(updated 25 February)
Update from Yvonne,
January – February 2022
Continuing from 2021_update:
My CT scan was on 27 January. This is
what I wrote the next day:
As with so much in life, the results (as
discussed with my doctor, Raoul Goldberg) are a mixed bag.
(And see the update in the previous paragraph, which means that my bones are actually part of the not-so-good news.)
(Update: not quite true – see above.)
So the SPDT and other treatments are not
miracle cures in my case, but they do seem to slow everything down and keep me
generally stable at present. At the same time, that won't last forever: I'm
reflecting on everything and deciding what to do next – it's helpful that I
don't have to rush into anything. Although I don't usually engage much with
allopathic medicine, I will include a consultation with an oncologist on 14
February (I have a referral from my doctor) and will listen carefully to the
options that are suggested: as Dr Ndhluni said when he phoned me to make sure I
had the results, "You can go window-shopping and you don't have to pick
anything" (although I know he's hoping that I will pick something!). There
is also a further natural medication that I could consider taking, in parallel
with my other treatments … more about that if I decide to try it. (For
completeness of info: SPDT was a once-off – I'm glad about that, for various
reasons!)
I realise that, painful as it was, I'm
lucky I cracked that rib in July – there was absolutely no sign of anything
until that day, and it could have continued silently until it was too late to
have any options at all (of course, however, sticking one's head in the sand is
also an option … there have been times in the recent past when that has looked
rather attractive to me). But overall, my wish for all of us is that we
continue to have options, and that we choose as wisely as possible and continue
to do – and to be – the best that we can each live with.
* * * * * * *
25 February 2022
Having avoided oncologists all my life,
I have had to revise some of my opinions after meeting Dr Garth Davids last
week. He is a mensch – straightforward, helpful and kind. He spent all the time
with me that I needed, in order to look at what is happening, answer my
questions and discuss options.
He agrees that my life is in no imminent
danger at all (although I'm not going to have a long, long life – reading between
the lines, I estimate that I have 6 to 8 more years), but he stressed that my
bones are going to give me a seriously hard and painful time – and are going to
fail me long before my life is over – if I don't give them a really huge boost.
He strongly recommended radiotherapy, especially for that T7 rib (I could land
up severely disabled if we don’t give it some help) and I have decided to go
ahead with this (ha ha – I’ve had to revise my nasty opinions about radiation,
too!). It’s going to be 12 sessions over less than 3 weeks, probably starting on
3 March. A few days ago, I went to the planning session where the radiologist marks
where the beams will go, and am now sporting tiny, permanent pinprick tattoos
in a couple of places. Radiation usually has at least some side effects, but
they generally last a maximum of about 2 weeks. People are encouraged to
continue to do all their own normal activities – for me that includes circle
dancing – unless they feel extra tired (but the tiredness is usually manageable).
Garth made a few further recommendations
for after that, which I will think about.
He also told me that chemo is not
recommended for this type of cancer. While I’m sorry for those who might want
to try it, this is a weird kind of relief for me, as I don’t have to fend off
anyone attempting to give me that stuff. His considered opinion is that this type
of cancer can't be cured, but it is non-aggressive and slow, and can be
managed. There is no one-size-fits-all pattern, but the latter is how it
usually goes.
This is all quite strange, and my
immediate response is, "Who, me??!!" And yes, this is me. Garth says
I should absolutely not feel like a failure in any way. Hmmmm ... I have been
feeling some of that. He feels that I've now maxed out the less invasive stuff,
which was all worth a try. (At the same time, I’m not going to try the further
natural medication that I had considered briefly. Right now, even I agree with
the “maxed out” opinion: while I’m going to carry on with the supportive and
strengthening complementary treatments – like Iscador – I’m not adding any new
ones into the mix at this stage.)
So much to process ... at the same time,
no regrets about what I've tried.
* * * * * * *
There are two poems that have always
meant a lot to me – I think you’ll see why:
The Summer Day
by
Mary Oliver
Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean—
the one who has flung herself out of the
grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my
hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth
instead of up and down—
who is gazing around with her enormous
and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and
thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats
away.
I don't know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to
fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the
grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to
stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn't everything die at last, and too
soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
I Will Not Die
an Unlived Life
by
Dawna Markova
I will not die an unlived life.
I will not live in fear
of falling or catching fire.
I choose to inhabit my days,
to allow my living to open me,
to make me less afraid,
more accessible;
to loosen my heart
until it becomes a wing,
a torch, a promise.
I choose to risk my significance,
to live so that which came to me as seed
goes to the next as blossom,
and that which came to me as blossom,
goes on as fruit.
(I
read this one out at the celebration of my fiftieth birthday)
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