The beginner’s guide to cancer treatment
How on earth anybody is able to manage and comprehend cancer treatment in their dotage is beyond me. My dad hasn’t even started his radiotherapy yet and we’re already bamboozled.
My sister and I waded through piles of hospital letters, prescriptions and a barely audible message from a Doctor Kim yesterday. Or was it Kem. Or Kemp. King even? The hospital receptionist didn’t recognise any of the names. Dr Kim, Kem, King or whomever she is, remains a mystery as does the missed scan appointment she was calling about.
Was it the diagnostic scan? The full scan to see if the cancer has spread? Or the marking up for radiotherapy scan? Is there an exam at the end of all this? Can I get off of this ride now please?
Dad is 86-years-old and lives on his own. Without the help of me, his friends, my mum’s much younger partner and my two sisters, one of whom is an absolute whizz at planning and organising, he’d be sunk. Cancer’s tough enough as it is.
Thanks to my youngest sibling, the next month of treatment will be run with military precision. There are tablets to take an hour and a half before the radiotherapy session, an enema to be done 30 minutes prior and litres of water to be drunk an hour and a half before the diagnostic scan. It doesn’t help that the hospital is half an hour away from Dad’s house and he can’t drive thanks to having broken his neck last Easter. Lady luck has not been on his side.
Still, my dad, little sis and I laughed a lot yesterday. My parents ran a pub while we were growing up and we learned early on that a good sense of humour can ease you through the trickiest of situations.
On the train back home, my sister was buzzing with tales of all the new opportunities that have come her way since she ditched a toxic client. She was worried about saying goodbye to the regular money, but more moolah has come in since she decided to be brave and have faith that a new and more exciting career path lay ahead.
She recounted the tale of Victoria Beckham who was mocked when she said she wanted to be a ‘brand’ as well known as Persil Automatic. I guess Posh had the last laugh. My sister explained that it isn’t always the ‘best’ people who succeed, it’s the people who really want to that make it.
She’s reading a couple of books by Paul Arden, which I have just bought. I want to be all fired up about the future too. I looked back at some of my earlier blog posts when the whole badass concept was new and exciting to me. I am feeling a little jaded now and I want to inject that spark back into my life.
So, I am going to read, whoop and try and get myself into a fever pitch of excitement – rather like the other half who is currently watching the footie. If one more person says ‘It’s coming home’ I may strangle them.
Whoop, whoop. I’m on the winning team.