So a couple of posts back I was moaning and groaning about starting a new cycle of treatment and giving it large about how my life was gonna be tipped upside down. Well, a week and a half later and... we're still waiting for the aforementioned cycle of treatment to start. I can only put this down to some epic clowning on my hospital's part, and it's now changed my attitude from 'scared shitless' to 'desperately eager.' WILL IT EVER END? Argh. I suppose I should explain.
I roll into hospital last Tuesday readying myself for some smackdown from the hospital staff. I had a bone marrow biopsy and a lumbar puncture scheduled for that day, so you could understand me wanting to get it done and dusted in time for dinner. However, after a routine blood check I'm told that my neutrophils are down and that I couldn't undergo any treatment for at least a week. Fair enough, I thought. Though it's frustrating, protocol is protocol. I'll just get my game face ready for next week.
Fast forward one week later. Aka, yesterday. I get a phonecall saying that I shouldn't bother coming into hospital as there's no way that my blood count would have risen that quickly and it would be a waste of a drive. Treatment should thus be delayed ANOTHER week. 'Right' I say, 'but what about my line and the flushing and the cleaning and the DRAMA?' We agree that my line still needs to be flushed so I rock over to Oxford again (btw guys I'm trying to make this sound cool as possible, in reality my Mum drove me) and await the nurses. In the meantime I suggest they take bloods as, well, you know, it wouldn't hurt to see how they are right? 'Of course' they say. You can see where this is going. Turns out my neutrophils had gone up exceptionally like the boss that I am and that treatment could have in fact started yesterday. However because they hadn't written up any medicine for me I now have to wait until next week. ARGH.
I don't like slagging off hospitals. I do love the staff at the Churchill, and they are saving my life and everything so we'll cut them some slack, but if they could stop ruining my summer plans then THAT WOULD BE STELLAR CHEERS.
To cheer myself up and make the most of my last weekend of prime health I've decided to journey down to Devon with Ellise and a few others this coming Saturday. My mate Dan's family is throwing a huge marquee party so I'm going down there to drink cider and eat lamb and generally absorb farm life to the fullest. I AM KEEN.
Have a good week gentlemen and ladies. I hope that you enjoyed my two post extravaganza today. It probably won't happen again.
Big love,
Ryan.
Wednesday 29 June 2011
Step aside Rooney
...cause my hair is better than yours.
I woke up this morning to discover that - would you believe it - I have hair that I can style and everything. Not floppy or long or wavy, but it's still hair dammit. HAIR'S a picture to prove it hahahaha.
Sorry for the face. I would have used sepia shit cause that shit is dope as fuck.
Big prize to whoever gets that reference. Andrew Hill is exempt.
I should expect that I'll have this luxury of head gear for the next three weeks at least. But judging by the way things have been going lately it could be way longer. I'll fill you in on why that is in the next post, which will probably be tonight.
Big love,
Ryan.
I woke up this morning to discover that - would you believe it - I have hair that I can style and everything. Not floppy or long or wavy, but it's still hair dammit. HAIR'S a picture to prove it hahahaha.
Sorry for the face. I would have used sepia shit cause that shit is dope as fuck.
Big prize to whoever gets that reference. Andrew Hill is exempt.
I should expect that I'll have this luxury of head gear for the next three weeks at least. But judging by the way things have been going lately it could be way longer. I'll fill you in on why that is in the next post, which will probably be tonight.
Big love,
Ryan.
Monday 20 June 2011
Circle takes the square.
It's the early hours of the morning, the very early hours of the morning I might even say, and I can't sleep. My head's spinning a bit to be perfectly honest, as tomorrow marks the start of a big week for me. I'm nervous, a bit jaded (if that's the right word) and slightly daunted by what lies ahead. I'll break it down for you.
Oh, and just because I cannot sleep does not mean I'm all about my wits and senses. Spelling and grammar may appear... suspect, at best. But try and bear with me on this one.
