Erratic Souls » cancer

Anja passed away today

James — Mon, 28 Jul 2008 01:48:17 +0000

Table of contents for Cancer

The world has lost a truly beautiful person this evening as Anja took her final breath and finally passed away, peacefully as she slept. Her short but difficult fight with cancer is now over and she can rest in peace forever.

I am too broken to write all the words that are in my heart, but for those of us who knew Anja, we know she can never be replaced. She was a very unique individual who touched the hearts of all she met.

Her loving spirit will live on in all of us and her memory will never be forgotten.

I am now a broken and shattered soul who will never find true happiness again, but I feel honoured and privileged to have known Anja, to have been her husband and to have shared so many happy times together as one soul. Above all else, Anja was my best friend and the love of my life.

Goodbye my angel. I will love you till my dying day. I can never let you go…

The sun is always shining even when it is dark!

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And then there is despair

James — Sat, 26 Jul 2008 14:33:05 +0000

Table of contents for Cancer

This may not be the most well-presented piece of text I have ever written, but it is from my heart. And anyway, I really do not care. To write it now, this minute – helps me stay sane. In the past 72 hours, Anja’s condition has very rapidly declined. 3 days ago she could still hold a half-coherent conversation with me. She was extremely tired but still chose to sit out of bed for much of the time. Her appetite significantly dropped but she could still chew a few mouthfuls of food at some points throughout the day. She still chose to suffer in pain and make the effort to leave her bed and use the bathroom. Her dignity remained intact.

We could hug. We could smile at each other. We could communicate.

2 days ago, Anja was simply too tired to sit up, she could not stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time and she stopped eating almost completely. A few crisps and a spoon of icecream was all she could take in. Sleep took over. She tried to smile but her energy levels were too low. She held my hand in hers and looked contented as she slept. Unable to control her bodily functions, she had to let go and I cleaned her as she still lay sleeping.

During the same period of time, the doctors and the nurses who visit decided it was time she stopped even trying to take her medications orally, and she was given a device called a syringe driver instead. This means she is now attached to a small machine that intravenously administers her medicine through a small tube inserted in her arm. It is automatically monitored and the nurses are able to add more/less medicines as required, without Anja even being aware of the process.

She sleeps deeply and at least looks contented. I have been awake for well over 40 hours and I am utterly shattered. I know Anja is going to stop breathing very soon. It could be minutes, hours, maybe even days – but is certainly not far away now. I sat on the bed next to her all night and between the tears, the sheer sobbing and the pain of knowing I am losing her, I held her close to me and savoured every moment she blew a breath across my face.

The nurses came this morning and helped me wash her body and administer a new dose of medicine in the device. Tears slowly dripped from her eyes as she was subjected to the indignity of having to allow complete strangers to bathe her and change her bedding and clothes. I just held her face against mine and cried openly, knowing that every moment this was happening, she was crying inside too. We are extremely private people and severely struggle with such invasions on our intimacy. It cannot be avoided of course, but knowing this does not make it hurt any less.

I checked on her computer today too, to answer any emails or messages from her friends and family, but instead, I found the following message waiting for me, accompanied with a photo of us hugging each other on a recent trip to the Dales;

James I love you so much,, when I look at you I just burst in tears..
I wish that everything could be as it was .. Just living our lives together…
Just being you and me as one soul, as one love together….

I wish I was not sick
I wish everything was like it was
I wish I could me more…but the cancer took everything human away
The cancer messes you up as a person and you just change in a weird way
The cancer plays in your body as if it is not yours
You have all kinds of weird things going on in your body and believe me it is so scary… Have parts in your body you did not know you had before..
And other parts seem to have disappeared ..You have feelings you never had
You have thoughts you never would have thought thinking of..
You just change in many ways your life is changing and ending of course
I fight my way to be with you all the time
I fight all the pains aches to be with you
I fight against the grim reaper with my sword of happiness
I never want to lose you

I know this has taken her a lot of effort. Too much effort. English is Anja’s second language and yet she has always tried so very hard to always get it right. Even with so much stress upon herself, she finds time to make me smile.

