in the dark. Hope they don't cross the beams! (see Ghostbusters for explanation)

Ablative means to reduce.

Body apparently means that just the thought of it has reduced me one and a half inches already

Radiotherapy means I'll go green and strong when narked... a bit like the jolly green giant... or the Hulk... or something... This would have been better on Facebook if I hadn't missed out the letter R in narked...

15 February 2024. Letters arriving from Christies on a daily basis (well, it's only been a couple of days...) CT scan and planning meeting scheduled for 8 March and MRI on 14 March. Expecting the treatment to start shortly afterwards.

8 March 2024. To Christies for a CT scan and meet with the oncology team to plan the raidotherapy treatment. We had met up with friends from school days a couple of weeks ago and Graham had very kindly offered to drive us to Christies whenever I needed to go. "I can't ask you to take me there twice a week!" I exclaimed.

"Well... you can..." came the calm reply. What an absolute gent. Already he had taken us to Leeds many times, giving up a entire day each time.

Anyway we got to Christies, found that there was free parking. I found the Radiotherapy ward ok, got registered, had the prep talk then decided not to risk the scanner without going to the loo first. Then of course I got lost in a long corridor as the loo was down a side corridor... I also managed to get lost coming back, as all the doors were marked "Radiation - Do Not Enter" so I didn't fancy opening the wrong door...

The bit I was worried about was the belt around the abdomen to restrict my breathing. The nurse assisting with the CT put it on and tightened it and I thought "oh... not so bad..." Then she said "I'll inflate it now..." It felt a bit like having a solid cricket ball pressed hard into your stomach making each breath a gasp. My chest looks like a noughts and crosses board, arrows everywhere (drawn on not shot at...) I got four tattooed dots, which would be used to ensure the beam would enter and travel through me from the right point and in the right direction. Two dots gave the vertical target and two others from side to side gave the horizontal. I had been warned the beam would touch the bottom of a lung and my heart. One of the dots was tattooed only an inch above a designated area of natural interest (that one made me wince!).

This was the tattoo on my chest - no you can't see the corresponding one lower down...

We got home mid afternoon, I was asleep in 15 minutes flat... The actual radiotherapy will start in just a few days.

Family Memories - Personal Index

Cancer: Second TACE Procedure

14 August 2023. Well, I sort of knew this was coming. The cancer has grown very slightly (only 1mm) but has changed inside and therefore the consultant thinks it's time to repeat the operation I had just over a year ago. Targeted chemo delivered directly to the tumour via a catheter from my groin. Should be being done next month sometime and will be another 2-night stay in hospital in Leeds. Oh the joys...

17 August 2023. Bloody heck that was quick. I now have a date for my op which will be done on Friday 8 Sept. Hey ho here we go..

10 September 2023. Hi all, got back home tea time yesterday. Sore, tired and with a new sporty 8 inch by 2 inch bruise from groin up my side. The procedure this time was performed by a female doctor with an all-female crew helping. The chatter was mainly all about what goes on in the female halls of residence for student nurses. Enough to make your hair curl. Well perhaps not mine, most of which went down the drains in the 1970s...

The procedure went well until I refused to stop bleeding in the recovery room. It had just about stopped and they had called for a porter to trolley me back to the ward. "You can eat and drink but no making merry..." I was told. This came as a blow: the Recovery Room Assistant is the most beautiful girl in the world... The Porter arrived just as I had to cough and the doc took a look and told his assistant "send the porter away, he's going nowhere..." Then concern about a haematoma and more pressure to stem the blood flow. An hour later they called another porter and I coughed again...

The assistant (still the most beautiful girl in the world) exclaimed "Oh my god... do you *like* it down here?" Anyway this time I made it back to my ward but all the bouncing and going over bumps as we moved down corridors from one building to another started it off again. The most beautiful girl in the world had come with me and prodded briefly at a spot that, had it not been for the anaesthetic, I might have found quite interesting - or painful... By now I had missed lunch and a set of meds and was feeling decidedly whoof.

I had to spend one hour flat on my back with no movement, never a good position for an asthmatic. Another hour propped up at 45 degrees - still no moving and then able to sit in chair but not move much and if loo was needed I had to hold the incision point to put pressure on. Try going to the loo and holding your groin at the same time...

