Making History
Not content with being the first person to tie with themselves to win an Aurealis, I found out today I am also the first person to commence the oncological clinical trial, not only in Australia, but the world.
Reporters were everywhere, and my minders had to force them back as I made my way to the hospital, stopping only briefly in the non-non-smoking area to be blown by several well-wishers, and then I made my way under a barrage of applause into the Chemo Lounge.
Ugh. The thought had been making me feel ill, and here I was back in one. It's not as nice as the lounge I used to frequent, the TVs are for hourly hire as opposed to the giant wall-mounted plasma I used to ignore, and Rod Stewart plays instead of Elton John (both from the latter parts of the career where they are nothing but boring old men). There is less confectionary in this lounge, in fact, there was none. This is not because they've realised sugar is a bad thing for cancer, but simply because there is none. The people look just as dying, there is no difference between your private and public dollar there.
I'm on Panitumumab, the newer of the two concoctions. It has a greater chance of more chemo-like symptoms, but has the advantage of being fortnightly as opposed to weekly infusions, and doesn't have the common allergic reaction that patients experience when going through IV. I'll have blood tests the day before each infusion and fortnightly checkups to see that nothing untoward and crazy is happening to me.
After 15 mins of saline, then an hour of Panitumumab, then another 15 mins of flush, I left, very fucking eager to say the least. Outside it had been raining. The air was still warm and the cool drizzle felt wonderful against the skin. The gum trees were exuding intense eucalyptus scents, brought on by the heat and the rain.
I'm alive.
Reporters were everywhere, and my minders had to force them back as I made my way to the hospital, stopping only briefly in the non-non-smoking area to be blown by several well-wishers, and then I made my way under a barrage of applause into the Chemo Lounge.
Ugh. The thought had been making me feel ill, and here I was back in one. It's not as nice as the lounge I used to frequent, the TVs are for hourly hire as opposed to the giant wall-mounted plasma I used to ignore, and Rod Stewart plays instead of Elton John (both from the latter parts of the career where they are nothing but boring old men). There is less confectionary in this lounge, in fact, there was none. This is not because they've realised sugar is a bad thing for cancer, but simply because there is none. The people look just as dying, there is no difference between your private and public dollar there.
I'm on Panitumumab, the newer of the two concoctions. It has a greater chance of more chemo-like symptoms, but has the advantage of being fortnightly as opposed to weekly infusions, and doesn't have the common allergic reaction that patients experience when going through IV. I'll have blood tests the day before each infusion and fortnightly checkups to see that nothing untoward and crazy is happening to me.
After 15 mins of saline, then an hour of Panitumumab, then another 15 mins of flush, I left, very fucking eager to say the least. Outside it had been raining. The air was still warm and the cool drizzle felt wonderful against the skin. The gum trees were exuding intense eucalyptus scents, brought on by the heat and the rain.
I'm alive.