And I can do nothing more now but sit with Anja, talk to her and tell how much I love her, and just hope she can hear me and feel me with her all the time. I cannot eat. I feel sick inside and I panic that she will be gone on my return, when for those fleeting moments, I need to leave the room.

Nothing has any purpose for me now. I write this and I wonder why. I hear Anja’s irregular breathing right behind me as I sit in front of this screen and type, and my body tightens each time it takes too long for her to exhale. All of our worldy possessions could be stolen in front of my eyes and I would not care.

And still the tears flow from my eyes. More than anything else in this world, I wish I could take her disease upon myself and let her flowing spirit free again. She is a truly beautiful person, even now, with death knocking so loudly at our door.

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Laughing

James — Thu, 24 Jul 2008 12:22:11 +0000

Table of contents for Cancer

Many of the recent posts on this site have focused on the struggle and difficulties we have faced in light of Anja’s diagnosis of cancer. And as much as we certainly do have enormous difficulty coping with all of this every single day, we also make sure we have time to smile, laugh and even joke around about it all. The only crazy thing with all of this though, is that even though WE can laugh, when we mention this attitude to other people they look at us as if we have truly lost the plot.

The thing is, even before all this came upon us, we both knew exactly how we felt about death and all it entails. The whole ‘funeral thing’ has been an issue with which we see absolutely no point. Consequently, there has been a very strong element of truth in our jokes when we say to each other ‘When I die, just throw me in the wheelie bin – and remember to close the lid.’ I mean, isn’t the way in which we all choose to be ‘disposed’, totally up to each individual? Sure, we need a clean, sanitary method and we are not against other people doing whatever they want in terms of burials and cremations. So yes, we do respect other people’s ideas and beliefs. But for us, the cheapest and quickest method, with the least pain for the person left behind, has always been our perspective.

So we have already arranged for the manner in which Anja’s body will be ‘disposed’, once she leaves this world in mind and soul and nothing but her body remains. A simple ‘cheap’ cremation for those you who really want to know, with no trimmings, no extras and no fuss. This may sound callous of me, but believe me when I tell you, this is what we have both agreed on long ago and is not the result of either of us being cheapskates.

So what do we laugh at? Well, death itself in many different ways, but more than that, the unknown elements that death brings to us all. As already mentioned, we are not spiritual or religious people and we have no idea what lies before us. Perhaps your beliefs allow for a sense of security or comfort in what death brings, but that is not the case for us. So, we make jokes about the funeral ‘farce’, the expectations of society at such a ‘serious and revered’ time, and we even joke about what happens to your body as it decomposes and rots away. Sounds morbid I guess, but when you are at this point in your life, you see life differently.

For instance, recently we had a discussion about what Anja would like to be wearing when she was cremated and being the person she is, I knew the answer would not be the norm. In fact, I was already thinking along the same lines when she said she started to tell me that she would like to be cremated in the costume she bought a little while back. You see, Anja went to this fancy dress party dressed up as The Corpse Bride, complete with the black and white roses, the white face, and looking pretty much like the female persona of death itself. However, what makes this even more bizarre [and really makes Anja laugh openly about it] is the fact that even though you know me as James [as does everyone in real life too], my birth name is Tim – surname Burton. Yep that’s right - Anja wants to do it all properly and be cremated as Tim Burton’s Corpse Bride. Considering we have only been married for approximately 18 months, she says this is the obvious choice. And who am I to argue? Our humour has always been somewhat ‘black’, so why change it now.

