The time has finally come for me to invest in a new laptop. Oooooh my days.
See it's been five years (more or less) since the purchase of my current machine, and the battered macbook that has affectionately become known as 'Old Whitey' can truly take no more. I almost feel sorry for the poor old bastard as he trundles along, moaning like a capsized whale as I load up a puny word document, as if the world's gone full circle and it's the end of days. The thing can't even operate without being hooked up to a power socket. It's one dynamic trait as a laptop ripped away, like a violent circumcision. The shame of it all.
Oh it's ever so dramatic. BUT THAT'S LIFE OLD WHITEY. You came in, did your duty, made me look like the pretentious prick with my skinny jeans and thick rimmed glasses and Macintosh laptop. Ooh la la. And I'll always love you for it, but it's time to go. You've turned into the one thing that has gone and made you obsolete. Rubbish.
Being the mac fan boy, I'm looking into a macbook pro, of course. Mightily expensive though, but those good folks at DLA have for some reason decided that I deserve crunk loads of money so what the hey? Providing I can swindle it tax free, I think I'll go for the 15-inch, 2.0 GHz quad-core i7, 4GB 1333MHz 5400 RPM Intel... OH BALLS TO THAT I DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT ALL THAT MEANS. IT'LL BE BITCHIN' THOUGH.
I think I'll even take up photo editing, seeing as one of the main selling points in reviews is 'look how many photos I can edit! Wow!' And seriously, how the hell can a laptop be 'aerodynamic'? What does that even mean? Does it fly? For the money I'll be paying it better do.
This has all been a welcome distraction from feeling a bit rough lately though. Vincristine is so evil. In fact, if I ever get a dog I think I'll call it vincristine. Keep your enemies close and all that. The pain it's caused to my muscles, bones and organs has been unprecedented, yet all they can say at the hospital is 'man up', because it's the only option I have. I hate the stuff. Oh well, it's not like I have to have shots of it for the next two and a half years or anything HAHA. Oh wait...
I do.
This weekend I'm going to watch Thor I think. You know what the most exciting thing about the cinema is? ICE BLASTS. And when you mix the two colours so it's blue AND red? Magical.
Much love,
Ryan.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Miracle hair growth needed!
This weather's been absolute top drawer. I love a bit of sunshine, I do. Hot sunshine, light breeze, cool evenings, no humidity. Perfect. However, the twist in the tale comes with my unfortunate hair situation, in that a) it's growing back so slow I'll actually develop chest hair before I have anything to work with on top, b) it's growing back much lighter than before, blonde in some places and c) there's not a lot of it really. So in the line of blazing sunshine this basically makes me look completely bald, and coupling this with my general sullen disposition, it makes me the most obvious cancer patient ever. So if anyone has any crazy hair growth solutions that might not be COMPLETELY legal, then drop me a comment down below and I'll consider all suggestions.
It's been a good week so far. Treatment is done with and all I have to drop in for next week is a blood test, so I'm trying to come up with ideas of things to pass my time with. Exercise is practically out the window, my blood count is still a bit too low for all that intense nonsense and I'm still left knackered after taking on a set of stairs. Perhaps a hobby of sorts? Get back into music? Try and master the yo-yo? Go clay pigeon shooting? Again, hit me up with some suggestions so I can actually do something productive with my time!
Times like this I really wish we had a garden. Though this village properly stinks of manure today, so perhaps it's not such a bad thing. I'm starting to get majorly envious in regards to everyone but ME already enjoying some tasty looking BBQs this year whilst I'm settling for cheese sandwiches and jacket potatoes. Again, the drawbacks of not having a garden. Need to draw up a pros and cons list really.
That'll do for now. I just noticed I went a bit mental on the caps key on my last blog. THAT'S BECAUSE THE CAPS KEY IS AWESOME. Right.
Much love,
Ryan.
It's been a good week so far. Treatment is done with and all I have to drop in for next week is a blood test, so I'm trying to come up with ideas of things to pass my time with. Exercise is practically out the window, my blood count is still a bit too low for all that intense nonsense and I'm still left knackered after taking on a set of stairs. Perhaps a hobby of sorts? Get back into music? Try and master the yo-yo? Go clay pigeon shooting? Again, hit me up with some suggestions so I can actually do something productive with my time!