Tea time came and I tried my best. Took first pill, swigged a slurp and threw up all over the place. Another night came of beeps, clatters and someone shouting "Help! Help!" A family in the next room was sitting over a dying relative and arguing about who should get what... Yep... They actually tried to shoo a doctor out who had come to see how the patient was doing. "We are trying to have a meeting in here!" an indignant voice came. I'm glad to say the doctor shooed them out instead, but they were soon back and yakking as loud as ever, shouting at each other where there was a particularly desirable heirloom to be gained. You could almost see the tombtone: "Here lies xxxxx. His last words were "XXXX Off!"

I was experiencing what I hoped was horrendous heartburn. I went looking for a nurse and asked for some antacids. "I'll have to check with your nurse..." An hour later (2.30am) I rang my alarm bell. Same one appeared. Probably a nursing asst. "All the nurses were busy... I will go to see again now..." My notes must say I have angina and heart problems, so how is this not urgent? Half an hour later I press alarm again and just ask for a glass of milk which wonder of wonders arrives in about ten minutes. Settles me down enough to get a bit of sleep until a distant voice cries "Help!" Help! I'm pi**ing myself!" Well do it quietly, Wet Legs, I'm trying to get a wink of sleep in here...!

Saturday I have all the usual tests done, blood sugar, pressure, pulse and temps. For the latter they put a clamp on your ear. I measure high. "I've been lying on that side," I say. It's only about 5.30 so I've only had 2 hours sleep at most. The other ear measures perfectly. It is gone dinner time before a doc comes to confirm if I can go home. Son in law Eddie brings Fran and I totter to the car and get in, gracefully banging my head on the door frame. And now home being nursed by Miss Franny with the added entertainment of being able to watch my side flutter as nerves jump and hold battles inside... I'm back folks. No driving or athletics until Wednesday and I need to get to the GP in the week to have liver blood tests done to send to Leeds. Another MRI in 6 weeks. Hooray for the good guys!

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: More MRI Scans, The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

April to July 2023

17 April 2023. I got my feedback from the MRI scan taken just a month ago. Nothing has changed much since the previous MRI. Stability. I'll settle for that.

4 May 2023. Went out for breakfast yesterday with David and Jeannie, a good catch-up over food. Came home to find copy of letter sent from Leeds hospital to my GP. These always give more info than you get over the phone. Phone conversation had said "not much change" in the size of the cancer and there wasn't - only half a centimetre. But it was half a centimetre bigger... ho hum. Too small a change to do any more about it yet, fingers crossed for the next MRI which will probably be end of June or early July. We have a few trips planned between now and then, let's hope for some good weather then. Haircut today - I want to make sure it doesn't keep getting in my eyes... Afterwards we were watching a documentary on Bruce Lee and I make all the same noises getting up off the sofa but for entirely different reasons...

18 May 2023. Diabetic 6 monthly check-up this morning. The nurse told me I was "perfect". I may have mentioned this to Miss Franny with something of a smug look on my face...

12 July 2023. Trip to Leeds for the MRI yesterday. Graham picked me up around 8:30 and we drove over the A59 past Clitheroe, Skipton where we stopped for a cuppa and then Otley where we got held up by roadworks a couple of times. Got to the hospital with time for a quick bite. Didn't have my iron pills as the MRI can make metal objects suddenly whizz off at 400mph and the thought of the pill suddenly shooting out of my side put me off a bit... Went into Radiology a bit early hoping for a quick getaway.

I was taken through almost straight away - I still hadn't finished filling out the forms denying all types of previous operations or implants including some that made my eyes water just reading about them... Got sat down in a small cubicle, answered all the same questions again but verbally, had a canula and tube put into my arm then someone called the nurse and there was to be a ten minute delay.

Twenty minutes later, still sitting in the same chair but now on my own I felt something on my arm and the tube had dropped out of the canula. Gingerly attempted to put it back then went in search of nursey who put it back properly and said the woman who had been in the MRI machine had had a problem with the injected dye not working properly. Ended up going in ten minutes late.

