After the last meeting with the doctors, and my decision to stay in the UK, my next appointment was Friday just gone. I had spent the intervening days in a fairly mixed mental state. It was not that I was particularly fearful of anything, rather the uncertainty. I found it hard to concentrate on work, or pretty much anything else. I guess these sorts of periods are just part of the overall cancer lifestyle package.
In the week a couple of friends popped over for the night, and we scraped the bottom of Netfliix's substantial movie-laden barrel. We picked the recent remake of Death Wish. It was pretty awful, and I don't recall it troubling the award shows. It was the polar opposite of our cinema trip the previous weekend to watch Sam Mendes's 1917. A truly spectacular film, and gets my recommendation.
So, Friday came around, and my sister and I headed to the hospital. I didn't expect anything particularly positive to come of it: the elevation of my liver marker seemed too far apart from the ending of the course of drugs, so to me it was indicative of something else going on. Blood was taken, and we eventually went in to see the oncologist, who confirmed my suspicions. Not only had my liver marker risen again, now my bilirubin was spiking, and this all pointed to a possible blockage in my liver. There was nothing that could immediately be done, but I was referred for an ultrasound the following week (back to back with a scheduled CT scan, yippee, this is how rock and roll my life has become), and if suspicions were confirmed, then an endoscopic procedure to address it.
By now I am rather used to being poked, prodded, needle-sticked, and generally having tubes inserted in all and any orifices, but the description of the likely procedure sounded horrific: tube inserted into my mouth, down throat, through stomach, into small intestine, and eventually into whatever side tube needs to be unblocked, Luckily the oncologist noted I would be sedated. Hopefully with horse tranquillisers.
We left the hospital and I gave my wife a call to update her. She asked how I was doing. To be honest, it was hard to say. The daft thing is I feel OK physically, with the mental side continuing to be the harder battle. Part of me was relieved to hear there was some sense of what might be going on, but another part of me was wobbling.
Still, I had Bristol City's visit to QPR on Saturday to take my mind off things. This hot on the heels of a 1-0 win at Reading midweek. Me and a friend watched a stereotypical game of 2 halves. Brilliant goal from us to lead 1-0 at the break, and then Alamo stuff in the 2nd half when it looked for all the world we were going to capitulate. Still, our 4th scabby win on the trot and somehow we have made it into the play-off positions in what is truly a league of terrible quality.