Here's what's making me nervous, and I'm talking severe nervousness here, in the sense that I'm chewing on the many helpless inanimate objects that are unfortunate enough to be stationed near my person, such as the plastic casing on a USB pen whose texture more resembles the surface of AstroTurf than the smooth delicacy of an essential piece of memory storage. You see my next cycle of treatment begins on Tuesday, and it's a bit of a brutal one. Lumbar punctures, intravenous chemo, injections and all that malarkey. If you're a regular reader of this blog then you've most likely been subjected to my general feelings about these things before so I'll spare you the details this time. It's not the treatment itself though that worries me, it's the drastic change in lifestyle that I'm about to undergo which will be the real bummer. It's difficult to comprehend the constant sickness, the godawful tiredness, the lethargy, the aches and the horrid pain. Despite being able to remember it well from just a couple of months back, I've made a point of trying to push it to the back of my mind when reflecting on that time. And knowing that I'll have to go through it all again is absolutely crushing.
I'm not entirely sure what's brought all this on to such an extreme degree, but it might have something to do with uni ending for a lot of my friends. A time we were meant to share; a step into the real world I was meant to make with people who I had spent three years worth of experiences with. And whilst I take some comfort and appreciation in the fact that my time will come, there still seems something slightly wrong. Now they're set to enthusiastically embark on their respected summers, whilst I dread what the next two months shall bring. Its a sad realisation that I shall attempt not to dwell on.
So in short yes, it's all your fucking fault, out having fun and all sorts of japery, so yeah. Cheers.
Joking of course. I can't show any level of contempt for all you beautiful bastards. I'll try and not to hold any contempt for myself either, which I believe is the most important thing to do.
So let's do it. Chemo shmemo, time to resume this square dance so I can rejuvenate. I'll be out by August.
Things could be a lot worse, you know.
Big love,
Ryan.
Oh, and just because I cannot sleep does not mean I'm all about my wits and senses. Spelling and grammar may appear... suspect, at best. But try and bear with me on this one.
Here's what's making me nervous, and I'm talking severe nervousness here, in the sense that I'm chewing on the many helpless inanimate objects that are unfortunate enough to be stationed near my person, such as the plastic casing on a USB pen whose texture more resembles the surface of AstroTurf than the smooth delicacy of an essential piece of memory storage. You see my next cycle of treatment begins on Tuesday, and it's a bit of a brutal one. Lumbar punctures, intravenous chemo, injections and all that malarkey. If you're a regular reader of this blog then you've most likely been subjected to my general feelings about these things before so I'll spare you the details this time. It's not the treatment itself though that worries me, it's the drastic change in lifestyle that I'm about to undergo which will be the real bummer. It's difficult to comprehend the constant sickness, the godawful tiredness, the lethargy, the aches and the horrid pain. Despite being able to remember it well from just a couple of months back, I've made a point of trying to push it to the back of my mind when reflecting on that time. And knowing that I'll have to go through it all again is absolutely crushing.
I'm not entirely sure what's brought all this on to such an extreme degree, but it might have something to do with uni ending for a lot of my friends. A time we were meant to share; a step into the real world I was meant to make with people who I had spent three years worth of experiences with. And whilst I take some comfort and appreciation in the fact that my time will come, there still seems something slightly wrong. Now they're set to enthusiastically embark on their respected summers, whilst I dread what the next two months shall bring. Its a sad realisation that I shall attempt not to dwell on.
So in short yes, it's all your fucking fault, out having fun and all sorts of japery, so yeah. Cheers.
Joking of course. I can't show any level of contempt for all you beautiful bastards. I'll try and not to hold any contempt for myself either, which I believe is the most important thing to do.
So let's do it. Chemo shmemo, time to resume this square dance so I can rejuvenate. I'll be out by August.
Things could be a lot worse, you know.
Big love,
Ryan.
Wednesday 15 June 2011
The end of life, and other stories.
Yesterday evening I watched a documentary on iPlayer that had a rather profound effect on me and my attitudes towards a subject that no one ever really talks about: death. The documentary follows Terry Pratchett as he meets various people who suffer from debilitating diseases and who have considered, or are in the process of striving for, assisted suicide. You may have seen it on TV the other day when it was on, but if not you can find the documentary (although for a limited time only I'm guessing, since it is iPlayer) on the following link:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0120dxp/Terry_Pratchett_Choosing_to_Die/
Now then.
Until recently the idea of dying never phased me all too much. What's the use in engrossing yourself in a fate that ultimately you have no control over? After all, everyone suffers the same end, and I had been 'dead' for billions of years before I was born anyway and that didn't bother me too much. Live life in the present and all that. However, with my diagnosis and the initial stages of uncertainty surrounding my illness, for the briefest of stages I was faced with my own mortality. As you can imagine it was scary to comprehend, but it was luckily a feeling that went as quickly as it came due to the early successes of my treatment. That doesn't change the fact that my complexion over death has changed significantly, but it was only after seeing this program that I've properly attempted to tackle my feelings over it.