Lay down on the machine and was asked to lower my trousers in case the zip was metal - I certainly didn't want that suddenly zooming off anywhere near at 400mph... "I'll get a gown to cover you," said nursey.
"I have undies on and they're just plain - they won't betray any character traits," I said cheerfully.
That gave her a laugh, "Well I don't think anyone's ever said that to me before..." she said

The next half hour in a tube is best forgotten so I won't dwell on it. Came out and sat in chair to have canula taken out of my arm. A pad of gauze placed on the spot and was told to hold it. My head was still pulsing - how does it do that when it's your liver they are taking images of? Looked down saw that the tie strings of my pants had come undone and without thinking reached down to tie them, causing the gauze to fall off and the next thing is Nursey goes "Oh!" and my arm feels wet and there's blood all over the place... I'm a bit of a bleeder...

"I'm going to run if I see you coming here again!" exclaims nursey, "you'll have to stay until you've mopped that floor now!"
"Told you I was a bleeder!" I said apologetically. All sorted.

As I left the MRI unit nursey was preparing her next victim. She saw me as I passed and grinned. "I hope you're not going to be as bad as my last patient," she said loudly...

I still had to go up a floor to give blood samples at the oncology clinic. Luckily they were expecting me this time unlike in April where the Receptionist had demanded to know from me why they weren't expecting me and did I know it was just for cancer patients. I've never said a dryer "y-e-e-e-s..."

Anyway blood was taken from my other arm than the canula one and all went well except that by time I was home both arms were feeling heavy and itchy and I ripped off plasters to find lots of bruising on the second arm - not where the needle went in either... Totally shattered by then, Graham had to help me out of the car, poor old dodderer that I am. Pain killers, food, bed... wake up every quarter hour with pain lancing through side, oh the joys. Don't expect me to do much today except snore and the occasional wince!

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: Life After TACE

18 August 2022. More or less one week on from the operation and I'm starting to feel human again. The orange shorts - the illusion caused by the painting on of pre-op antiseptic fluid - have sadly disappeared and even most of the bruising is turning yellow. I still can't rest on my right side though and am not allowed to strain myself by trying to lift or carry anything heavier than a bag of fluff. But have been able to get a bus into the village centre and potter about on my stick for a few minutes before heading for a cafe for coffee and sit down.

28 August 2022. I'm ok. I think Miss Franny might say "ok-ish..." We should have been in Austria for a week from this weekend but have had to cancel that on doctor's orders. So we've booked a couple of nights in Bridlington. Can just potter about and hopefully get a sketch or two in. One of the frustrations of both the cancer and the after-effects of the operation is getting used to the fact that some things are out of bounds even when I feel ok. And if I'm honest I'm not always ok.

I was warned that cancer in the liver affects the digestion process by drawing a lot of moisture from the gut. This dries up whatever is left and therefore - do I need to go into details? Going to the loo can be hard - think of more than one interpretation for that sentence... I suffered some bleeding.

Unfortunately this coincided with me getting one of those 2-yearly bowel cancer surveys and inevitably I got a follow-up letter saying blood had been found on the sample... I had a fair idea where it was coming from so I ignored it... There was no way at that time I wanted to go through the laxative and bowel emptying that preceeds a camera up the behind... And I would have had to spend the entire evening sat on the loo because I just couldn't move as fast as that requires you to do. Once the urge hits you have to make a mad dash!

2 September 2022. We took a couple of days in Bridlington. It was windy and cold and we spent much more time in the hotel than we would have normally done. I was having to go for a lie down and sleep for one or two hours every afternoon and we usually didn't venture out after the evening meal. Even when out I spent a lot of time sitting on benches near the harbour whilst Fran had a look around the shops. These often led to conversations with other holiday-makers, some of whom would ask if I was alright - Heaven only knows what I looked like at that time but it must have been obvious I was ill... At least there are people who can look beyond me having a ruddy complexion!

26 September 2022. Some good news for a change! Had my phone consultation after the MRI and the tumour has shrunk a bit from over 6cm to 5cm and liver function and bloods all ok. No fluid apparent in any other places it shouldn't be, so all is well. All the sensations and discomfort I've had are consistent with the procedure I had, so nothing too worrying about them either. Next MRI mid-December to see what happens next.

