The Result of the Biopsy

I need to word this post carefully.

Today, I had an appointment at the local hospital. I was told that the result of the biopsy of the ‘stuff’ from my bladder was that I have bladder cancer.

I shall be talking about this just this once.

It seems that all is not lost. The cancer is still localised in the bladder. It has not spread beyond, such as into the bones. I don’t know precisely what sort of cancer it is, although the nurse did mention some gobbledegook words. I suppose that I’ll find out when I get a copy of the report to my GP.

There are various treatments. There is a meeting of ‘specialists’ on Friday, and the nurse has said that she will call me and let me know what is said. I expect that I shall meet with someone where a decision will be made as to what treatment is best. The worst scenario would be the complete removal of my bladder eventually. I asked her to tell me plainly what my chances were, and she said that nothing was sure, but that I should have several more years ahead of me. At the age of 79, I am not unhappy with that. The fact that I was otherwise reasonably fit was a plus in my favour.

I have been thinking about how to handle it. I’ve decided to take immediate future events as they come. Note, not ‘a step at a time’. The next ‘event’ is on Monday when the catheter should come out. I am not looking beyond that. I am not seeing phone calls as ‘events’.

Other than that, I shall continue with my reasonably pleasant way of life. I intend to plant my baccy plants as usual around May and tend them lovingly through the summer. If my condition permits, then I expect the zot off to Magalluf at Easter as usual.

I have yet to find out if the treatment will ‘cure’ the condition, but I shall be happy if it is stabilised.

Please, dear readers, don’t expect any updates. What is, is, and what will be will be.

 

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16 Responses to “The Result of the Biopsy”

  1. michaeljmcfadden Says:

    Sorry to hear you’re having a rough time Junican, but you’re dealing with it well and I wish you all the best with it. While I think we’ll all respect your wishes not to be besieged with update queries, I think you should also know quite well that all your regular readers will certainly want to be here as a resource if there’s any help we can give in various ways. I’m sure some of your readers have good research and medical backgrounds and might be able to dig out info in specific areas a bit more easily/quickly than you might yourself!

    Meanwhile, water them thar plants!

    🙂
    Michael

  2. Carol42 Says:

    Sorry to hear this, I know I felt when I first got the cancer dx but here I am eight years later and, apart from the surgery, I don’t feel any different. Just older and a bit weaker. It is good that you have been picked up at what sounds like an early stage so the prognosis is quite good though no one can ever be sure how it will progress in any individual. Good luck with whatever treatments the MDT decide.
    Carol

  3. elenamitchell Says:

    Hope and a positive attitude, which you have, and chuck in a bit of luck, and a candle from me.

    I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.

  4. Mark E. Smith (@fubarista) Says:

    The first time I was diagnosed with cancer, some Christian friends asked if they could pray over me. I’m an atheist, but I allowed it. I didn’t allow treatment and the cancer (if there had been one–many times people are misdiagnosed) went away.

    The second time I was diagnosed with cancer, a neighbor gave me a book about carrot juice. I didn’t think it would work, but it certainly couldn’t hurt, so I drank carrot juice, as much as I could tolerate, for two weeks. When I went back to the doctor I was told that the cancer (if that’s what it was) was gone.

    The third time I got some abdominal pain and a friend of mine in Germany happened to get the same pain in the same place. He went to a doctor and was told he needed x-rays.

    I also went to a doctor, but I wouldn’t allow x-rays. I told him that I’d gotten enough Fukushima radiation just waiting for the bus, and didn’t want any more radiation. There was nothing I would allow him to do, but he suggested that I probably had liver cancer. I asked him if he knew of any natural remedies to support the liver and he suggested milk thistle, so I bought some capsules on the way home and started taking them.

    Meanwhile my friend in Germany was told that his x-rays were inconclusive and they needed to do a biopsy. He agreed and it went well, but after he got home he bled out because they’d failed to sew up a bleeder, and he went into a coma. He was taken back to the hospital, but it took him 3 days to come out of the coma. Once he was conscious, they told him that the biopsy had shown terminal,
    inoperable liver cancer.

    Meanwhile my own abdominal pain seemed to be decreasing ever so slightly, so I just kept taking the milk thistle.