And Anja makes jokes about her ashes. Her favourite hobby of late has been to ask everybody to have a barbeque in her honour when she is gone. That’s right – a proper barbeque with meat and salads and so on – and she whispers out aloud to everyone within earshot, ‘just make sure you all throw a few of my ashes around the place too, so you can feel me with you…’

Putting all of this into written words gives the whole laughter thing we experience, a different taint, but you know, with death actually staring us in the face and with both of us absolutely out of our minds with the stress, anxiety and uncertainty that awaits us in the very near future, well then, laughter, humour [even if bizarre and surreal tothe extreme] is really not as strange it may at first appear.

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Life changes so quickly

James — Wed, 09 Jul 2008 18:02:00 +0000

Table of contents for Cancer

Please note before reading: this may sound like a letter of complaint, a long-winded whinge or perhaps even selfish of me to write. However, it is none of the above. It is simply an update on our situation and the reality of our lives after Anja being diagnosed with terminal lung cancer.

Less than 4 months ago, life felt extremely different than it does for us right now. In fact, it was only back in March over the Easter weekend, that we went up to Edinburgh and came away with a plan to start a new life there within the next 12 to 18 months. One week later that dream was shattered of course, when we were told the devastating news that Anja had lung cancer. And at the risk of sounding totally depressed, pessimistic and out of hope, I have to say in all honesty, it’s very much been a downhill trip from that point to where we are now.

Obviously, the news that Anja does not have long to live, is in itself hard to deal with, but as the last few months have passed, our daily way of life has also been shaken to the core. Life for us, is not what it once was, even just a short time earlier this year.

I have been very fortunate in that my place of employment has allowed me to work from home. This means I am here to care for Anja, able to do everything for her and can ferry her backwards and forwards to the hospital and doctor as necessary. If my employment had not allowed for me to work from home, I hate to think what life would be like for us right now. And before you think this may sound like an extended holiday, but let me assure you, it is anything but relaxing.

I do not know if this applies to every cancer patient, but Anja struggles with most of the simple daily tasks. She is on a high dosage of steroids [which act in helping to keep the inflammation to a minimum on her brain tumors] and as a result of this, she has very weak muscles and her whole body has become very ‘puffed’. Skinny for her whole life, for the very first time, Anja finds herself looking very overweight and unable to move many of her joints because of the tightness of her skin. And yes, she has added about 5 kilo to her body weight, because another side effect of the steroids is that they turn a mild sparrow such as Anja – into a ferocious, snarling wolf when eating times arrive. But it is the water retention that has caused most of this change of appearance in her body shape. She cries every time she looks in the mirror because she sees someone she does not know. It is very hard to deal with for us both. Even a simple daily task such as going to the toilet has become an event. She needs help to walk as her muscles are so weak. We now have a stool in the shower for Anja to sit on, as standing is simply too much for her. I help her wash and dry and dress. And again, she cries as a result. She is embarrassed and feels she has become too much of a burden because of this need for so much assistance in all she tries to do.

We have also changed our house dramatically. Previously, we lived downstairs and spent over 90% of our time in the living area below, but now, we live in our bedroom. I have moved the computers in and we have extra areas to cupboard food and those everyday things we need. I cook and wash and clean and cook and wash and clean day after day. It is never ending. I do all this with a smile [well, half a smile] because I do it with all my love for the woman who means so much to me. But it is extremely tiring when added to everything else that needs to be done. Anja’s day is almost like the situation when she was in hospital for a long period. She watches the clock for meal times and if it is late, it is frustrating and ruins her day. So, I wake up and make breakfast, the daily medicine/tablet ritual begins and by the time breakfast is over, it is time to clean, empty the bins, make the bed, wash Anja in the shower, do the washing [clothes/dishes], vacuum, go shopping and generally make sure that everything is done so that I can be there for Anja when she needs me at different points throughout the day. There is no time for procrastination or putting things off. To do so, only spells disaster later in the day. Each week we have doctors’ visits, nurses who come to our home, hospital appointments and then the occasional visitor who drops in as well. The house must be kept spotless because of Anja’s weak immune system and with all this that is happening, we are both emotionally drained. Crying is now a part of our daily existence. We try to remain positive and we laugh and we smile too, but the pain of the situation is very real. To hold back the tears is not a good way to live.