October 2022. Remember that bit about no fluid being apparent in places it shouldn't be? I should have been worried about there being no fluid in places it should be. I've already touched on the problemn re the gut. I ended up compacted and in such pain that I was unable to sit down, lie down or stand up without being doubled over in pain. The doctors prescribed something the chemist couldn't get hold of but luckily the purchase of something that they suggested slowly did the trick, though there had been several days of agony and thinking I was about to burst my colon and go the way of Rudolph Valentino, but without all the fun of his days of fame!

15 September 2022. A planned visit to the doc's after my twice annual diabetic blood tests went well. Diabetes readings down, thyroid, kidneys, stable. Blood pressure normal. Weight down 3kg - good but a bit of a double-edged sword given the existence of cancer... Yesterday we had gone to a Macmillan's afternoon at a local hotel. I wasn't sure what to expect really but the whole thing was a bit meh. We hadn't been sent a programme so assumed it was drop-in sessions, but when we got there a series of talks were just ending and of all the specialist stalls for prostate, bowel, leukaemia, lymphoma, there was nothing for liver cancer (or lung cancer - as we left someone was complaining bitterly about that). A few stalls for mental health - ha! I've always been pretty mental really... More stalls encouraging activity as though I could fit any more zumba and pilates classes into my life... (I don't do any, but I make sure I can't fit any into my life...) Then the highlight last night, took Miss Franny to a carvery for tea and then to the Winter Gardens where granddaughter Grace and her co-performers won their school a shield for best effort in the dance competiton! Yay! Go Grace!

15 December 2022. Another trip to Leeds for a follow-up MRI scan. It went ok, MRI shook rattled and rolled as per, but easier to cope with the more of them I have done. Gave up some blood afterwards, which was reluctant to stop but eventually did - nice purple lump just under my elbow bend... Got to say a huge thank you to Graham who drove us there and back, our thanks and appreciation for all he did, an absolute gent. Got home and flopped a bit. Miss Franny woke me up at 9:00pm to send me to bed... Today could be a bit like that too... Thanks to all who sent good wishes and encouragement. Now it's the waiting game until I get the results.

23 December 2022. Just over a week since the MRI and the bruise where the canula pressed against my arm in the machine has started going yellow... Nice to meet up with Fran's brother Bob and family last night and a good night was had by all! Should have taken a photo of that really...

16 January 2023. Had the hospital phone call and on the whole the results of the MRI are very good. The cancer has shrunk again but there's another small lesion on the liver lower down. They are calling it a satellite of the main tumour and assure me that it's too small to worry about. Next step is another MRI in April. Told to take painkillers for a week as I've been getting stabbing sensations most days, which make me jump out of my skin. They are like an electric shock or a sharp jab with a needle. Could be nerve endings around the tumour healing perhaps.

February 2023. What a month since the last paragraph. Miss Franny had to have a cornea graft on her eye and that involved me having to put 27 drops into her eye every day. Many return visits to the hospital as the graft didn't take properly at first. Also the pains I was experiencing in my body had got a lot worse. I wasn't taking anything stronger than Paracetamol although by now I was taking the maximum allowed dose every day and still suffering. Also around this time my mother had to be repeatedly taken to hospital after falling at home and then being confused. There were times she couldn't name us or remember all her grandchildren. We lost a few relatives both on my side and Fran's side. A bit of a shit time overall really...

2 March 2023. The digestive troubles hit again. However, feeling vaguely human again... The night before last was a never-ending run between bed and bathroom and all day yesterday was zoned out. Couldn't eat much, despite Miss Franny's repeated "you have to eat something". Apologies to any who messaged me without getting an answer or just a one word response. I'm back to normal today. You know... dopey as anything but willing to try...!

14 March 2023. Nothing to do with the cancer but... We were shopping a while ago when it started snowing very heavily with small pellets of snow. Coming home we drove out of it, but when I looked back over towards the village of Thornton you could see waves of falling snow against the dark clouds.

23 March 2023 - the day after another MRI scan at Leeds. Home safe and feeling battered. Got halfway to Leeds and realised that because I had carried coats to the car I have not picked up my walking stick... Roadworks mean that finding the hotel and car park is a nightmare. Park and get a bus - bus stop moved due to roadworks - to the hospital.

