this is a low

This is a low is the name of a Blur song, and not even a particularly good one at that, but the phrase has stuck with me down the years. I woke this morning with it on the tip of the tongue.

I should apologize in advance for the level of self-pity. I’m feeling a bit low this morning.

The night of the operation was okay. I was doped up on panadeine forte and indulging in an orgy of social media (I believe I even tweeted). Yesterday was also fine. I sat around at home, reading the paper and catching up on some novels in the sunshine. Downstairs was bleeding and sore, but bearable.

This morning, however, I woke with a shitty cold, caught from my son. Also, the area around the operation is swollen to double or triple its normal size. And sore. And purple.

What’s worse is any remaining numbness has long worn off, and I can begin to feel empty down there.

I know I’ll feel better soon, and this will all be forgotten, but just the same: this is a low.

My way of dealing with all this is to finally have a shower, and wipe off the last remnants of the operation – the arrow painted on my left leg in black texta, pointing up. I’m also drinking tea and listening to some beautiful old songs – Mama you’ve been on my mind, and Farewell Angelina, by Bob Dylan.

My wife and I were thinking of going out to the movies later on. I hope I feel better by then.

operation report

If you’ve been following this humble journal in recent weeks, you’ll know I’ve had one or two health problems which have been causing me grief.

Today was the culmination of all of that, as I had an operation for “exploratory surgery”. It was exploratory in that they weren’t entirely certain what they were going to find, but needed to have a look.

So, I was up considerably before the dawn in order to make it across town and to the hospital at 6:30am. The hospital was clean and modern and the staff helpful and friendly, if a little obsessed with filling out paperwork. I think I must have been asked my name and date of birth 15 times.

I got dressed up in the traditional backless gown complemented by a charming set of one-size-fits-all opaque bloomer-style pants. Very fetching. More paperwork. A lot of waiting. Finally, after a few hours I was wheeled into the operating area, given some anaesthetic and I remember no more.

The next thing I do remember was partially waking up in the recovery room feeling all nice and warm (it was cold before) and happy – probably the affects of the morphine. Then I must have had a conversation with the surgeon, but I only remember fragments of that.

After that I went back to the ward, and proceeded to get progressively more nauseas and tired. The anti-nausea medication made me feel worse, so I ended up lying there in and out of sleep until about 3pm.

My wife drove me home, and I’ve been resting since then.

The fragments of conversation with the surgeon that I do remember weren’t great. They were hoping, going in, that they’d find a lump that wasn’t connected anywhere important. If that was the case, they could just remove it and bob’s your uncle.

It was connected, so they weren’t able to just remove the lump. They had to remove the whole thing. I confess, despite being a bit prepared for that, I had a little cry. Now I have a week’s wait for the pathology results to come back before I know definitively what’s going on.

A week’s painful wait. It’s now 7pm and I’m feeling a bit sore.

specialist appointment

After a week of getting used to the idea of foreign bodies on my nether regions, I finally managed an appointment with the specialist this afternoon.

It’s generally good news, or not worse. I do have to have an operation, which won’t be fun. However, he thinks there’s a reasonable chance it will be benign.

The operation will be later this week or early next week.

That’s good. It’s quick, and not too scary.

The only bad thing is 6-8 weeks off running. My wife didn’t seem to see the importance of this. She has no sense of proportion.

Galaga
If there are any single women reading this, you’re in for a treat. Phil Day is from New South Wales, and he has got himself in the news for spending 6 months training to play early 1980’s video game Galaga and setting the world record.

You’d better act fast though, with a talent like that, girls will be lining up to meet him….

pleasant weekend

Outside it’s been a bit windy, wet and wintry and generally old-school Melbourne (before we got global warming). Despite all that, I’ve managed to have a nice weekend, in terms of exercise.

On Saturday I slipped out for a swim. It was just my usual 1km swim, but it went well enough. I didn’t drown and only got lapped about 20 times by the girl in the next lane wearing a AIS cap.

Afterward I went home and whipped up a lovely batch of scones. No, really. I did, and they were lovely.

Today I had a run, 24km including some Dandenong Creek Trail, some of the foothills of the Dandenongs and some of my favourite running bits between Montrose and Mooroolbark. Lovely.

Now I’m just about to pull out a roast chook from the oven. A nice weekend all round.

Things medical
Perhaps the weekend was the calm before the storm. Tomorrow is my appointment with the specialist. I’m a bit resigned to the whole thing now. I just want the treatment to come quickly so I can get it over with.

The nerves are still there, but I’m not letting it show. Don’t tell anyone.

speed returns

It had been missing for a while, my speed. So long, in fact, that I was beginning to suspect it had left me for another man, and that I was doomed to be known forever more as “JH – the plodder”.

Today, as if from nowhere, and without me even noticing, my speed came back.

I ran 14.84km (best to be precise about these things!) in exactly an hour, including a reasonable amount of time spent standing at various traffic lights in Carlton, Brunswick, Northcote, Fitzroy and the city.

I’m happy with that, especially as it didn’t seem especially fast at the time.

Sick
The gremlins that been working so assiduously in recent weeks and months towards the greater goal of my body’s self-destruction, have either kept quiet or had a rest today. The knee and other unmentionable bits feel fine, or as near to fine as can be expected.

