Confusion reigns

The familiar entrance to Addenbrooke's Hospital

I am including this picture of the entrance to Addenbrooke's Hospital to share what we are seeing just too often at the moment. The information from the hospital regarding the management of my cancer has changed rapidly like the storms of winter. In my previous post, I was told by the registrar that nothing further would be offered to me (Hope was but a timid friend -), but suddenly a spate of hospital appointments began to come through. On Saturday I was told to attend for a repeat scan the next day (Sunday) at 7pm in Ely hospital; on Tuesday I was given an appointment for 9am at Addenbrooke's for a surgical assessment; at 8:45am came a further appointment for the cardiac unit at 10am on the same morning; then I was to go for yet another blood test. I'm not sure what was found or discussed, but this morning came yet another appointment, presumably for surgery to remove the metastasis from the muscle in my back under general anaesthetic. I am now to attend the plastic surgery unit at Addenbrooke's Hospital on the 22nd of this month at 7am.

Needless to say, Annie and I find this incredibly confusing. I believe the plastic surgery consultant must have overridden the message from the registrar that "nothing further could be done", and in his wisdom has chosen to do something after all. It is not only me that is confused: we told everyone the glum news.  Now we are having to explain suddenly this change in plan. The surgeon himself had said there was only a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the op if it were done, but he looked bemused when Annie and I burst out laughing at each other and said that sounded like tossing a coin to see who lives or dies. I don't think many people laugh in his oncology clinics, where we more commonly see many oldies struggling on Zimmer frames or being pushed by a long-suffering relative, or unfortunate young women in head scarves to hide their hair loss, or cachectic children wheeled by distraught parents from the immunotherapy wards. No, the oncology clinics are not generally places of mirth but we feel that laughter, in the face of such imminent, potentially catastrophic changes, is the only weapon we hold to defend ourselves to defeat morbid speculation.