Long session at the hospital, I was an hour and 45 mins from going into the MRI unit to coming out and Miss Franny was starting to get worried. Some of it was spent just waiting for the machine to become available and some of it spent spraying blood from where they took a sample.

Then had to go to the oncology part to give more samples only to be told they had no notes about me. "Do you come to a clinic here?"
"No, I had a TACE chemo treatment last August and come every 3 months for an MRI and then here to give blood samples."
"Well this is only for people with cancer!"
"Ye-e-e-e-s-s-s..."
"Well who sent you? You have to tell them to order the bloods."
"There is no doctor's name on the letter, I didn't speak to anyone it was just a letter." I wave it under her nose and let her read it. "Well we deal with 70 doctors, which one sent you?"

Luckily I can remember the consultant's name even though I only met him once. They find my records and take same bloods as last time. Then a very crowded bus going back into Leeds and with no stick, no one is inclined to let me sit down until to my horror as the bus lurches to a halt at a bus stop, I almost fall on top of a young woman with a baby on her lap. By the time we get some lunch it is almost 3:30 and then back to the hotel where I revert to quivering wreck status with occasional painful twinges just to enliven things.

We have been put in a disabled room, I think because of limited rooms not because I look and act like a wreck, but whatever, I manage to hit the wrong switch and set the alarm off...

Get back to car in Wednesday morning to find building work going on. My car is in a roped off area. I ask a workman "How can we get out?" He points to a narrow path. "I was thinking of taking the car with me..." He moves some cones. Nice man.

Spent the rest of the night twitching and waking up going "agh!" until I got to to 5:00am when I woke and saw lightning through the window. Long way off, the thunder came quite a while after. There was another one a bit after which Miss Franny claimed not to hear even though she was awake...

Today will be spent trying to get over the twinges and back ache through not having the stick...

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: The First Procedure, August 2022.

After first being told I definitely had cancer on my liver, just four weeks later I was once more heading to Leeds St James Hospital for a TACE procedure. TransArterial ChemoEmbolization is a method of blocking the blood supply to the tumour(s) in the hope of destroying or shrinking them. I have two tumours in different segments of the liver, one was very large (over six centimetres) and the other was just one centimetre.

10 August 2022. I was admitted the night before the procedure and the first thing they did after telling me they had to take my bag of tablets away for safekeeping was to lose them... Luckily they had most of what I needed to take in the hospital pharmacy.

I was put into a ward with just two beds. The occupant of the other had had a chunk of his bowel removed that day and was obviously in pain over which he was swearing non-stop. At the point where he flailed about so much he fell out of bed they moved me into a single room saying that a large number of new intakes were coming in and I needed to rest before my op which would be early tomorrow morning.

Here I am at 6:00am having had my morning quota of pills brought. I'm told it might now be 10:00am before I am taken down for my op. In the event it was 4:00pm in the afternoon when someone came in to push my bed down a surprising number of corridors and into a room with a table under a large machine that I was told was an X-Ray machine. There seemed to be an awful lot of nurses all sounding young and waiting for me to be transferred onto the table.

The nurses were there to prep me, to monitor my readings - blood pressure, heart rate and so on whilst the procedure took place. They were very jolly...
"Give him a pair of orange shorts!" came a cry and once I had landed on the table, I was undressed - a folded towel was placed over my pride and joy with an apologetic murmer. "I'll have to brush this area with antiseptic though..." So I got a pair of orange shorts... the antiseptic is a vivid orange colour, deliberately so that it is obvious if anywhere that should be treated has not been. This would not be washed off afterwards - it stays on until the patient is able to shower or wash. Even then it takes a few goes...

Two doctors came in. They would do th eoperation with the nurses monitoring screens of various information. I was told I had to lie completely still as the X-Ray machine would move around me as the operation progressed. The X-Rays would be bombarding me non-stop for about an hour enabling the surgeon to see where the catheter was within my arteries on it's way from my groin to my liver. I was given a local anaesthetic jab low down and the needle went in between leg and - well... you know! Then the catheter was inserted. The rest was an unbelievable experience.