I am never bored. In fact, finding the time to write this update has taken me the best part of 2 weeks. I generally find that by the time I finally get to sit down and actually do something for myself on the computer, my brain cells are mashed and my mind is just not in the right frame.

Since Anja no longer is able to work, our finances have also changed dramatically, and although she is receiving some sick pay and a small amount of welfare assistance, there is a dark cloud hanging overhead as we know that bit by bit the money will stop coming in very soon. Consequently, I try and take on as much work as I can in the form of the WordPress help that I offer via this site. This involves working through the night in many instances because it is the only time when I can do the work without distraction.

And just because I am able to work from home for my real job, this does not mean I can simply ignore the ever-increasing workload that I receive via emails every day of the week. I am in charge of developing a learning gateway and this is a huge project. Much money and planning has been put in place for this venture. The past 12 months have been long and difficult as the whole staff have slowly come to grips with the ‘idea’ of this project, let alone the actual task of using such a tool. But the time has come and the rubber has hit the road. This means that as the staff begin the arduous task of using the learning gateway, every day is filled with requests for assistance by individuals, departments and the whole staff overall. It is my job to make sure that everything is running smoothly on that score, and to also keep development moving forward. Again, I am very fortunate in that I have a great set of colleagues who are able to assist in this area, but at the end of the day – the buck does stop with me. It is an enjoyable and challenging project and is exciting to be a part of, but it comes with the added stress and mental strain that any worthwhile project contains.

Our life has also changed in that we are unable to do those simple things we have always loved. Both of us love driving in the car – not just to get from A to B, but also from B to C and across to F via P, R and Z. It is Anja’s 48th birthday on the 21st July and we are desperately hoping she is still with us at this time. You see, we have these short term goals and one of them [at Anja's request] is to try and go for a long drive, with a flask of coffee and some pre-made lunch. The Yorkshire Dales and Moors have become our second home since moving here to England and there is nothing more that Anja loves than to head off early in the morning and be sitting on a hilltop, sipping coffee and feeling the cool morning air in our hair. Unfortunately, the cancer, the pain, the steroids, the other huge amounts of medication, have put an end to such simplicity. It is too much for anja to drive so far. At best, we may be able to go out for an hour and take in some of the local beauty instead.

And as a result of all of this our relationship has changed. Not because our love for one another is any less, but more because we cannot do those things a couple in love normally do. Pain has put a stop to many of Anja’s normal feelings, including those special intimate moments, and whereas we would normally run/race across a hilltop together, obviously her immobility has meant this can no longer take place. When Anja is able to walk in public, it is at a snail’s pace, with the rest of the world being the gawking, misunderstanding lot that we all are. The public do not see a cancer-ridden person in front of them as they grow impatient behind. They just throw snide remarks about her weight and puffed looks and make the whole attempt to ‘get out’ seem pointless and futile. Being the fiercely independent individual that Anja is, this is very hard for her to cope with, and means tempers flare. My attempts to calm her often falls on deaf ears and we could even go as far as argue – something I can honestly say – we have never ever done since meeting one another. And we know this is because of all this stress and worry, day after dafter day. It eats away at us both and will not let go.

The side-effects of the medicines are making Anja’s life unbearable. For instance, she has a symptom known as ‘clubbed fingers’ which basically means her finger ends have grown larger than the rest of her fingers and as a result, her fingernails grow and cut into her skin. Picture a small tear on your finger and how annoyingly painful and irritating it can be, then times this by ten. Sounds like nothing too much doesn’t it? But then consider that this is combined with extreme water retention, diarrhoea one day constipation the next, painful mouth ulcers and fungul throat infections, severe fatigue and tiredness, muscles aches and pains and a myriad of other ailments. You then get some idea of what cancer and all it’s accompaniments can do to a person. Oral morphine is part of anja’s stable intake. Without it, she would simply scream and cry all day.