Times like this I really wish we had a garden. Though this village properly stinks of manure today, so perhaps it's not such a bad thing. I'm starting to get majorly envious in regards to everyone but ME already enjoying some tasty looking BBQs this year whilst I'm settling for cheese sandwiches and jacket potatoes. Again, the drawbacks of not having a garden. Need to draw up a pros and cons list really.
That'll do for now. I just noticed I went a bit mental on the caps key on my last blog. THAT'S BECAUSE THE CAPS KEY IS AWESOME. Right.
Much love,
Ryan.
Monday, 18 April 2011
I'm back off the wagon!
That's right, without so much as a whimper I'm back on the hard stuff again. Get it in me man, I live for these cell killing, mood tampering, fatigue inducing drugs they call CHEMOTHERAPY. "Did you enjoy your lumbar puncture?" How about I puncture your lumbar you sick FREAK.
It's been a month to the day when I had that last dose of cytarabine and left Sheffield never to return there for treatment. Since then things have been a little awkward, you might say, culminating in today's events when we FINALLY got underway with the third phase of my treatment at my new home, the Radcliffe hospital in Oxford. Well, technically it's the Churchill, but they have so many damn 'centres of excellence' or whatever the hell that means that I can't distinguish between any of the individual wings of this clusterfuck of a network, so for now we'll just stick with the Radcliffe yeah? And as you can probably tell my first impressions of the place haven't been too glowing.
OH WHERE TO BEGIN. I might like to throw in an apology at this point for not posting in nearly a month but for all of you this is free so WHY SHOULD I? But in seriousness, the last few weeks have been a right bloody struggle and I'm trying not to go on a massive spiel so I don't completely undermine my last blog entry. I did make a chronological list earlier of what to say, crudely handwritten on the back of a tescos receipt, but that's somehow disappeared in the vortex of my own wallet so I'm gonna have to rely on my anything-but-flawless memory for this one. Here goes.
First, my induction goes absolutely tits up and I end up spending nearly two weeks in hospital for reasons that could have been easily avoided. Am I bitter? Gosh no, don't be silly. But what kind of place takes your blood, discovers the Hb is meandering around 6.9 and elects not to tell you? This follows with me nearly collapsing at home, having to rush in, being kept in overnight for a bag or two of blood, then picking up two infections of the bacterial and fungal variety and being remanded as hospital bound indefinitely. LAME.
To be fair, my family and Ellise did a great job in keeping my spirits up, and the nurses were rather sound (the more jaunty the character the better the nurse, I tend to find). And two weeks is nothing compared to say, I don't know, five weeks. But it properly puts a damper on the attitude, you know?
I get released at last and the following week I go in for my bone marrow (which actually turned out to be a SURPRISE bone marrow I was in no way prepared for, leaving me slightly disturbed mentally). Horrific pain aside, this goes rather smoothly. That is until the registrar hits us with a bit of a bombshell that my treatment is being changed, from what is called Regimen B to Regimen C, a much more savage and stronger course of treatment that might as well be described as intensive. The main issue with this was that they couldn't explain to us WHY they had decided to do this; the trials nurse had trotted off home by this point and my consultant was off in clinics so couldn't go through any of it with me. Cue a weekend of me and the family shitting it a bit until TODAY we find out we're going BACK to Regimen B because there was a BIT of a COCK UP with the communication between doctors. No big deal really, happens all the time. Made the heart skip a beat or two though! At least we get a happy ending... for now.
So there it is. A rather difficult period that I believe has come to an end. From here I'm hoping to properly regroup and get back to roughing up Luke if he things he's gonna be bringing the ruckus. I promise I'll update on a more regular basis, though I'll have to find more things to write about as it'll be kinda quiet on the chemo front. My own actual life? God forbid.
Now I'm off to watch the Game of Thrones pilot episode. I'm a bit wet for fantasy drama. Sometimes I think to myself that the LOTR trilogy is better than Star Wars. Then I promptly punch myself in the balls for even entertaining such an idea.
Big love.
Ryan.