I think it's the idea of death, and the uncertainty that surrounds what comes after, that shits me up a bit. Not the dying process itself. I fully believe that the human brain was not wired to comprehend such a concept, yet we as a species have evolved to such an incredible extent that we are forced to face the facts when it comes to our own mortality. I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm sure most people struggle with this as much as I am now. The idea of not existing is genuinely unsettling to me, and although it may be irrational, I can't get past that notion of not being around any more. How does that even work?
Maybe some sort of religious theory of an afterlife can bring solace to such gloomy thoughts? Perhaps, yet I can't get fully on board with such beliefs. I for one believe that religion came about as a way for us homo sapiens to deal with the breaking news of mortality many millennia ago. Whatever the scenario of such an afterlife, it gave people a reason to live, as if living life by a moral conduct will ease the realisation that the life you lead will eventually end. 'Death is just the beginning.' Were it not for such huge scientific advancements that have obviously come about long before my time, then I think I would find that belief a great one to subscribe to. Now I just see it as nothing more than a cold comfort.
Now, onto the documentary and this company Dignatas. Another grey area that I'm not going to offer much of a concrete opinion on I'm afraid, but here are my general musings. First off the bat I was pretty astounded at the general state of health that both men were in - neither were in a condition where they were anywhere near death. I was under the impression that one had to be a bit closer to the end to be considered for the process. After watching the first ten minutes or so the motive for the man suffering from Motor Neurone Disease became quickly apparent - to protect his wife and spare her the agony of watching him deteriorate rapidly over a relatively short space of time.
Fair enough, I initially thought. But the more I think about it the more that attitude unnerves me a bit. Consider this if you will: tomorrow scientists announce that they've only gone and cracked MND and have come up with a viable cure that they can begin distributing immediately. How does the wife feel then? Rather distraught, I would say. I've been conditioned to the school of thought that it's not over 'till it's over, and in many ways I think the same applies here. A man sound of mind manages to walk into a building, have a cup of coffee, share a tender moment with his wife and then drink something that ultimately kills him. Something about that does not sit right with me, even though I want it to.
Of course, there is a flip side. Now I do think that when a human being is suffering, and I mean really going through a lot of pain that has been caused by a terminal illness where there truly is no hope left, then that human being should unquestionably hold the right to end his or her own life. I think it's barbaric that we can put a cat or a dog out of its misery yet when it comes to a human life, we can't see past prolonging the agony. I don't accept that the politicians of this country believe that this is the right thing to do; rather, they do not have the balls to tackle the issue head on, and therefore we proceed in what I believe is a primitive way of dealing with the issue. It will be interesting to see how this matter progresses in the next decade, both in this country and internationally.
The question for me is, where do you draw the line? Should physical pain be the only prerequisite to being allowed to go through with a procedure such as this? Or should mental pain also be taken into account? I mentioned that in the case of John from the Pratchett documentary I felt a slight unease in the circumstances surrounding his decision. That's just me talking, perhaps others see a completely reasoned approach here. But who gives us the right to judge such reasoning? If anything like this is going to come to fruition in a way that it has in Switzerland, then it would seemingly do so under the credence of 'mind your own life.'
I feel I've covered a lot here. You might wonder how the documentary made me wonder about the intricacies of my own life, but you'll be relieved to hear I have no such desires to look into the process of ending my time here on Earth. Yet the program brought a resurgence of feelings that I've been dwelling on here and there for the past five months or so, and it feels good to express them through the medium of this blog. Ultimately the good old 'live for the now' expression certainly rings true for me over anything. I have a lot of good things to live for, and whilst it's daunting trying to understand what we will never know, there's little point sulking over it in the long run. Enjoy what you have.
Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry if this has been a bit too morbid as far as light reads go. But I do hope this inspires some kind of debate in the comment section.
Big love,
Ryan.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer/episode/b0120dxp/Terry_Pratchett_Choosing_to_Die/
Now then.