Anja’s lung cancer has spread and continues to do so. The doctors’ have given up doing weekly scans because every time they do, they find more cancerous tumors.

The emotional impact this has on us both is extreme. We are both a mess to put it simply. every moment that Anja is alive, I truly treasure, but watching her suffer in this way is almost too much to bear…

How she manages to smile, laugh and still try to help others every day she is alive, makes the tears in my eyes swell up and flow without restraint. For someone with such a wonderful, positive and optimistic perspective of life, to fall victim to such a disease, certainly proves to us both, there is no such thing as a loving god overseeing our lives.

In fact, dare to mention god, religion or anything involving faith in a deity within earshot of Anja and you can expect her to sneer and growl. She does not deserve this pain!

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Slice and dice

James — Mon, 05 May 2008 09:29:40 +0000

Table of contents for Cancer

As part of Anja’s ongoing analysis of her illness, the next step after the bronchoscopy and CT scan, was to undergo a further scan known as a PET scan. PET stands for Positron Emission Tomography. This scan is more intensive and is done in order to take a deeper look at what is happening within the body.

With a PET scan you first have an injection of a very small amount of a radioactive drug (tracer). The amount of radiation is very small – no more than you have during a normal X-ray. It only stays in the body for a few hours. Depending on which drug you have, the radioactive drug will travel to particular parts of your body. The most common drug is fluorine 18, also known as FDG-18. This is a radioactive version of glucose. When FDG-18 is injected into your body it travels to places where glucose is used for energy. It shows up cancers because they use glucose in a different way from normal tissue. And it will show up changes in tissues that use glucose as their main source of energy for example, the brain. [via]

Unfortunately, this scan was held back for a week, due to some clerical/bookings misunderstandings, but Anja was able to have the PET scan the following week. Another period of apprehension followed as we waited to see the doctor concerning the results of the scan and to be told what treatment would now be able to commence. During this time, Anja has been very weak and having continual problems with her breathing. In her own words, she feels like she has ‘moved her life into slow motion‘ as she can no longer hurry with even the simplest of tasks. Walk slowly, move slowly, breathe slowly and keep calm are all now a part of her daily life. If not, her breathing becomes even more difficult and this can bring on serious periods of coughing. Coughing to the extent that she is gasping for air and almost vomiting in the process. A two-week prescription of a steroid tablet has also helped to control the symptoms, but this cannot be prescribed for too long.

The time to meet with the doctor again finally arrived but again, more news to rock our world. The PET scan gave indications that the cancer may have now spread to Anja’s liver. We sat there in front of the doctor, stunned, as he told us that only a further scan, an MRI, would be able to determine if this was indeed the case. Until the doctor and the cancer team are 100% sure of what they are dealing with, there can be no treatment. We fully apppreciate all that the doctors and the cancer team are doing, and as much as another wait is prevalent as the scan is done – all frustrating and highly stressful – we understand that there is no other choice.

In between the hospital visits and the waiting, life goes on. I am fortunate in that I am able to work from home for the moment and this means I can take care of Anja, who finds it very difficult to get around the house. We have moved our furniture and made lots of changes within the house, which basically means the bedroom has become our little cube of space for 90% of the time. I sit and write this here now as Anja lays in bed beside me. Both of our computers, our TV and other bits and pieces from around the house are now located here. The bathroom is also on this floor, which means Anja does not have to climb up and down stairs. I have taken on all the domestic chores and luckily, my experience as a chef, means we do not go hungry. I probably do not hang the washing as neatly as I should, but hey, it dries, it gets ironed, it gets put away.