It's been a month to the day when I had that last dose of cytarabine and left Sheffield never to return there for treatment. Since then things have been a little awkward, you might say, culminating in today's events when we FINALLY got underway with the third phase of my treatment at my new home, the Radcliffe hospital in Oxford. Well, technically it's the Churchill, but they have so many damn 'centres of excellence' or whatever the hell that means that I can't distinguish between any of the individual wings of this clusterfuck of a network, so for now we'll just stick with the Radcliffe yeah? And as you can probably tell my first impressions of the place haven't been too glowing.
OH WHERE TO BEGIN. I might like to throw in an apology at this point for not posting in nearly a month but for all of you this is free so WHY SHOULD I? But in seriousness, the last few weeks have been a right bloody struggle and I'm trying not to go on a massive spiel so I don't completely undermine my last blog entry. I did make a chronological list earlier of what to say, crudely handwritten on the back of a tescos receipt, but that's somehow disappeared in the vortex of my own wallet so I'm gonna have to rely on my anything-but-flawless memory for this one. Here goes.
First, my induction goes absolutely tits up and I end up spending nearly two weeks in hospital for reasons that could have been easily avoided. Am I bitter? Gosh no, don't be silly. But what kind of place takes your blood, discovers the Hb is meandering around 6.9 and elects not to tell you? This follows with me nearly collapsing at home, having to rush in, being kept in overnight for a bag or two of blood, then picking up two infections of the bacterial and fungal variety and being remanded as hospital bound indefinitely. LAME.
To be fair, my family and Ellise did a great job in keeping my spirits up, and the nurses were rather sound (the more jaunty the character the better the nurse, I tend to find). And two weeks is nothing compared to say, I don't know, five weeks. But it properly puts a damper on the attitude, you know?
I get released at last and the following week I go in for my bone marrow (which actually turned out to be a SURPRISE bone marrow I was in no way prepared for, leaving me slightly disturbed mentally). Horrific pain aside, this goes rather smoothly. That is until the registrar hits us with a bit of a bombshell that my treatment is being changed, from what is called Regimen B to Regimen C, a much more savage and stronger course of treatment that might as well be described as intensive. The main issue with this was that they couldn't explain to us WHY they had decided to do this; the trials nurse had trotted off home by this point and my consultant was off in clinics so couldn't go through any of it with me. Cue a weekend of me and the family shitting it a bit until TODAY we find out we're going BACK to Regimen B because there was a BIT of a COCK UP with the communication between doctors. No big deal really, happens all the time. Made the heart skip a beat or two though! At least we get a happy ending... for now.
So there it is. A rather difficult period that I believe has come to an end. From here I'm hoping to properly regroup and get back to roughing up Luke if he things he's gonna be bringing the ruckus. I promise I'll update on a more regular basis, though I'll have to find more things to write about as it'll be kinda quiet on the chemo front. My own actual life? God forbid.
Now I'm off to watch the Game of Thrones pilot episode. I'm a bit wet for fantasy drama. Sometimes I think to myself that the LOTR trilogy is better than Star Wars. Then I promptly punch myself in the balls for even entertaining such an idea.
Big love.
Ryan.
Thursday, 24 March 2011
Revelations.
Right then, first thing on the agenda is to at least acknowledge articulate panda's (aka MY BESTEST BUDDY ANDY) birthday today. If general life musings and thoughts on the modern media world float your boat, then you should click this juicy link to check out his blog.
http://andrewchrysostom.blogspot.com
Don't be fooled by his 23 years though, his immaturity knows no bounds.
Now then, it's been three weeks since my last update, and honestly it hasn't been the greatest experience of my life. Massive tiredness, aching joints, hospital trips, painful teeth, vital organs showing little enthusiasm to do their jobs. So on, so forth. Up until today I was starting to get into that whole mentality of 'oh why did this have to happen to meeeee.' I mean, not to brag or anything, but I've gone through quite a great deal these past few weeks. It's been... tricky. Emotionally exhausting. Physically testing. You get the idea. With all this in mind, it was very easy to fall into a thought process of dismissing everything as not fair and believing that the whole world is up against you.