They had said the X-Ray machine would move around me. It moved fast! And not only around me; it moved towards and away from me also. They had taken my glasses off and told me to keep my head still no matter what. Then they had put protective goggles over my eyes. The machine actually came so close that it pressed on the edge of the goggles at one point. One doctor was manouvring the catheter, whilst the other watched the screen and was saying things like, "Take that one on the left. No... back up... yes, that one!" whilst also giving instructions to one of the girls who was controlling the movements of the X-Ray machine.

Once in the right position a foam barrier was squirted into the liver to protect as much of the healthy tissue from the chemo as possible. Then the chemo capsule was sent through which would slowly release chemicals to hopefully shrink the tumour over the course of a year. Results would be tested by MRI every few months.

I was eventually moved from the table to my mobile hospital bed. The two doctors had spent 20 minutes each putting as much pressure on the wound at the entry point as possible to stem the flow of blood. This involved one hand over the wound, the other on top of it and them leaning to use their body weight to put pressure on. Without the anaesthic they had used earlier that would have hurt a lot. I was taking blood thinners - I'm a bleeder! They were knackered after 20 minutes each. I could reach so I offered to take over myself and after another ten minutes, by which time I was knackered, they called a porter to take me back to my room.

One of the nurses came with me to make sure the bleeding had stopped. It was now 20 past six. I had been down there two hours and 20 minutes. I still wasn't allowed to move until 7:30pm in case I re-opened the wound. The wound was dressed and checked regularly for the rest of that day. Someone came to take my blood pressure and pulse rate and temperature every 15 minutes which I found was to go on throughout the night. They brought me a sandwich to eat. I had a few mouthfulls, took my pills... and promptly brought the lot back up.

12 August 2022. I had been told I could go home the day after the op if I was ok. I made blooming sure of it. I was up at 7:30am, hobbling on my stick to the bathroom for a wash and shave - no shower allowed as the dressing had to be kept dry. Then I walked up and down at intervals, slowly at first, but each time making sure that people at the ward desk could see that I was up, dressed and mobile. Nobody came anyway except the nurses to take blood pressure, pulse etc.

At around 2:00pm I was told I could call someone to take me home. I gave Fran a ring. "We are almost there," she said. David and Jeannie were driving her over to bring me back but the motorway had been a nightmare of queues and stationary traffic. Once they had arrived I was told I couldn't go until the pharmacy had released my medication. We waited for a couple of hours. Then I was told It could take another two hours... When I asked what medication I was told "Paracetamol". As if that was something that had to be released on prescription. I already had some at home. I told them I wasn't going to hold up my friends and wife and myself for two hours for paracetamol and that I was going home, which in anycase was a two-to-three hour journey back. "Well, we'll have to post it out to you!" Was that meant to persuade me? We left. Well over three years later I'm still waiting for the postman to bring them...

13 August 2022. Woke up to find orange shorts marred by vivid purple bruises from front to back across my bum and heading up to lower back. As the operation meds had by now worn off I was aching quite severely. I had some twinges and soreness and the journey from Leeds to Blackpool had inevitably contributed as we passed over potholes etc. For the first time I had to use my walking stick to potter about the house, but there was an improvement in mobility this morning if not in discomfort... Worst thing was compression stocking - heels bruised and one had bled but that would soon cure itself. I Have to take things easy for a week or so. A big thank you to the medical team and nursing staff at Leeds St James, they were fabulous.

14 August 2022. From my diary: Oof! Yesterday was difficult - some soreness at puncture wound and bruising crept throughout the day from there up torso. Dull ache rather than full-on pain. There were quite a number of twinges that made me gasp and groan but worst was that I had tested my already bad back on the long drive home and must have had to lean on my stick much more heavily - so I've thrown my shoulder out... That is the worst of the pain and by evening I gave in and actually had a couple of paracetamol, I could cope with everything else.

Today I can move far more easily, which I'm glad for, because the shoulder is likely to be ghastly for a couple of days and the puncture wound is mainly ok, the soreness now has worked into the liver. Coughing is an experience... Strangely I keep wanting to stroke my hospital tags down my arms, despite them coming off Friday night! I can still feel them. ("Them" because when I was admitted, a nurse said "Any allergies?" and I said "yes, cat fur..." and instead of thinking there were no cats in the hospital, he just stuck a second tag on my spare wrist which I found out later was an allergy marker, so from then on all the doctors and nurses were asking what I was allergic to...) I'm ok, but of course the cancer is still there, this is a treatment not a cure. Onwards and upwards...