Another setback two days ago as Anja had a really serious coughing fit and could not stop for some time. She manged to get to the bathroom and I was able to help her sit on the toilet. You see, as gross as this may seem, when you cough violently like this, you have no control over your other body functions and as Anja so eloquently puts it herself ‘F$%#, I think I’ve pissed myself’. So sitting on the toilet during coughing bouts is the best place to be!

This coughing fit was the worst though. And the inevitable with so much violence being placed on the lungs – blood too. And not just a little bit of blood, but lots and lots. Deep red, clotted and obviously not normal. As much as I hate to watch this happening, I have to in order to be able to report all of this to the doctors when asked. ‘No, not just pink mucus, but deep red clotted blood’. ‘How much? At least half a cup but then it is hard to assess when it is coughed widely all over the bathroom’. And this kind of coughing and the onset of coughing blood, is very, very scary. Anja was coughing, crying and shaking and I was frightened from all the damage I could see this was doing to her. When it was finally over and she could crawl back into bed, she was visibly shaken and scared. A call to the all the medical support we usually refer to was pointless as it was the weekend and out of hours. Many phone calls later and we managed to convince the NHS that this was serious and we needed help. A visit from a doctor and he confirmed that Anja was in need of some hospital treatment and an ambulance was ordered. The thing is, this all takes hours. Anja had her coughing ‘episode’ at 10am and it was 6pm before she finally arrived at the hospital. It makes a for a long, stressful and emotional day. At one point she held my hand tightly and told me she felt like this was it – she was going to die – that moment!

So more tests in hospital, x-rays and blood tests mainly and after being in observation overnight, she was allowed to come home the next morning. She is very fatigued and we are both struggling with all of this. And now we wait for the next scan and more news…

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DEATH: The Final Frontier

James — Mon, 14 Apr 2008 13:54:46 +0000

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To boldly go where everyone has gone before…

Right now, with my wife’s length of time left on this planet very uncertain [but ultimately very brief], we have both discussed the whole package that dying brings – the pain beforehand, our quality of life, and the moment of death itself. As mentioned before, we are realists and we understand why her death is not so far away, but as much as we are both terrified of the prospect and spend our days on a bizarre rollercoaster of emotions, the practicalities and logics still keep us focussed. Yes, we do realise that what we are experiencing is not a new phenomenon, it happens to millions every year, and yet for us it is all new and all very much ‘in our face‘ at all times.

To be truthful, I could write this post a hundred times a day and still come up with different perspectives and feelings nearly every time. Only moments ago, as I read through the last interviews of those who have already passed away, it jolted my senses and threw the floodgates of tears wide open, but now, I am in control again and can smile as I look at my wife, knowing we still have some time left. My wife is scared and very afraid of what the coming months hold. Scared of the prospect of the pain, the burden she feels she will put on those she loves, and scared of the unknown ahead.

And everyone who knows us and who knows Anja, have offered their sincere feelings of sorrow and generous offers of help, but in the end it all seems so meaningless and futile. Of course, we know the doctors and nursing staff will do their best to make this time as painless and bearable as possible and we will remain positive until the end. But the end will come all too soon. We both know this and accept it. Just how we will cope with it is uncertain, as we believe we need to experience this for ourselves to truly know how it feels. We also know though, that when the time comes, no amount of time or talk will prepare us enough.

And how can we describe how we really feel during all of this? Fine one minute and in tears the next. I start to say something and then realise that it no longer applies. We were making plans to move to Edinburgh just before this news fell upon us and now it is a lost dream. Even the mention of Scotland [a place we both love and adore] is almost too much to bear. Every piece of music evokes feelings and sadness. And on the other side of the coin, I watch Anja as she smiles and laughs and tells me she will fight the Reaper when he knocks, and I am just so thankful we still have this precious time together.