Like I said, this all changed today. I don't want to throw out names or type out paragraphs of condolences as quite frankly, it'd be a bit strange for me to do so, but today I discovered (quite accidentally I might add) that a girl on my course at uni died not too long ago of... cancer. Now let's not kid ourselves, people pass away because of cancer on a daily basis. It's a horrible disease and in some forms can be absolutely devastating. But today I couldn't help but think of the phrase 'why me' in a completely different light. Why am I the lucky one who has such a good chance of overcoming my condition? Why am I the lucky one who gets the opportunity to write a blog about the whole thing? Why am I the lucky one who gets to see this whole ordeal as the moment before the rest of my life? There's no denying that for me, things have been hard. But for others cancer is incredibly more difficult, and can not only poison the life it takes hold of, but destroy the lives around it too.
I saw myself as a bit of a selfish arse this morning. Yet I'm all for redemption. From now on, it's thinking positively all the way. I owe it to the people who don't make it as far as I have. As Greybeard has said so many times, I'm lucky to have come this far so quickly.
I also want to start doing some charity work, maybe after I make a full recovery. Anyone know of any good fundraising ideas? Let me know.
Big (awkward) love.
Ryan.
http://andrewchrysostom.blogspot.com
Don't be fooled by his 23 years though, his immaturity knows no bounds.
Now then, it's been three weeks since my last update, and honestly it hasn't been the greatest experience of my life. Massive tiredness, aching joints, hospital trips, painful teeth, vital organs showing little enthusiasm to do their jobs. So on, so forth. Up until today I was starting to get into that whole mentality of 'oh why did this have to happen to meeeee.' I mean, not to brag or anything, but I've gone through quite a great deal these past few weeks. It's been... tricky. Emotionally exhausting. Physically testing. You get the idea. With all this in mind, it was very easy to fall into a thought process of dismissing everything as not fair and believing that the whole world is up against you.
Like I said, this all changed today. I don't want to throw out names or type out paragraphs of condolences as quite frankly, it'd be a bit strange for me to do so, but today I discovered (quite accidentally I might add) that a girl on my course at uni died not too long ago of... cancer. Now let's not kid ourselves, people pass away because of cancer on a daily basis. It's a horrible disease and in some forms can be absolutely devastating. But today I couldn't help but think of the phrase 'why me' in a completely different light. Why am I the lucky one who has such a good chance of overcoming my condition? Why am I the lucky one who gets the opportunity to write a blog about the whole thing? Why am I the lucky one who gets to see this whole ordeal as the moment before the rest of my life? There's no denying that for me, things have been hard. But for others cancer is incredibly more difficult, and can not only poison the life it takes hold of, but destroy the lives around it too.
I saw myself as a bit of a selfish arse this morning. Yet I'm all for redemption. From now on, it's thinking positively all the way. I owe it to the people who don't make it as far as I have. As Greybeard has said so many times, I'm lucky to have come this far so quickly.
I also want to start doing some charity work, maybe after I make a full recovery. Anyone know of any good fundraising ideas? Let me know.
Big (awkward) love.
Ryan.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
The trouble with chemo.
My palms planted firmly on the bathroom floor, my head hovering back and forth over the toilet bowl like Psycho Mantis, my exhausted eyes reflecting back at me from the water. I'm tired, achy, haggard, yet I still manage to inspire fierce concentration in trying to overcome these feelings of nausea. All is for nothing though. The bright glow of the bathroom light pierces my absorption, the stomach muscles spasm sporadically and, realising I'm now completely at the mercy of whatever power regulates this universe, I vomit unceremoniously into the toilet below.
My main thought is how strange an act this is when you're sober.
Side effects can be horrid. This is one of them. Now I'm no stranger to puking into your toilet with all sense of dignity or class in tatters, yet it's not something I want to be going through on what's in danger of becoming a daily basis. Not to mention I'm at such big a risk of infection (OH GOD will he stop going on about that!) So I'm going to try this new tactic I've come up with which involves not eating anything. When this spectacularly fails (I give it an hour) then I guess I should tell the doctors and see if they can change my anti-sickness medication. Logic prevails.