To come in future articles. The affect of the TACE operation. A repeat op. The affect of that. Radiotherapy sessions at The Christie Hospital in Manchester. Side effects cause leg ulcers. And more...

Family Memories: Personal Index

Cancer: Ultrasound, CT and MRI Scans

This article describes my experiences of having these three different types of scan due to my cancer. The first two, Ultrasound and CT scans, were mainly used whilst I was being diagnosed. Once it was confirmed thet I had cancer (two seperate tumours in adjacent segments of my liver) MRI scans became the norm.

I'm no expert on all these techniques so my descriptions will be from a patient's point of view, not that of a trained radiologist, doctor or scientific bod...

Ultrasound Scans

Let's take them in the order of how they seem to make people worried, starting with the least worrying of all: the Ultrasound.

The Ultrasound scan is taken with a hand-held device, a round tube attached to a wire. Before the scan takes place the operator will ask you to bare the area being scanned and you will lie down for the scan. The operator will apply quite a liberal amount of gel from a tube and smear it over the area to be scanned with her hand. He or she will be wearing surgical gloves for this. The gel can feel quite cool and a bit sticky. The end of the scanning device is then pushed against your skin through the gel and moved around whilst the operator follows progress on a video screen.

How long the scan takes will depend on the area being scanned - lots of folds in the skin can make it more difficult for the operator or any moving bits inside of you (I've also had this scan on my heart - which of course moves by expanding and contracting quite a lot) can mean the operator has to take longer.

Once the scan is complete you will be given paper towels to dry off the gel from you body and you can get dressed and leave. You won't get any results at the scanning appointment itself, it will probably take a couple of weeks or so before you get any results.

CT Scans

The CT scanning machine looks like a huge Polo mint standing on its edge on top of a table. You lie on the table which moves you into and back out of the ring or Polo mint which contains the scanning mechanism. This isn't too frightening - the ring is narrow enough for you to be able to see out of it both above you and befow you. You are not normally going to be restrained in any way though you will be asked not to move and to lie still whilst the scan takes place. This takes X-Ray pictures of your insides and a computer will later put several X-Ray scan pictures and create a 3D image for the doctors to look at.

You will experience the table you are lying on slide along horizontally whilst you lie on it until the part of you being scanned is inside the ring. For me, with my liver being scanned it meant that my head was almost clear of the ring and I could look around and admire the plain white or grey walls of the room or by looking slightly down I could see that the inner surface of the ring had a clear panel and that bits of clever-looking machinery was spinning around at times whilst the machine did its thing. Not a frightening experience. You will probably be wondering why you were so apprehensive about it by the time you are being told you're finished.

Again you will not receive any results from the scan for a few weeks after the appointment.

MRI Scan

MRI means Magnetic Resonance Imaging - these machines use powerful magnets to create an image of your internal organs. They are very powerful. If you inadvertantly were to have anything made of iron or steel on you or implanted in you - watch, jewelerry, nose rings, metal plates in your skull - this machine could make them suddenly start whizzing off in any direction, including with you in the way, at something like 400 miles per hour. You shouldn't need me to give the kilometres per hour equivalent to know that this is something you might wish to avoid... But just in case it's around 643.738 kilometres per hour... It might make you wince a bit. For the final time...

Luckily before you even get to your appointment you will be sent a letter asking you about any conditions or implants that might affect your suitability for having such a scan.

Once you get to the hospital for your scan they will take your letter and go through each point with you to ensure that [1] you understand the importance of it; [2] you understand the individual questions and [3] you have answered it correctly. You will now have a canula inserted into a vein in the inside of your elbow. This is a tiny needle prick and once the needle is inside a vein a bendy plastic tube will be slid down it into the vein and the needle withdrawn. You don't need to be frightened about having to keep your elbow rigid as there will be no needle left inside to snap off.