And as we both worry about the inevitable decline of health which accompanies cancer, and the rough road ahead that this will bring, I openly admit I am human and I think of myself too. Apart from the fact that any sadness and pain Anja feels, I feel as well, I also wonder what will become of me. The truth – I have no will to live when Anja has gone. Life will have no meaning to me anymore. We share everything we do. We are the closest of friends and share intimacy as only people who are truly in love ever do. I honestly see no point in my life ahead, so why live? Futility has never been one of my pursuits in life before, so why start now?

Conversely, I sit here and think I should be more positive. Perhaps I should take some videos and photos of Anja now while she is still in good spirits and whilst we still can laugh together. I know I will regret if I don’t, but is feels almost morbid to think this way.

An erratic post that does not make much sense? And yet, it is a true journal of where we are right now. Nothing is making much sense at the moment so why kid ourselves that reality is any different than it really is…

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This only happens to other people…

James — Thu, 03 Apr 2008 09:50:26 +0000

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Bad timing. Why is this happening now? Why me? Is there a God [and if so, why is She/He being such a bastard]? N0, NO, NO, this cannot be happening – it’s just a bad nightmare! And then you realise it IS happening and worse, it is happening to YOU!

Millions have been diagnosed with cancer, many of those millions have died from the disease, and yet in this world of self-centred daily existence we call modern-society, those who it does not affect usually turn a blind eye. What doesn’t affect you directly is often of no consequence and although you may feel some form of mild-compassion for those poor sufferers, hey, what’s it got to do with you? Right?

And now WE join the statistics! A loved one has become a victim and has been diagnosed with the severe onset of lung cancer. Our world has immediately collapsed. The tears flow, the daily reality becomes a roller-coaster of unknowns and raw emotions and nothing seems to matter any more. Everyone offers help and yet what can anyone really do? You find yourself caught in a world where everything is blurred, nothing makes sense and your brain refuses to operate normally. Music brings tears, a photo makes you smile and then grow sad, and yet every fleeting moment you have with this person is the most precious part of life you have ever known.

I am not the victim, it is one whom I love with all my heart who has been given the terrible news only this past week, and yet we are both in so much pain.

The appointments have been made and the tests will soon begin. We are not religious. We are looking at our future in terms of practicalities and with very sure realism.

This is not a call for sympathy – indeed is NOT what we want at all! It is simply a journal of our feelings and a log of the reality that faces us every day from this point.

Update: Friday 4th April 2008

First visit to lung cancer unit at hospital and we were given lots of information as to what may happen, the different possibilities [depending on the type of cancer cells] and a layout of where to from this point.

Blood test taken and a lung function test [blowing into a machine to measure breathing capability].

Next Tuesday [8th April 2008], it’s back into hospital for a Bronchoscopy and Biopsy. Sedation will occur so that the doctor’s can have a good look at the lungs without causing any pain and a small biopsy will also be removed. This will be significant as it will give us a our first real knowledge of exactly what is happening in the lungs. The results can take up to 5 days.

The following Tuesday [15th April 2008] it is back into hospital again for a CT Scan. This is painless and involves the whole body being sliced into sections by a camera so that it is possible to see any other problems in the body that may be related to the cancer. It involves laying on a moving table [keeping very still] as the patient slides through a tunnel of machinery. Much like is seen on medical TV programs such as House.

The big day for us is Friday 18th April 2008, as this will be when we sit down with the doctor and find out exactly what is happening. On the proceeding Thursday all the doctors and nurses involved with testing will sit down at a meeting to discuss the whole issue and alanalyse the test results. It brings together all the relevant facts and will be a time when the lung cancer team decide on the next course of action. We are somewhat apprehensive about this but we need to know. It could be terrible news or they may give us hope.

Update: Friday 4th April 2008

Went in for bronchoscopy and biopsy today. Scared as hell and worried on what they may find. All over in one morning but Anja is seriously worn out and has slept most of the day since. The nurses told us they took extra samples of blood and tissue but an explaination as to why was not given. Now we wait till next Tuesday for the CT Scan which should be painless.

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