I'm also reeling after seeing my hair grow back uneven and well, not as full as I was first anticipating. All I want is hair. We humans really do take it for granted, unless you're a weirdo who shaves it off out of choice. No offense or anything but... weirdo. Anyway, I love having hair more than Charlie Sheen loves his given namesake and I really do wish this chemotherapy nonsense doesn't piss around with it too much. If you could see me now you'd think I'd been attacked by a crackhead with a razor but I'm so socially unaware that I have no desire or energy to shave the rest off. What? Sense? None made. IT'S PATCHY IS WHAT I'M SAYING. I'm not keen for this at all.
But oh well, I'll always have more hair than my friend George. I hope he reads this.
Much love.
Ryan.
My main thought is how strange an act this is when you're sober.
Side effects can be horrid. This is one of them. Now I'm no stranger to puking into your toilet with all sense of dignity or class in tatters, yet it's not something I want to be going through on what's in danger of becoming a daily basis. Not to mention I'm at such big a risk of infection (OH GOD will he stop going on about that!) So I'm going to try this new tactic I've come up with which involves not eating anything. When this spectacularly fails (I give it an hour) then I guess I should tell the doctors and see if they can change my anti-sickness medication. Logic prevails.
I'm also reeling after seeing my hair grow back uneven and well, not as full as I was first anticipating. All I want is hair. We humans really do take it for granted, unless you're a weirdo who shaves it off out of choice. No offense or anything but... weirdo. Anyway, I love having hair more than Charlie Sheen loves his given namesake and I really do wish this chemotherapy nonsense doesn't piss around with it too much. If you could see me now you'd think I'd been attacked by a crackhead with a razor but I'm so socially unaware that I have no desire or energy to shave the rest off. What? Sense? None made. IT'S PATCHY IS WHAT I'M SAYING. I'm not keen for this at all.
But oh well, I'll always have more hair than my friend George. I hope he reads this.
Much love.
Ryan.
Monday, 28 February 2011
Vulnerable.
A devastatingly poor weekend has just passed me by. Being admitted to hospital on Saturday for having an infection and not being discharged until today was lame, putting it lightly. Stoke Mandeville Hospital is an actual madhouse. The nurses are mental, the doctors are mental, EVERYONE IS MENTAL. Not to say I'm being ungrateful or anything, they took good care of me on reflection. But there comes a point when the novelties of eccentricity wear off and you start doubting whether you'll actually make it out of this place alive.
More than anything though, the whole getting an infection kinda put a downer on my 'bring it on chemo ain't sheeeeit' attitude. Maybe I should just try harder when it comes to looking after myself, or maybe I have to drastically improve my living conditions (which, trust me, has its own issues). But I really didn't see something like this happening so damn early on. I'm not even neutropenic yet. God forbid I get a bug when I am at that stage because I might actually die.
I despair.
But then if you're going through hell, keep going. Winston Churchill said that one time to someone apparently. A bit apt, it seems.
And I won't die, don't worry.
Bitesize blog this week. I used to watch those bitesize revision things for foundation maths when I was at school. But that's because I was crap at maths. I only got a C. C for crap. I know my times table though.
Big love.
Ryan.
More than anything though, the whole getting an infection kinda put a downer on my 'bring it on chemo ain't sheeeeit' attitude. Maybe I should just try harder when it comes to looking after myself, or maybe I have to drastically improve my living conditions (which, trust me, has its own issues). But I really didn't see something like this happening so damn early on. I'm not even neutropenic yet. God forbid I get a bug when I am at that stage because I might actually die.
I despair.
But then if you're going through hell, keep going. Winston Churchill said that one time to someone apparently. A bit apt, it seems.
And I won't die, don't worry.
Bitesize blog this week. I used to watch those bitesize revision things for foundation maths when I was at school. But that's because I was crap at maths. I only got a C. C for crap. I know my times table though.
Big love.
Ryan.
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Level 2.
I wonder what the boss will be like.
Back in Sheffield then, chemo cycle two now into its second day. And as I ponder quite ridiculously which figurative Bowser awaits me at the end of this phase (the boss is more likely to come in the middle really seeing as that's when you feel like the crap's been kicked out of you the most) I must say the nerves are a tingling. Looking after yourself whilst on chemo is quite a challenge, say the doctors and patients I've spoken to anyway. Infections can be common, tiredness prevails on most days and going about your daily routine can be stressful when having to deal with hospital visits on a daily basis. Oh it might seem all doom and gloom but whilst I am nervous I'm not scared. I'm just happy to be out the hospital on a full time basis so if it's just a case of keeping an eye on my health then it can't be too difficult can it?