I was worried I’d spend the week between last Monday’s GP appointment and this coming Monday’s specialist appointment in a panicked fog, but that hasn’t come to pass. All is serenity and bliss and if there lurks an dark undercurrent somewhere, I’m content for it to remain buried somewhere until I need it.

day 6

Day 6 of this particular little journey has been a lot better than the previous 5 (I’m counting from the date of my first doctor’s appointment last Friday). I no longer feel nauseous or headachey, and I haven’t spent the morning at work staring at the computer screen wishing I was somewhere else.

The last couple of days have been quite reassuring. There’s been lots of talking to family and friends, which has been sometimes uncomfortably emotional, but worthwhile. It’s early days, but I feel like I’m coping (emotionally) a lot better than I usually would. My normal response to stress is to look myself in a room, physical or otherwise, and spend some quality time with alcohol and Nick Drake records. It never seems to work, but it comes naturally and I guess it passes the time.

I also feel a bit vindicated, having taken the decision to blog about this. Yesterday I felt damn frightened, and confused and lonely, but also kind of ashamed. And when I didn’t feel ashamed I felt like to blog about the cancer would be to beg for sympathy and attention. Silly, really. You can never have too many friends, and I count many of you amongst mine, even though I might only have met you a half dozen times in the flesh.

And I do value your comments and thoughts.

Another reason I’m a bit more chipper today is that I’ve been doing some reading. When someone says the word “cancer” to you, it’s hard not imagine great drums banging boom! boom! and dark stormy, ominous clouds hovering overhead. It didn’t help that there really has been great storm clouds hovering overhead here in Melbourne.

When you actually read about my particular version of the thing, the drums of doom don’t go away, but they quiet down a bit. There’s a good resource on the Cancer Council of NSW’s site, which I had a look at today.

I don’t for a second imagine this is going to at all fun, but the more I know, the less time I spent cowering in the corner in abject terror. That’s a good thing. Abject terror doesn’t suit me.

Running
I finally managed to get out for a run this lunchtime. 14.13km up through Carlton and around the less attractive sides of the Capital City Trail. It’s a bit of a blustery, scary old day today, which, if you can manage to force yourself out the front door, improves the mood tremendously. There’s something about fighting with the forces of nature that invigorates the soul.

bad news

This blog is intentionally fairly jovial, flippant, not too serious, and at least a couple of degrees removed from my real life. It’s about me, and the things I find interesting and funny, but mainly about the running experience.

The thing is, after this week I don’t think it can stay the same. Either the tone changes significantly, or I just shut the thing down. Clearly, I’ve chosen the first option. So… given I don’t know where to start, I’ll just tell the story of the last week.

Wednesday last week
I was reading an article online about self-examination (for women). I thought I should probably do that too. I did – in the shower – and there was a lump somewhere very personal. It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t normal.

Friday morning
I managed to get time to go to the GP, who poked and prodded in a very uncomfortable way. No matter how gentle they are, no-one knows your sensitive bits the way you do. He agreed with me about the lump and sent me to have an ultrasound. He was a nice GP, but I walked out of there feeling significantly less happy than before.

I managed to get an ultrasound later that day, which led to more humiliation and yet more poking and prodding. What made it worse was the ultrasoundist freaked out a bit and went to get his boss to help. The boss had an even poorer bed-side manner – assuming the manner is supposed to leave you feeling reassured – he mentioned the T word.

Weekend
Over the weekend I did a fair bit of freaking out myself. I talked to my brother, who lives in the UK, on Saturday afternoon, and felt strangely reassured. Then I talked to my Dad the following day and put the phone down feeling s**t-scared. I thought through a lot of ridiculous stuff, like if I had 3 months to live, what would I do?

Monday
I headed back to the GP to get the ultrasound results. My run of bad results with medical people continued. He handed me a copy of the report and said “I have bad news for you”. And he did. In short order, he said the words “tumor”, “malignant” and “cancer”, followed by “urologist”, “surgery” and “radiation”.

The strange thing was: it felt so ordinary. It was like I’d gone to the post office only to find they were out of stamps. Oh well, I’ll just wait until tomorrow then.

I left, with a referral in my hand, and went to the station, then walked home in the rain.

I ate dinner that night, but it took an effort of will. My brain didn’t quite know what’s going on, but my body definitely knew this was something to feel nauseous about. Nauseous and head-achey.

Today
I have an appointment with a specialist on Monday, which is a frustratingly long time away, but better than the first option – October. The uncertainty is really difficult, as is not knowing whether I should tell anyone (other than family) now or wait until later.

What does this all mean?
Well, apart from having at least one thing in common with Lance Armstrong, I don’t really know. I still haven’t seen the specialist, and I don’t know what’s in store.

I don’t think this will kill me, but I don’t imagine it’s going to make life easy in any way.

I don’t want to stop running – I don’t want to just fall in a heap.

I just want to get this treated, and beat the bloody thing. I have a lot of years left with my kids and my wife, and maybe a marathon or two to run.

Keep checking in, and I’ll update the blog when things change or develop.