    My friend then went to one of the top oncologists in Germany (they have socialized medicine and he also had a private plan–he worked for a big multinational corporation), who also said he was inoperable and terminal, but suggested that chemotherapy might extend his life for a few days. I thought giving chemo to someone with liver cancer was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, and his wife pleaded with him not to do it. But he respected the expert and began chemo–he died nine days later.

    Meanwhile my pain kept ever so slowly decreasing, so I just kept taking my milk thistle until, about a year after my friend died, I no longer had any pain at all and it never recurred–it has been many years now. But after he died I learned two things. One was that anyone who had ever had Hepatitis C, had sex with multiple partners, used drugs, or enjoyed rock and roll, was being examined carefully for liver cancer at that time. And the other thing I learned was that two month’s after my friend’s death, the medical community stopped giving chemo to liver cancer patients.

    I wish you the best, Junican. I hope you get honest, intelligent doctors, competent hospital personnel if hospitalization is necessary, and a complete recovery. I’m 78 myself, and know I could pass away any time. But if I do, it will be from the disease, not from the treatment. That’s my choice. You’re entitled to yours.

    At least they’re not blaming it on smoking or trying to force you to quit. So maybe they’re not total idiots or complete fascists. Many diseases are survivable if your immune system isn’t subjected to the stress of quitting smoking.

    Tell ya why I’ll take no pill–
    If the sickness don’t kill me then the doctors will. 😉

  5. Rose Says:

    Good luck in all things, Junican, I hope your plants grow beautifully and you have a bountiful harvest.

  6. Pammy Says:

    Good luck Junican and God Bless

  7. Jane Brown Says:

    I’d actually like to respond to Mark E. Smith’s post above, which frankly, is somewhat along my lines of thought. Fortunately, I personally have never had such a diagnosis, but when my partner did, it was an extremely disconcerting and frightening thing. You almost immediately look for someone to take over your care and decisions, and often tend to give up whatever independence you have regarding the illness. It’s interesting to note that allopathic medicine (what we consider ‘standard’) was only brought into the mainstream in the early 1900’s – through the intervention (and patents) of the Rockefeller family. It was labs affiliated with this group that decided to further the idea that the mustard gas from WW1, would be an avenue for cancer treatment. Certainly, chemo kills cells that multiply quickly (hence hair often falling out, etc.), but it also totally depletes your immune system. Prior to Rockefeller’s intervention, medicine was based on natural elements – basically what we call alternative medicine today. It takes a very strong and willful person to defy what doctors are ‘advising’ as treatment, and often times the diagnosis is just too frightening to us for us to assert our independence and take a different path. Science is finally doing research (and treatment) with regard to immunotherapy – and due to the construct of the bladder, this is one of the organs that is receiving such therapy. We each have cancer cells in us all the time – some people’s immune system deals with it, other’s don’t for some reason. The apparent trick is to attempt to remove whatever ‘toxins’ we have in our system, that takes up the energy of our immune system, make our immune system as strong as possible, and let it do what it was designed to do. I do agree with your statement that if I die, I would prefer it to be from the disease rather than the treatment, and I think that death from the treatment is more often than not, the case. Of course, I am quite cavalier, spouting this now – I have not had the diagnosis, felt the fear, needed someone to rely on in this way, etc. Hopefully, if this ever happens with me, I will have the strength that you portray in your post, to become informed, think first before jumping into any treatment, and potentially choose the road less traveled.

  8. buckothemoose Says:

    Good luck. I hope you lick it

  9. roobeedoo2 Says:

  10. legiron Says:

    Terrible news! It does look as if they caught it early though.

  11. Philip Neal Says:

    Good luck and well done for telling them to level with you. Nurses and surgeons generally know what they are talking about, unlike some I could name.

  12. Smoking Lamp Says:

    Junican, Best wishes and keep up the good fight. SL

  13. Timothy Goodacre Says:

    Very best wishes Junican ! I am thinking of you. I can’t do without reading your very erudite writing in the morning on a subject very dear to me.

  14. Vlad Says:

    Good luck!

  15. Gregg Says:

    I hope it turns out well for you.

  16. junican Says:

    Thank you all for your very heartening comments. I am extremely touched.
    I was given a booklet to read which was published by the Macmillan charity. Actually, it is 120 pages, so hardly a booklet. But it is very straightforward about treatments. I have noticed that McMillan does not persecute smokers as far as I know. I shall make a decent donation to them.
    But, as I said, I shall not be going on about it. It is a separate ‘compartment’ of my life.

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