Plus I have Ellise to basically look after me so I'm sorted.
Day clinic is weird. You arrive and well, nothing really happens for a while. Like yesterday. Turned up at 10 o'clock sharp (it was stressed that it was absolutely imperative I arrive at 10 o'clock sharp) and... nothing. For like, two hours. Then a nurse pops up and goes 'well, your medication hasn't actually been authorised yet so you might as well disappear until the afternoon.' I can see this kind of pattern developing annoyingly. In any case, I returned and got my chemo. Bucket loads of Cyclophosphamide and a tiny bag of Cytarabine. Look at those pretty new names. The first stuff looked evil as sin. Presented in three big black bags not too dissimilar in liking to biohazard warnings, I'd by lying if I say they didn't make me feel a wee bit of apprehension. But so far I don't feel to bad, so bring the rest of it on! Obviously.
Other than that there's not much else new to report. My legs are complete waste at the moment. Having been in hospital for a month and not had to take on gravity during that time my muscles have weaned away to a state of liability that makes the Ethiopian weight lifting team look like world beaters. So the problems that this has caused have been plentiful. But I get by, mostly by having to rely on public transport and running the risk of brain aneurysms because of the sheer stress that this creates. WHEN I PRESS THE BUTTON THAT MEANS STOP YEAH, NOW I HAVE TO WALK FURTHER.
Officially a bus wanker.
I'll try and get a few photos involved with the blog over the next few entries, including maybe a picture of myself with what's gonna be the closest you'll see to me having a bald head I HOPE. The hairline is still visible which is all that matters really.
Big love,
Ryan.
Back in Sheffield then, chemo cycle two now into its second day. And as I ponder quite ridiculously which figurative Bowser awaits me at the end of this phase (the boss is more likely to come in the middle really seeing as that's when you feel like the crap's been kicked out of you the most) I must say the nerves are a tingling. Looking after yourself whilst on chemo is quite a challenge, say the doctors and patients I've spoken to anyway. Infections can be common, tiredness prevails on most days and going about your daily routine can be stressful when having to deal with hospital visits on a daily basis. Oh it might seem all doom and gloom but whilst I am nervous I'm not scared. I'm just happy to be out the hospital on a full time basis so if it's just a case of keeping an eye on my health then it can't be too difficult can it?
Plus I have Ellise to basically look after me so I'm sorted.
Day clinic is weird. You arrive and well, nothing really happens for a while. Like yesterday. Turned up at 10 o'clock sharp (it was stressed that it was absolutely imperative I arrive at 10 o'clock sharp) and... nothing. For like, two hours. Then a nurse pops up and goes 'well, your medication hasn't actually been authorised yet so you might as well disappear until the afternoon.' I can see this kind of pattern developing annoyingly. In any case, I returned and got my chemo. Bucket loads of Cyclophosphamide and a tiny bag of Cytarabine. Look at those pretty new names. The first stuff looked evil as sin. Presented in three big black bags not too dissimilar in liking to biohazard warnings, I'd by lying if I say they didn't make me feel a wee bit of apprehension. But so far I don't feel to bad, so bring the rest of it on! Obviously.
Other than that there's not much else new to report. My legs are complete waste at the moment. Having been in hospital for a month and not had to take on gravity during that time my muscles have weaned away to a state of liability that makes the Ethiopian weight lifting team look like world beaters. So the problems that this has caused have been plentiful. But I get by, mostly by having to rely on public transport and running the risk of brain aneurysms because of the sheer stress that this creates. WHEN I PRESS THE BUTTON THAT MEANS STOP YEAH, NOW I HAVE TO WALK FURTHER.
Officially a bus wanker.
I'll try and get a few photos involved with the blog over the next few entries, including maybe a picture of myself with what's gonna be the closest you'll see to me having a bald head I HOPE. The hairline is still visible which is all that matters really.
Big love,
Ryan.
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