Until recently the idea of dying never phased me all too much. What's the use in engrossing yourself in a fate that ultimately you have no control over? After all, everyone suffers the same end, and I had been 'dead' for billions of years before I was born anyway and that didn't bother me too much. Live life in the present and all that. However, with my diagnosis and the initial stages of uncertainty surrounding my illness, for the briefest of stages I was faced with my own mortality. As you can imagine it was scary to comprehend, but it was luckily a feeling that went as quickly as it came due to the early successes of my treatment. That doesn't change the fact that my complexion over death has changed significantly, but it was only after seeing this program that I've properly attempted to tackle my feelings over it.
I think it's the idea of death, and the uncertainty that surrounds what comes after, that shits me up a bit. Not the dying process itself. I fully believe that the human brain was not wired to comprehend such a concept, yet we as a species have evolved to such an incredible extent that we are forced to face the facts when it comes to our own mortality. I can't speak for everyone else, but I'm sure most people struggle with this as much as I am now. The idea of not existing is genuinely unsettling to me, and although it may be irrational, I can't get past that notion of not being around any more. How does that even work?
Maybe some sort of religious theory of an afterlife can bring solace to such gloomy thoughts? Perhaps, yet I can't get fully on board with such beliefs. I for one believe that religion came about as a way for us homo sapiens to deal with the breaking news of mortality many millennia ago. Whatever the scenario of such an afterlife, it gave people a reason to live, as if living life by a moral conduct will ease the realisation that the life you lead will eventually end. 'Death is just the beginning.' Were it not for such huge scientific advancements that have obviously come about long before my time, then I think I would find that belief a great one to subscribe to. Now I just see it as nothing more than a cold comfort.
Now, onto the documentary and this company Dignatas. Another grey area that I'm not going to offer much of a concrete opinion on I'm afraid, but here are my general musings. First off the bat I was pretty astounded at the general state of health that both men were in - neither were in a condition where they were anywhere near death. I was under the impression that one had to be a bit closer to the end to be considered for the process. After watching the first ten minutes or so the motive for the man suffering from Motor Neurone Disease became quickly apparent - to protect his wife and spare her the agony of watching him deteriorate rapidly over a relatively short space of time.
Fair enough, I initially thought. But the more I think about it the more that attitude unnerves me a bit. Consider this if you will: tomorrow scientists announce that they've only gone and cracked MND and have come up with a viable cure that they can begin distributing immediately. How does the wife feel then? Rather distraught, I would say. I've been conditioned to the school of thought that it's not over 'till it's over, and in many ways I think the same applies here. A man sound of mind manages to walk into a building, have a cup of coffee, share a tender moment with his wife and then drink something that ultimately kills him. Something about that does not sit right with me, even though I want it to.
Of course, there is a flip side. Now I do think that when a human being is suffering, and I mean really going through a lot of pain that has been caused by a terminal illness where there truly is no hope left, then that human being should unquestionably hold the right to end his or her own life. I think it's barbaric that we can put a cat or a dog out of its misery yet when it comes to a human life, we can't see past prolonging the agony. I don't accept that the politicians of this country believe that this is the right thing to do; rather, they do not have the balls to tackle the issue head on, and therefore we proceed in what I believe is a primitive way of dealing with the issue. It will be interesting to see how this matter progresses in the next decade, both in this country and internationally.
The question for me is, where do you draw the line? Should physical pain be the only prerequisite to being allowed to go through with a procedure such as this? Or should mental pain also be taken into account? I mentioned that in the case of John from the Pratchett documentary I felt a slight unease in the circumstances surrounding his decision. That's just me talking, perhaps others see a completely reasoned approach here. But who gives us the right to judge such reasoning? If anything like this is going to come to fruition in a way that it has in Switzerland, then it would seemingly do so under the credence of 'mind your own life.'
I feel I've covered a lot here. You might wonder how the documentary made me wonder about the intricacies of my own life, but you'll be relieved to hear I have no such desires to look into the process of ending my time here on Earth. Yet the program brought a resurgence of feelings that I've been dwelling on here and there for the past five months or so, and it feels good to express them through the medium of this blog. Ultimately the good old 'live for the now' expression certainly rings true for me over anything. I have a lot of good things to live for, and whilst it's daunting trying to understand what we will never know, there's little point sulking over it in the long run. Enjoy what you have.
Thanks for reading, and I'm sorry if this has been a bit too morbid as far as light reads go. But I do hope this inspires some kind of debate in the comment section.