The canula attached to the tube is a much thicker (but I'm only talking about 1/2 an inch or 1 cm or so) tube that is basically a syringe. You may have to have a dye solution pumped in halfway through the scan - I'll talk about that in a bit. You will also be asked a few simple questions about your health.

The next step will be to make sure you are not carrying anything in pockets or in parts of a belt or in clothing or on your person that might be attracted by the machine's magnetic bits. Depending on the area to be scanned you may be asked to undress and wear a gown provided by the hospital. (You don't want bits of your fly zip or bra strap to start off at 400 mph do you?)

Now you will be taken to the scanning room. The nursing techinicians will lie you onto the table of the machine which will be taking you into and out of the machine - a tube quite a bit longer that the Polo mint of a CT. My drawing of an MRI machine above gives you some idea. You will be inside this tube for some time. I can only speak for myself. Scanning my liver involved having a fairly heavy plate placed over my stomach area for the duration of the scan. I've also had scans of my head/brain where I had to have a brace or mask made of plastic placed over my head to ensure it didn't move. It was more of a cage than a mesh so there was plenty of opportunity to see through it.

If you look for images of MRI units online they look a lot shorter than I have experienced and always have a cheerful nurse doing something and smiling reassuringly. In reality they will make sure you are in position on the table and will give you a rubber squeezy bulb in one hand which is a panic button to press if you can't cope. Note that I said "can't cope" and not "feel as if you can't cope". It is in your own best interests to go through with the scan until the end. They will then leave the room and go to monitor you and the progress of the scan from a safe place. You don't want their fly zips and bra straps flying at you either... At intervals they will ask you how you are doing and will reassure you during the scanning process.

My own pet phobia is of being in a constricted space and therefore before my first scan I was wondering how I would cope. When it came to being inside I did want to squeeze the bulb about halfway through (bearing in mind that for me (again I have to stress that point) for me the scan took somewhere between 20-30 minutes inside the machine. Which is incredibly noisy. You will have ear plugs and headphones placed into and over your ears but even so... Anyway, if you squeeze the bulb you will come out but you are going to have to try again from the start at some time. With that thought I managed to control myself enough to carry on. I'll be honest, I might have whimpered a bit once or twice but then just shut my eyes and braved it out. There's nothing to see anyway except the inside of the tube unless you really strain your eyes upward to see out of the top end.

You may have to have a dye injected into you via the canula in your wrist about halfway through the scan. This helps show up certain areas being scanned. It might feel cold and you might actually feel like you are urinating, but you won't be. All this will be explained to you before the scan and you will be told when the dye is going to be introduced.

It felt like a cool breeze was being blown by a fan down from the top end of the tube and that helped. The machine gives out a lot of very loud noise: clicks, gratering sounds (which are many clicks in quick succession I suppose)... At one point a pulse started in my forehead in time with a a particular beat from the machine. I actually thought water was dripping on my head but no.

At times during my scan I had to hold my breath to stop my lungs from moving the liver about. By default most MRIs ask you to breathe out and hold your breath. I can't do that. As a life-long asthmatic breathing out was always more difficult than breathing in, so when my lungs were empty I was in sore need of filling them again. I asked the technicians and they were happy to change the messages from the machine to ask me to breathe in and hold my breath.

I got through that first MRI. By now both due to the cancer and other side effects I've had around 30 of those scans and familiarity breeds acceptance. They don't worry me anymore. By the third one I was "Ok, so let's get this done and over with shall we?"

Once the scan is done, the operators will come back into the room, slide you out on the table, make sure you are not feeling dizzy or anything before sitting you up to get off the table and sitting you down on a chair before taking out the canula and making sure you are not going to bleed all over the place. I take blood thinners so require quite a lot of pressure on the spot when a needle or canula is removed.

So I hope that helps by knowing what such a visit to a scan might entail. Remember that these are my own particular experiences, yours may be slightly different. But it is definitely more frightening before experiencing it than it is when you are having it done.

Results will take a few weeks - four at least, though I am currently awaiting the results of my 31st MRI that was carried out six weeks ago... If I have anything else to tell you it is this: Be brave and go through with it. Far better to have it done so that any treatment can start that much more quickly. As always I wish you Good Luck with your treatment.

Family Memories: Personal