Thursday, June 25, 2015

Well shit.

I've taken a break from this blog for, oh, about a year now, as I'm sure some of you have noticed.  I think the political nature of my previous post gave a fair indicator that I was no longer using it as it was intended, as a sort of release valve for the pressures of cancer patienthood, then cancer survivorship.  There have been a few other topics I've considered broaching from time to time, particularly transhumanism (cybernetics), but have never felt fully inspired to attack head on.

Seems I'm no longer a straight-up cancer survivor, as I've slipped back into patienthood.  In fact, I've slipped pretty heavily.  They know I have grade 3 cancer and suspect GBM4, so they're treating me as such.  Which is... fine, I guess.  It's fine.  I've been recovering with my parents since early May, when I apparently lost some time.  About a week, I've been told.  My mom says I was pleasant if not very passive during that week but I don't remember a moment of it.  At least I don't think I do.  They took away my driver's license so I'm kind of stuck here now, and they aren't letting me work, which in a bigger view makes a lot of sense.  Don't want to give too much independence to someone who doesn't remember what he's been up to. 

Loyal readers, this might be it for me.

So, details.  Seems a tumor can grow again without enhancing on the MRI, then suddenly, like flipping a switch, the whole thing lights up like a Christmas tree.  That's what happened to me.  I have several tumors now, all in the brain, which is also not unexpected.  They don't know how long it's been growing but we all saw this coming.  We threw everything we had at it the first time around, knowing we weren't saving anything for the second time.  Well, this is the second time.  I tried a special clinical trial limited to fewer than 100 patients nationwide and that's what gave me that blackout, or so I'm told.  Now I'm on Avastin, which prevents blood supply growth.  My feet look like water balloons.  No one's telling me to get my affairs in order just yet but whenever I bring up the topic of the future, things get tense.  Mom is driving me absolutely nuts.  Whenever I say I'm going to go to bed, she bum-rushes me with a huge list of things she needs me to do, or pointless questions, or assumptions she's made about the doctor's point of view and now advocates as the given truth.  If I ever push back, she acts like I'm viciously attacking her.  I'm dying, mom.  I'm dying.  Let this be about me.  Just this once.