Big love,
Ryan.
Wednesday 8 June 2011
Good night, sweet prince.
Old Whitey officially retires today. New macbook comes in, old one gets thrown into the second drawer down never to be seen again and the wheel keeps turning. The circle of life I'm afraid. And although I'm beyond excited to be getting my chubby little hands on a brand spanking new laptop that's gonna kick some serious backside, I ask you spare a thought if you would for my ridiculously reliable macbook that has served me so well for five years now. Five years! They don't make laptops like they used to anymore. Well, Windows don't at least. They never did.
Now all I have to do is come up with a name for my latest acquisition. New metal? 'Cause it's new. And made of metal. TOO CLEVER. I'll add it to the 'maybe' list.
Not much else to talk about really. I've been spending the last two weeks going back and forth to London and I've had an awesome time of it. A couple of weekends ago was spent having barbeques in the rain and drinking in gypsy bars and glorified cesspits. We all loved it mind you. Then last weekend we took our custom to the slightly-more-but-not-by-much civilised Big Red in Holloway and had one almighty piss up. First time I've been drunk in months and I sure paid for it the next day, but it was worth it. It kinda reminded me of how things were before all this nonsense started. Not that we were all massive alcoholics, like. Everyone was just relaxed and having a bloody great time. It'll be a lifestyle I'll be returning to full time soon enough.
But before that comes THE TREATMENT CYCLE OF EVIL AND DOOM, which alarmingly starts in just one week's time. Oh snap. Next Thursday I'll be having both a bone marrow AND a lumbar puncture so obviously I can't wait for that to come around. I'll BYOB to that slammin' party, believe. Urgh. But oh well, what must be done will be done. Seven weeks from then I'll be all Ash Williams with the chainsaw, giving it large as I ride out of the hospital doors screaming WHO'S LAUGHING NOW.
At least for the next month I get to have a relatively normal set of hair. It's back, save for a little soul patch on the back of my head, and give it another week or two I reckon I could even style it. Ambitious, yes, and I'm even open to suggestions on how to make my baby hair as totally bodacious as possible. A fellow blogger with leukemia had hers styled in a sweet mohawk and it caught my admiration, so perhaps I'll do the same? Oh gosh it's exciting.
I'll leave it there. Off to collect the new laptop, so the next post... will look exactly the same. But if the hype is to be believed, come next time I'll have become a complete boss in video editing.
Big love,
Ryan.
Now all I have to do is come up with a name for my latest acquisition. New metal? 'Cause it's new. And made of metal. TOO CLEVER. I'll add it to the 'maybe' list.
Not much else to talk about really. I've been spending the last two weeks going back and forth to London and I've had an awesome time of it. A couple of weekends ago was spent having barbeques in the rain and drinking in gypsy bars and glorified cesspits. We all loved it mind you. Then last weekend we took our custom to the slightly-more-but-not-by-much civilised Big Red in Holloway and had one almighty piss up. First time I've been drunk in months and I sure paid for it the next day, but it was worth it. It kinda reminded me of how things were before all this nonsense started. Not that we were all massive alcoholics, like. Everyone was just relaxed and having a bloody great time. It'll be a lifestyle I'll be returning to full time soon enough.
But before that comes THE TREATMENT CYCLE OF EVIL AND DOOM, which alarmingly starts in just one week's time. Oh snap. Next Thursday I'll be having both a bone marrow AND a lumbar puncture so obviously I can't wait for that to come around. I'll BYOB to that slammin' party, believe. Urgh. But oh well, what must be done will be done. Seven weeks from then I'll be all Ash Williams with the chainsaw, giving it large as I ride out of the hospital doors screaming WHO'S LAUGHING NOW.
At least for the next month I get to have a relatively normal set of hair. It's back, save for a little soul patch on the back of my head, and give it another week or two I reckon I could even style it. Ambitious, yes, and I'm even open to suggestions on how to make my baby hair as totally bodacious as possible. A fellow blogger with leukemia had hers styled in a sweet mohawk and it caught my admiration, so perhaps I'll do the same? Oh gosh it's exciting.
I'll leave it there. Off to collect the new laptop, so the next post... will look exactly the same. But if the hype is to be believed, come next time I'll have become a complete boss in video editing.
Big love,
Ryan.
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